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Oct. 21st, 2003 06:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Encouraged by all of you lot (and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
azewewish in particular), I am going to post some never-finished snippets (as well as bigger fics a bit later).
So here's a snippet, never finished, about .
Karl's hand
A fictional snippet by Lobelia
Richard likes hands.
He likes all manner of hands: girl's hands, boy's hands, white hands, black hands, Orcs' clenched claws, hairy Hobbits' paws, fists above leather wrists and the porcelain veins in elven palms.
He likes them, he makes them, he likes to think about them. He likes to think about how they fit together, how the opposable thumb rests so perfectly on the pad of the little finger, how the distances between the first knuckle and the second and third knuckles vary from finger to finger, how the nails emerge from their beds of skin to stand like sentinels at the tip of their towers. He likes the thick artery that branches across the backs of sweaty hands, and the plaited lines travelling along palms like songlines.
"Hands are the most versatile of all the tools of the human body," he tells his crew. "They are able to pick up tiny objects as well as massive weights. The digits can move towards one another in order to grasp a toothpick in a pinched grip, and they can draw apart in order to span anything from a beer bottle to the hilt on a Gondorian sword."
Hands can grab and hold and carry. They can brush along surfaces with the lightest of touches, and they can lash out and smash your nose. They can flex fingers, their knuckles can turn white with tension, and then they can relax and lie loosely on a thigh.
Richard likes all sorts of hands but at the moment he is looking at one hand only.
Karl's hand.
Karl's right hand, just resting on Karl's right thigh. Skin against denim. Pink on blue. Just resting calmly, a hand at ease, a hand blithely unaware of itself. A hand with all its hand-potential in repose. Now and again the little finger twitches. Now and again the thumb flicks quickly against the side of the index finger.
Apart from that, the hand is quite still. Richard could go and take a latex mould off that hand right now. It is a hand ready to be worked on.
There's someone attached to the hand, of course. Hands tend to come with people, though not always and certainly not within the workshops. But in the non-WETA world, hands generally come with people, much like dogs come with owners.
"Rich?"
Richard shakes his head. He tears his gaze away from Karl's hand and looks up.
"What? Sorry, I was just contemplating the..." The what? "The feasibility of gloves. I was studying Karl's hand here..."
As soon as Karl's name is mentioned, the hand moves. Karl lifts it, lets it drop again. Looks at his fingernails. Laughs.
"... and I was trying to measure the span width and to gauge the amount of leather we will need for one pair, and whether to continue the glove gauntlet-style along the forearm or to finish it with some type of edge trim at wrist-level. What do you think, Ngila?"
Ngila, putting on her costume face, puts her head on one side.
-----
Written 5 March 2003
azewewish in particular), I am going to post some never-finished snippets (as well as bigger fics a bit later).So here's a snippet, never finished, about .
Karl's hand
A fictional snippet by Lobelia
Richard likes hands.
He likes all manner of hands: girl's hands, boy's hands, white hands, black hands, Orcs' clenched claws, hairy Hobbits' paws, fists above leather wrists and the porcelain veins in elven palms.
He likes them, he makes them, he likes to think about them. He likes to think about how they fit together, how the opposable thumb rests so perfectly on the pad of the little finger, how the distances between the first knuckle and the second and third knuckles vary from finger to finger, how the nails emerge from their beds of skin to stand like sentinels at the tip of their towers. He likes the thick artery that branches across the backs of sweaty hands, and the plaited lines travelling along palms like songlines.
"Hands are the most versatile of all the tools of the human body," he tells his crew. "They are able to pick up tiny objects as well as massive weights. The digits can move towards one another in order to grasp a toothpick in a pinched grip, and they can draw apart in order to span anything from a beer bottle to the hilt on a Gondorian sword."
Hands can grab and hold and carry. They can brush along surfaces with the lightest of touches, and they can lash out and smash your nose. They can flex fingers, their knuckles can turn white with tension, and then they can relax and lie loosely on a thigh.
Richard likes all sorts of hands but at the moment he is looking at one hand only.
Karl's hand.
Karl's right hand, just resting on Karl's right thigh. Skin against denim. Pink on blue. Just resting calmly, a hand at ease, a hand blithely unaware of itself. A hand with all its hand-potential in repose. Now and again the little finger twitches. Now and again the thumb flicks quickly against the side of the index finger.
Apart from that, the hand is quite still. Richard could go and take a latex mould off that hand right now. It is a hand ready to be worked on.
There's someone attached to the hand, of course. Hands tend to come with people, though not always and certainly not within the workshops. But in the non-WETA world, hands generally come with people, much like dogs come with owners.
"Rich?"
Richard shakes his head. He tears his gaze away from Karl's hand and looks up.
"What? Sorry, I was just contemplating the..." The what? "The feasibility of gloves. I was studying Karl's hand here..."
As soon as Karl's name is mentioned, the hand moves. Karl lifts it, lets it drop again. Looks at his fingernails. Laughs.
"... and I was trying to measure the span width and to gauge the amount of leather we will need for one pair, and whether to continue the glove gauntlet-style along the forearm or to finish it with some type of edge trim at wrist-level. What do you think, Ngila?"
Ngila, putting on her costume face, puts her head on one side.
-----
Written 5 March 2003