Slippery Slope 1/?

[rocketbalm.livejournal.com]

Thanks to the wonderful people of my FList that answered my call for assistance:
jasmineskie, pyleanelf and muck_a_luck.

Any silly mistakes are my own and no reflection on their spectacular
instructions.

Title: Slippery Slope
Author: Rocketbalm
Pairing: OB/VM
Chapter: 1/?
Rating: PG-13ish for language
Summary: Viggo is an artist living in the ski resort town of Whistler,
BC Canada. Orlando is a young star who is starting to realize he has
lost himself to the Hollywood lifestyle. Content: AU
Disclaimer: A work of my modestly twisted mind. Complete fiction… never
happened. Don’t know these people, all in my imagination.



Chapter 1

One day he was going to have to learn to say ‘No’ to Brian, thought Viggo, smiling faintly at the very idea of being able to say no to one of his best friends. Not likely to happen any time soon, it was a firmly established pattern that they fell into the day they met 18 years ago, when Viggo was a grad student/struggling artist trying to make ends meet and Brian was a first year university student who oozed coolness. Brian’s older brother Mike had just left graduate school and had asked Viggo to look out for his younger sibling who was just entering first year. The boys had lost both their parents a year before and Mike had taken on the role of concerned parent. Viggo smiled as he remembered the day he met the blond-haired, green-eyed, quietly larger than life 18 year-old. Viggo had been prepared to show Brian the ropes, keep him from the obvious pitfalls that all first years are faced with, and act as a mentor. Instead Brian slid into university life like he was born to it, his ambiguous sexuality made him non-threatening, he knew enough not to flaunt his intelligence or use it as a weapon and his laidback, cutting edge personality drew people to him in droves -- Viggo was no exception. He told himself he was just keeping an eye on the youngster who was 8 years his junior, when in reality he was addicted to the fun and spontaneity that followed Brian wherever he went. Before he knew it he was saying yes to impromptu January beach parties in snow covered parking lots, complete with beach chairs and umbrella drinks, being the designated driver for week-end long car rally’s/binges, and leading all night study sessions during exam time – whatever Brian asked, he some how found himself saying yes to and usually ended up enjoying himself. He sighed heavily; he had a sinking feeling that this latest request was going to be the exception to the rule.

The weather was his first indication that things were not going to go his way that day. As he drove Brian’s shiny black Land Rover down the winding Sea to Sky highway toward the airport, soft, downy flakes of snow began their silent descent, creating a winter wonderland. Beautiful to be sure, just the kind of inspiration he loved to watch from his studio window, not the kind of weather you wanted to see while driving to Vancouver on this particular highway, on a Friday afternoon the first week of February of one of the biggest ski week-ends at the resort. He hoped the weather would hold at least until he got himself and the “VIP” he was picking up back safely. He had laughed when Brian had frantically called that afternoon saying he needed a favour; there was an emergency at the restaurant and he couldn’t leave – not with the big Altitude reception hours away – could Viggo go to the airport and pick up one of Mike’s clients. Brian’s brother Mike had become a fairly well known publicist in Hollywood and occasionally called on Brian and Viggo to assist with some of his more skittish clients who wanted to escape to the mountain resort renown for giving its high profile visitors anonymity. From what Viggo could gather from Brian’s call, this client had just up and booked themselves on a flight without letting any of the handlers know before hand, wanting to escape some personal disaster or another and the flurry of paparazzi that inevitably circled like sharks to a fresh kill. Though why anyone would want to escape to Whistler on this particular week-end, when the tiny community increased by 400% to its peak capacity was beyond him. Viggo had almost drawn the line when Brian asked him to carry a sign that read “Mae Govannen” and wait at the VIP arrival area. Viggo had snorted and asked if he should bring a chauffeur’s cap as well; preoccupied with trying to figure out if Brian was joking when he answered ‘sure if you’ve got one’ he forgot to ask exactly who he was picking up.

Running late as he pulled into the parking lot at YVR, Viggo had two thoughts: one, he hoped that Canadian Customs had taken their time rummaging through his VIP’s underwear and sundry personal effects long enough to detract from the fact that Viggo was late and two, that whoever ‘Mae Govannen’ was, she would find him easily. Picking up his neatly lettered sign, embellished with a border of swirls and curlicues that he couldn’t resist adding, he trudged through the light dusting of snow and into the International wing of the terminal. Within moments after getting to the VIP arrivals area he realized that snow had screwed him over in more ways than one. The weather had caused delays for a number of flights, filling the VIP area with an overabundance of impatient relatives, crying babies, and bored drivers with their smart caps and signs cordoned off by a row of barricades. This whole favour had disaster written all over it.

Undoing his jacket he squeezed between the professional drivers and angled his sign toward the doors where the arrivals exited. Taking Gore Vidal’s latest book from his pocket he settled in for a long wait. Every time there was movement at the doors, the gaggle of drivers would flap and flutter their signs to gain maximum exposure in hopes that their wait was over. It didn’t take long for Viggo to get tired of the wave and flap method of sign-holding and took the more laidback approach and simply pressed his sign along the front of the barricades, below the other signs with one hand as he continued to read with the other.

An hour in and the crowd had begun to thin giving everyone a little more elbow room, though not enough to improve the general air of annoyance in the waiting area. Viggo began scanning the crowd for interesting faces and things that he could incorporate into his poetry or art. Standing next to him was a driver with a scar that ran from behind his ear and wound around his neck like an obscene necklace. Viggo wondered if he got that on the job and if he got ‘danger pay’ as a result. Across the waiting area was an extraordinarily tall, blonde woman, impossibly thin and immaculately dressed in matching designer clothing, in varying shades of green. Her breasts were too large for her frame and stood upright as if on guard duty, and her face had been painted more meticulously than any of his paintings at home. It was the way she moved that fascinated Viggo; each movement was slow and deliberate, yet with a distinct beginning and ending, there was no fluidity from one motion to the next, in fact Viggo mused, she looked remarkably like a giant preying mantis as she stalked the arrivals area. Viggo almost giggled as he imagined her devouring a short, fat, balding sugar daddy after mating and before moving on to her next prey. It was while he was watching woman in green, that he was snapped back to reality when the doors opened and a new bunch of disheveled passengers came into view.

While tired greeters and impatient passengers found each other, juggled bags and searched pockets for keys or wallets, no one appeared to be ‘Mae Govannen’. With one last look at the arrivees Viggo continued with his perusal of the crowd. Hanging back just beyond the propped open arrivals doors was a stunning young man with a mutiny of mahogany curls that peeked out from beneath a black knit cap, framing a beautifully expressive face, his olive skin shaded with a smattering of facial hair and his slender neck wrapped in a soft, grey, wool scarf. He watched as the young man chatted on his mobile and alternated between gesturing wildly and wrapping his arms around himself like a life vest; eyes dark as espresso beans mimicked his movements with eye-rolls and fixed stares. Viggo waited for the man to move, wanting to see if the long black-denim clad limbs would carry him with the grace they seem to imply. He was a visual smorgasbord. Realizing he was staring, Viggo went back to his book while keeping a peripheral eye on the man. After a moment he started to walk through the doors and in the span of four steps had managed to trip over himself, stumble into the door frame and catch his rather fashionable black leather coat pocket on the door handle, almost tearing it all the while managing to keep the mobile pressed to his ear as if it had grown there. Apparently grace had not been one of the attributes this gorgeous creature had been endowed with; Viggo almost chortled but managed to suppress it just as the man came even with his sign.

Putting his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone, he gestured wildly to Viggo, “that’s me mate, bags are behind me. Six of them each of them have yellow marking on handle, thanks.” And with that he continued with his conversation. Viggo was stunned. This was gorgeous, frenetic being was ‘Mae Govannen’? What the… It was almost amusing that this gorgeous creature thought Viggo was at his beck and call, almost. Viggo decided to play along and see how far ‘Mae’ would take it. Quickly he found a cart for the bags and headed for the exit while his lanky passenger walked alongside without ever breaking from his phone conversation. Viggo was amused that the short trek through the terminal held so many unforeseen hazards for the young man, unattended luggage that appeared to jump in front of him causing a stumble, a seemingly deadly baby stroller that veered into his path, and stray baggage carts that came out of nowhere sending him careening into walls like a rubber ball. Viggo was amazed that ‘Mae’ had arrived at the car without serious internal injuries or having his mobile phone permanently embedded in his ear. Viggo opened the back of the Land Rover and soon realized there was no way six bags were going to fit back there. After he got ‘Mae’ to move from where he was leaned against the rear passenger seat door and stacked the remaining bags before strapping the snowboard to the roof rack. As he locked the snowboard in place his passenger finally closed his phone and looked at him expectantly.

He doesn’t expect me to open his door, does he? Viggo thought. “You can climb in the back and hope your bags don’t mind sharing or you can sit up front with me, your choice.” Viggo addressed his passenger for the first time as he got into the driver seat waiting to see what the young man would do. After looking in the back and realizing he would probably be more comfortable up front with driver he opened the door and hopped in without a word. Viggo started the car and eased out into the busy lot, concentrating on traffic as he headed back through Vancouver to the North Shore and the highway. As he drove through the brightly lit city he watched the man fidget in his seat, grabbing onto his phone like a lifeline.

“CD’s are under your seat if you want to choose something other than what’s on the radio, although I reserve the right to switch back to hear the road reports every now and then.” Mae looked at him quizzically as if he wasn’t used to being spoken to that way by the “hired help”. Viggo grinned mentally; this was going to be fun. “Uh, no this is fine.” He finally replied uncomfortably.

“The name’s Viggo.” He said hoping to get rid of the awkwardness. “It’s going to be a long drive, do you need me to stop or anything. Once we’re on the highway there won’t be very many places to stop along the way.” Viggo continued watching the nervous bundle of energy beside him. Open – shut, open – shut, open – shut. Click – click, click – click, click – click. ‘Mae’ continued to play with his phone as if in a trance until Viggo had had enough.

“Hey buddy,” Viggo started as he closed the phone and held it still, feeling the slight tremble of the hand beneath his. “You gonna tell me your name, or should I just call you ‘Mae’?” His voice softening as he removed his hand from the offending phone.

The dark curly head whipped around, startled, to look at him. “Mae? Who the fuck is Mae?” asked a confused, lightly accented voice, who made the obscenity sound benign.

“You know, ‘Mae’…” answered an equally perplexed Viggo as he fished around the floor behind him for the hand-lettered sign. “Mae” He emphasized as he thrust the now creased sign into the lap beside him.

The man sat with the sign in his hands for a very long time, looking at the words and tracing the border with shaky finger tip. He doesn’t know who I am… really doesn’t know… I can’t remember the last time I met someone that didn’t know… maybe it’s just Canada? That’s so strange… ‘Mae Govannen’… Mae… I never looked at it like that before… funny I always just see it as Elvish… He was startled out of his thoughts by a heavy sigh beside him followed by mumbled “Mae it is then.” Viggo stared straight ahead as if traffic was suddenly incredibly interesting.

“No… I... it’s just…” he took a deep breath. “Orlando Bloom. My name’s Orlando.” His name stumbled off his tongue and caused him to wonder when the last time he had actually said his own name out loud. “Uh, ‘Mae Govannen’ means welcome in Elvish. It started as a joke between me and the hobbits and now we just use it all the time. I never really looked at it as a name before, but I guess it makes more sense your way but it means more to me in Elvish, yeah? I don’t really get much of a chance to speak it anymore, it’s not like people just go around speaking Elvish in real life. Well I guess, some of the rabid Tolkien fans do, but …” Orlando let his voice fade when he realized he was rambling.

If Viggo wasn’t mildly annoyed by his earlier behaviour he might have found Orlando’s rambling endearing. Instead he found himself trying to place the name and wishing in that moment he paid more attention to pop-culture, not to mention what the hell was Elvish. Then it came to him, bits and pieces of conversations he had with Sean over many dinners and more glasses of beer. Viggo turned to look at his passenger intently; Orlando Bloom? This was the ‘lovely lad’ that Sean had spoken so highly of? This brat was Sean’s Orlando, graceful Elf from the Lord of the Rings trilogy? Not possible.

TBC