hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-02-24 12:45 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-02-24 12:45 pm
LOTRips – Bellini
a) Did you know that when it rains the collective IQ of LA County drops by, like, 30%? True story.
b) I wrote HP. Really. It’s here.
c)![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
edigo made me this lovely Dom icon, and when I started making noises about Fiction!Dom leaving L.A., she got very excited. This prolly wasn’t what she meant.
LOTRips
Bellini - n. (slang) – 1. The ubiquitous perfect heist or perfect plan. 2. The one thing that will make everything right. See Welcome to Collinwood. Note: Not to be confused with the drink.
Dominic has a plan to fix everything that’s wrong. He knows how to save the trees and the environment. He wants to save Orli from himself and the planet from those who refuse to recycle. Dom could figure out everything given enough time, but it’s only after everything in his life has gone pear-shaped, and he’s blacked out in one too many strange homes, that he decides it’s time to regroup and make a new plan.
He needs to fix himself.
His solution isn’t a complex idea or deeply involved with lots of connecting parts. Dom’s plan doesn’t involve collaborations or bits from the store, drawings on cardboard diagrams and long rotas and lots of people. He’s not off to an analyst to have his head done in.
Dom’s plan is fairly simple:
He’s tired of Los Angeles. He’s tired of lying about who he is for no discernible purpose or end. He wants to go to the chippie and down to the pub to see the match at a proper hour of the day. He’s had enough of satellite viewing at half four in the morning. He wants to go home where it’s safe. So, he’s just going to leave and figure it out when he gets to the other end.
It’s not a terribly involved plan – but he thinks that’s why it’ll work.
*
He doesn’t pack; he flees.
He balls up his shirts and tosses them in the luggage along with trainers that are still damp from the rain outside. He takes one suit out of the thirteen that are in the wardrobe, folds it up like a square of paper, and wedges it in as well. Dom likes the clothing he’s accumulated since he moved to California, but he suspects that all the shiny, pretty things are part of the larger, overall problem.
He shouldn’t be defined by what he wears.
He makes sure to take the stuffed bear that Liv gave him and the framed photograph of the hobbits and Orli from the first premiere. He stuffs his journals in his rucksack and is still digging around under the bed when the car pulls up outside. What’s important is that he’s got his passport in one back pocket and his iPod in the other. He’s leaving a lot of CDs behind, but he reckons they’ll be obsolete soon enough anyway.
As Dom closes the door behind him, he realises he’s still got half of an orange tee shirt flapping outside the case in his hand but he lets it go with a half-smile. Dom’s barely taken an eighth of what’s in his flat anyway, and this doesn’t bother him that much. He’s not sure if he’s coming back for the rest. He doesn’t really care either.
He’ll fix it later. He’ll fix it all later.
*
The wait at the airport is inhumane, and Dom clutches his bags as though they’re his lifeline to getting out of this mess alive.
There are women and men and boogie-covered children all over the place, and it’s only when Dom gets to the queue for Virgin Atlantic that he realises that perhaps he should’ve phoned first. It’s clear that the woman behind the desk wants to laugh in his face when he asks about the next available flight out of hell, but when he pulls out his passport and she gets a better look at him, she starts singing an entirely different song.
Suddenly it doesn’t matter that his laces are wet and undone and dripping all over the floor. And while Dom will always appreciate the perks that come with minor celebrity, a small part of him is wondering why he deserves better than anybody else, and he suspects that it’s a good thing he’s going home where everybody is equally mired in shit.
*
He rings Elijah during his stopover at JFK, but nobody picks up, and Dom finds himself listening to tinny mp3's of The Shins music. Long after the answerphone has beeped, Dom’s still silent, trying to figure out what he wants to say.
He’s counted to eight before the words start to come:
“Lij, I’m going home for a bit. I mean like home, proper, so I dunno when I’m coming back, if, when, I actually, um, yeah... I’m thinking I might run up to Manchester and see my mum for a bit, or maybe head down to London and see a few of my mates. I’ll ring you when I get things more sorted out, since I’m not sure if my mobile actually works over there… I mean, I’ve got a mobile that works at home, but I couldn’t find it before I left, and I’ll probably just sort something out once I get there... I think.”
When the answerphone cuts him off, he calls back again, and starts rambling away.
“It’s me, Dom, not that you didn’t know that... I know we’ve not talked about it a lot, but I just wanted to say that I hope New York works out for you and all that rubbish. L.A. was – it was good, but you know, it’s not really me, I think. It’s a nice place to visit and all, but it’s a bit much and I think I need something else. I think you know how that goes...”
Dom hangs up before he can say anything else.
*
Dom’s plan was simple enough at its heart:
Dom wanted to leave Los Angeles and go someplace where he felt like – like himself. Except that there were only so many places he could run to, and when he first got to LAX, he immediately headed for the Quantas counter to go to New Zealand. New Zealand is Dom’s promised land and the one place on earth where Dom thinks he could always feel happy – except it didn’t quite seem right to go there alone.
His next thought was to go to British Airways and get on the first flight home to his mum, but he reckons he's a bit old for that, and when he goes home he wants to have a clearer head than the one he’s got on his shoulders now.
If he showed up on his mum’s doorstep looking as disheveled and as out of sorts as he is, she would do her nut.
That left him with two places off the top of his head and the woman booking the flights said the one for Glasgow left first. So even if Dom hadn’t intended to run to Billy, that’s where he’s gone now, and when the taxi pulls up outside Billy’s house, Dom wonders if anybody even home.
It might’ve helped if he’d rung first.
He’s standing at the gate, rucksack over one shoulder and suitcase at his feet, trying to figure out what sort of plan has him outside Billy’s house in seven in the morning, when the front door opens and Billy emerges, wrapped in his dressing gown with his hair going every which way.
“Is that really you?” he says, his confusion quite clear.
Dom drops his bag, opens the gate and walks through to the otherside. Billy’s got lines on his face from sleeping too hard, and Dom exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You should probably lay off the drugs if you can’t tell the difference.”
He laughs when Billy punches him in the arm.
“Did you just get here? Never mind,” Billy says, answering his own question. “I would’ve come to get you if you’d asked, or you know, rung.”
Dom shrugs rather than answering and bends down to pick up the paper lying at his feet.
Billy takes the paper and gestures behind Dom with a flick of his wrist. “It’s not a visit, is it?” he asks, taking in the bulging sides of Dom’s bags.
“Is that all right?”
Dom straightens up as Billy’s raised eyebrow says it all. “You think I bought this house just for me? What’s the point in having a kitchen if I’ve not got a chef to use it?”
Dom’s smile feels real. It’s been entirely too long. “Just checking.”
“There’s nothing to sort out,” Billy’s tone is slightly offended as he slips the paper under his arm. “You know that -- but can we not continue this conversation inside? It’s cold and –“
“Your bits are freezing off,” Dom finishes stepping away to gather his bags.
Billy heads towards the front door and pauses in the entryway. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he laughs.
“Why do you think I came all this way?’
When Billy blinks, Dom wonders if he should’ve made that sound more like a joke and less like the truth, but that’s a matter for another day altogether.
One plan at a time.
-end-
Improv byserialkarma: orange, cardboard, lace, music, drip, silent
b) I wrote HP. Really. It’s here.
c)
edigo made me this lovely Dom icon, and when I started making noises about Fiction!Dom leaving L.A., she got very excited. This prolly wasn’t what she meant. LOTRips
Bellini - n. (slang) – 1. The ubiquitous perfect heist or perfect plan. 2. The one thing that will make everything right. See Welcome to Collinwood. Note: Not to be confused with the drink.
Dominic has a plan to fix everything that’s wrong. He knows how to save the trees and the environment. He wants to save Orli from himself and the planet from those who refuse to recycle. Dom could figure out everything given enough time, but it’s only after everything in his life has gone pear-shaped, and he’s blacked out in one too many strange homes, that he decides it’s time to regroup and make a new plan.
He needs to fix himself.
His solution isn’t a complex idea or deeply involved with lots of connecting parts. Dom’s plan doesn’t involve collaborations or bits from the store, drawings on cardboard diagrams and long rotas and lots of people. He’s not off to an analyst to have his head done in.
Dom’s plan is fairly simple:
He’s tired of Los Angeles. He’s tired of lying about who he is for no discernible purpose or end. He wants to go to the chippie and down to the pub to see the match at a proper hour of the day. He’s had enough of satellite viewing at half four in the morning. He wants to go home where it’s safe. So, he’s just going to leave and figure it out when he gets to the other end.
It’s not a terribly involved plan – but he thinks that’s why it’ll work.
He doesn’t pack; he flees.
He balls up his shirts and tosses them in the luggage along with trainers that are still damp from the rain outside. He takes one suit out of the thirteen that are in the wardrobe, folds it up like a square of paper, and wedges it in as well. Dom likes the clothing he’s accumulated since he moved to California, but he suspects that all the shiny, pretty things are part of the larger, overall problem.
He shouldn’t be defined by what he wears.
He makes sure to take the stuffed bear that Liv gave him and the framed photograph of the hobbits and Orli from the first premiere. He stuffs his journals in his rucksack and is still digging around under the bed when the car pulls up outside. What’s important is that he’s got his passport in one back pocket and his iPod in the other. He’s leaving a lot of CDs behind, but he reckons they’ll be obsolete soon enough anyway.
As Dom closes the door behind him, he realises he’s still got half of an orange tee shirt flapping outside the case in his hand but he lets it go with a half-smile. Dom’s barely taken an eighth of what’s in his flat anyway, and this doesn’t bother him that much. He’s not sure if he’s coming back for the rest. He doesn’t really care either.
He’ll fix it later. He’ll fix it all later.
The wait at the airport is inhumane, and Dom clutches his bags as though they’re his lifeline to getting out of this mess alive.
There are women and men and boogie-covered children all over the place, and it’s only when Dom gets to the queue for Virgin Atlantic that he realises that perhaps he should’ve phoned first. It’s clear that the woman behind the desk wants to laugh in his face when he asks about the next available flight out of hell, but when he pulls out his passport and she gets a better look at him, she starts singing an entirely different song.
Suddenly it doesn’t matter that his laces are wet and undone and dripping all over the floor. And while Dom will always appreciate the perks that come with minor celebrity, a small part of him is wondering why he deserves better than anybody else, and he suspects that it’s a good thing he’s going home where everybody is equally mired in shit.
He rings Elijah during his stopover at JFK, but nobody picks up, and Dom finds himself listening to tinny mp3's of The Shins music. Long after the answerphone has beeped, Dom’s still silent, trying to figure out what he wants to say.
He’s counted to eight before the words start to come:
“Lij, I’m going home for a bit. I mean like home, proper, so I dunno when I’m coming back, if, when, I actually, um, yeah... I’m thinking I might run up to Manchester and see my mum for a bit, or maybe head down to London and see a few of my mates. I’ll ring you when I get things more sorted out, since I’m not sure if my mobile actually works over there… I mean, I’ve got a mobile that works at home, but I couldn’t find it before I left, and I’ll probably just sort something out once I get there... I think.”
When the answerphone cuts him off, he calls back again, and starts rambling away.
“It’s me, Dom, not that you didn’t know that... I know we’ve not talked about it a lot, but I just wanted to say that I hope New York works out for you and all that rubbish. L.A. was – it was good, but you know, it’s not really me, I think. It’s a nice place to visit and all, but it’s a bit much and I think I need something else. I think you know how that goes...”
Dom hangs up before he can say anything else.
Dom’s plan was simple enough at its heart:
Dom wanted to leave Los Angeles and go someplace where he felt like – like himself. Except that there were only so many places he could run to, and when he first got to LAX, he immediately headed for the Quantas counter to go to New Zealand. New Zealand is Dom’s promised land and the one place on earth where Dom thinks he could always feel happy – except it didn’t quite seem right to go there alone.
His next thought was to go to British Airways and get on the first flight home to his mum, but he reckons he's a bit old for that, and when he goes home he wants to have a clearer head than the one he’s got on his shoulders now.
If he showed up on his mum’s doorstep looking as disheveled and as out of sorts as he is, she would do her nut.
That left him with two places off the top of his head and the woman booking the flights said the one for Glasgow left first. So even if Dom hadn’t intended to run to Billy, that’s where he’s gone now, and when the taxi pulls up outside Billy’s house, Dom wonders if anybody even home.
It might’ve helped if he’d rung first.
He’s standing at the gate, rucksack over one shoulder and suitcase at his feet, trying to figure out what sort of plan has him outside Billy’s house in seven in the morning, when the front door opens and Billy emerges, wrapped in his dressing gown with his hair going every which way.
“Is that really you?” he says, his confusion quite clear.
Dom drops his bag, opens the gate and walks through to the otherside. Billy’s got lines on his face from sleeping too hard, and Dom exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You should probably lay off the drugs if you can’t tell the difference.”
He laughs when Billy punches him in the arm.
“Did you just get here? Never mind,” Billy says, answering his own question. “I would’ve come to get you if you’d asked, or you know, rung.”
Dom shrugs rather than answering and bends down to pick up the paper lying at his feet.
Billy takes the paper and gestures behind Dom with a flick of his wrist. “It’s not a visit, is it?” he asks, taking in the bulging sides of Dom’s bags.
“Is that all right?”
Dom straightens up as Billy’s raised eyebrow says it all. “You think I bought this house just for me? What’s the point in having a kitchen if I’ve not got a chef to use it?”
Dom’s smile feels real. It’s been entirely too long. “Just checking.”
“There’s nothing to sort out,” Billy’s tone is slightly offended as he slips the paper under his arm. “You know that -- but can we not continue this conversation inside? It’s cold and –“
“Your bits are freezing off,” Dom finishes stepping away to gather his bags.
Billy heads towards the front door and pauses in the entryway. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he laughs.
“Why do you think I came all this way?’
When Billy blinks, Dom wonders if he should’ve made that sound more like a joke and less like the truth, but that’s a matter for another day altogether.
One plan at a time.
-end-
Improv by
serialkarma: orange, cardboard, lace, music, drip, silent
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Great little story.
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I'm so glad you wrote this. It's not perfect and that's why it's so wonderful. It's human and it's hopeful and it's devestating all wrapped up in these spare sentences, that are you and Dom all together. Just. Yes.
Also, a Bellini is a brunch drink, peach juice and champagne. That's what I thought you were referring to when I clicked, and then I couldn't help but grin because this is a perfect title.
Thank you.
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I'm so glad you wrote this. It's not perfect and that's why it's so wonderful. It's human and it's hopeful and it's devestating all wrapped up in these spare sentences, that are you and Dom all together. Just. Yes.
As someone who's pretty fond of *your* writing it means a lot to me that you enjoyed this so much. Thank you so much for all your kind words.
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You've captured emotions in some fantastic ways here, and I thank you for taking the crazy jumbled thoughts infesting my head and turning them into something cohesive.
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You've captured emotions in some fantastic ways here, and I thank you for taking the crazy jumbled thoughts infesting my head and turning them into something cohesive.
Fleeing always feels good when you're in transit and right after you arrive, but it's the sticking around that tends to cause problems. I'm pleased you enjoyed this, thanks!
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What a lovely boyo he is.
Dom wonders if he should’ve made that sound more like a joke and less like the truth, but that’s a matter for another day altogether.
I am gasping at your tinhattery! Except also it's great.
This was the perfect thing to make my afternoon seem less like hell and more like real life. Uh. That doesn't make sense b/c real life is hell, but you know what I mean, baby. *waggles eyebrows*
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I'm not a tinhat! A tinkilt, sure, but a tinhat, heavens no.
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Oooh. It all piles up into one great big nothin', eh?
I love the rambling voicemail, the fact he just got up and left without really telling, and the fact that Billy said “Is that really you?”
*adjusts her tinkilt*
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*adjusts her tinkilt*
Can you believe that
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...
Insanity. *shappaled*
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I have these oh Dom moments of thinking about what he said in the Premiere article (which just killed me); feeling for him in LA, wanting him to be happy, wanting him to figure out what he needs... I just want to hug him, or, short of that, hear that he's working on something that he loves and is being appreciated for his talents...
Anyway. When I'm in these
obsessive fanreflective Dom moments, I wonder why he's in LA, and wouldn't he be happier elsewhere - esp. somewhere where he's got good mates. So to think of him just taking off from LA to go to Glasgow... oh. ::happy sigh:: And the end... eee.I'm going to go around believing this is true now, if you don't mind. (*g*)
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I haven't read the article you're talking about... I'm actually just feeding off of an earlier story, but to hear that this seems rather accurate makes me smile, kinda. It's never great to feel this alone though, so... I am pleased you liked it, thanks!
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Not that that has anything to do with the story, which is sweet and poignant, and seems to fit the very gray, drippy day we have here.
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Yes, I've noticed that you are not the first to mention the alcoholic aspect of all this. Lush.
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oh, dommie ...
flee to meeeeeeno subject
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It really evoked emotions with me. It's just a time in my life where you were able to write down most of what I've been trying to understand. Except, I'm not Dom and I have no Billy. I can just relate to all that "having useless crap" part, and yeah I'm done rambling now.
I don't read Monaboyd that much, but when I do I always seem to pick the best ones. Excellent job.
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I don't read Monaboyd that much, but when I do I always seem to pick the best ones. Excellent job.
I'm pleased that you felt this was true-to-life and thank you so much for taking the time to read the story. I appreciate it!
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Really quite a lovely piece.
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This prolly shouldn't have made me laugh, but it did.
Dom’s plan doesn’t involve collaborations or bits from the store, drawings on cardboard diagrams and long rotas and lots of people.
Again, I crack up. Hey, string diagrams can be handy, bitch!
He doesn’t pack; he flees.
I feel ya, Dom.
He’ll fix it later. He’ll fix it all later.
Ah, if only that really worked.
When the answerphone cuts him off, he calls back again, and starts rambling away.
I was just talking to something this weekend about someone I know who does this all the time.
Dom straightens up as Billy’s raised eyebrow says it all. “You think I bought this house just for me? What’s the point in having a kitchen if I’ve not got a chef to use it?”
Billy rules the known universe.
The end is funny, too. Kick ass.
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I need that on an icon. If Viggo is king then Billy is the ruler. Yes, he can rule me anytime... but you already knew that.
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the fact that he runs out the door with a shirt hanging out of his suitcase makes me love him even more. :D
this was delightful, by the way. thank you.
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the fact that he runs out the door with a shirt hanging out of his suitcase makes me love him even more. :D
this was delightful, by the way. thank you.
Terribly organised people worry me somewhat, and Dom's human-ness is, to me, what makes him so interesting. I'm so pleased you enjoyed this. Thanks!
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Dominic has a plan to fix everything that’s wrong. He knows how to save the trees and the environment. He wants to save Orli from himself and the planet from those who refuse to recycle.
i am fantastically smitten with the first paragraph. hell, the first section. it just englobes so much, there's so much in between the lines, but it's just so simple, you always do this, you simplify and understate things and fill them with subtlety and it's fucking great.
and like
and billy, so uncomplicated and fundamental and there, just, there.
(dude, if the outcome is always prolific like this, then i most definitely need to make you more icons.)
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That's just... that's a fabulous thing to say. But you always do say the nicest things, and have i said "Thanks", because you know, Thanks!
(dude, if the outcome is always prolific like this, then i most definitely need to make you more icons.)
Dude, they're like grease on my palm, for real.
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namaste nancy
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that was WONDERful. i liked the end very much.