slashercises one last try
Sep. 13th, 2002 12:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321I've been doing more of those writing exercises (because I don't think I did them properly first time round). But I decided to slash them up a bit, too!
Slashercises: Ten takes on the Human Scum incident
Take 1: Notation
In the cinema lobby, after the premiere. A young man of around 25, very short hair, open-neck shirt with ruffles down the front. People milling about. A television crew zeroing in on him. The man in question runs up to another, less youthful fellow with shoulder-length hair and a crumpled suit. The young man throws his arm around this fellow. Suddenly, he gives the fellow a kiss on the cheek. Then he calls him "Human scum". A bantering tone which is meant to be affectionate.
Two hours later, I see him on the Boulevard de Nice, in front of the Café Aube. He's with a friend who's saying, "I like your shirt but the buttons are done up wrong."
Take 2: Litotes (ironical understatement)
A lot of us were all milling about together. A young man who didn't look entirely respectable kissed and insulted another man. Two hours later, I saw him again; he was with a friend and they were talking about clothes.
Take 3: Precision
In a lobby of the Warner-Village cinema franchise, a room measuring 25 metres by 17 metres, with a ceiling stud of 4 metres 25, at 7.15 pm, on 5 January 2002, a person of the male sex, aged 24 years, 11 months and 23 days, 177 cm tall, weighing 67 kg, sporting a short-cropped haircut with an average hair length of 5 mm and wearing a button-down, 100 % cotton, patterned shirt, collar size 6, a pair of dark-blue denim trousers with a leather belt of 4 cm width, buckled through the second hole, grey 95 % cotton, 5 % elastan socks, and a pair of suede moccasins, accosted a man aged 43, 3 months and 12 days, 177.5 cm tall, weighing 76 kg, by means of a one-armed, right-handed embrace, the application of lips to the right-hand cheekbone, 2.8 cm below the lower eyelashes, and an exchange of two words in the English language whose utterance lasted 1.453 seconds and which characterised the latter man as a form of sentient fungal matter.
118 minutes later, the same person was 10 metres away from the entrance to the Café Aube on the Boulevard de Nice, standing 1 m 35 cm apart from a friend aged 24 years and 28 days who advised him in 11 words to re-position the plastic discs sewn onto his upper garment by 2.5 cm each.
Take 4: The Subjective Side
I was quite pleased with my outfit that evening. I was breaking in my new ruffled shirt, one of the ones I'd bought specially for these big premieres to show off my ironic sense of fashion and cool sense of occasion. Met Dom in front of that trendy café on that seafront promenade. He tried to spoil my pleasure by pointing out that my shirt was buttoned up the wrong way. At least he didn't laugh at the ruffles.
Earlier, I'd jumped on Vig and caused him to blush by giving him a smacker on the cheek and calling him "Human scum." I love winding him up. That happened in one of those big, over-decorated cinema lobbies which fill up with punters and paparazzi just at those times when I have to walk across them.
Take 5: Another Subjectivity
I was innocently standing around in the movie theatre lobby today when who should come up but Orlando, giving me a great slobbery kiss and calling me an insulting name! Cheeky bastard! It's not so much the physical contact I mind -- although he does tend to lay it on a bit thick -- but the inappropriateness of doing whatever he likes at whatever time, no matter that there are about ten camera crews around and over five zillion viewers watching worldwide. I put a good face on it but really, he did irritate me. I could also, just to annoy him, have told him that his silly dandified shirt was buttoned up all wrong.
Take 6: Exclamations
My God! Cannes! Movie premiere! Lord of the Rings! Red carpet! Lights, camera, action! What a crowd! What a lot of famous people! And there! It is! No! Yes! My God! Legolas himself! Orlando Bloom! What luck! Having caught him on camera! And look! He's doing something! Yes! He's running up to another star! It is, yes! Viggo Mortensen! Yay! My God! What bloody luck! We are one lucky TV crew! We're going to make big buckeroonies! Show me the money! And he is! Yes, he is! Kissing! I mean to say! Yes, kissing! Kissing Viggo! On the cheek! Too bloody amazing! And we got it! On camera! Fuck! The luck! Unbelievable! Vegas, here I come! He's talking, too! Well, I'll be! No! What an insult! Human scum! Bloody hell! But no! He doesn't mean it! Can't! Surely not! It's a joke! Haha! Ha! Hilarious!
Well! It's true! No, I'm right! It's him again! In front of that café! My God! Yes! Double whammy! With another star! It's Dominic! Monaghan! Yes! Quick! Use the zoom! And he's talking! Telling him his shirt's done up the wrong way! Yes! His shirt! Done up! The wrong way!
Take 7: Official Letter
Dear Sir or Madam
I herewith would like to inform you of a matter that pertains to the 5th ult. and to which I have made reference in an earlier communication. It involves three parties of celebrity status, to wit Mr O. Bloom, Mr V. Mortensen and Mr D. Monaghan.
On the aforesaid date, at about 7 pm, I was present in the lobby of the central Cannes Festival cinema when I was privileged to witness the following incident. I should draw attention to the circumstance that the lobby was at this point crowded with people, including persons employed within the movie industry as well as commercial representatives of the major international print and screen media. It is my opinion that it was this overcrowded state of the lobby which led to Mr Bloom's jostling of Mr Mortensen and his subsequent cover-up of the blunder by a manoeuvre staged to give the appearance of purposeful deliberation. Please note that Mr Bloom was seen to be giving Mr Mortensen a kiss on the cheek and was thereafter heard to be telling Mr Mortensen that he was, and I quote, "human scum."
I will add a brief postscript to my account: later, I had occasion to observe the same individual, Mr Bloom, conversing on the pavement in front of the Café Aube with a fellow actor, Mr Monaghan. I believe that they were engaged in a discussion that revolved around sartorial mores.
Please advise me on how to proceed. I would be grateful if this issue could be cleared up as a matter of urgency. I look forward to your speedy reply. Please don't hesitate to contact me should you have any further questions.
Yours sincerely
Take 8: Noble
The silvery shafts of countless sparkling chandeliers cast an ethereal glow on the swaying masses in the lobby. Rose-coloured vines climbed across the felt-textured wallpaper. Gilt plaster putti hung from the ceiling in this hall of visual delights.
A golden-skinned youth trysted with a bohemian of different ilk. Lambent eyes roved across unkempt apparel. A soft-downed arm enveloped the bohemian's upper bodily regions. And lo, the ultimate sign of recognition and amicability was exchanged: a kiss, redolent with unspoken promises. The youth murmured something that spoke of deep human bonds.
Cameras whirred implacably.
And later, as the hours of evening passed into night and the moon held her pale breath, the selfsame youth was ambulating up and down the mediterranean waterfront, his ruffles riffled by the tepid winter breeze of the south. A friend was with him. They talked of fastenings and fixings, of holes and discs, of propriety and the impetuosity of youth.
Take 9: Awkward
I, um... I'm not used to speaking on live TV like this. Filmed like this. Talking about something so, er, trivial, really. Am I allowed to say that here? Trivial? Okay. Where to begin. Well, um, I was in the like, that big hall thingy in the cinema, that festival cinema, you know, I was walking around in the... Just walking. And then, well, um, I don't know how to say this, but I saw Vig. Yeah, Vig, Viggo. Whatever. I ran up to him and, um, is this important? Well, anyway, I sort of, ah, like hugged him. Or something. And then, well, okay, I did, um, kiss him, hah. Just in a jokey sort of way, like. And I called him "Human scum." Which, ah, well, I won't go into it.
And then, later on, um... is this over yet?
Take 10: Slashy
Viggo was standing in the lobby of the cinema in his new blue suit, smoothing down his long, soft hair. Suddenly, he felt a warm arm around his shoulders. A shudder went through his body. He knew, he just knew who it was. Slowly, he turned. The sight of Orli behind him took his breath away. The boy looked even more beautiful than he had a few moments earlier, glimpsed across the theatre aisles. Orli's short hair formed a halo around his perfectly-shaped skull. Nimble fingers drummed a tattoo on Viggo's neck. The older man swallowed. Mocha eyes met ocean-clear ones. The Brit laughed and leaned forward. The half-Dane, half-American shivered as the younger man pressed his lips against his cheek. Oh, such soft lips! Such a fuckable mouth! "Human scum," muttered Orli. The sexy accent was enough to make Viggo hard.
Later, Viggo sighed. He retreated into the shadows of a nearby palm tree and pondered the age difference that gnawed at his consciousness. He watched the young demi-god cavort shamelessly with his coeval Dom. Dom, with his blond-tipped sunkissed hair and his dreamy grey eyes grasped Orli by the collar -- Viggo's heart missed a beat -- and said, smiling playfully, "You know, mate, why don't you come back to my hotel room and I can undo all those skew-whiff buttons for you."
..
(Closely based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style, except for Take 10, obviously, *gg*.
Also a bit of Viggorli to brighten![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
viva_gloria's day! *winks*
Slashercises: Ten takes on the Human Scum incident
Take 1: Notation
In the cinema lobby, after the premiere. A young man of around 25, very short hair, open-neck shirt with ruffles down the front. People milling about. A television crew zeroing in on him. The man in question runs up to another, less youthful fellow with shoulder-length hair and a crumpled suit. The young man throws his arm around this fellow. Suddenly, he gives the fellow a kiss on the cheek. Then he calls him "Human scum". A bantering tone which is meant to be affectionate.
Two hours later, I see him on the Boulevard de Nice, in front of the Café Aube. He's with a friend who's saying, "I like your shirt but the buttons are done up wrong."
Take 2: Litotes (ironical understatement)
A lot of us were all milling about together. A young man who didn't look entirely respectable kissed and insulted another man. Two hours later, I saw him again; he was with a friend and they were talking about clothes.
Take 3: Precision
In a lobby of the Warner-Village cinema franchise, a room measuring 25 metres by 17 metres, with a ceiling stud of 4 metres 25, at 7.15 pm, on 5 January 2002, a person of the male sex, aged 24 years, 11 months and 23 days, 177 cm tall, weighing 67 kg, sporting a short-cropped haircut with an average hair length of 5 mm and wearing a button-down, 100 % cotton, patterned shirt, collar size 6, a pair of dark-blue denim trousers with a leather belt of 4 cm width, buckled through the second hole, grey 95 % cotton, 5 % elastan socks, and a pair of suede moccasins, accosted a man aged 43, 3 months and 12 days, 177.5 cm tall, weighing 76 kg, by means of a one-armed, right-handed embrace, the application of lips to the right-hand cheekbone, 2.8 cm below the lower eyelashes, and an exchange of two words in the English language whose utterance lasted 1.453 seconds and which characterised the latter man as a form of sentient fungal matter.
118 minutes later, the same person was 10 metres away from the entrance to the Café Aube on the Boulevard de Nice, standing 1 m 35 cm apart from a friend aged 24 years and 28 days who advised him in 11 words to re-position the plastic discs sewn onto his upper garment by 2.5 cm each.
Take 4: The Subjective Side
I was quite pleased with my outfit that evening. I was breaking in my new ruffled shirt, one of the ones I'd bought specially for these big premieres to show off my ironic sense of fashion and cool sense of occasion. Met Dom in front of that trendy café on that seafront promenade. He tried to spoil my pleasure by pointing out that my shirt was buttoned up the wrong way. At least he didn't laugh at the ruffles.
Earlier, I'd jumped on Vig and caused him to blush by giving him a smacker on the cheek and calling him "Human scum." I love winding him up. That happened in one of those big, over-decorated cinema lobbies which fill up with punters and paparazzi just at those times when I have to walk across them.
Take 5: Another Subjectivity
I was innocently standing around in the movie theatre lobby today when who should come up but Orlando, giving me a great slobbery kiss and calling me an insulting name! Cheeky bastard! It's not so much the physical contact I mind -- although he does tend to lay it on a bit thick -- but the inappropriateness of doing whatever he likes at whatever time, no matter that there are about ten camera crews around and over five zillion viewers watching worldwide. I put a good face on it but really, he did irritate me. I could also, just to annoy him, have told him that his silly dandified shirt was buttoned up all wrong.
Take 6: Exclamations
My God! Cannes! Movie premiere! Lord of the Rings! Red carpet! Lights, camera, action! What a crowd! What a lot of famous people! And there! It is! No! Yes! My God! Legolas himself! Orlando Bloom! What luck! Having caught him on camera! And look! He's doing something! Yes! He's running up to another star! It is, yes! Viggo Mortensen! Yay! My God! What bloody luck! We are one lucky TV crew! We're going to make big buckeroonies! Show me the money! And he is! Yes, he is! Kissing! I mean to say! Yes, kissing! Kissing Viggo! On the cheek! Too bloody amazing! And we got it! On camera! Fuck! The luck! Unbelievable! Vegas, here I come! He's talking, too! Well, I'll be! No! What an insult! Human scum! Bloody hell! But no! He doesn't mean it! Can't! Surely not! It's a joke! Haha! Ha! Hilarious!
Well! It's true! No, I'm right! It's him again! In front of that café! My God! Yes! Double whammy! With another star! It's Dominic! Monaghan! Yes! Quick! Use the zoom! And he's talking! Telling him his shirt's done up the wrong way! Yes! His shirt! Done up! The wrong way!
Take 7: Official Letter
Dear Sir or Madam
I herewith would like to inform you of a matter that pertains to the 5th ult. and to which I have made reference in an earlier communication. It involves three parties of celebrity status, to wit Mr O. Bloom, Mr V. Mortensen and Mr D. Monaghan.
On the aforesaid date, at about 7 pm, I was present in the lobby of the central Cannes Festival cinema when I was privileged to witness the following incident. I should draw attention to the circumstance that the lobby was at this point crowded with people, including persons employed within the movie industry as well as commercial representatives of the major international print and screen media. It is my opinion that it was this overcrowded state of the lobby which led to Mr Bloom's jostling of Mr Mortensen and his subsequent cover-up of the blunder by a manoeuvre staged to give the appearance of purposeful deliberation. Please note that Mr Bloom was seen to be giving Mr Mortensen a kiss on the cheek and was thereafter heard to be telling Mr Mortensen that he was, and I quote, "human scum."
I will add a brief postscript to my account: later, I had occasion to observe the same individual, Mr Bloom, conversing on the pavement in front of the Café Aube with a fellow actor, Mr Monaghan. I believe that they were engaged in a discussion that revolved around sartorial mores.
Please advise me on how to proceed. I would be grateful if this issue could be cleared up as a matter of urgency. I look forward to your speedy reply. Please don't hesitate to contact me should you have any further questions.
Yours sincerely
Take 8: Noble
The silvery shafts of countless sparkling chandeliers cast an ethereal glow on the swaying masses in the lobby. Rose-coloured vines climbed across the felt-textured wallpaper. Gilt plaster putti hung from the ceiling in this hall of visual delights.
A golden-skinned youth trysted with a bohemian of different ilk. Lambent eyes roved across unkempt apparel. A soft-downed arm enveloped the bohemian's upper bodily regions. And lo, the ultimate sign of recognition and amicability was exchanged: a kiss, redolent with unspoken promises. The youth murmured something that spoke of deep human bonds.
Cameras whirred implacably.
And later, as the hours of evening passed into night and the moon held her pale breath, the selfsame youth was ambulating up and down the mediterranean waterfront, his ruffles riffled by the tepid winter breeze of the south. A friend was with him. They talked of fastenings and fixings, of holes and discs, of propriety and the impetuosity of youth.
Take 9: Awkward
I, um... I'm not used to speaking on live TV like this. Filmed like this. Talking about something so, er, trivial, really. Am I allowed to say that here? Trivial? Okay. Where to begin. Well, um, I was in the like, that big hall thingy in the cinema, that festival cinema, you know, I was walking around in the... Just walking. And then, well, um, I don't know how to say this, but I saw Vig. Yeah, Vig, Viggo. Whatever. I ran up to him and, um, is this important? Well, anyway, I sort of, ah, like hugged him. Or something. And then, well, okay, I did, um, kiss him, hah. Just in a jokey sort of way, like. And I called him "Human scum." Which, ah, well, I won't go into it.
And then, later on, um... is this over yet?
Take 10: Slashy
Viggo was standing in the lobby of the cinema in his new blue suit, smoothing down his long, soft hair. Suddenly, he felt a warm arm around his shoulders. A shudder went through his body. He knew, he just knew who it was. Slowly, he turned. The sight of Orli behind him took his breath away. The boy looked even more beautiful than he had a few moments earlier, glimpsed across the theatre aisles. Orli's short hair formed a halo around his perfectly-shaped skull. Nimble fingers drummed a tattoo on Viggo's neck. The older man swallowed. Mocha eyes met ocean-clear ones. The Brit laughed and leaned forward. The half-Dane, half-American shivered as the younger man pressed his lips against his cheek. Oh, such soft lips! Such a fuckable mouth! "Human scum," muttered Orli. The sexy accent was enough to make Viggo hard.
Later, Viggo sighed. He retreated into the shadows of a nearby palm tree and pondered the age difference that gnawed at his consciousness. He watched the young demi-god cavort shamelessly with his coeval Dom. Dom, with his blond-tipped sunkissed hair and his dreamy grey eyes grasped Orli by the collar -- Viggo's heart missed a beat -- and said, smiling playfully, "You know, mate, why don't you come back to my hotel room and I can undo all those skew-whiff buttons for you."
..
(Closely based on Raymond Queneau's Exercises in Style, except for Take 10, obviously, *gg*.
Also a bit of Viggorli to brighten
viva_gloria's day! *winks*![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-12 04:30 pm (UTC)99
Date: 2002-09-13 05:17 pm (UTC)Um... I didn't. Queneau has 99 of them.
See below!! *gg*
(no subject)
Date: 2002-09-13 08:04 am (UTC)I think it is telling that your enthusiasm shines through in later snippets... There are bits in most of the snippets that are identifiably Lobelia, as well as the more prosaic - but frighteningly accomplished - narration.
99
Date: 2002-09-13 05:16 pm (UTC)Um, Queneau has 99.... Aargh! I wasn't quite up to that...
Thanks for comment! The slashercises seem to have achieved something because I had Karl/Dom breakthrough! ::sighs with relief and happiness::