![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
shaan-lien.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
vigorliTitle: Blank
Rating: PG-13 language
Category: LotR RPS VM/OB
Summary: Can’t really explain it. Inspired by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marylou_gr’s post where she said: “. . . I realized that it just hurts too much to remember old times.” You don’t have to read the old chapters to make sense of this one.
Previous Chapters:
Waiting for Inspiration, Settling, Four and A Half, Six Years, Simply Holding, Adjusting , The Days Without, Remembrances
I sat in front of a blank canvas imagining it filled with such vivid scenes I couldn’t even begin to create. Times like this were frustrating, when I could imagine it, when the image kept haunting me, yet it could not be made into a reality. When I could not fathom a way I could create the conjuration of my imagination on that plane of white. It’s not any easier to articulate on paper something destined to be painted. Yet, these the frustrations of those who create from nothing but their own mind.
I was home in Idaho for the first time in weeks, finished with filming and book signings and pleased to be home again particularly since Henry was home, though briefly for his spring break. We had chatted for a while about college, his friends, and his girlfriend of three and a half months. Somewhere between high school and college, Henry had decided that he didn’t actually mind having parents again, would talk to me more than he had in the rest of his teenage years. He no longer insisted on going straight to his room and slamming the door, though even now we were in separate rooms. No doubt he was talking to his friends on-line or whatever it was that he did on that laptop of his—his Christmas present to himself after repeatedly deeming the PC in his room “archaic”.
Whatever he was doing, I hoped he was having better luck than me, left with a blank canvas that was all but taunting me. I had tried staring out the window, pacing the length of my studio, but nothing was helping. I didn’t know where to begin and I couldn’t just start. Henry had asked about Orli, who was in the Caribbean filming . . . . still, and it was those questions that steered my ponderings away from the plane white before me. Back again to the days in New Zealand, which may not have been the best days of my life, but they were fairly close in the runnings. This time, my recollections took me back to when I first learned that Orlando had broken his back at the age of twenty-one and just how much the injury still plagued him, though he did his best not to let it show.
After filming briefly in the morning, we had returned to one of the many ranches around Queenstown to practice riding. Having horses of my own and growing up around them, I had always been comfortable on horses and didn’t need much in the way of practice, but I wanted to become familiar with the horse I was working with. Orlando was already at the stables when I had arrived that day, having finished filming even earlier than I. They had set up targets for him, wanting to get Orli comfortable with using a bow on horseback.
Glenorchy was a small town no more than fifteen minutes from the centre of Queenstown. A windy drive along Lake Wakatipu to the flat area that consistent mostly of ranches, the occasional house and of course, sheep. There were more sheep than people in New Zealand by a long shot. This time of year, January, was uncommonly hot, the Englishmen of the cast decidedly not used to the extremes of the weather. Today was overcast, however, but that only cooled down the New Zealand summer moderately, comfortably in my opinion used to the hot summers in Argentina and the US.
As I parked amidst two other cars in front of a paddock that now doubled as an archery range, I found that Orlando was already present. His red Jeep parked a little farther down, but the elf-in-training was mounted up, cantering swiftly along the other side of the fence. The tall white horse he rode on, didn’t deviate in the slightest as the mare tore down the paddock quite rapidly, Orlando holding on only with his knees, having to raise up slightly to properly draw back his bow, which evidently was not made for use on horseback. I stood watching, leaning on the car door as Orlando released the arrow, it shot from the bow accompanied by a sharp twang. I didn’t look immediately to see where the arrow struck, I figured it had by the soft thunk I heard, but I watched as he reached back for an arrow from the quiver strapped across his back. After he released the second arrow and drew the third, I glanced to the targets, wondering if he was disappointed by the results. He strove to perform well on these films, and seemed to throw every bit of himself into everything I had seen him do, from practicing elvish to equestrian, to learning his lines and his ‘elven grace’ as it had come to be called.
Finally, I closed the car door, making my way over to the stables, that were just behind “reception”, which was just a glorified storage shed to be perfectly honest. My instructor, of sorts, was already waiting for me, sitting on the railing of her horse’s stall, polishing one of the saddles, though her gelding was already saddled and waiting. The kiwi girl named Jiao was in her early twenties from what I had estimated from the few times we chatted during our sessions. Dressed in a pair of dusty jeans, well-worn boots, and a smudged brown tank top, Jiao looked up as I entered and grinned at me, shaking her head.
“When’s your birthday, Vig?” she asked, bracing her hands on either side of her and regarding me with frank curiosity. From the look in her dark brown eyes as I led my horse from his stall, I knew it was more than just a simple question.
I frowned at her as I rubbed the dark brown horse’s head. “Why?”
“So I can buy you a watch, love,” she stated with a smirk. “I’d love to let you go out alone, cause we both know you don’t need me, but I’m afraid you’d never come back. I don’t think your boss wants to look for yet another Aragorn.”
I laughed at that, knowing it was probably the truth with the beauty of the mountains, hills, the river, and the lake. I would happily forget time and keep riding. “I think I’d get the hint when the sun started to set.”
“Oh no you don’t, I plan on being out of here at six o’clock sharp. The hubbin’ is cooking me dinner.”
“Anniversary?” I asked, glancing back at her as I hefted the saddle.
“No, he just found a new hobby—Moroccan food,” Jiao admitted, jumping down from the wooden railing and leading her horse out of his stall. “You see Orlando out there?”
“He’s practicing archery with Mike and Jessy.”
“He’s getting really good with that bow,” Jiao noted. “Could you give him something for me?”
“Of course,” I responded, my hands stilling on the cinch as I looked over my shoulder at her.
She looked uncomfortable, the expression upsetting her smooth youthful features as she went over to her saddlebags. No searching required, Jiao quickly produced an object wrapped in cloth, that must have been silk—I realized when she handed it to me. The cloth was a pale blue with words written faintly all over in what I supposed was Cantonese, the language Jiao rattled off occasionally when she finally decided to answer her cell. “It’s for his back, my grandfather made it. If he’s taking painkillers, it won’t interfere, but he shouldn’t use if he’s on an anti-inflammatory as well. It won’t make him drowsy or anything like that.”
“What’s wrong with his back?”
Jiao shrugged, going back to her horse. “Don’t know, I could just tell it bothered him. More than it should for a guy my age. I figure he’s either strained it, slipped or herniated a disc sometime in his life or there’s some other mystery. I’m just a med student, not a doctor yet.”
I nodded slowly, still staring at the container. “When did you notice this?”
“Couple times. I don’t see him that often, just when we’re currying the horses or something like that. I know it’s not my business, but ‘do no harm’, you know,” Jiao said, lifting her shoulder in another shrug.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Making it back on Jiao’s schedule meant there rest of the cast present at these stables for training were just leaving as well. Orli sat on the hood of his Jeep, talking with the man who would play Éomer, though I couldn’t recall his name. Liv sat next to Orli on his car, playing with Orli’s fingers even as they laughed at something the man of Rohan said. It was Orlando who noticed my approach first, though he didn’t say anything, simply watched me near.
“Hello, lover,” Liv greeted me, still smiling.
“Hello, my lady.”
“You met Karl yet, Viggo?” Orlando spoke up, nodding to the New Zealand native (that much I remembered).
“In passing,” I responded, extending my hand to the younger man. In fact, all three were younger than me, though Karl was the oldest of the three before me. Between Orlando and Liv, I wasn’t sure who was older, though Orlando’s natural energy made me think he was the younger one.
“Karl Urban.”
“Viggo Mortensen. I’ve seen you here quite a bit, just tend to leave when there’s no one else around, except maybe Mike.”
“I suppose I’ve taken on the method acting approach. Éomer being the leader of this Rohirrim, if I’m saying that right, I figure I better get damn comfortable on a horse. Not all of use can commune with animals like our resident elves,” Karl remarked dryly, gesturing offhandedly to Orlando and Liv.
“Aww, sweetie, it’s not my fault my horsie likes me,” Liv protested, though Orlando just grinned faintly remaining silent. “I think Mandy is about twenty and ready for a mid-life crisis.”
“Were you thrown?” I asked, sliding my eyes back to Karl.
“Fell,” Karl corrected rotating his shoulder. “Something spooked him, don’t know what. Orli keeps assuring me that he’ll fall as well and will most likely break something when he does. Somehow, he doesn’t understand that’s not helpful.”
“Everyone gets thrown. The horse doesn’t know you yet. Now you’re just another one of the countless people who has toured through these parts, but he’ll get used to you after a while. Then, when he does, he’ll start looking out for you, he’ll get used to you, if you really stick with it, or instantly if you’re an elf.”
Karl smirked at Liv and Orlando, shaking his head. “Elf Boy tells me you like to fish.”
“When I have the time.”
“Should go up to Tekapo sometime, it’s supposed to have great trout fishing. I’m not all that familiar with this part of the South Island, but it’s renowned for its fishing.”
“Sounds good,” I consented as Orlando slipped slowly off the hood of his Jeep and Liv hopped down after him.
“I’ll give you a ride home, Princess,” Orlando said to Liv softly. “You’ll have to apologise to the Hobbits for me.”
“You’re not coming out?” she asked with a frown, clearly not expecting that from Orlando on a Friday night.
“Need my energy for surfing tomorrow with Billy,” Orli said as he opened the door for Liv. “See you laters, Karl, Vig,” he offered as we headed off for our respective cars.
Surprisingly, I paid little attention to my surroundings as I drove back to Queenstown. I was lost in my thoughts, thinking of my son whom I hadn’t seen in months now and hating the time difference between the US and New Zealand. I suppose it wasn’t nearly as bad as those from the UK, and sympathised with those like Sean who had children as well. Near to my place just on the edge of Queenstown, I remembered what Jiao had given me for Orlando, which made me very aware of how slowly the person in front of me was going. It was impossible to pass anyone in the streets of Queenstown that were lined with parked cars, but I figured Orlando had to drop off Liv, so the delay wouldn’t matter.
Twenty minutes later, twice as long as the drive normally took, I arrived at Orlando’s small house on the opposite side of Queenstown. Orli’s Jeep was already parked in front of the small bungalow’s garage and I hoped he wasn’t in the shower already as I rang the bell, holding the wrapped container in hand. The house sat not far removed from the beach, far enough away from the neighbours that it probably felt strange from a young man had just come from London. The grass of the front lawn was cut short, a flowering tree nicknamed the New Zealand Christmas tree towering over the house and shading the entire front yard.
“Come in,” came Orlando’s voice, just barely heard through the thick rustic pine door.
I entered his house that I had been in often enough before, to find the house dark and silent. A soft “in here” led me to the living room where I found Orlando lying on his couch, one arm over his eyes, looking all but relaxed. At the creak of one of the floorboards, Orlando peeked out behind his forearm and offered me a tired smile in greeting.
“Hey, Vig,” he offered, then his eyes went suddenly wide as something occurred to him. “We weren’t supposed to go over elvish today, were we?”
“No, no, Lando, I just forgot to give you this,” I said moving to stand next to him and proffering the silk wrapped container. “It’s from Jiao, she says it’s for your back and that’ll be fine if you use it with pain killers just not with an anti-inflammatory. And it won’t make you drowsy.”
Orlando frowned as he removed the cloth from around the glass jar that fit easily into his long fingers. “Isn’t she in med school?”
“Yeah, said her grandfather made it,” I continued staring down at him. “I didn’t know you had problems with your back,” I noted. Now, I sat down next to him on the edge of the couch, not used to this decidedly subdued demeanour.
“Haven’t gotten used to riding for so long yet,” Orlando admitted, shifting uncomfortably, “but yeah, I hurt my back last year.”
“How badly?”
He laughed at that, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Broke it, mate. Doctors said I would probably never walk again.”
I regarded him carefully, staring at his abdomen as if I could see straight through to his vertebrae. “I don’t much believe in luck and I’m not sure what is you believe, but I’d say someone wanted you here.”
“My mother’s Anglican, my . . . father was Jewish,” Orlando responded. “I believe a lot of things and I don’t believe a lot. Why I got to walk out of hospital and the bloke in the next room has to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, I don’t know. The doctors told me I was blessed to be alive and a miracle I could feel below my navel.”
“Jewish and Anglican . . . which one are you?”
“I was thinking of converting to Buddhism.”
I raised an eyebrow, easily knowing that he wasn’t joking. “How badly does it hurt?”
Orlando shrugged as much as he could in his reclined state. “’S fine, Vig. Thanks for bringing this by.”
I studied his face for a moment, staring into his eyes. Surprisingly, he didn’t look away. “Turn over, I’ll massage this into your back,” I instructed, taking the glass jar from where it rested on his chest. He looked hopeful, then grateful, and finally uncertain.
“Yeah? You’d do that?”
“Of course, turn over, Elf Boy.”
“Thank you, Viggo,” he said quite seriously.
I had the idea no one had shown him such simple compassion in a long time, certainly not outside his family. He shouldn’t have sounded so touched by someone offering to ease his pain just a little. “Don’t mention it,” I said, running a hand through his Mohawk.
He turned over slowly, a grimace on his face, holding his breath as he did so. By the time he was face down on the couch, he had fisted the pillow in both hands and was obviously in a great deal of pain. I slid back on the couch and pushed up the end of his T-shit, revealing a long scar paralleling his spine that I had managed not to notice in the past few weeks. All the muscles of his back were tensed and it didn’t seem as though he was relaxed in the slightest. “If it’s this bad now, how was it four months ago?”
“I’m on pain killers and muscle relaxants. This isn’t that bad. I’ve stopped taking them now that we’ve started filming.”
“Is that a good idea?” I asked as I unscrewed the top and collected some of the balm onto my fingers.
“Makes me too tired to concentrate. I can’t function like that. My physio taught me stretches to do, kinda like yoga, that helps some,” he said but stopped abruptly when I spread the balm over his lower back, over the scar and the ridges of the vertebrae. Carefully, I placed my hands over his back and started to massage in the balm that made my hands feel as though they were burning. He tensed and shifted slightly, arching his back a little into my palms briefly, but then stilled.
“Is this all right?”
A murmured response sounded as an affirmative as I gradually increased the pressure, feeling him relax bit by bit. Eventually, he turned his head the side, his grip on the pillow relaxing. “You want to stay for dinner? Not . . . not because of this, but because we’re going to be working together for the next year and a half and we’re both far too far from home.”
I nodded after a moment. “Sure, Orlando, I’d like that.”
“You know I’m a vegetarian, yeah?”
“Yeah, I do and I’ll survive.”
“Never see the point in just cooking for one person. Doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Who do you cook for back home?”
“My flatmate, my girlfriend . . . ex-girlfriend.”
“When did that happen?”
Orlando looked away again, to the coffee table inundated with books and scripts. “Last week.”
I looked up at that, my hands stopping their quest for providing Orlando some sort of succour. I certainly hadn’t expected that. Orlando was one of the few people I couldn’t quite read as of yet. He varied between being energetic, talkative, and very tactile, to quiet, introspective and generally calm. How easily he could switch between the two and genuinely so was baffling. “I’m sorry, Orlando. You know, you can always talk to me.”
“Orli,” he said looking back to me.
“What?”
“Call me Orli, everyone else does.”
“All right.”
“I can’t blame her. We’re a fucking hemisphere apart. . . . She found someone closer, more reliable.”
I took up massaging his back once more. “You seem reliable to me . . . dependable.”
He crooked and eyebrow at me. “Do I?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Most people see me as like a thrill-seeking dumb punk kid who almost got himself killed and still didn’t learn his lesson, not reliable.”
“You’re probably right, but that’s not how I see you.”
“Cheers.”
“For seeing you for what you are? You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“How about for taking the time to think differently? First impressions are a bitch, mate.”
“Bet that Mohawk hasn’t helped.”
Orlando chuckled faintly at that. “No . . . it certainly hasn’t. Doesn’t bother me really—sort of gotten used to it.”
“So have I.”
“Tired of being called a hippy?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Yeah, just a little. Those days passed long ago.”
“Thanks, Vig,” Orli said again, just as sincerely as last time.
“You’re welcome, Orli.”
I was distracted from my recollections when Henry poked his head into my studio. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting here before the ever blank canvas, but it was long enough for Henry to be looking at me amused. “Working hard, Dad?”
“Thinking.”
“About?”
“Orlando.”
Henry nodded as he ventured into the studio to stand at my shoulder. “How long is this shoot supposed to last?”
“Orli’s not sure; he says everything is taking twice as long as it should. Says he probably won’t get anytime off until it’s over.”
“You know how Orli is, Dad. He’ll circumnavigate the globe if it means he can see you.”
I smiled fondly at the truth of that statement. “One of the things I love about him.”
“Yeah, me too, I guess.”
“I’m glad you like him.”
“Kinda hard not to.” I laughed at that, turning my gaze back to the canvas. “What are you attempting to paint, Dad?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
I knew Henry was rolling his eyes behind me accompanied by the sigh of long-suffering that I plainly heard. “Try.”
“Life since I met Orlando.”
I turned back to see Henry raise both his eyebrows and cock his head to the side, obviously pondering that thought. Then he shrugged and patted me on the shoulder while saying quite sympathetically, “good luck with that,” and promptly left the room.
Rating: PG-13 language
Category: LotR RPS VM/OB
Summary: Can’t really explain it. Inspired by
marylou_gr’s post where she said: “. . . I realized that it just hurts too much to remember old times.” You don’t have to read the old chapters to make sense of this one.Previous Chapters:
Waiting for Inspiration, Settling, Four and A Half, Six Years, Simply Holding, Adjusting , The Days Without, Remembrances
I sat in front of a blank canvas imagining it filled with such vivid scenes I couldn’t even begin to create. Times like this were frustrating, when I could imagine it, when the image kept haunting me, yet it could not be made into a reality. When I could not fathom a way I could create the conjuration of my imagination on that plane of white. It’s not any easier to articulate on paper something destined to be painted. Yet, these the frustrations of those who create from nothing but their own mind.
I was home in Idaho for the first time in weeks, finished with filming and book signings and pleased to be home again particularly since Henry was home, though briefly for his spring break. We had chatted for a while about college, his friends, and his girlfriend of three and a half months. Somewhere between high school and college, Henry had decided that he didn’t actually mind having parents again, would talk to me more than he had in the rest of his teenage years. He no longer insisted on going straight to his room and slamming the door, though even now we were in separate rooms. No doubt he was talking to his friends on-line or whatever it was that he did on that laptop of his—his Christmas present to himself after repeatedly deeming the PC in his room “archaic”.
Whatever he was doing, I hoped he was having better luck than me, left with a blank canvas that was all but taunting me. I had tried staring out the window, pacing the length of my studio, but nothing was helping. I didn’t know where to begin and I couldn’t just start. Henry had asked about Orli, who was in the Caribbean filming . . . . still, and it was those questions that steered my ponderings away from the plane white before me. Back again to the days in New Zealand, which may not have been the best days of my life, but they were fairly close in the runnings. This time, my recollections took me back to when I first learned that Orlando had broken his back at the age of twenty-one and just how much the injury still plagued him, though he did his best not to let it show.
After filming briefly in the morning, we had returned to one of the many ranches around Queenstown to practice riding. Having horses of my own and growing up around them, I had always been comfortable on horses and didn’t need much in the way of practice, but I wanted to become familiar with the horse I was working with. Orlando was already at the stables when I had arrived that day, having finished filming even earlier than I. They had set up targets for him, wanting to get Orli comfortable with using a bow on horseback.
Glenorchy was a small town no more than fifteen minutes from the centre of Queenstown. A windy drive along Lake Wakatipu to the flat area that consistent mostly of ranches, the occasional house and of course, sheep. There were more sheep than people in New Zealand by a long shot. This time of year, January, was uncommonly hot, the Englishmen of the cast decidedly not used to the extremes of the weather. Today was overcast, however, but that only cooled down the New Zealand summer moderately, comfortably in my opinion used to the hot summers in Argentina and the US.
As I parked amidst two other cars in front of a paddock that now doubled as an archery range, I found that Orlando was already present. His red Jeep parked a little farther down, but the elf-in-training was mounted up, cantering swiftly along the other side of the fence. The tall white horse he rode on, didn’t deviate in the slightest as the mare tore down the paddock quite rapidly, Orlando holding on only with his knees, having to raise up slightly to properly draw back his bow, which evidently was not made for use on horseback. I stood watching, leaning on the car door as Orlando released the arrow, it shot from the bow accompanied by a sharp twang. I didn’t look immediately to see where the arrow struck, I figured it had by the soft thunk I heard, but I watched as he reached back for an arrow from the quiver strapped across his back. After he released the second arrow and drew the third, I glanced to the targets, wondering if he was disappointed by the results. He strove to perform well on these films, and seemed to throw every bit of himself into everything I had seen him do, from practicing elvish to equestrian, to learning his lines and his ‘elven grace’ as it had come to be called.
Finally, I closed the car door, making my way over to the stables, that were just behind “reception”, which was just a glorified storage shed to be perfectly honest. My instructor, of sorts, was already waiting for me, sitting on the railing of her horse’s stall, polishing one of the saddles, though her gelding was already saddled and waiting. The kiwi girl named Jiao was in her early twenties from what I had estimated from the few times we chatted during our sessions. Dressed in a pair of dusty jeans, well-worn boots, and a smudged brown tank top, Jiao looked up as I entered and grinned at me, shaking her head.
“When’s your birthday, Vig?” she asked, bracing her hands on either side of her and regarding me with frank curiosity. From the look in her dark brown eyes as I led my horse from his stall, I knew it was more than just a simple question.
I frowned at her as I rubbed the dark brown horse’s head. “Why?”
“So I can buy you a watch, love,” she stated with a smirk. “I’d love to let you go out alone, cause we both know you don’t need me, but I’m afraid you’d never come back. I don’t think your boss wants to look for yet another Aragorn.”
I laughed at that, knowing it was probably the truth with the beauty of the mountains, hills, the river, and the lake. I would happily forget time and keep riding. “I think I’d get the hint when the sun started to set.”
“Oh no you don’t, I plan on being out of here at six o’clock sharp. The hubbin’ is cooking me dinner.”
“Anniversary?” I asked, glancing back at her as I hefted the saddle.
“No, he just found a new hobby—Moroccan food,” Jiao admitted, jumping down from the wooden railing and leading her horse out of his stall. “You see Orlando out there?”
“He’s practicing archery with Mike and Jessy.”
“He’s getting really good with that bow,” Jiao noted. “Could you give him something for me?”
“Of course,” I responded, my hands stilling on the cinch as I looked over my shoulder at her.
She looked uncomfortable, the expression upsetting her smooth youthful features as she went over to her saddlebags. No searching required, Jiao quickly produced an object wrapped in cloth, that must have been silk—I realized when she handed it to me. The cloth was a pale blue with words written faintly all over in what I supposed was Cantonese, the language Jiao rattled off occasionally when she finally decided to answer her cell. “It’s for his back, my grandfather made it. If he’s taking painkillers, it won’t interfere, but he shouldn’t use if he’s on an anti-inflammatory as well. It won’t make him drowsy or anything like that.”
“What’s wrong with his back?”
Jiao shrugged, going back to her horse. “Don’t know, I could just tell it bothered him. More than it should for a guy my age. I figure he’s either strained it, slipped or herniated a disc sometime in his life or there’s some other mystery. I’m just a med student, not a doctor yet.”
I nodded slowly, still staring at the container. “When did you notice this?”
“Couple times. I don’t see him that often, just when we’re currying the horses or something like that. I know it’s not my business, but ‘do no harm’, you know,” Jiao said, lifting her shoulder in another shrug.
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”
Making it back on Jiao’s schedule meant there rest of the cast present at these stables for training were just leaving as well. Orli sat on the hood of his Jeep, talking with the man who would play Éomer, though I couldn’t recall his name. Liv sat next to Orli on his car, playing with Orli’s fingers even as they laughed at something the man of Rohan said. It was Orlando who noticed my approach first, though he didn’t say anything, simply watched me near.
“Hello, lover,” Liv greeted me, still smiling.
“Hello, my lady.”
“You met Karl yet, Viggo?” Orlando spoke up, nodding to the New Zealand native (that much I remembered).
“In passing,” I responded, extending my hand to the younger man. In fact, all three were younger than me, though Karl was the oldest of the three before me. Between Orlando and Liv, I wasn’t sure who was older, though Orlando’s natural energy made me think he was the younger one.
“Karl Urban.”
“Viggo Mortensen. I’ve seen you here quite a bit, just tend to leave when there’s no one else around, except maybe Mike.”
“I suppose I’ve taken on the method acting approach. Éomer being the leader of this Rohirrim, if I’m saying that right, I figure I better get damn comfortable on a horse. Not all of use can commune with animals like our resident elves,” Karl remarked dryly, gesturing offhandedly to Orlando and Liv.
“Aww, sweetie, it’s not my fault my horsie likes me,” Liv protested, though Orlando just grinned faintly remaining silent. “I think Mandy is about twenty and ready for a mid-life crisis.”
“Were you thrown?” I asked, sliding my eyes back to Karl.
“Fell,” Karl corrected rotating his shoulder. “Something spooked him, don’t know what. Orli keeps assuring me that he’ll fall as well and will most likely break something when he does. Somehow, he doesn’t understand that’s not helpful.”
“Everyone gets thrown. The horse doesn’t know you yet. Now you’re just another one of the countless people who has toured through these parts, but he’ll get used to you after a while. Then, when he does, he’ll start looking out for you, he’ll get used to you, if you really stick with it, or instantly if you’re an elf.”
Karl smirked at Liv and Orlando, shaking his head. “Elf Boy tells me you like to fish.”
“When I have the time.”
“Should go up to Tekapo sometime, it’s supposed to have great trout fishing. I’m not all that familiar with this part of the South Island, but it’s renowned for its fishing.”
“Sounds good,” I consented as Orlando slipped slowly off the hood of his Jeep and Liv hopped down after him.
“I’ll give you a ride home, Princess,” Orlando said to Liv softly. “You’ll have to apologise to the Hobbits for me.”
“You’re not coming out?” she asked with a frown, clearly not expecting that from Orlando on a Friday night.
“Need my energy for surfing tomorrow with Billy,” Orli said as he opened the door for Liv. “See you laters, Karl, Vig,” he offered as we headed off for our respective cars.
Surprisingly, I paid little attention to my surroundings as I drove back to Queenstown. I was lost in my thoughts, thinking of my son whom I hadn’t seen in months now and hating the time difference between the US and New Zealand. I suppose it wasn’t nearly as bad as those from the UK, and sympathised with those like Sean who had children as well. Near to my place just on the edge of Queenstown, I remembered what Jiao had given me for Orlando, which made me very aware of how slowly the person in front of me was going. It was impossible to pass anyone in the streets of Queenstown that were lined with parked cars, but I figured Orlando had to drop off Liv, so the delay wouldn’t matter.
Twenty minutes later, twice as long as the drive normally took, I arrived at Orlando’s small house on the opposite side of Queenstown. Orli’s Jeep was already parked in front of the small bungalow’s garage and I hoped he wasn’t in the shower already as I rang the bell, holding the wrapped container in hand. The house sat not far removed from the beach, far enough away from the neighbours that it probably felt strange from a young man had just come from London. The grass of the front lawn was cut short, a flowering tree nicknamed the New Zealand Christmas tree towering over the house and shading the entire front yard.
“Come in,” came Orlando’s voice, just barely heard through the thick rustic pine door.
I entered his house that I had been in often enough before, to find the house dark and silent. A soft “in here” led me to the living room where I found Orlando lying on his couch, one arm over his eyes, looking all but relaxed. At the creak of one of the floorboards, Orlando peeked out behind his forearm and offered me a tired smile in greeting.
“Hey, Vig,” he offered, then his eyes went suddenly wide as something occurred to him. “We weren’t supposed to go over elvish today, were we?”
“No, no, Lando, I just forgot to give you this,” I said moving to stand next to him and proffering the silk wrapped container. “It’s from Jiao, she says it’s for your back and that’ll be fine if you use it with pain killers just not with an anti-inflammatory. And it won’t make you drowsy.”
Orlando frowned as he removed the cloth from around the glass jar that fit easily into his long fingers. “Isn’t she in med school?”
“Yeah, said her grandfather made it,” I continued staring down at him. “I didn’t know you had problems with your back,” I noted. Now, I sat down next to him on the edge of the couch, not used to this decidedly subdued demeanour.
“Haven’t gotten used to riding for so long yet,” Orlando admitted, shifting uncomfortably, “but yeah, I hurt my back last year.”
“How badly?”
He laughed at that, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Broke it, mate. Doctors said I would probably never walk again.”
I regarded him carefully, staring at his abdomen as if I could see straight through to his vertebrae. “I don’t much believe in luck and I’m not sure what is you believe, but I’d say someone wanted you here.”
“My mother’s Anglican, my . . . father was Jewish,” Orlando responded. “I believe a lot of things and I don’t believe a lot. Why I got to walk out of hospital and the bloke in the next room has to be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, I don’t know. The doctors told me I was blessed to be alive and a miracle I could feel below my navel.”
“Jewish and Anglican . . . which one are you?”
“I was thinking of converting to Buddhism.”
I raised an eyebrow, easily knowing that he wasn’t joking. “How badly does it hurt?”
Orlando shrugged as much as he could in his reclined state. “’S fine, Vig. Thanks for bringing this by.”
I studied his face for a moment, staring into his eyes. Surprisingly, he didn’t look away. “Turn over, I’ll massage this into your back,” I instructed, taking the glass jar from where it rested on his chest. He looked hopeful, then grateful, and finally uncertain.
“Yeah? You’d do that?”
“Of course, turn over, Elf Boy.”
“Thank you, Viggo,” he said quite seriously.
I had the idea no one had shown him such simple compassion in a long time, certainly not outside his family. He shouldn’t have sounded so touched by someone offering to ease his pain just a little. “Don’t mention it,” I said, running a hand through his Mohawk.
He turned over slowly, a grimace on his face, holding his breath as he did so. By the time he was face down on the couch, he had fisted the pillow in both hands and was obviously in a great deal of pain. I slid back on the couch and pushed up the end of his T-shit, revealing a long scar paralleling his spine that I had managed not to notice in the past few weeks. All the muscles of his back were tensed and it didn’t seem as though he was relaxed in the slightest. “If it’s this bad now, how was it four months ago?”
“I’m on pain killers and muscle relaxants. This isn’t that bad. I’ve stopped taking them now that we’ve started filming.”
“Is that a good idea?” I asked as I unscrewed the top and collected some of the balm onto my fingers.
“Makes me too tired to concentrate. I can’t function like that. My physio taught me stretches to do, kinda like yoga, that helps some,” he said but stopped abruptly when I spread the balm over his lower back, over the scar and the ridges of the vertebrae. Carefully, I placed my hands over his back and started to massage in the balm that made my hands feel as though they were burning. He tensed and shifted slightly, arching his back a little into my palms briefly, but then stilled.
“Is this all right?”
A murmured response sounded as an affirmative as I gradually increased the pressure, feeling him relax bit by bit. Eventually, he turned his head the side, his grip on the pillow relaxing. “You want to stay for dinner? Not . . . not because of this, but because we’re going to be working together for the next year and a half and we’re both far too far from home.”
I nodded after a moment. “Sure, Orlando, I’d like that.”
“You know I’m a vegetarian, yeah?”
“Yeah, I do and I’ll survive.”
“Never see the point in just cooking for one person. Doesn’t seem worth it.”
“Who do you cook for back home?”
“My flatmate, my girlfriend . . . ex-girlfriend.”
“When did that happen?”
Orlando looked away again, to the coffee table inundated with books and scripts. “Last week.”
I looked up at that, my hands stopping their quest for providing Orlando some sort of succour. I certainly hadn’t expected that. Orlando was one of the few people I couldn’t quite read as of yet. He varied between being energetic, talkative, and very tactile, to quiet, introspective and generally calm. How easily he could switch between the two and genuinely so was baffling. “I’m sorry, Orlando. You know, you can always talk to me.”
“Orli,” he said looking back to me.
“What?”
“Call me Orli, everyone else does.”
“All right.”
“I can’t blame her. We’re a fucking hemisphere apart. . . . She found someone closer, more reliable.”
I took up massaging his back once more. “You seem reliable to me . . . dependable.”
He crooked and eyebrow at me. “Do I?”
“You seem surprised.”
“Most people see me as like a thrill-seeking dumb punk kid who almost got himself killed and still didn’t learn his lesson, not reliable.”
“You’re probably right, but that’s not how I see you.”
“Cheers.”
“For seeing you for what you are? You don’t have to thank me for that.”
“How about for taking the time to think differently? First impressions are a bitch, mate.”
“Bet that Mohawk hasn’t helped.”
Orlando chuckled faintly at that. “No . . . it certainly hasn’t. Doesn’t bother me really—sort of gotten used to it.”
“So have I.”
“Tired of being called a hippy?”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “Yeah, just a little. Those days passed long ago.”
“Thanks, Vig,” Orli said again, just as sincerely as last time.
“You’re welcome, Orli.”
I was distracted from my recollections when Henry poked his head into my studio. I didn’t know how long I had been sitting here before the ever blank canvas, but it was long enough for Henry to be looking at me amused. “Working hard, Dad?”
“Thinking.”
“About?”
“Orlando.”
Henry nodded as he ventured into the studio to stand at my shoulder. “How long is this shoot supposed to last?”
“Orli’s not sure; he says everything is taking twice as long as it should. Says he probably won’t get anytime off until it’s over.”
“You know how Orli is, Dad. He’ll circumnavigate the globe if it means he can see you.”
I smiled fondly at the truth of that statement. “One of the things I love about him.”
“Yeah, me too, I guess.”
“I’m glad you like him.”
“Kinda hard not to.” I laughed at that, turning my gaze back to the canvas. “What are you attempting to paint, Dad?”
“It’s difficult to explain.”
I knew Henry was rolling his eyes behind me accompanied by the sigh of long-suffering that I plainly heard. “Try.”
“Life since I met Orlando.”
I turned back to see Henry raise both his eyebrows and cock his head to the side, obviously pondering that thought. Then he shrugged and patted me on the shoulder while saying quite sympathetically, “good luck with that,” and promptly left the room.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 04:09 am (UTC)too much to name off, but I just like it all.
good job!
no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 05:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 12:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-13 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-14 10:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-14 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-15 07:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-15 08:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-17 04:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-18 01:10 am (UTC)