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monaboyd Mar. 1st, 2004 09:45 pm)
arabella-o.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Mar. 1st, 2004 09:45 pm)Title: Moving On (Coffee Cup Epiphanies)
Chapter: 1 of 7
Author: Arabella (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arabella_o)
Summary: Fishing for second chances when you don't even realise you've missed the first.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If I were to find a genie and I had three wishes, I'm sure one of them would be for this to have actually happened, but it all depends on 3 things: 1. whether or not I still have student loans hanging over my head, 2. have been offered a fellowship at an Italian university, and 3. metred_moon_rising.
Notes: Much love goes to Cai, for helping me flesh out what otherwise would have been a very depressing drabble.
One:
The light of the full moon was bright, illuminating the uneven stone path that led up to the small house Dominic had rented for his stay in New Zealand. He had stumbled home countless times over the past fourteen months, sometimes by himself but more often than not with a warm body beside him, holding him up as he drunkenly searched his pockets for his keys. It was usually just one of the Hobbits, or maybe the Elf, but now and then he’d pull some girl from the pub and the two of them would giggle stupidly as they made their way to his front door, pausing along the way to kiss and grope.
It was rare for him to bring home a guy from one of the clubs, but it was known to happen on occasion. Some pretty thing, usually, with big eyes and a shy smile. One of those people who got off on playing the innocent, providing their lines on cue, never missing just the right moment to bat those eyelashes and feign ignorance at what exactly was about to come next. Dominic had somehow managed to avoid asking for acting tips in the morning.
Tonight was different. Dominic stumbled home alone and, despite the light of the full moon and the fact that he walked the stone path several times every day, he still managed to trip on the third stone from the porch steps. His flailing arm hit one of the porch columns in time to stop his forward momentum, allowing him to turn and hit the worn floorboards of the porch with a pained oomph. His jaw slammed shut as the jolt shot through his body and Dominic groaned at the throbbing in his head.
He sat there for several minutes, leaning his head against the column, staring at one of the shrubs that lined the path. It was going brown in spots, the victim of a tenant who could never remember to water it when it didn’t rain for weeks on end. Reaching out, Dominic pulled at one brown leaf, watching with bleary eyes as it crumbled into tiny pieces between his fingers. It was fitting, really, that his shrubs should die. It was tangible proof of the fact that he could never take care of anything, be it the goldfish his mother bought him for his seventh birthday, the house he currently lived in, or even his relationship with his best friend.
"Stupid Viggo an- … analo- … thoughts," Dominic muttered.
It was true, though. Sooner or later, Dominic always found a way to ruin things. That little trait of his was as much a part of him as the colour of his eyes or the sound of his voice. It all came down to a lack of self-control, he supposed. He never had known when to stop, or when to wait and bide his time. Dominic was the type of person who worked on emotion – if something felt good, if it felt right, it was almost as though he had an obligation to see it through.
“Bah,” Dominic said, throwing the bits of dead leaf to the ground with an exaggerated arc of his arm. “’M too drunk for this. No more drinking wit' Viggo.”
He hauled himself to his feet, using the column he’d leaned against as a support and slowly turned to go up the two steps so he could cross the porch. Dominic dropped his keys twice and it took him a minute to realise he was trying to jam the wrong key into the lock, but he eventually did get inside. Kicking the door closed, he made his way toward the living room, swaying dangerously on his feet as he did so. The couch was closer than his bed, and even in his state of drunkenness, he knew that he had no hope of making it to his room.
His mission had been to get pissed off his arse, and when Dominic Monaghan put his mind to something, he did a damn good job of it.
The pub had been crowded and noisy, and he’d sat in the darkest corner, ignoring the pretty waitress who had flirted shamelessly despite the wedding band on her left hand. She’d been a quick study, and after her second innuendo-laden comment had fallen flat, she accepted her loss and moved on to the man three tables over. Her charms had been welcome over there, and it had been a bit of a challenge for Dominic to get her to come back and get him more beer.
The pub was one that Dominic rarely visited, preferring instead to frequent establishments with better liquor, music, and service. He’d chosen this one in particular because it was perhaps the only place he was safe from unwanted attention. The last thing he wanted to do was explain, to one of the Hobbits or even the nosy Elf, exactly why he’d been so out of sorts for the last two days. No doubt some concerned soul had already accosted Billy, demanding answers and receiving none for all their efforts. Dominic had dodged his friends for the better part of the day in an effort to postpone the flood of prying questions masquerading as concern.
As Dominic sprawled across the dark blue sofa, his gaze was drawn to the cordless telephone that sat on the low mahogany coffee table. He reached out for it, his fingers curling around the smooth black plastic. It was an ugly phone, bigger than it had to be, and was almost clunky in his hands. Dominic couldn’t remember whether he’d bought the bloody thing or if it had come with the house.
The dial tone had been replaced by a steady beep, telling him that he had voice messages waiting. If not for the speed dial, Dominic would have had to wait until he sobered up to check his messages. Some small part of him knew that waiting would probably be for the best, but it didn’t take much to ignore his better instincts. He was braver when he was drunk, he felt like he could shrug off anything, even if it was simply because he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.
Because he never could remember it, the access code for his voicemail had been taped to the phone. Three messages waited for him.
“Hey Dom, it’s me. Just wondering if you want to come out with us tonight. Call me back.” Sean Astin. Always polite, never wanting to pry, even when he was prying.
“Dom, it’s Orlando. You’ve not been acting yourself for the past few days. Call me back and we can talk.” Orlando. Always direct and to the point, even when it was none of his business.
“Dominic, it’s Elijah. Call me and we can talk about what the fuck’s been bothering you. And stop hiding from me, you stupid cunt.” He was relentless, like a dog with a fucking chew toy. Dominic briefly entertained thoughts of pushing him into traffic.
There was no message from Billy. Dominic told himself the feeling that clawed at his stomach was most definitely not disappointment. He didn’t have any right to feel that. Not when everything was his fault to begin with.
End chapter one.
Chapter: 1 of 7
Author: Arabella (
arabella_o)Summary: Fishing for second chances when you don't even realise you've missed the first.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If I were to find a genie and I had three wishes, I'm sure one of them would be for this to have actually happened, but it all depends on 3 things: 1. whether or not I still have student loans hanging over my head, 2. have been offered a fellowship at an Italian university, and 3. met
red_moon_rising.Notes: Much love goes to Cai, for helping me flesh out what otherwise would have been a very depressing drabble.
One:
The light of the full moon was bright, illuminating the uneven stone path that led up to the small house Dominic had rented for his stay in New Zealand. He had stumbled home countless times over the past fourteen months, sometimes by himself but more often than not with a warm body beside him, holding him up as he drunkenly searched his pockets for his keys. It was usually just one of the Hobbits, or maybe the Elf, but now and then he’d pull some girl from the pub and the two of them would giggle stupidly as they made their way to his front door, pausing along the way to kiss and grope.
It was rare for him to bring home a guy from one of the clubs, but it was known to happen on occasion. Some pretty thing, usually, with big eyes and a shy smile. One of those people who got off on playing the innocent, providing their lines on cue, never missing just the right moment to bat those eyelashes and feign ignorance at what exactly was about to come next. Dominic had somehow managed to avoid asking for acting tips in the morning.
Tonight was different. Dominic stumbled home alone and, despite the light of the full moon and the fact that he walked the stone path several times every day, he still managed to trip on the third stone from the porch steps. His flailing arm hit one of the porch columns in time to stop his forward momentum, allowing him to turn and hit the worn floorboards of the porch with a pained oomph. His jaw slammed shut as the jolt shot through his body and Dominic groaned at the throbbing in his head.
He sat there for several minutes, leaning his head against the column, staring at one of the shrubs that lined the path. It was going brown in spots, the victim of a tenant who could never remember to water it when it didn’t rain for weeks on end. Reaching out, Dominic pulled at one brown leaf, watching with bleary eyes as it crumbled into tiny pieces between his fingers. It was fitting, really, that his shrubs should die. It was tangible proof of the fact that he could never take care of anything, be it the goldfish his mother bought him for his seventh birthday, the house he currently lived in, or even his relationship with his best friend.
"Stupid Viggo an- … analo- … thoughts," Dominic muttered.
It was true, though. Sooner or later, Dominic always found a way to ruin things. That little trait of his was as much a part of him as the colour of his eyes or the sound of his voice. It all came down to a lack of self-control, he supposed. He never had known when to stop, or when to wait and bide his time. Dominic was the type of person who worked on emotion – if something felt good, if it felt right, it was almost as though he had an obligation to see it through.
“Bah,” Dominic said, throwing the bits of dead leaf to the ground with an exaggerated arc of his arm. “’M too drunk for this. No more drinking wit' Viggo.”
He hauled himself to his feet, using the column he’d leaned against as a support and slowly turned to go up the two steps so he could cross the porch. Dominic dropped his keys twice and it took him a minute to realise he was trying to jam the wrong key into the lock, but he eventually did get inside. Kicking the door closed, he made his way toward the living room, swaying dangerously on his feet as he did so. The couch was closer than his bed, and even in his state of drunkenness, he knew that he had no hope of making it to his room.
His mission had been to get pissed off his arse, and when Dominic Monaghan put his mind to something, he did a damn good job of it.
The pub had been crowded and noisy, and he’d sat in the darkest corner, ignoring the pretty waitress who had flirted shamelessly despite the wedding band on her left hand. She’d been a quick study, and after her second innuendo-laden comment had fallen flat, she accepted her loss and moved on to the man three tables over. Her charms had been welcome over there, and it had been a bit of a challenge for Dominic to get her to come back and get him more beer.
The pub was one that Dominic rarely visited, preferring instead to frequent establishments with better liquor, music, and service. He’d chosen this one in particular because it was perhaps the only place he was safe from unwanted attention. The last thing he wanted to do was explain, to one of the Hobbits or even the nosy Elf, exactly why he’d been so out of sorts for the last two days. No doubt some concerned soul had already accosted Billy, demanding answers and receiving none for all their efforts. Dominic had dodged his friends for the better part of the day in an effort to postpone the flood of prying questions masquerading as concern.
As Dominic sprawled across the dark blue sofa, his gaze was drawn to the cordless telephone that sat on the low mahogany coffee table. He reached out for it, his fingers curling around the smooth black plastic. It was an ugly phone, bigger than it had to be, and was almost clunky in his hands. Dominic couldn’t remember whether he’d bought the bloody thing or if it had come with the house.
The dial tone had been replaced by a steady beep, telling him that he had voice messages waiting. If not for the speed dial, Dominic would have had to wait until he sobered up to check his messages. Some small part of him knew that waiting would probably be for the best, but it didn’t take much to ignore his better instincts. He was braver when he was drunk, he felt like he could shrug off anything, even if it was simply because he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.
Because he never could remember it, the access code for his voicemail had been taped to the phone. Three messages waited for him.
“Hey Dom, it’s me. Just wondering if you want to come out with us tonight. Call me back.” Sean Astin. Always polite, never wanting to pry, even when he was prying.
“Dom, it’s Orlando. You’ve not been acting yourself for the past few days. Call me back and we can talk.” Orlando. Always direct and to the point, even when it was none of his business.
“Dominic, it’s Elijah. Call me and we can talk about what the fuck’s been bothering you. And stop hiding from me, you stupid cunt.” He was relentless, like a dog with a fucking chew toy. Dominic briefly entertained thoughts of pushing him into traffic.
There was no message from Billy. Dominic told himself the feeling that clawed at his stomach was most definitely not disappointment. He didn’t have any right to feel that. Not when everything was his fault to begin with.
End chapter one.
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As to what Dom did... well, it involves a toy boat and a stuffed giraffe....
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Reaching out, Dominic pulled at one brown leaf, watching with bleary eyes as it crumbled into tiny pieces between his fingers. It was fitting, really, that his shrubs should die. It was tangible proof of the fact that he could never take care of anything, be it the goldfish his mother bought him for his seventh birthday, the house he currently lived in, or even his relationship with his best friend.
That's great. Really. Aww... so beautiful. I can't wait for more!
I do believe that my favorite part was, in fact, the phone messages at the end. I love the little bits of their personalities shining throug.
And I love Angsty!Dom.
Great job!
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I'm glad you like the story. :) Once I save myself from the evil Term Paper Monster and can make the changes that
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The term paper monster has been subdued, chapter two has been posted and three is off to beta now. :)
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And nice subduing. I find that hitting them over the head works well.
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Which reminds me... must go through my bookmarks and find
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Oh you must! She has Billy's Thighs, which are very distracting and nice, in her icon. *nods*
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And that icon of Billy's thigh is very distracting. I find myself staring everytime I see it.....
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Oh god, me too, I've complained about its distractingness. :D
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Oh dear.
I'll get right into the beta, then.
*scurries off*
~Cai
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*scurries*
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