FICLET: 4/? "Taking a Walk"
Jun. 20th, 2003 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321FICLET: "Taking a Walk"
SERIES: Nr. 4 of the Boring!Orli storyverse. Nr 3 is here .
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Pairing: Orlando Bloom / blood
WARNING: Intimations of het.
A/N: Drama! Action! Mayhem!
This one's for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cupiscent who had palpitations.
The short and the long hands on the analogue clockface above the kitchen door pointed to the 1 and the 12 respectively. The digital radio alarm on Orli's bedside table read '13.02'. Orli looked at his wristwatch. It said 'a quarter past one'.
Orli went into the bathroom and checked the waterproof clock perched on the middle shelf of the plastic shelving unit in the shower cubicle. It said '1 o'clock'.
He sat down in the kitchen, on the chair next to the fold-down table from Ikea, and twiddled the knob at the top of his wristwatch until the time was '2 past 1'. Then he got up, looked out of the window to gauge climatic conditions, put his leather jacket on, put his sunglasses in the inside right breast pocket, put his wallet in the inside left breast pocket, put his keys in the outside zippered left waist pocket, put a pack of tissues in the outside right waist pocket, looked at his watch, and opened the front door.
Orli took the keys back out and locked the doors from the outside. Then he went down the stairs, with a little hop in his step, and started out towards the surgery.
The pavement was grey and made of asphalt. At intervals, there were cracks. Every other crack had weeds growing in it. Some of the weeds were in flower. It was a pleasant spring day, around 18 degrees centigrade, tolerable levels of humidity and pollen, with a slight to moderate breeze.
Orli walked past the neighbouring block of flats, past the newsagent's on the corner, across the zebra crossing at the corner, past the Chinese take-away, past the Mafia front disguised as a haberdasher's, past the charity shop with mannequins wearing crocheted frocks in the window, past the chemist's and past the property management office.
When he was in front of the supermarket, still walking in a straight line, a blue car screeched to a halt alongside him. The door sprang open. Orli jumped backward. A man rolled out of the open door, rolled across the pavement, rolled behind a garbage bin and got to his knees. The door shut again, the car window was wound down and the mouth of a sawn-off rifle protruded from the opening. The man behind the bin pulled out a .25 revolver and opened fire. The rifle fired several shots. People screamed. A supermarket trolley filled with goods toppled over. Oranges, potatoes, cheerios and dog biscuits rolled about. Another car, a red Toyota Corolla, rounded a corner and slammed into the first car. Two men in black suits jumped out of the Toyota and started shooting at the riflebearer. Glass shattered. A rearview window smashed to the ground in front of Orli's feet.
All of this took three and a half seconds,
"Oh my god!" "Fucking bloody hell!" "What do you think you're doing?" "Help! Help! Help!" "Shut the fuck up!" "Nobody move!" "Where's the girl?"
A door slammed. A shot rang out. Orli threw himself to the ground and crawled towards the supermarket. A woman jumped out of the blue car and ran across the open space. Her arm was bleeding. There were shouts. The red car reversed and slammed into the blue car again. Orli crawled past the gunman behind the bin. There was a pool of blood next to the man's left knee. Orli's hands were bleeding, too. They were cut with glass from the exploded tomato-juice bottle and smeared with second-party blood.
"Help me! Help me!" screamed a woman with peroxide hair and an Oxfam coat. "I will. I'll ring the police." Orli fumbled for his mobile phone but that was the one item he had forgotten at home. He pictured it, lying on the living room table, next to his electronic organiser and the phone re-charger. "Aaack!" screamed a man whose toupé hung askew and who was clutching his stomach.
Orli crawled further towards the supermarket door. Suddenly, the woman with the bleeding arm ran across his path. One of the men in suits was right behind her, lunged at her legs and threw himself and her down to the ground. She screamed and punched him in the face. He grunted and punched her in the stomach. She went 'oooph' and kicked him in the groin. He went 'eeee', and then 'bphh' as Orli stumbled and fell onto the man's face.
"Thank you! Thank you!" sobbed the woman. "How can I ever thank you?" She slung her arms around Orli and started covering his face with kisses.
Orli pushed her away and got to his feet.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, "but I can't sleep with you. I've got a wart on my penis."
-----
TBC.
21 June 2003 (early hours)
lobelia40@yahoo.com
SERIES: Nr. 4 of the Boring!Orli storyverse. Nr 3 is here .
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Pairing: Orlando Bloom / blood
WARNING: Intimations of het.
A/N: Drama! Action! Mayhem!
This one's for
cupiscent who had palpitations.The short and the long hands on the analogue clockface above the kitchen door pointed to the 1 and the 12 respectively. The digital radio alarm on Orli's bedside table read '13.02'. Orli looked at his wristwatch. It said 'a quarter past one'.
Orli went into the bathroom and checked the waterproof clock perched on the middle shelf of the plastic shelving unit in the shower cubicle. It said '1 o'clock'.
He sat down in the kitchen, on the chair next to the fold-down table from Ikea, and twiddled the knob at the top of his wristwatch until the time was '2 past 1'. Then he got up, looked out of the window to gauge climatic conditions, put his leather jacket on, put his sunglasses in the inside right breast pocket, put his wallet in the inside left breast pocket, put his keys in the outside zippered left waist pocket, put a pack of tissues in the outside right waist pocket, looked at his watch, and opened the front door.
Orli took the keys back out and locked the doors from the outside. Then he went down the stairs, with a little hop in his step, and started out towards the surgery.
The pavement was grey and made of asphalt. At intervals, there were cracks. Every other crack had weeds growing in it. Some of the weeds were in flower. It was a pleasant spring day, around 18 degrees centigrade, tolerable levels of humidity and pollen, with a slight to moderate breeze.
Orli walked past the neighbouring block of flats, past the newsagent's on the corner, across the zebra crossing at the corner, past the Chinese take-away, past the Mafia front disguised as a haberdasher's, past the charity shop with mannequins wearing crocheted frocks in the window, past the chemist's and past the property management office.
When he was in front of the supermarket, still walking in a straight line, a blue car screeched to a halt alongside him. The door sprang open. Orli jumped backward. A man rolled out of the open door, rolled across the pavement, rolled behind a garbage bin and got to his knees. The door shut again, the car window was wound down and the mouth of a sawn-off rifle protruded from the opening. The man behind the bin pulled out a .25 revolver and opened fire. The rifle fired several shots. People screamed. A supermarket trolley filled with goods toppled over. Oranges, potatoes, cheerios and dog biscuits rolled about. Another car, a red Toyota Corolla, rounded a corner and slammed into the first car. Two men in black suits jumped out of the Toyota and started shooting at the riflebearer. Glass shattered. A rearview window smashed to the ground in front of Orli's feet.
All of this took three and a half seconds,
"Oh my god!" "Fucking bloody hell!" "What do you think you're doing?" "Help! Help! Help!" "Shut the fuck up!" "Nobody move!" "Where's the girl?"
A door slammed. A shot rang out. Orli threw himself to the ground and crawled towards the supermarket. A woman jumped out of the blue car and ran across the open space. Her arm was bleeding. There were shouts. The red car reversed and slammed into the blue car again. Orli crawled past the gunman behind the bin. There was a pool of blood next to the man's left knee. Orli's hands were bleeding, too. They were cut with glass from the exploded tomato-juice bottle and smeared with second-party blood.
"Help me! Help me!" screamed a woman with peroxide hair and an Oxfam coat. "I will. I'll ring the police." Orli fumbled for his mobile phone but that was the one item he had forgotten at home. He pictured it, lying on the living room table, next to his electronic organiser and the phone re-charger. "Aaack!" screamed a man whose toupé hung askew and who was clutching his stomach.
Orli crawled further towards the supermarket door. Suddenly, the woman with the bleeding arm ran across his path. One of the men in suits was right behind her, lunged at her legs and threw himself and her down to the ground. She screamed and punched him in the face. He grunted and punched her in the stomach. She went 'oooph' and kicked him in the groin. He went 'eeee', and then 'bphh' as Orli stumbled and fell onto the man's face.
"Thank you! Thank you!" sobbed the woman. "How can I ever thank you?" She slung her arms around Orli and started covering his face with kisses.
Orli pushed her away and got to his feet.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, "but I can't sleep with you. I've got a wart on my penis."
-----
TBC.
21 June 2003 (early hours)
lobelia40@yahoo.com
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-20 05:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-20 06:13 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-20 06:37 pm (UTC)boring!Orli saves the girl!
this story should be made into a black/white art film, set in the 30s, something like that.
i am riddled with what
*flails arms*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 03:48 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-20 10:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 04:06 am (UTC)Thanks so much for continuing to read this mad thing.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-20 11:29 pm (UTC)The microscopic detail! The tightly honed narrative! The characterisation! The pathos!
You have finally lost your mind. How much to I adore you?
*reads all four again*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 04:07 am (UTC)If you continue to flatter me like this, I'll start doing narratological analyses of the diegesis of this insanity!
I haven't *lost* my mind, I've *regained* it! (Which reminds me that I've been meaning to read Milton for months. Regained mind veers wildly.)
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 12:22 am (UTC)I know people who are like this. Though not (necessarily) down to the wart.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 04:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 01:26 am (UTC)Man, the wart is seriously cramping his style. Poor Orli.
PS: BWAHAHAHAH! *wipes tears* *tries to breathe properly again*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 04:09 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-06-21 04:10 am (UTC)