Chapter Two - Yanks
"Another Brit on board," Orlando grins broadly and claps Dom on the shoulder, then accepting the outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. "Fantastic man, this is going to be incredible, I just know it."
Dom grins back and lowers his arm, amazed by the strength in the arm of the soon-to-be elf. He needs to pull that bowstring, Dom realises, trying to picture Orlando in whatever an elf should wear, firing arrows and being all graceful about it. He looks at Orlando some more and decides this guy should be totally able to pull that off.
"By the way," comes Orlando's voice and Dom loses his train of thought. "Just call me Orli, okay?" Dom raises his eyebrows and Orli smiles. "No," he grins. "No aunties involved here."
When he hears more voices in the other room, Dom turns around and casts a curious glance at the door, wondering who might walk in next. "We're still two yanks short," Billy informs him on a whisper. "That might be them just now." Dom tries to make the connection and after what seems like an eternity his brain logs on and he realises that the other two hobbit actors are Americans, straight from Hollywood, California. Straight from the place where it all happens.
He looks at Billy and Orli and feels nervous all of a sudden. He doesn't know why exactly, but the fact that these two actors who are going to walk in any second now are from the film-making capital of the world and will never ever have heard of Dominic Monaghan, makes his stomach turn.
Suddenly, the room is filled with people. He shuffles over to Billy a little and just watches everything that is going on. "Bill!" Pete calls, and walks towards him. "Dominic, Orlando, so good to see you all." He gestures towards the couch and armchairs and they all sit down.
Dom watches the two newcomers take their seats. They contradict each other on almost every level. Blond and dark. Big and tiny. A thirty-something and... good grief... The boy must still be a teenager...
"This is Sean Astin," comes Pete's clear voice. "He will be Samwise." Sean sits up straight and looks at Dom and Billy and Orlando intently. A genuine smile dances around Sean's mouth and then he lifts his hand and does a funny little wave that earns him some grins.
?"And this is Elijah Wood, or Frodo," Pete continues and Dom shifts so he can look at the young boy sitting to Peter's right. There is the slightest hint of a smile on his face and he utters a subdued "Hi" when all faces turn to look at him. When he looks up and meets their eyes, Dom gasps, almost audibly.
Bloody hell, he wants to say (yet he stops himself by biting his tongue) as he stares into the biggest and truly most amazing pair of blue eyes he has ever seen in his entire life. Billy's smashing emeralds and Orli's sexy dark browns had already told him that this director has a thing for eyes, but this... He stares for a second longer... This is ridiculous.
This guy holds ocean and sky together, like rays of light or laser beams... Fucking light sabres. Suddenly, Dom feels weirdly exposed, like his very essence is being analysed by those intensely blue eyes across the room, and he has to look away, away from the seemingly unyielding scrutiny.
He is immensely grateful when Billy and Orli as well as Sean and Elijah start shaking hands, all smiles and talking to each other, giving Dom that extra second he needs to compose himself and stop feeling so naked all of a sudden.
Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he rises from his chair and accepts Sean's hand, smiling, clapping him on the back, uttering some random shit about how the man is going to make one damn fine gardener. He turns around and braces himself for the laser beams once more, extending his hand and plastering on his autopilot smile, going through the motions. He barely registers the shy smile on Elijah's face when he realises with a start that he is holding the young man's hand a little longer than is strictly necessary, and he struggles as he tries to grin it away. He lets go of the small hand, almost shocked by the weird focus with which he notices and files away the paleness of the boy's skin and the raggedness of his fingernails and how dark the tiny hairs on his forearm really are.
He feels as if he is staggering backwards, reaching out for the armrest of his chair, twisting his head to maybe catch the last rays of sunshine on Elijah's face when he smiled at him just now, but is disappointed when all he finds is a closed off body, with a closed off face and closed eyes.
No entrance. Show's over. Leave me alone.
Dom becomes aware of Peter's voice and sits down properly, understanding that he really should listen to the information that is being given about schedules, preparations, tours of studios and workshops, make up and wardrobe, prosthetics and wigs, trailers, locations, weather back-up and much more, which is delivered to him in heavily Kiwi-accented English, lined with too much technical jargon for Dom to understand immediately.
He's not exactly a novice when it comes to filming, but everything he feared for on the plane ride yesterday is showing through already. This film is going to be fucking big, and so incredibly complicated that it will be like nothing he has ever done before. It scares him, really, not wanting to fuck anything up.
Looking around, he is glad to see Billy being rather flustered as well. He notices how Sean is feverishly scribbling down some notes on a small pad. The fact that on the other side of the room Elijah is sitting totally still with his eyes closed, however, annoys the hell out of him.
Barely conscious of Pete's constant flow of words in the background, Dom sneaks a few more glances at the young actor sitting opposite, and what he sees literally takes his breath away. He had vaguely heard of Elijah Wood. He had known about the kid's career, had read about it on the plane. There had been a black-and-white picture and some shallow information, and all he had been able to conclude from that was the fact that Elijah originates from Iowa and not California, that he is now eighteen years old, that he started acting roughly ten years earlier and that he is going to be at the top of the bill. The leading man. Man?
Dom steals another quick peek at the boy with the smooth, pale face and his thick, sooty eyelashes, and has trouble calling him a man. His dark hair looks like it has an attitude every morning and his skin seems to be still soft and round. A boy, Dom muses and suddenly feels a pair of eyes boring holes in the side of his skull, so he quickly looks away.
Sean caught him staring, he is quite sure of that, and he struggles to keep his face even, to make sure Sean does not get the feeling he actually witnessed something. When he can see the American go back to his frantic writing, Dom exhales and gives the couch on the other side of the room one last look.
Elijah's eyes are still closed, and, although he had given the emotion some thought, Dom realises that his annoyance just won't vanish. Open your fucking eyes, kid, he thinks. Look at us.
He nudges Billy's leg with his knee and when the Scot gives him a curious glance he jerks his head in the general direction of the seemingly stoic young man, raising his eyebrows slightly. "What's up with him?" he whispers as softly as he possibly can. Billy shrugs, trying to keep up with Pete's information overdose as well. "Looks like he can fall asleep at any minute," Dom whispers again, slowly beginning to wonder why he just won't pay attenton where it's needed.
"I know this is a bit much for starters," he hears Pete say and he tries to focus on his director's words instead of his growing need to see the shocking blue of those eyes again. "But of course everything will become much clearer once we get started. Still, are there any questions you guys have right now?" Without having to actually look, Dom knows Elijah has opened his eyes and he almost shudders when he hears the high-pitched, bright voice of the American slice through the previously perfect silence.
"You didn't mention dialect training," Elijah has his gaze fixed on Peter. "When and where does it start?"
Dom is annoyed once more, because he never would have thought the boy would remember every last bit of information that was just given to them. It is almost as if he had been ticking off a mental checklist, so that he could still come up with the one thing that Pete forgot to mention. He can't stand the fact that this boy is so unphased by it all.
Sean's ears perk up, nodding his head, adding a "Yeah, when?" to Elijah's question. Pete grabs a stack of print-outs and flips through them, muttering something like "good question" under his breath.
"You know what?" he then says suddenly. "Why not I make a call about this and have it sorted out straight away, and you have a drink and something to eat in the garden. I'm sure Fran has something organised there." Dom gets up immediately and makes his way to the designated area, grabbing Billy's arm, mentioning the healing powers of a cool beer. They descend a couple of stairs and walk over to a large set of garden furniture, extending hands in order to greet the dark-haired lady in one of the chairs, accepting the beers that she takes from a wooden trolley by her elbow.
Orli and Sean have just emerged from the living room and are stuck on some topic of conversation, which makes them stop on the third step, where an enthusiastic discussion ensues. "I'll bring them something," Fran grins and pulls out two more bottles of beer from the trolley. She gets up and walks to where the two actors are on the stairs, leaving Billy and Dom behind.
"What do you make of all this, Bill?" Dom asks, putting his bottle down. "Quite overwhelming, don't you think?"
Billy nods and takes a swig. "I'll have you know that I've already forgotten half of what the man's been saying," he grins sheepishly and looks at Dom, hoping to find understanding there. "Me too," Dom chuckles. "But I bet you that blue eyes in there has it already memorised by now." Billy gives him a curious glance and raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn't comment. Instead he lifts his bottle once more, and swallows another mouthful.
"I guess," he says, trying for casual, "that he's probably pretty good at memorising things quickly, Dom. He's been a professional actor almost longer than you and I put together."
Dom wants to react to that, but is shocked to realise he would only make another snide comment, and so he bites his tongue again and shuts up, because Fran, Sean and Orli are approaching the table, loud and laughing. Finally, Pete walks into the garden and makes his way over to one of the two mahogany chairs that are still empty.
"Sorted!" he laughs, almost mischievously. "It had so totally slipped my mind. Leave it to a yank to remind me!" Sean laughs throatily and tips his bottle against the one that Pete has just received from his wife.
"Speaking of which," Orli says, and turns his head around to look at the door at the top of the stairs. "Where is said yank?"
Dom's hotel room is dark apart from the shallow light that comes in from outside. There's some stumbling upstairs and Dom can make out two people walking from one end of their room to the other, closing a door, and then the silence is back. He lets out a deep, deliberate breath from between his only slightly parted lips, stretching his body completely, unfolding from his pose, trying to disconnect from the tumble in his brain.
It's there, Dom knows, the quiet that he needs. It's there, only he can't reach it. At least not yet. Ever since he left Pete's house he has been uptight and jumpy and he even uncharacteristically begged off when Billy, Sean and Orli asked him out for a drink. He never begs off, he likes to have a drink with mates.
Mates.
Billy and Sean and Orli are going to be mates. Billy might already be one, although it is probably too soon to tell yet. Sean turned out to be a really cool guy; married, beautiful baby-girl, no thirty-something yet but definitely acting like one, smart outlook on the world. Someone you can talk to.
Orli is this close to being insane. But enjoyably so. Too much freaking energy. He can relate to that. It's the only fucking reason for him to be lying on his back in a darkened hotel room, trying to bend his body into seemingly impossible folds and regulate his breathing to boot. He has managed to calm down, however. That is to say, as long as he doesn't think too much of one Elijah Wood.
Elijah. Who should become a mate as well, considering they're all hobbits and stuff. But he didn't even stay for a drink in Pete's garden. Dom thinks that was bloody rude, and he couldn't resist commenting on the legal age for drinking in New Zealand, and asking if blue eyes had already reached it. It earned him a (deserved) kick under the table from Bill, and he found himself apologising for cracking lame jokes immediately.
It actually bugs Dom that Elijah didn't stay. It wasn't like he wanted to be taken apart by those eyes again, but what reason could the kid possibly have not to stick around for one simple drink? One drink and getting to know the others. Just one drink and getting to know Billy and Orli and maybe even Sean a bit more.
And him.
Unable to empty his head as he actually should after a yoga session, Dom gets up and grabs a bottle of water from the table. He opens the door to his balcony again and steps onto it, soothingly enfolded by the darkness of another quiet New Zealand night.
When he is leaning against the railing and he closes his eyes, he cannot help but picture that young American, who had only said a timid Hi and had sat so quietly on the couch with his eyes closed and had then asked exactly one question, and whose hand Dom had held far longer than was strictly neccesary and why the fuck didn't he come out into that garden so that Dom could disect him for a change.
He takes another swig from the bottle and shifts his weight, noticing that his earlier state of relative calm is dissolving rapidly. He wonders why he is so snarky towards Elijah, wonders why he lets himself get so worked up. He shouldn't worry about something like this, he should worry about the things Pete told them today, try to process the information. A wardrobe fitting tomorrow, Ngila Dickson. A tour of Weta Workshop, Richard Taylor. Right. Stay with the script, Monaghan, Dom thinks. Forget about that scrawny-assed yank.
Inside, his phone is ringing, and, swallowing another mouthful of water, Dom places the bottle on the table outside and steps into his room, walking around the bed to pick up the hotel phone on the nightstand.
"Dom here," Dom says and already wonders who might be calling him at this hour. It remains quiet on the other side of the line. "Hello?" he tries again and realises someone is either playing a trick on him or has actually dialled the wrong number. He thinks he hears a slight hitch of breath when suddenly the line is cut and Dom finds himself facing the wall with the phone still in his hand, listening to the dial tone and his own shallow breathing, blood pounding through his body.
Chapter Three
Expanding Universe Index
Main Index