FIC (Improv): "Who'd be an Orc?" JB/SU/KS
Mar. 17th, 2003 11:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Title: Who'd be an Orc?
Part: 1/1
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Fandom: LotR RPS
Pairing: Jed Brophy / Stephen Ure / Kiran Shah
Rating: PG (for language)
Category: Improv for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
contrelamontre. Challenge: Show-not-tell. Write a story that conveys a strong sense of jealousy, without using the word as such (or one that belongs to the same word family).
Summary: It's no fun to be an orc. But who'd be a stand-in?
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback!
Spoilers: None.
Archive Rights: My niche. Anyone else, please ask.
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
Author's Notes: Who are Jed Brophy and Stephen Ure? They are orc actors. See icon! Who is Kiran Shah? Stand-in for Frodo (and others). Pics of Kiran here: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/pics.html (scroll down).
Time taken: 40 min.
-----
Not good. Not good at all.
Shit, shit, shit.
Jed ripped off his orc mask, gasped for air, stumbled two steps forwards, stumbled three steps backwards, fell against another orc and ended up propped against a concrete tree, gasping for air.
"You all right there, mate?"
He just nodded.
Fine. Altogether fine.
But bloody hell, bloody buggery, bloody messing about in masks.
Someone proffered a cup with a straw in it, some sort of fortified vitamin-mineral concoction, and Jed sucked it down. He didn't look up. He only looked down. The cup had a round plastic lid, a cross-shaped incision for the straw, not much else to look at there but look he did.
"Please, gentlemen." That was Richard, stalking along between the orcs, strewn about like heaps of dung. "Take care of your masks even when you're not wearing them. Please don't just fling them to the ground, much as you might like to."
Jed stared at his mask, flung to the ground in front of him. The mask stared at him. Jed slid his tongue over his ogre-sharp fangs. He shifted from iron-shod foot to iron-shod foot. He took a deep breath and looked up.
They were still there. Where they'd been all the time. He could hear Steve's laugh ring out across the grasses. A short introductory 'Ha', and then a descending crescendo of ever-deeper 'hawhaw's.
Jed swallowed. Minerals stuck in his throat. Vitamins tickled his nostril hairs.
"All right, my killing machines! Break is over!" Richard had climbed up onto a mound and wielded his megaphone. Late-afternoon sun glinted on his glasses.
Jed blinked and looked across again.
Steve pulled on his mask. Next to him, Billy shook his hobbit locks. On the other side of Steve, there stood...
Ah well, who could be bothered memorising their names. Not him. Not Jed. He was his own stuntman. He didn't need to bother with all of that.
Jed's knees creaked. They bent, they flexed, they craned him down towards his wild and wicked face. He picked it up. He turned it round in his hands. Paws, claws. Hair in tufts along his forearms. Grime of weeks caked under the nails. Empty nostrils flared at him. Eyeless sockets dangled between his fingers.
"Ugly bugger, ain't ya?" said another fiend-footed demon, trundling past and tossing a cup into a garbage bin.
Yes. Ugly. Ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside.
Didn't need a mask to be ugly.
Jed pulled the rubber rim over his face and let the pungency of sweat and latex invade his airways. Enough to make anybody gag. Enough to make you fucking puke right into one of the orange garbo bags.
"Positions!" called out Richard.
Jed glanced across, only for a second. Only for an instant. Only long enough to catch sight of blackly-furred arms throwing a small lithe figure across his shoulders. Only just long enough to see big rubbery paws close over boney wrists, to catch blonde curls flopping across a furrowed brow, to frown at short legs being caught around the calves, to catch his breath, to catch himself.
Jed straightened his spine.
Only to curl it in upon himself again. Orcs do not walk upright.
He loped to the front of the troupe.
"Hey there, Jedster."
"Hi, Steve."
"How're you goin', mate?"
"Good, good."
"I'm bloody buggered. I think it's because I've been having to lug this effin' load around with me all day."
"Ey, watch it, Stephen. Who are you calling an effin' load?"
The grin, the leer, the chuckle.
Unbearable.
Jed turned to Billy. "So? Missing your regular stand-in?"
"Nah," said Billy. "Fon deserves a break. She'll be back next week. And in the meantime, Kiran here..." He patted the leg draped over Steve's waist. "... is doing a great job."
"Yes, well, if I had known that I would be hanging off a big hunk all day like a sack of potatoes," Kiran piped up.
Kiran. That was his name. Well, what did he care. What were stunt doubles to him? They meant nothing. Nothing at all. They weren't even actors. They didn't even count. They were specks of visibility on the horizon of Jed's days.
"Ey, watch it, Kiran, who are you calling a hunk?" said Steve, in an exact imitation of Kiran's earlier lament.
Kiran giggled. Steve giggled. Billy giggled.
Jed dug his upper fangs into his lower latex lip.
"Okay, gentlemen!" Richard's mega-voice. "Ready?"
Billy winked and jumped out of the way.
"We roll!"
And they were off. Two dozen orc feet hammered across the grassy plain. Earth shook, sun wheeled, sweat dripped into Jed's eyebrows and he'd been masked-up for barely five minutes.
Ahead of him, Kiran's legs gripped Steve's flanks. Kiran's arms hugged Steve's neck. Kiran's head rested, face down of course, always face down, against Steve's shoulder.
Fuck. Shit. Buggery.
Who'd be a stand-in? Not in a million years.
-----
The End.
17 March 2003
Part: 1/1
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Fandom: LotR RPS
Pairing: Jed Brophy / Stephen Ure / Kiran Shah
Rating: PG (for language)
Category: Improv for
contrelamontre. Challenge: Show-not-tell. Write a story that conveys a strong sense of jealousy, without using the word as such (or one that belongs to the same word family).Summary: It's no fun to be an orc. But who'd be a stand-in?
Feedback: Yes, please, I would love feedback!
Spoilers: None.
Archive Rights: My niche. Anyone else, please ask.
Disclaimers: This is a work of amateur fiction. I do not know these people. I am not making money. The events described in this story did not happen.
Author's Notes: Who are Jed Brophy and Stephen Ure? They are orc actors. See icon! Who is Kiran Shah? Stand-in for Frodo (and others). Pics of Kiran here: http://www.geocities.com/lobelia321/pics.html (scroll down).
Time taken: 40 min.
-----
Not good. Not good at all.
Shit, shit, shit.
Jed ripped off his orc mask, gasped for air, stumbled two steps forwards, stumbled three steps backwards, fell against another orc and ended up propped against a concrete tree, gasping for air.
"You all right there, mate?"
He just nodded.
Fine. Altogether fine.
But bloody hell, bloody buggery, bloody messing about in masks.
Someone proffered a cup with a straw in it, some sort of fortified vitamin-mineral concoction, and Jed sucked it down. He didn't look up. He only looked down. The cup had a round plastic lid, a cross-shaped incision for the straw, not much else to look at there but look he did.
"Please, gentlemen." That was Richard, stalking along between the orcs, strewn about like heaps of dung. "Take care of your masks even when you're not wearing them. Please don't just fling them to the ground, much as you might like to."
Jed stared at his mask, flung to the ground in front of him. The mask stared at him. Jed slid his tongue over his ogre-sharp fangs. He shifted from iron-shod foot to iron-shod foot. He took a deep breath and looked up.
They were still there. Where they'd been all the time. He could hear Steve's laugh ring out across the grasses. A short introductory 'Ha', and then a descending crescendo of ever-deeper 'hawhaw's.
Jed swallowed. Minerals stuck in his throat. Vitamins tickled his nostril hairs.
"All right, my killing machines! Break is over!" Richard had climbed up onto a mound and wielded his megaphone. Late-afternoon sun glinted on his glasses.
Jed blinked and looked across again.
Steve pulled on his mask. Next to him, Billy shook his hobbit locks. On the other side of Steve, there stood...
Ah well, who could be bothered memorising their names. Not him. Not Jed. He was his own stuntman. He didn't need to bother with all of that.
Jed's knees creaked. They bent, they flexed, they craned him down towards his wild and wicked face. He picked it up. He turned it round in his hands. Paws, claws. Hair in tufts along his forearms. Grime of weeks caked under the nails. Empty nostrils flared at him. Eyeless sockets dangled between his fingers.
"Ugly bugger, ain't ya?" said another fiend-footed demon, trundling past and tossing a cup into a garbage bin.
Yes. Ugly. Ugly on the outside, ugly on the inside.
Didn't need a mask to be ugly.
Jed pulled the rubber rim over his face and let the pungency of sweat and latex invade his airways. Enough to make anybody gag. Enough to make you fucking puke right into one of the orange garbo bags.
"Positions!" called out Richard.
Jed glanced across, only for a second. Only for an instant. Only long enough to catch sight of blackly-furred arms throwing a small lithe figure across his shoulders. Only just long enough to see big rubbery paws close over boney wrists, to catch blonde curls flopping across a furrowed brow, to frown at short legs being caught around the calves, to catch his breath, to catch himself.
Jed straightened his spine.
Only to curl it in upon himself again. Orcs do not walk upright.
He loped to the front of the troupe.
"Hey there, Jedster."
"Hi, Steve."
"How're you goin', mate?"
"Good, good."
"I'm bloody buggered. I think it's because I've been having to lug this effin' load around with me all day."
"Ey, watch it, Stephen. Who are you calling an effin' load?"
The grin, the leer, the chuckle.
Unbearable.
Jed turned to Billy. "So? Missing your regular stand-in?"
"Nah," said Billy. "Fon deserves a break. She'll be back next week. And in the meantime, Kiran here..." He patted the leg draped over Steve's waist. "... is doing a great job."
"Yes, well, if I had known that I would be hanging off a big hunk all day like a sack of potatoes," Kiran piped up.
Kiran. That was his name. Well, what did he care. What were stunt doubles to him? They meant nothing. Nothing at all. They weren't even actors. They didn't even count. They were specks of visibility on the horizon of Jed's days.
"Ey, watch it, Kiran, who are you calling a hunk?" said Steve, in an exact imitation of Kiran's earlier lament.
Kiran giggled. Steve giggled. Billy giggled.
Jed dug his upper fangs into his lower latex lip.
"Okay, gentlemen!" Richard's mega-voice. "Ready?"
Billy winked and jumped out of the way.
"We roll!"
And they were off. Two dozen orc feet hammered across the grassy plain. Earth shook, sun wheeled, sweat dripped into Jed's eyebrows and he'd been masked-up for barely five minutes.
Ahead of him, Kiran's legs gripped Steve's flanks. Kiran's arms hugged Steve's neck. Kiran's head rested, face down of course, always face down, against Steve's shoulder.
Fuck. Shit. Buggery.
Who'd be a stand-in? Not in a million years.
-----
The End.
17 March 2003