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monaboyd Mar. 8th, 2004 11:51 pm)
writteninsable.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Mar. 8th, 2004 11:51 pm)Title: Straight Translators
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
red_moon_rising (or Cai)
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please.
Note #1: Thanks go toarabella_o for her wonderfulness and beta-ing skills. I <3 her madly.
Note #2: The German and the Gaelic don't make an appearance in this chapter. I am sorry, loves. They'll probably not make much of a show in Chapter Ten, either. Hopefully they'll make a come-back in the final chapter, though. *smiles*
*headdesk* And because I'm extra special like that, here's the link to my memories page where you can find all the other chapters of ST.
Billy woke up with a dry mouth and a headache that should have been worse than it was. Luckily the curtains had been pulled, so the sun wasn’t blasting in through the window. He laid there for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, and considered the many different scenarios that could have played out to leave him here.
Where the fuck am I? His brain demanded over the dull throb at the back of his head. Then he remembered. Viggo’s house…and most likely everyone else is hungover and asleep…
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only nine o'clock. Rubbing his tongue against the top of his mouth, he found that he could not make the dry feeling go away. He suddenly realized he hadn’t brought a change of clothing or a tooth brush or anything…
Tea would be good, he thought as he untangled himself from the sheets and half-rolled, half-slid from the bed. Fucking huge bed, he decided as he walked to the door.
It only took him three tries at the door to remember that he’d locked it and that was why it wouldn’t open. Once he’d figured that out it was simply a matter of turning the knob. Unfortunately the windows in the hall weren’t blocked with curtains and the sun was glaring cheerfully through the glass.
Billy paused briefly in the doorway, considering the merits of getting tea and the horrors of braving the light. In the end his awful, dry mouth won out and he shuffled from the room, through the morning sunshine, and down the stairs, welcoming the shadows around the corner of the wall.
He carefully navigated the endless hallways of Viggo’s and was just walking through the front hall when the glint of light off metal caught his attention. He paused, stared at the keys on the hall table, and contemplated whether stealing them was a good idea. Shrugging, he picked them up off the table and pocketed them without a second thought. He smiled grimly, padding quietly through the living room and into the kitchen.
Dom couldn’t really bolt if he couldn’t drive his car.
He clanked and clattered through the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors in his somewhat desperate search for cups, tea bags, sugar, and a kettle. He found a huge sauce pan, but didn’t think he was coordinated enough that early in the morning to actually get boiling water from the pan into the cup he’d located.
Luckily, just before he gave up and put the pan on the stove he found a nifty little water-heater with a push button. It wasn’t a kettle, but it was better than a sauce pan. Once he’d pushed the button on the water-heater he set about trying to find the cream in the refrigerator.
The sun was shining on his face and if there was one thing Dominic Monaghan didn’t like in the morning it was sunshine. Especially after a night of drinking. A night of drinking which, he vaguely recalled, involved quite a bit of straight vodka.
He rolled over, trying to get out of the sunlight, but he only succeeded in jostling his head.
Wrong move, his mind complained as pain arched from his skull down his neck and through his jaw. Very bad move.
“Bugger off,” he muttered, flinging an arm up over his eyes and trying to remember why he was on a couch instead of in his bed. And why he’d been drinking straight vodka.
Opening his lips, however, made him move his tongue, which allowed him to taste the inside of his mouth. Oh, foul, he thought, making a face he was quite glad no one else could see. He rubbed his closed eyes against the crook of his elbow and instantly regretted it.
He decided it was not a good idea to move. Moving was not worth the pain in his head. Moving was, in fact, a very bad notion.
Bits and pieces of memory flashed before his eyes and he tried piecing together what had happened. He heard movement behind him, feet on hardwood flooring, and it all came tumbling back. He barely managed to stifle a groan and all he could think was, I am an idiot of fucking royal proportions. I can’t believe I said that…
The footsteps behind him moved off the hardwood floor and onto the carpet, padding quietly toward the kitchen. Dom heard the door swing open and shut, listening as noise came clambering from behind the painted wooden panels.
Viggo must be up and getting ready to cook breakfast or something, he thought, wondering if food was worth getting up for. His stomach roiled at the thought and he decided nothing, at the moment, was worth getting up for.
Dominic briefly considered trying to go back to sleep, but the banging from the kitchen increased just a little every time he almost drifted off. He sighed and moved his feet, letting them drop to the floor before bracing one arm on the couch and pushing himself up.
Bad thing, his mind informed him smartly as he was hit with sudden, violent nausea. Very bad thing, moving…
He inhaled through his nose, counting off for every exhale, trying to calm himself and disconnect his head from his neck. Decapitation had to be less painful than the throbbing ache that had decided to take up residence in his brain. I will not, he told himself firmly, vomit all over Viggo’s living room. I just won’t.
He was on exhale number 73 when his stomach stopped trying to rebel. He’d reached 126 when his head finally felt like it might stay in one piece if he moved. He cracked his eyes open and moved his feet apart a bit, hoping that he’d be able to stand without falling over. That glass-topped table probably won’t be very comfortable if I collapse onto it…
His foot, though, nudged cool glass and he moved his head carefully so that he could see what he was touching. The empty vodka bottle. Bloody fucking hell, he though, looking at it with slightly widened eyes. Did I drink the whole goddamned thing?
Grimacing at his stupidity, and quite sure that he’d rationalized drinking the whole fucking bottle quite well last night, he put his hand on the arm of the couch and heaved himself up. He nearly didn’t make it, only keeping himself from toppling over by grasping the fabric under his fingers desperately and digging his nails in.
The nausea returned, though it was more manageable now and he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up all over Viggo’s oh-so-artistic living room.
Maybe just the couch, his inner voice replied, and he decided he needed to get a new one, because this one was really too much of a pain in the arse this early in the morning. Speaking of which, he thought, looking down at his watch. 9:23. Too fucking early.
The clattering was still emanating from the kitchen and his mouth still tasted like shit’n’vodka. Clenching his jaw he released his death-grip on the couch and moved toward the kitchen. Anything Viggo was making had to be better than what the inside of his mouth tasted like right now…and if he asked really nicely he might even be able to convince Vig to climb up all those stairs and get him some medication for his head.
Saying his skull ached was quite possibly the understatement of the year.
Billy was just taking his tea bag from the steaming water when he heard the door to the kitchen swing open. He glanced up, expecting to see Viggo or Orlando standing in the doorway. Instead he got an eyeful of messy blond hair spiked in all directions and wide blue eyes.
He froze, tea bag dripping all over the counter, and simply stared.
Dom certainly wasn’t expecting Billy. Billy with mussed hair and green eyes that glinted in the morning light. He froze, palm still pressed to the door, and tried to make himself melt into the floor.
It wasn’t working, but he thought if he tried hard enough maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to convince himself that he wasn’t there, and if that happened then Billy wouldn’t be able to see him.
I am way too hungover to be dealing with this right now, he thought.
Chapter 10 is written, I need only to send it off to Ara. *smiles* I hope you all enjoyed this!
~Cai
Author:
red_moon_rising (or Cai)Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please.
Note #1: Thanks go to
arabella_o for her wonderfulness and beta-ing skills. I <3 her madly.Note #2: The German and the Gaelic don't make an appearance in this chapter. I am sorry, loves. They'll probably not make much of a show in Chapter Ten, either. Hopefully they'll make a come-back in the final chapter, though. *smiles*
*headdesk* And because I'm extra special like that, here's the link to my memories page where you can find all the other chapters of ST.
Billy woke up with a dry mouth and a headache that should have been worse than it was. Luckily the curtains had been pulled, so the sun wasn’t blasting in through the window. He laid there for a moment, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, and considered the many different scenarios that could have played out to leave him here.
Where the fuck am I? His brain demanded over the dull throb at the back of his head. Then he remembered. Viggo’s house…and most likely everyone else is hungover and asleep…
He glanced at his watch and saw that it was only nine o'clock. Rubbing his tongue against the top of his mouth, he found that he could not make the dry feeling go away. He suddenly realized he hadn’t brought a change of clothing or a tooth brush or anything…
Tea would be good, he thought as he untangled himself from the sheets and half-rolled, half-slid from the bed. Fucking huge bed, he decided as he walked to the door.
It only took him three tries at the door to remember that he’d locked it and that was why it wouldn’t open. Once he’d figured that out it was simply a matter of turning the knob. Unfortunately the windows in the hall weren’t blocked with curtains and the sun was glaring cheerfully through the glass.
Billy paused briefly in the doorway, considering the merits of getting tea and the horrors of braving the light. In the end his awful, dry mouth won out and he shuffled from the room, through the morning sunshine, and down the stairs, welcoming the shadows around the corner of the wall.
He carefully navigated the endless hallways of Viggo’s and was just walking through the front hall when the glint of light off metal caught his attention. He paused, stared at the keys on the hall table, and contemplated whether stealing them was a good idea. Shrugging, he picked them up off the table and pocketed them without a second thought. He smiled grimly, padding quietly through the living room and into the kitchen.
Dom couldn’t really bolt if he couldn’t drive his car.
He clanked and clattered through the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors in his somewhat desperate search for cups, tea bags, sugar, and a kettle. He found a huge sauce pan, but didn’t think he was coordinated enough that early in the morning to actually get boiling water from the pan into the cup he’d located.
Luckily, just before he gave up and put the pan on the stove he found a nifty little water-heater with a push button. It wasn’t a kettle, but it was better than a sauce pan. Once he’d pushed the button on the water-heater he set about trying to find the cream in the refrigerator.
The sun was shining on his face and if there was one thing Dominic Monaghan didn’t like in the morning it was sunshine. Especially after a night of drinking. A night of drinking which, he vaguely recalled, involved quite a bit of straight vodka.
He rolled over, trying to get out of the sunlight, but he only succeeded in jostling his head.
Wrong move, his mind complained as pain arched from his skull down his neck and through his jaw. Very bad move.
“Bugger off,” he muttered, flinging an arm up over his eyes and trying to remember why he was on a couch instead of in his bed. And why he’d been drinking straight vodka.
Opening his lips, however, made him move his tongue, which allowed him to taste the inside of his mouth. Oh, foul, he thought, making a face he was quite glad no one else could see. He rubbed his closed eyes against the crook of his elbow and instantly regretted it.
He decided it was not a good idea to move. Moving was not worth the pain in his head. Moving was, in fact, a very bad notion.
Bits and pieces of memory flashed before his eyes and he tried piecing together what had happened. He heard movement behind him, feet on hardwood flooring, and it all came tumbling back. He barely managed to stifle a groan and all he could think was, I am an idiot of fucking royal proportions. I can’t believe I said that…
The footsteps behind him moved off the hardwood floor and onto the carpet, padding quietly toward the kitchen. Dom heard the door swing open and shut, listening as noise came clambering from behind the painted wooden panels.
Viggo must be up and getting ready to cook breakfast or something, he thought, wondering if food was worth getting up for. His stomach roiled at the thought and he decided nothing, at the moment, was worth getting up for.
Dominic briefly considered trying to go back to sleep, but the banging from the kitchen increased just a little every time he almost drifted off. He sighed and moved his feet, letting them drop to the floor before bracing one arm on the couch and pushing himself up.
Bad thing, his mind informed him smartly as he was hit with sudden, violent nausea. Very bad thing, moving…
He inhaled through his nose, counting off for every exhale, trying to calm himself and disconnect his head from his neck. Decapitation had to be less painful than the throbbing ache that had decided to take up residence in his brain. I will not, he told himself firmly, vomit all over Viggo’s living room. I just won’t.
He was on exhale number 73 when his stomach stopped trying to rebel. He’d reached 126 when his head finally felt like it might stay in one piece if he moved. He cracked his eyes open and moved his feet apart a bit, hoping that he’d be able to stand without falling over. That glass-topped table probably won’t be very comfortable if I collapse onto it…
His foot, though, nudged cool glass and he moved his head carefully so that he could see what he was touching. The empty vodka bottle. Bloody fucking hell, he though, looking at it with slightly widened eyes. Did I drink the whole goddamned thing?
Grimacing at his stupidity, and quite sure that he’d rationalized drinking the whole fucking bottle quite well last night, he put his hand on the arm of the couch and heaved himself up. He nearly didn’t make it, only keeping himself from toppling over by grasping the fabric under his fingers desperately and digging his nails in.
The nausea returned, though it was more manageable now and he didn’t feel like he was about to throw up all over Viggo’s oh-so-artistic living room.
Maybe just the couch, his inner voice replied, and he decided he needed to get a new one, because this one was really too much of a pain in the arse this early in the morning. Speaking of which, he thought, looking down at his watch. 9:23. Too fucking early.
The clattering was still emanating from the kitchen and his mouth still tasted like shit’n’vodka. Clenching his jaw he released his death-grip on the couch and moved toward the kitchen. Anything Viggo was making had to be better than what the inside of his mouth tasted like right now…and if he asked really nicely he might even be able to convince Vig to climb up all those stairs and get him some medication for his head.
Saying his skull ached was quite possibly the understatement of the year.
Billy was just taking his tea bag from the steaming water when he heard the door to the kitchen swing open. He glanced up, expecting to see Viggo or Orlando standing in the doorway. Instead he got an eyeful of messy blond hair spiked in all directions and wide blue eyes.
He froze, tea bag dripping all over the counter, and simply stared.
Dom certainly wasn’t expecting Billy. Billy with mussed hair and green eyes that glinted in the morning light. He froze, palm still pressed to the door, and tried to make himself melt into the floor.
It wasn’t working, but he thought if he tried hard enough maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to convince himself that he wasn’t there, and if that happened then Billy wouldn’t be able to see him.
I am way too hungover to be dealing with this right now, he thought.
Chapter 10 is written, I need only to send it off to Ara. *smiles* I hope you all enjoyed this!
~Cai
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