Over my dead body.
Jan. 29th, 2004 12:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hackthis_archiveFYI: I’m adoring ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lux__aeterna’s Misfit Series muchly even though I'm not what one would call an Elijah Wood fan. [/understatement of the century]
LOTRips (EW/DM; EW/BB)
Transfiguration
The tremors start in the middle of the night and keep him awake for hours on end. His muscles twitch and his right eye tics, and Elijah gets out of bed because he can’t take the waiting anymore.
He grabs his cigarettes and an ashtray and drags a chair over to the window in the corner. He unlatches the window and pushes the pane as far up as it will go, until the frame creaks in protest. Below him the city shrieks and blares its nightly tune, and he settles back in his chair, splaying out pale limbs akimbo. The momentary spark of brightness from his lighter hurts his eyes, and he closes them as he exhales and the tightness in his chest begins to subside.
He smokes, naked, in front of his window in the middle of the night, and as the cold pinches his nerves, the twitching begins to subside and a little voice whispers that change is coming soon.
Finally.
*
He wakes up late, after he’s rolled over two or three times and run out of space on the mattress and the next potential place is the hardwood floor that’s just too cold for bare skin. His days consist of reading scripts for movies that are bound to be horrible, but he can’t stop himself from running on the wheel that’s going to be the rest of his life. He’s not quite sure what he would do if he stopped acting. He doesn’t have any ‘Marketable Skills.’ He’s an actor. It’s what he does. Sometimes it’s who he is. He wants things to change. He knows they should.
His body twitches and trembles as a sign.
*
He goes to lunch with Orli and Viggo when they’re passing through on layovers to the brilliant, spectacular lives that they’ve grown into. He keeps up his end of the conversation, and they trade stories of roles that might come to pass or have already long gone. They talk about movies as though they’re important enough to sustain a life on. As though they’re not being sucked dry too. But Elijah remembers how alive everyone was in New Zealand, and now he only sees shells.
Everyone is changing into someone other than themselves.
It’s pouring rain when they leave the restaurant, and the cold city wind slices through Elijah’s red blazer as though he weren’t wearing anything at all. The weather in New York always knows how to cut through to the heart of the matter, and it strips him raw like an onion that’s been peeled and left on the counter too long.
They trade goodbyes under the awning of the restaurant as the taxis pull up at the curb, sending small tidal waves of water seeping into the fabric of Elijah’s shoes. As his yellow cab pulls away from the curb, Elijah turns back to wave and wonders if he’ll recognize Viggo the next time he sees him. Orlando’s already so changed, he’s practically a stranger, and Elijah can’t tell if he’s jealous or concerned or sad. Perhaps it’s all three.
The palm of his left hand itches, and he picks at the rubber soles of his Converse and slumps into vinyl grooves worn into the seats by other bodies. The All Star tag on the back heel of his right shoe is coming off, and he should buy a new pair soon. The backseat of the taxi is tacky and smells of stale beer and Lysol. All New York taxis smell the same, and there are red wine stains and breadcrumbs on the lapels of his jacket.
He likes this jacket. It’s not necessarily something everyone would wear. His chest gets tight and his eye begins to tic as he wonders if he’ll still want it a month from now. A year from now. He scratches at the inside of his wrist and wonders how his body is going to change when he’s finally turned into whomever he’s going to become.
*
He smokes on the fire escape and when he’s in the bathroom, doing nothing more than flipping through magazines that are impossibly old. He lights clove after clove when he’s on the phone with his mother and Hannah, and then leaves them burning in ashtrays when he goes into the other rooms. He goes from room to room in the apartment lighting cloves, until there are burning cigarettes in every room of his apartment, and then he forgets about them until his hands begin to itch for something to do. He wonders if this habit is ever going to change, or if he will do this his entire life.
He likes the click-catching sound his lighter makes when he smokes, and when he’s on the phone with Dom, he studies the thin gold circles that delineate the gradation from filter to tobacco.
Sometimes he cuts open his cloves just because he wants to see how his cigarettes are made. It’s not a great mystery; he’s seen the warning specials on television just like everyone else. He’s also seen The Truth commercials and their guerillas tactical squad down on Avenue A. Elijah also remembers the way that Dom purposefully dug out a cigarette just to be an ass, but it *was* Dom, and it was only to be expected since sometimes he acts even younger than Elijah.
As for the cloves, it’s not as though there’s ever anything more than filler and cotton and paper to be uncovered, but he figures that one day this will change since everything does. It’s only a matter of time.
*
He left Los Angeles because he didn’t like who he was anymore when he was there. The clubs, the boys, the girls, were all the same. Even when the venue was different, nothing ever really changed, and Elijah didn’t like who he had become and the way everything seemed to grate on his nerves. He was standing still, and the rest of the world was going by while he was living in his mother’s guesthouse and shagging Dominic in the kitchen. He was so far removed from his life it was like he was watching it happen to someone else, and it wasn’t even any good. It didn’t feel right.
And then Dom moved out, and he moved to New York and it felt better. Like this was the right path; like this was the right Elijah. He knew he wasn’t quite *right* when he came to Manhattan, but at least he had potential to make something of the mess he called a life. No Dom. No Hannah. No mom; just Elijah, whoever that was.
Except that it's hard to think about himself when other people keep encroaching on his sense of self, and where Dom used to fill in the gaps Elijah keeps finding Billy instead. One visit and then two, and then there are strip clubs where he gets hard thinking about Billy instead of the women crawling all over him, and it's -- distracting.
How can he figure out who he is and what he wants and who he's supposed to be when Billy's around, swearing in that accent and padding barefoot through his living room?
This is not the change that Elijah meant. This is not the one he’s waiting on, and he has to keep pinching himself to keep from doing something stupid, because Billy is his friend and Dom is his ex, and there are some changes that are just bad all around.
*
One day he’s going to wake up as someone else. It’s already happening bit by bit between the movie roles and New York and the cigarette smoke prematurely helping him age. The old Elijah is slipping away, and all these things are a part of his great transformation into this person he wants to become somewhere along the line. He’s grown tired of being himself. He’s ready for a change. A real change. Not the kind that slips away onto celluloid and is forgotten at the end of the shooting day. He’s going to become someone else; it’s just going to take a little time. Unfortunately, he’s not exactly known for his patience.
Naturally, he doesn’t harbor any ridiculous assumptions that this transformation is going to happen magically in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being disappointed when he wakes up in the morning and can’t discern any change.
Lying in bed, he runs his hands over his face and can still feel the same sooty eyelashes and messy hair. In the mirror, his lips are thin and there’s the tiniest bit of stubble covering his jaw. In the shower the pads of his fingers brush over the taunt skin on his collarbones, but he can barely feel it. He scrubs at his forearms until they’re pink and shampoos his hair until the bottle is empty. He jerks off until he feels raw.
When he steps out of the shower, he drips all over the boxers he’s discarded on the bathroom floor, and for a moment he holds his breath as he brushes away the condensation that’s collected on the mirror on the medicine cabinet. When he looks at his reflection, he sighs and goes back to his daily ablutions. But even as he scratches at his chest and leaves long red welts on pale skin, he has hope in the back of his mind, creeping into his thoughts.
One day a change is going to happen, and then he won’t even know himself; it's what he's longing for.
-end-
Improvs fromserialkarma (gold, drip, crumb, burn, pinch, wine) and ethrosdemon (tremor, vinyl, converse).
Thanks toserialkarma for beta duty. That's love, dude.
lux__aeterna’s Misfit Series muchly even though I'm not what one would call an Elijah Wood fan. [/understatement of the century] LOTRips (EW/DM; EW/BB)
The tremors start in the middle of the night and keep him awake for hours on end. His muscles twitch and his right eye tics, and Elijah gets out of bed because he can’t take the waiting anymore.
He grabs his cigarettes and an ashtray and drags a chair over to the window in the corner. He unlatches the window and pushes the pane as far up as it will go, until the frame creaks in protest. Below him the city shrieks and blares its nightly tune, and he settles back in his chair, splaying out pale limbs akimbo. The momentary spark of brightness from his lighter hurts his eyes, and he closes them as he exhales and the tightness in his chest begins to subside.
He smokes, naked, in front of his window in the middle of the night, and as the cold pinches his nerves, the twitching begins to subside and a little voice whispers that change is coming soon.
Finally.
He wakes up late, after he’s rolled over two or three times and run out of space on the mattress and the next potential place is the hardwood floor that’s just too cold for bare skin. His days consist of reading scripts for movies that are bound to be horrible, but he can’t stop himself from running on the wheel that’s going to be the rest of his life. He’s not quite sure what he would do if he stopped acting. He doesn’t have any ‘Marketable Skills.’ He’s an actor. It’s what he does. Sometimes it’s who he is. He wants things to change. He knows they should.
His body twitches and trembles as a sign.
He goes to lunch with Orli and Viggo when they’re passing through on layovers to the brilliant, spectacular lives that they’ve grown into. He keeps up his end of the conversation, and they trade stories of roles that might come to pass or have already long gone. They talk about movies as though they’re important enough to sustain a life on. As though they’re not being sucked dry too. But Elijah remembers how alive everyone was in New Zealand, and now he only sees shells.
Everyone is changing into someone other than themselves.
It’s pouring rain when they leave the restaurant, and the cold city wind slices through Elijah’s red blazer as though he weren’t wearing anything at all. The weather in New York always knows how to cut through to the heart of the matter, and it strips him raw like an onion that’s been peeled and left on the counter too long.
They trade goodbyes under the awning of the restaurant as the taxis pull up at the curb, sending small tidal waves of water seeping into the fabric of Elijah’s shoes. As his yellow cab pulls away from the curb, Elijah turns back to wave and wonders if he’ll recognize Viggo the next time he sees him. Orlando’s already so changed, he’s practically a stranger, and Elijah can’t tell if he’s jealous or concerned or sad. Perhaps it’s all three.
The palm of his left hand itches, and he picks at the rubber soles of his Converse and slumps into vinyl grooves worn into the seats by other bodies. The All Star tag on the back heel of his right shoe is coming off, and he should buy a new pair soon. The backseat of the taxi is tacky and smells of stale beer and Lysol. All New York taxis smell the same, and there are red wine stains and breadcrumbs on the lapels of his jacket.
He likes this jacket. It’s not necessarily something everyone would wear. His chest gets tight and his eye begins to tic as he wonders if he’ll still want it a month from now. A year from now. He scratches at the inside of his wrist and wonders how his body is going to change when he’s finally turned into whomever he’s going to become.
He smokes on the fire escape and when he’s in the bathroom, doing nothing more than flipping through magazines that are impossibly old. He lights clove after clove when he’s on the phone with his mother and Hannah, and then leaves them burning in ashtrays when he goes into the other rooms. He goes from room to room in the apartment lighting cloves, until there are burning cigarettes in every room of his apartment, and then he forgets about them until his hands begin to itch for something to do. He wonders if this habit is ever going to change, or if he will do this his entire life.
He likes the click-catching sound his lighter makes when he smokes, and when he’s on the phone with Dom, he studies the thin gold circles that delineate the gradation from filter to tobacco.
Sometimes he cuts open his cloves just because he wants to see how his cigarettes are made. It’s not a great mystery; he’s seen the warning specials on television just like everyone else. He’s also seen The Truth commercials and their guerillas tactical squad down on Avenue A. Elijah also remembers the way that Dom purposefully dug out a cigarette just to be an ass, but it *was* Dom, and it was only to be expected since sometimes he acts even younger than Elijah.
As for the cloves, it’s not as though there’s ever anything more than filler and cotton and paper to be uncovered, but he figures that one day this will change since everything does. It’s only a matter of time.
He left Los Angeles because he didn’t like who he was anymore when he was there. The clubs, the boys, the girls, were all the same. Even when the venue was different, nothing ever really changed, and Elijah didn’t like who he had become and the way everything seemed to grate on his nerves. He was standing still, and the rest of the world was going by while he was living in his mother’s guesthouse and shagging Dominic in the kitchen. He was so far removed from his life it was like he was watching it happen to someone else, and it wasn’t even any good. It didn’t feel right.
And then Dom moved out, and he moved to New York and it felt better. Like this was the right path; like this was the right Elijah. He knew he wasn’t quite *right* when he came to Manhattan, but at least he had potential to make something of the mess he called a life. No Dom. No Hannah. No mom; just Elijah, whoever that was.
Except that it's hard to think about himself when other people keep encroaching on his sense of self, and where Dom used to fill in the gaps Elijah keeps finding Billy instead. One visit and then two, and then there are strip clubs where he gets hard thinking about Billy instead of the women crawling all over him, and it's -- distracting.
How can he figure out who he is and what he wants and who he's supposed to be when Billy's around, swearing in that accent and padding barefoot through his living room?
This is not the change that Elijah meant. This is not the one he’s waiting on, and he has to keep pinching himself to keep from doing something stupid, because Billy is his friend and Dom is his ex, and there are some changes that are just bad all around.
One day he’s going to wake up as someone else. It’s already happening bit by bit between the movie roles and New York and the cigarette smoke prematurely helping him age. The old Elijah is slipping away, and all these things are a part of his great transformation into this person he wants to become somewhere along the line. He’s grown tired of being himself. He’s ready for a change. A real change. Not the kind that slips away onto celluloid and is forgotten at the end of the shooting day. He’s going to become someone else; it’s just going to take a little time. Unfortunately, he’s not exactly known for his patience.
Naturally, he doesn’t harbor any ridiculous assumptions that this transformation is going to happen magically in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being disappointed when he wakes up in the morning and can’t discern any change.
Lying in bed, he runs his hands over his face and can still feel the same sooty eyelashes and messy hair. In the mirror, his lips are thin and there’s the tiniest bit of stubble covering his jaw. In the shower the pads of his fingers brush over the taunt skin on his collarbones, but he can barely feel it. He scrubs at his forearms until they’re pink and shampoos his hair until the bottle is empty. He jerks off until he feels raw.
When he steps out of the shower, he drips all over the boxers he’s discarded on the bathroom floor, and for a moment he holds his breath as he brushes away the condensation that’s collected on the mirror on the medicine cabinet. When he looks at his reflection, he sighs and goes back to his daily ablutions. But even as he scratches at his chest and leaves long red welts on pale skin, he has hope in the back of his mind, creeping into his thoughts.
One day a change is going to happen, and then he won’t even know himself; it's what he's longing for.
-end-
Improvs from
serialkarma (gold, drip, crumb, burn, pinch, wine) and ethrosdemon (tremor, vinyl, converse). Thanks to
serialkarma for beta duty. That's love, dude.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 08:49 pm (UTC)Instead, I liked it rather a lot. New York is cold, just like that. I like the naked smoking at the window, and the fear.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 11:24 pm (UTC)I'm so horrified that you would think that I would do that -- I may have to stop talking to you now. [has moment of horror] Okay, the shunning is over, but really, the horror.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 03:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 09:12 pm (UTC)and the whole thing reminded me - in a very weird, kind of vague way - of "the metamorphosis," which i had to read at the beginning of this year in a one-night-blur, so i don't remember much.
and your description of new york city - how it strips you like an onion - is spot on.
this is unsettling, perhaps because elijah himself seems a little unsettled. i thoroughly enjoyed it - it builds, and i like that.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 09:36 pm (UTC)in other words, beta-ing this was hardly a hardship. My pleasure.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 09:50 pm (UTC)angsty elijah is my favourite obsession.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 11:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-29 11:23 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 11:58 pm (UTC)Thank you very much!
no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 12:06 am (UTC)http://www.meret.illuminatedtext.com/forzahrafrommeret.jpeg
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 12:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 01:13 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 05:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 03:19 am (UTC)Re: This time with improved spelling!
Date: 2004-01-30 05:35 pm (UTC)You say the sweetest things, but considering that you're to blame for me even thinking about writing The Wombat, I suspect you should place some of this on your shoulders. I'm so pleased you enjoyed it though, thank you!
WTF
Date: 2004-01-30 03:20 am (UTC)He smokes, naked, in front of his window in the middle of the night, and as the cold pinches his nerves, the twitching begins to subside and a little voice whispers that change is coming soon.
Such a lovely and real image. How am I feeling bad for this guy that gets on my last nerve as a person? You should listen to TTT commentary, you would detest the wombat again. But you write him like life lived underwater.
Everyone is changing into someone other than themselves.
Viggo says: All we really are is some constant flux we hang the name Me on. We try to hold on to something, but it's never the same something five minutes from the impulse.
Yeah. I love it.
They trade goodbyes under the awning of the restaurant as the taxis pull up at the curb, sending small tidal waves of water seeping into the fabric of Elijah’s shoes. As his yellow cab pulls away from the curb, Elijah turns back to wave and wonders if he’ll recognize Viggo the next time he sees him. Orlando’s already so changed, he’s practically a stranger, and Elijah can’t tell if he’s jealous or concerned or sad. Perhaps it’s all three.
Holy fucking hell. !!! This shit is so tight. You know that, right? you KNOW how good this is? Please tell me you do. I won't even play with you here. I think lotrips brings it out in people. So many people do their best work in this fandom. I am thinking you might be one, babe. Honestly. Shit.
You know what next week is, right? lol
This is a thinking story, so I expect people aren't going to like it, you know how people are idiots. But I'm your chorus, and I'm here to tell you that this is brilliant.
Re: WTF
Date: 2004-01-30 05:40 pm (UTC)Dude, I have two, strictly for writing purposes though, so don't completely do your nut. This does not mean I harbor any sort of actual *like* for him or anything - be for real. I just find him marginally easier to write, than say, The King. That's like blood from a fucking piece of zinc.
Such a lovely and real image. How am I feeling bad for this guy that gets on my last nerve as a person? You should listen to TTT commentary, you would detest the wombat again. But you write him like life lived underwater.
Sweetie, please note the icon, I have not stopped with the detesting. And also, YOU have him on your icon too, can we just point that out?
Holy fucking hell. !!! This shit is so tight. You know that, right? you KNOW how good this is? Please tell me you do. I won't even play with you here. I think lotrips brings it out in people. So many people do their best work in this fandom. I am thinking you might be one, babe. Honestly. Shit.
I don't know about best work or anything, you know my feelings about my writing, but I do admit I like writing it, LOTRips I mean. It seems very cleansing or something. WTF. So talking out my ass, but whatever. Also, yes, I know somebody's B'Day is next week, you need to tell me what you want, and also your birthday present is gonna be late, just letting you know in advance.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 03:51 am (UTC)Guh. Just. Guh.
*huggles you madly*
What would this be? Tinhatkiltery?
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 05:42 pm (UTC)*dies*
That's so an icon.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 08:50 am (UTC)'Tis fantastic. :D Lij lusting after Billy is superhot.
Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 05:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-30 07:31 pm (UTC)Re:
Date: 2004-01-30 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-31 07:05 pm (UTC)Fuck yes. I was distracted by this line, and I thought about it for the rest of the story. B/c I liked the rest of it, and it twisted my heart up into a little crumpled ball -- but that fucking line is so true. You can't hide anything in the face of cold NYC wind.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-02 11:28 pm (UTC)Fuck yes. I was distracted by this line, and I thought about it for the rest of the story. B/c I liked the rest of it, and it twisted my heart up into a little crumpled ball -- but that fucking line is so true. You can't hide anything in the face of cold NYC wind.
New York is a cold, cold place. And dear god, I hope the Wombat spate will end soon...
no subject
Date: 2004-02-02 12:32 am (UTC)every new section is like just another part of the same movement. one long fidgeting gesture. you don't make the obvious choices here, you don't make him realize he loves dom after he's left him, or even regret that he is leaving behind the elijah he was; he just moves forward, and that's who he is. and the fact that you never actually give the payoff- you never actually show his 'change'- makes it so much more powerful.
i'm so fucking glad you're writing lotrips again.
i'm so fucking glad you wrote this.
i'm so fucking in love with you.
Re:
Date: 2004-02-02 11:49 pm (UTC)I'm not terribly into that eleventh hour regret thing, so I think it would come to pass that it wouldn't really appear in my stories either. I'm a firm believer in moving forward and taking it as it comes... which is totally going to come up later this week. I am so sensing a theme. I'm so pleased you enjoyed this, sweetie, I'm off to read part three now!
no subject
Date: 2004-02-06 08:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-03-07 05:49 pm (UTC)