horseboykarl (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
horseboykarl) wrote2005-02-27 03:09 pm
horseboykarl) wrote2005-02-27 03:09 pm
Getting Answers (Hugo/Karl)
The sun rises on another hazy day, the sky darker than before. I slide out of bed before Eric wakes up and call Hugo, to make sure he’s around. I tell him I found something interesting that I want to show him. I figure that orc blade ought to get his attention, and hopefully he’ll spill without me having to put on a temper tantrum. I shrug. Either way works for me, I’m in the mood for a fight after yesterday. I find an empty feed bag and wrap the blade in that on top of the plastic. I don’t understand why the thing offends me so much, but it seriously creeps me out.
Eric has to meet the insurance adjuster at noon, so we head back into town about ten thirty. I drop him at the bookstore and he kisses me. He stares at me for a minute. “You’re angry.”
“Damn right, I’m angry!” I gesture at his store. “The people who did that? They’ll pay and I’m gonna make sure of it.”
“Karl . . . be careful.”
“Don’t worry, answers first, then payback.” I wink at him and hug him tightly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
He lets me go and I turn the truck around, heading for Hugo’s. I park the truck and I’m yelling for him almost as soon as my feet hit the ground. I pick the orc blade up out of the truck bed and make straight for the door.
“Hugo! Open up, mate!”
Hugo: It's gotten worse the past few days, air sitting heavy upon my shoulders. Atlas I am not but I can sympathize the effort. I'm not sure how long this will or can last until I am pinpointed, but the search has redoubled and I swear I can feel -him- breathing down my neck, slowly crushing my world until the shaky protection governing the bowl collapses and my will defeated. There are times I can almost see a form within the threatening clouds, swirling as though gathering force and speed, drilling against my defenses. It's my imagination, hallucinations driven by fear. The ground trembling is no fear of my own, however, it's almost as though the Earth herself is afraid of what's coming. He knows I am here. He's focused his efforts, oppression drowning without much more a fight than a fly against a balrog.
How long until the time is right?
A knock cracks on the door, I open it and I'm first distracted by the skies, churning and crackling high above, settling lower with each passing hour. The air is still, not a sound from bird or insect scratching the ears, all quiet and tense in anticipation it would seem, or fear. Wouldn't blame them none at all if they'd fled as well. I would, were that an option. I eye the sky warily before turning my attention towards Karl, "come on in, mate."
Karl: I hesitate at Hugo's door, not sure if the air is getting worse or it's my imagination. Hugo finally answers and I stare at him.
You've aged since I saw you last, years it seems. Your face is drawn and tired, there's large bags under your eyes, your skin is pasty, dead looking.
"Hugo . . . what the fuck? You look like shit!" John said you were holding back Morgoth, but I didn't expect this.
You wave me inside and my anger at you drains away. Whatever you've been doing, you're clearly suffering for it. I hesitate again, but . . . fuck it. I need answers and you're the only one who can give them to me.
I unwrap the orc blade and leave it on the floor. I really don't like touching it. "I found this embedded in the floor in a store on Cuba Street. Do you see that rune painted on it? I've seen that before, on a cricket bat that some fanboy was using, trying to bash my head in. And Gareth told me that's not the only one."
I take a deep breath. "I need answers, and as far as I can tell, you're the one who has them. I know Dave moved the bowl. How did that . . . lead to all of this?" I point to the blade and the sky and finally to you.
Hugo: I laugh, I can't help it. Ah, nothing to save my ego from the great Karl Urban. I wave you in, my laughter fading away as you set the orc blade down on my floor, unwrapped it looks menacing against my clean floor. Rather relieved you set it on the bag, I'd hate for black filth to stain my carpeting.
Not that that's the greatest concern of mine right now, but the thought did cross my mind.
My skin goose pimples as I squat beside the blade, running a hand just over the rune. Thing radiates a darkness I'd rather not think about, suppose there's truth to be had in the power of the written word. Not even going to question what this is doing to my defenses either, I think it's safe to assume they're about shot to hell and back.
No, strike that. Hell is here.
I stand slowly and gesture towards a chair, pouring two glasses of scotch, I'd opened a new bottle before you arrived, one of two bottles from Dalwhinnie in my collection. Aged 15 years, one of my favorites from the Highlands, and I figure what better time than now to drink and savor. I hand you a glass and then sink into my own chair, sipping the scotch and relishing the smooth, smokey-heather flavor before responding, "the blade...I'm not quite certain how that connects. As far as I can figure, it's just a group of brat kids with nothing better to do with their time than terrorize anything dealing with the Rings story. As for that," I jerk my head towards the window where the black-grey clouds tumble over themselves, "he's been cut off from his favorite chew toy and is throwing a tantrum."
Karl: I wrap the blade back in the feed sack. I saw how you flinched when I got it out. I growl to myself, trying to keep a rein on my temper. "They may be just a bunch of kids, but this thing makes my skin crawl. And they are hurting people, they have to be stopped."
I accept the Scotch and toss it back. Never been my drink, but the alcohol burns a fire down to my belly. I take a firm grip on myself and try to talk to you rationally, although that's not one of my strong points. "Hugo, I know I've asked you to explain all this before, and I'm not trying to be dense, I'm really not. But I've tangled with those 'brats' before, and begging your pardon . . . you haven't. There's more to them than fanboys on a rampage. They've gone too far and I'm going to stop them, but I can't without answers."
You give me the eyebrow thing and I growl again. "John said you are holding back Morgoth, you and . . . Elrond. I don't understand why you can still shift and the rest of us can't. I don't understand why moving the bowl pissed Morgoth off so bad. I don't know where the fucking bowl is now. But one thing I do know is that those fanboys didn't get so dangerous until the shifting stopped. Is that a fucking coincidence?"
Hugo: I stare at my scotch as I swirl it in the glass, taking care not to spill any of the fine beverage which would be a tragedy in and of itself. "Coincidence? Perhaps, but not related in the fashion I think you might assume."
I sigh and shoot another glance outside before continuing, "I think...if a group of halfwits suddenly lacked their influential...guide...if not leader...I don't think they'd be too wise in their courses of action given no hand to hold and direct."
Letting you think on that, I take a drink and cradle the tumbler in my hands. "As for the bowl, the shifting has stopped because Dave moved it to his place, which, of no small coincidence itself, just happens to reside on my land. Morgoth can't locate the bowl, he's cut-off except for the thinning of the veil separating our world from the void in which he currently resides." I wave a hand at the skies, lightning skating across the surface, "the shifts' absences are not permanent, you'll be getting Éomer back, never fear, perhaps a bit sooner than not." I scowl at this thought, tapping my finger on the edge of my glass, "he's got his sights set on my home, it's only a matter of time before he finds what he searches for, then I wish the best of luck for what follows."
Karl: Okay, you've suddenly given me a lot to ponder. Shit, I thought the fanboys were the worst of the problem, but you make me see there's more going on. The bowl was at Craig's and now it's at Dave's, well really . . . your place, if you own the land. And somehow that small little move was enough to stop the shifts and cut Morgoth off. But now Morgoth has you targeted . . . fear closes around my heart.
"If moving the bowl stopped the shifts, how will they come back?" I get up and pace. Another look at your face convinces me how deadly serious you are. I drop to a crouch in front of you. "This has to stop. Innocent people are getting hurt. I know I'm not as smart as you are or as strong as you are, but I have to stop this. Let me help you." I reach out to you, but then I drop my hand, not sure how you'd take it.
Hugo: I shake my head and close my eyes, you have no idea what I've seen, what befalls us if we fail, and that is enough to supply nightmares for an eternity. With a sigh I and pat you on the shoulder, "no offense, mate, but now is not the time. Return the bowl too soon, and we will fail. And that'll make the smog and random violence seem a walk in the park, to use a horrible cliche which aptly fits. It's a fine line, chaos encompassing either side and balance tremulous at best, but there's not much choice. The blood and cries of the city haunt the night, but I fear more what might come to be."
Karl: You sound peculiar and I wonder if I'm talking to Elrond instead of you for a moment, but I don't know if I've ever talked to him, so I wouldn't know the difference. But if moving the bowl back will stop this, I still don't understand why you are waiting. My instinct is to head off, sword in hand, and mow down those punks, but you've convinced me that the bigger danger is here. I know you're prone to taking the worst possible view of things, but one look at your weary face, and I don't doubt that you're right this time.
"Okay, we'll do this your way. But, Hugo, mate, I wasn't trying to be insulting, you look awful. Can you at least tell me what you're waiting for? Or . . . tell me how to get horseboy and you can take some strength from him. I don't know how this works, but surely you don't have to do this by yourself? Dammit, Hugo! Let me help you!"
Hugo: "If wishes were possible, mate." I smile but I hardly feel it, shaking my head, turning to look at the skies once more. Soon. Soon we'll discover if this was all in vain or if the mettle of man is enough to withstand a darker evil than most have born witness.
Schite, what am I thinking. We're a world of lazy sods.
"You can't-" I'm cut off when I hear the front door open, granted I never lock my doors but few just venture in and I'm a bit stunned when I see who enters, stomach twisting itself into a knot twice over.
Johnny.
He can't be here, not now, not ever. Especially not as the proverbial sky is about to fall.
I don't manage a word as he gives me a cursory lookover, fuck if I can't see his temper spark, but he remains quiet as ever. His eyes travel to Karl, but he doesn't comment, simply returns to me and for the life of me I cannot speak.
"You're a fucking idiot, Hugo." He speaks calmly, patting his pockets, locating what he was looking for before he turns, "I need a cigarette."
I don't believe he's here, and I still have not managed a word as I watch him head for the kitchen and the back door.
"Fuck." Eloquent. I slump, bit defeated in my chair. If I can't keep him away from this...if he's here when the world comes crashing down..the thought turns my stomach again and it's all I can do to not run after him, clock him, and send him packing on the next plane.
Karl: I'm a little surprised to see Johnny Depp stalking through your living room and hope I'm not hallucinating. I wait until your back door slams, but the words you were about to say register and suddenly I'm tired of your evasions and obscure bullshit and my temper snaps.
"Don't fucking tell me I can't! People are getting hurt, some of them I care about, and you're included in that list, you asshole! If Morgoth wants a fight, and we can get the shifts back, why can't we do it? All of them are fucking deadly warriors!"
I resist the urge to shake you. "Look, if the price of keeping the innocents safe is living with Éomer, then so be it. Tell me how to get him back!"
Hugo: "Who's to say, while you're here, that he is not?" I give you a wink, bit more jovial than I feel, eyes darting towards the kitchen then back to you again. "Look, I meant no offense when I said you can't do anything. But for the moment, we are on a holding pattern and suffering smog." I glance out the window, frowning as I take a sip of my scotch. "It won't be long...it can't be. The sky is falling and chicken little's bone-weary. I'm sure you'll be of plenty help when the sky swallows the earth and darkness threatens. Best be saving your strength till then and not worry yourself. Might want to find your sword, though."
Karl: I sit back on my heels, surprised. "His sword is in the truck . . . ." I mumble. "Why do I need it now?"
He's here? Again, I want to shake you, why couldn't you have just told me that? But . . . I close my eyes, searching for him, trying to remember the feeling when I've found him. I ignore you, I have to find him, and finally I see him on a fast horse on the wide plains. Éomer! He pulls up the horse and comes toward me. Karl, what has happened? Where have you been? I take his hands and we meet in my mind. Something happened, here in my world, I don't really understand it, but I think it's about to get worse. That has to be why you told me to get his sword. I clench his hands. I think I may need you . . . if I call, please come right away, do you understand? He nods. I will be waiting. I let go of him and open my eyes and smile at you.
"He's there. He'll be ready. Now why do I need the sword?" I stand up, prepared to get it from the truck.
Hugo: I snort at your eagerness, obviously the threat of battle does nothing to dampen your enthusiasm. "You have your sword in your truck?" A bit taken aback, I chew on this a moment before gesturing back towards the chair. "You don't need it now, but as result of the fall out, you'll want that blade of Éomer's at your side. Would hate to wake unprepared, after all. Suppose a gun would be good as well, however I doubt this will last until you can get yourself a permit."
Karl: That reminds me of what I was thinking yesterday . . . fuck it's been just one day? I laugh, unreasonably relieved that horseboy is on call. Never thought I would be happy at the prospect of him shifting. "No gun . . . but a flamethrower would be handy, don't you think?"
Hmm. "Okay, Hugo, when you say I should have Gúthwinë at my side, do you mean all the time? Might be awkward getting seated at restaurants." I smile, remembering Viggo's little adventure with the plods during filming. And then I remember his more recent encounters with law enforcement and that thought sobers me again. This is no fucking game.
"What kind of fallout are we talking about, exactly?"
Hugo: I can't help but look back at the kitchen, certain Johnny's going to walk in at any moment and hear us speak, or worse yet, hang at the door and eavesdrop. Well, no, in that case I'd have even more reason to kick him far away from here.
"Typical...Middle Earthian ... fare..." I scowl as I stand slowly, that twisty-knotting feeling in my gut lurching and I'm a bit distracted from you as my focus is on the kitchen.
It doesn't take this long to smoke a cigarette, no matter how angry, and he isn't one to avoid confrontation.
"Doom...Morgoth...end of the world..." I look out the glass of the backdoor, the wind has picked up, whipping across the yard, shaking the trees to the roots during the gusts.
But no Johnny in sight.
My breath quickens and I catch movement in the trees near Dave's, Dave is at Paris'. There should be no...
Johnny's not on the deck.
He's not in the yard.
I'm a fucking idiot.
"Now." I turn to you, fear settling into my limbs to deaden me completely, this can't be happening now. I need a nap, for christ's sake, before I go gallivanting off towards any bloody battle. But you're...you're here. This was not an incidental meeting. And you
have your sword. Just like...but your shirt's a different color. Suppose it's not the details that matter... "You need your sword -now-."
Eric has to meet the insurance adjuster at noon, so we head back into town about ten thirty. I drop him at the bookstore and he kisses me. He stares at me for a minute. “You’re angry.”
“Damn right, I’m angry!” I gesture at his store. “The people who did that? They’ll pay and I’m gonna make sure of it.”
“Karl . . . be careful.”
“Don’t worry, answers first, then payback.” I wink at him and hug him tightly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
He lets me go and I turn the truck around, heading for Hugo’s. I park the truck and I’m yelling for him almost as soon as my feet hit the ground. I pick the orc blade up out of the truck bed and make straight for the door.
“Hugo! Open up, mate!”
Hugo: It's gotten worse the past few days, air sitting heavy upon my shoulders. Atlas I am not but I can sympathize the effort. I'm not sure how long this will or can last until I am pinpointed, but the search has redoubled and I swear I can feel -him- breathing down my neck, slowly crushing my world until the shaky protection governing the bowl collapses and my will defeated. There are times I can almost see a form within the threatening clouds, swirling as though gathering force and speed, drilling against my defenses. It's my imagination, hallucinations driven by fear. The ground trembling is no fear of my own, however, it's almost as though the Earth herself is afraid of what's coming. He knows I am here. He's focused his efforts, oppression drowning without much more a fight than a fly against a balrog.
How long until the time is right?
A knock cracks on the door, I open it and I'm first distracted by the skies, churning and crackling high above, settling lower with each passing hour. The air is still, not a sound from bird or insect scratching the ears, all quiet and tense in anticipation it would seem, or fear. Wouldn't blame them none at all if they'd fled as well. I would, were that an option. I eye the sky warily before turning my attention towards Karl, "come on in, mate."
Karl: I hesitate at Hugo's door, not sure if the air is getting worse or it's my imagination. Hugo finally answers and I stare at him.
You've aged since I saw you last, years it seems. Your face is drawn and tired, there's large bags under your eyes, your skin is pasty, dead looking.
"Hugo . . . what the fuck? You look like shit!" John said you were holding back Morgoth, but I didn't expect this.
You wave me inside and my anger at you drains away. Whatever you've been doing, you're clearly suffering for it. I hesitate again, but . . . fuck it. I need answers and you're the only one who can give them to me.
I unwrap the orc blade and leave it on the floor. I really don't like touching it. "I found this embedded in the floor in a store on Cuba Street. Do you see that rune painted on it? I've seen that before, on a cricket bat that some fanboy was using, trying to bash my head in. And Gareth told me that's not the only one."
I take a deep breath. "I need answers, and as far as I can tell, you're the one who has them. I know Dave moved the bowl. How did that . . . lead to all of this?" I point to the blade and the sky and finally to you.
Hugo: I laugh, I can't help it. Ah, nothing to save my ego from the great Karl Urban. I wave you in, my laughter fading away as you set the orc blade down on my floor, unwrapped it looks menacing against my clean floor. Rather relieved you set it on the bag, I'd hate for black filth to stain my carpeting.
Not that that's the greatest concern of mine right now, but the thought did cross my mind.
My skin goose pimples as I squat beside the blade, running a hand just over the rune. Thing radiates a darkness I'd rather not think about, suppose there's truth to be had in the power of the written word. Not even going to question what this is doing to my defenses either, I think it's safe to assume they're about shot to hell and back.
No, strike that. Hell is here.
I stand slowly and gesture towards a chair, pouring two glasses of scotch, I'd opened a new bottle before you arrived, one of two bottles from Dalwhinnie in my collection. Aged 15 years, one of my favorites from the Highlands, and I figure what better time than now to drink and savor. I hand you a glass and then sink into my own chair, sipping the scotch and relishing the smooth, smokey-heather flavor before responding, "the blade...I'm not quite certain how that connects. As far as I can figure, it's just a group of brat kids with nothing better to do with their time than terrorize anything dealing with the Rings story. As for that," I jerk my head towards the window where the black-grey clouds tumble over themselves, "he's been cut off from his favorite chew toy and is throwing a tantrum."
Karl: I wrap the blade back in the feed sack. I saw how you flinched when I got it out. I growl to myself, trying to keep a rein on my temper. "They may be just a bunch of kids, but this thing makes my skin crawl. And they are hurting people, they have to be stopped."
I accept the Scotch and toss it back. Never been my drink, but the alcohol burns a fire down to my belly. I take a firm grip on myself and try to talk to you rationally, although that's not one of my strong points. "Hugo, I know I've asked you to explain all this before, and I'm not trying to be dense, I'm really not. But I've tangled with those 'brats' before, and begging your pardon . . . you haven't. There's more to them than fanboys on a rampage. They've gone too far and I'm going to stop them, but I can't without answers."
You give me the eyebrow thing and I growl again. "John said you are holding back Morgoth, you and . . . Elrond. I don't understand why you can still shift and the rest of us can't. I don't understand why moving the bowl pissed Morgoth off so bad. I don't know where the fucking bowl is now. But one thing I do know is that those fanboys didn't get so dangerous until the shifting stopped. Is that a fucking coincidence?"
Hugo: I stare at my scotch as I swirl it in the glass, taking care not to spill any of the fine beverage which would be a tragedy in and of itself. "Coincidence? Perhaps, but not related in the fashion I think you might assume."
I sigh and shoot another glance outside before continuing, "I think...if a group of halfwits suddenly lacked their influential...guide...if not leader...I don't think they'd be too wise in their courses of action given no hand to hold and direct."
Letting you think on that, I take a drink and cradle the tumbler in my hands. "As for the bowl, the shifting has stopped because Dave moved it to his place, which, of no small coincidence itself, just happens to reside on my land. Morgoth can't locate the bowl, he's cut-off except for the thinning of the veil separating our world from the void in which he currently resides." I wave a hand at the skies, lightning skating across the surface, "the shifts' absences are not permanent, you'll be getting Éomer back, never fear, perhaps a bit sooner than not." I scowl at this thought, tapping my finger on the edge of my glass, "he's got his sights set on my home, it's only a matter of time before he finds what he searches for, then I wish the best of luck for what follows."
Karl: Okay, you've suddenly given me a lot to ponder. Shit, I thought the fanboys were the worst of the problem, but you make me see there's more going on. The bowl was at Craig's and now it's at Dave's, well really . . . your place, if you own the land. And somehow that small little move was enough to stop the shifts and cut Morgoth off. But now Morgoth has you targeted . . . fear closes around my heart.
"If moving the bowl stopped the shifts, how will they come back?" I get up and pace. Another look at your face convinces me how deadly serious you are. I drop to a crouch in front of you. "This has to stop. Innocent people are getting hurt. I know I'm not as smart as you are or as strong as you are, but I have to stop this. Let me help you." I reach out to you, but then I drop my hand, not sure how you'd take it.
Hugo: I shake my head and close my eyes, you have no idea what I've seen, what befalls us if we fail, and that is enough to supply nightmares for an eternity. With a sigh I and pat you on the shoulder, "no offense, mate, but now is not the time. Return the bowl too soon, and we will fail. And that'll make the smog and random violence seem a walk in the park, to use a horrible cliche which aptly fits. It's a fine line, chaos encompassing either side and balance tremulous at best, but there's not much choice. The blood and cries of the city haunt the night, but I fear more what might come to be."
Karl: You sound peculiar and I wonder if I'm talking to Elrond instead of you for a moment, but I don't know if I've ever talked to him, so I wouldn't know the difference. But if moving the bowl back will stop this, I still don't understand why you are waiting. My instinct is to head off, sword in hand, and mow down those punks, but you've convinced me that the bigger danger is here. I know you're prone to taking the worst possible view of things, but one look at your weary face, and I don't doubt that you're right this time.
"Okay, we'll do this your way. But, Hugo, mate, I wasn't trying to be insulting, you look awful. Can you at least tell me what you're waiting for? Or . . . tell me how to get horseboy and you can take some strength from him. I don't know how this works, but surely you don't have to do this by yourself? Dammit, Hugo! Let me help you!"
Hugo: "If wishes were possible, mate." I smile but I hardly feel it, shaking my head, turning to look at the skies once more. Soon. Soon we'll discover if this was all in vain or if the mettle of man is enough to withstand a darker evil than most have born witness.
Schite, what am I thinking. We're a world of lazy sods.
"You can't-" I'm cut off when I hear the front door open, granted I never lock my doors but few just venture in and I'm a bit stunned when I see who enters, stomach twisting itself into a knot twice over.
Johnny.
He can't be here, not now, not ever. Especially not as the proverbial sky is about to fall.
I don't manage a word as he gives me a cursory lookover, fuck if I can't see his temper spark, but he remains quiet as ever. His eyes travel to Karl, but he doesn't comment, simply returns to me and for the life of me I cannot speak.
"You're a fucking idiot, Hugo." He speaks calmly, patting his pockets, locating what he was looking for before he turns, "I need a cigarette."
I don't believe he's here, and I still have not managed a word as I watch him head for the kitchen and the back door.
"Fuck." Eloquent. I slump, bit defeated in my chair. If I can't keep him away from this...if he's here when the world comes crashing down..the thought turns my stomach again and it's all I can do to not run after him, clock him, and send him packing on the next plane.
Karl: I'm a little surprised to see Johnny Depp stalking through your living room and hope I'm not hallucinating. I wait until your back door slams, but the words you were about to say register and suddenly I'm tired of your evasions and obscure bullshit and my temper snaps.
"Don't fucking tell me I can't! People are getting hurt, some of them I care about, and you're included in that list, you asshole! If Morgoth wants a fight, and we can get the shifts back, why can't we do it? All of them are fucking deadly warriors!"
I resist the urge to shake you. "Look, if the price of keeping the innocents safe is living with Éomer, then so be it. Tell me how to get him back!"
Hugo: "Who's to say, while you're here, that he is not?" I give you a wink, bit more jovial than I feel, eyes darting towards the kitchen then back to you again. "Look, I meant no offense when I said you can't do anything. But for the moment, we are on a holding pattern and suffering smog." I glance out the window, frowning as I take a sip of my scotch. "It won't be long...it can't be. The sky is falling and chicken little's bone-weary. I'm sure you'll be of plenty help when the sky swallows the earth and darkness threatens. Best be saving your strength till then and not worry yourself. Might want to find your sword, though."
Karl: I sit back on my heels, surprised. "His sword is in the truck . . . ." I mumble. "Why do I need it now?"
He's here? Again, I want to shake you, why couldn't you have just told me that? But . . . I close my eyes, searching for him, trying to remember the feeling when I've found him. I ignore you, I have to find him, and finally I see him on a fast horse on the wide plains. Éomer! He pulls up the horse and comes toward me. Karl, what has happened? Where have you been? I take his hands and we meet in my mind. Something happened, here in my world, I don't really understand it, but I think it's about to get worse. That has to be why you told me to get his sword. I clench his hands. I think I may need you . . . if I call, please come right away, do you understand? He nods. I will be waiting. I let go of him and open my eyes and smile at you.
"He's there. He'll be ready. Now why do I need the sword?" I stand up, prepared to get it from the truck.
Hugo: I snort at your eagerness, obviously the threat of battle does nothing to dampen your enthusiasm. "You have your sword in your truck?" A bit taken aback, I chew on this a moment before gesturing back towards the chair. "You don't need it now, but as result of the fall out, you'll want that blade of Éomer's at your side. Would hate to wake unprepared, after all. Suppose a gun would be good as well, however I doubt this will last until you can get yourself a permit."
Karl: That reminds me of what I was thinking yesterday . . . fuck it's been just one day? I laugh, unreasonably relieved that horseboy is on call. Never thought I would be happy at the prospect of him shifting. "No gun . . . but a flamethrower would be handy, don't you think?"
Hmm. "Okay, Hugo, when you say I should have Gúthwinë at my side, do you mean all the time? Might be awkward getting seated at restaurants." I smile, remembering Viggo's little adventure with the plods during filming. And then I remember his more recent encounters with law enforcement and that thought sobers me again. This is no fucking game.
"What kind of fallout are we talking about, exactly?"
Hugo: I can't help but look back at the kitchen, certain Johnny's going to walk in at any moment and hear us speak, or worse yet, hang at the door and eavesdrop. Well, no, in that case I'd have even more reason to kick him far away from here.
"Typical...Middle Earthian ... fare..." I scowl as I stand slowly, that twisty-knotting feeling in my gut lurching and I'm a bit distracted from you as my focus is on the kitchen.
It doesn't take this long to smoke a cigarette, no matter how angry, and he isn't one to avoid confrontation.
"Doom...Morgoth...end of the world..." I look out the glass of the backdoor, the wind has picked up, whipping across the yard, shaking the trees to the roots during the gusts.
But no Johnny in sight.
My breath quickens and I catch movement in the trees near Dave's, Dave is at Paris'. There should be no...
Johnny's not on the deck.
He's not in the yard.
I'm a fucking idiot.
"Now." I turn to you, fear settling into my limbs to deaden me completely, this can't be happening now. I need a nap, for christ's sake, before I go gallivanting off towards any bloody battle. But you're...you're here. This was not an incidental meeting. And you
have your sword. Just like...but your shirt's a different color. Suppose it's not the details that matter... "You need your sword -now-."