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London Skies	By : SarBrook Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 2746 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Orlando Bloom. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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DISCLAIMER : Okay, so, I don’t own, know, or have any affiliation with Orlando Bloom or Rent. I do, however, own Sierra, Ricky, Will, Alexis, and any person I name who was not actually in Rent. This is mostly for my entertainment, but I hope you will enjoy. And if my portrayal of the “real” English is incorrect, please feel free to tell me. I speak “real” English pretty fluently—I’m an American with a British obsession—so hopefully I use the right words.

A/N: The British TV shows I reference are real. I watched them when I went there.

Chapter Three: Shopping and Packages
By the end of her first week in England, Sierra had fallen into a routine. She would wake up at a fairly decent hour in the morning. After a quick breakfast, she would fix something in the house. By now, all the rooms were freshly painted, the kitchen had new hardware, and all the musty rugs had been pulled up. Since she had no job as of yet, she worked all day in making her living space her very own. Granted, she did not have enough money to buy new furniture, but she did buy covers for the couch. The lace doilies had been vehemently removed and relocated to the back of the closet. She did not have the heart to throw them away. Besides, maybe she would use them someday. Why on earth she would ever want to do that was beyond her. Maybe when she turned old and gray, as old and gray ladies tend to like lace.
As for Orlando, well, she saw little of him. Sometimes, late at night, when she watched disturbing shows about plastic surgery, which were much more graphic than anything in America, and another show where the characters suddenly burst into song and music videos, she heard movement in the hall and a door slam. She assumed it was Orlando dragging his drunken ass home every night. Every once in a while she’d see him leave the building. Sometimes, when he saw her, he’d wave.
She tried not to obsess about him. But if your neighbor happened to make you drool every time you saw him, you’d find it hard to act normal. If she thought she heard him, a strange grin came on her face. This…enigma which was her next door neighbor intoxicated her. Even while eating a tuna sandwich, speckled in pale yellow paint which partially covered her living room, listening to Jamie Cullum singing from her beat up radio, she couldn’t help but look at the door that led from her flat to his. It would be so easy. Only ten steps separated their living spaces. She could knock on his door and ask if he wanted to watch a movie with her.
On this particular Wednesday, three days into her stay, while she was eating that tuna sandwich, face freckled with yellow paint, bopping her foot to an upbeat song, she almost did it. She almost cracked. Almost walked those aforementioned steps in her pink and purple toe socks and asked him to watch a movie.
Watch a movie. With Orlando Bloom.
No, she reasoned to herself. That would not do. He did not need to know her overly extensive knowledge in films. She was a Johnny Depp connoisseur, though personally owning four of his movies, which were currently en route to England with the rest of her DVDs and a few other odds and ends she could not dream of living without. She knew every word to Princess Bride. She could connect any actor to anyone, a game she created with Ricky in order to pass time; glorified Seven Degrees of Kevin Bacon, they called it. She did not follow personal lives of actors. She hated tabloids and the like. But she knew everything about a lot of movies.
Nope. Orlando Bloom was an actor. She enjoyed many of his movies. Pretty much every one she ever saw. Except Troy. But she blamed that on Brad Pitt, whom she was not a fan of at all…except for Fight Club.
But, of course, she was straying from the subject. Orlando did not need to know what a complete geek she was. She compared herself from the three geeks from season six of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, although that was a ridiculous comparison, as she did not like many of the Sci-Fi shows those men did.
Point being: she was just afraid he would not like her. She was afraid, she realized as she made herself a kettle of tea that Friday, of rejection. After turning on the burner and putting the kettle down, Sierra leaned against her counter. She looked into the dark London night. She was terribly lonely.
She went shopping Sunday, her one week anniversary. Her Ipod, a permanent fixture on her ears (only surgery could remove the tiny headphones at this point), peacefully played a tune for her to lip sync along. She walked down the aisle with her shopping cart—she could never call it a trolley. A trolley is something you ride on in San Francisco.—placing favorite items in it. She happened to glance up randomly. A familiar figure stood at the end of the aisle, comparing two types of pasta. She smiled, realizing it was her famous neighbor. His poor excuse for a disguise was large sunglasses, a beat up baseball hat, and his hair tied back in a tight pony tail.
Not thinking at all, she moved to the next aisle and followed him. Okay, so, she was turning into a stalker. Whatever. She could just see him behind the pasta. He turned his head to her direction. She ducked. Realizing the stupidity of this, she tried to turn the action into her reaching for…olives. She ended up in the olive aisle.
Groaning, she straightened. She really needed to get out more.
“Fancy meeting you here, Phil,” a familiar voice said.
Shit, he saw her. She looked up at him. Wait. What? She stared at him like he grew a second head. “Phil?”
“Sandy is a stupid nick name. I decided Phil was more clever,” he seemed proud of his wit. “As in Phil Collins. Your last name is also Collins…” He trailed off at her look.
She blinked. “You’ve been thinking of that all week, haven’t you?”
His grin broadened into a full fledge smile. He bounced with little boy charm. “Yep! I almost even knocked on your door about twenty times, but I stopped myself.”
Sierra shook her head. “I can see why you’re an actor,” she began. “You obviously have to have the clever lines written for you.”
He gaped at her in mock shock. “You found my secret. Please tell no one. My fans would hate to hear that I am a total dimwit.”
She patted his shoulder, giving him a concerned look. “I think they already know, Bloomers,” she deadpanned. Then, not able to hold it back, she laughed. He joined in a second later.
They unconsciously started walking together. “Settle in well?” he asked.
She considered. “Yeah. I still need a job, but I’ve redone most of the apartment. I just need some new furniture at some point.”
“Any special interests?” he paused in front of a display of various vegetables.
She felt a tomato. “Job wise? Anything that will pay, really. I’d love to…” she stopped.
She planned to get back into theater. She had been acting since she was seven, but had stopped a year ago, after her breakup with a former cast mate. Not to mention she did not get far. Sure, she did regional theater and there was the national tour of Rent, but beyond that, she had not realized her dream. In fact, she often wished she could be in the movies. She had written a movie along with a friend. On a whim, they found a producer and independently shot it. It was a hit with many festivals, but not long after her boyfriend at the time broke up with her. His career had started from that movie. Last she heard he had been in a slightly well known film.
The devastation of the breakup caused her to turn down the few roles she was offered. She fell into a slump, psychologically and socially. But, she drove the thought from her mind.
The point was, she did not was Orlando to know about her interest in theater yet. She didn’t want him to think she might use him for any reason. She would not be like her former boyfriend, whom she now called him. When his name did cross her thoughts, it was often with the same taste as week old milk from the cafeteria at high school.
Instead, she quickly made something up. “…to work someplace where I can meet new people.” That was possibly the lamest save in the history of ever.
He looked her over, face suddenly serious. His brown eyes melted with her own, as if he were searching for something. She tried to hide her pain. Uncomfortable, Sierra looked away.
“What happened?” He whispered. “Why are you running?”
She was not about to discuss her feelings over the cauliflower. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she said, looking him straight in the eye. Way to go, Collins. Alienate the man you have been obsessing about all week, she mentally kicked herself.
His face clouded over. “I guess it’s not,” he said. He turned and walked away.
She watched him dumbly for two seconds, which felt like two hours. Suddenly, she found herself grabbing his elbow. Okay, so she panicked.
“Look,” she started. “I’m just not ready to discuss it. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to be your friend.” She paused. His face showed nothing. Actors. Fine. Two could play that game. She overemphasized her pleading. “Please don’t walk away,” she whispered. She went so far as to kneel on the ground. People looked at them. Orlando sharply glanced left to right at the crowd. She ignored the fact he could be discovered. Instead, she concentrated on trying to gather tears in her eyes. “Please just wait until I’m ready. I just want to have fun.” Ooh, a tear fell. Yep, she still had it.
He dragged her up, clearly not pleased at the attention. He steered her to the opposite end of the store. When he stopped walking, he put him hands on his hips and just stared at her. “You are completely mad, do you know that?” he finally blurted.
She smiled brightly, wiping the fake tear from her cheek. “You’re not the only one with acting experience, Bloomers,” she allowed.
He blinked. “You are full of surprises,” he admitted.
She shrugged. “Makes life interesting.”
He assessed her again. “Indeed.” They stood for a slightly awkward moment. She looked at the items in her cart; he played with those in his basket.
“I should go,” she said. “Finish shopping. And stuff.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll see you around, Phil.”
She snorted. “Bye, Bloomers.”
He left her then. Sierra watched as he went to a cashier. She shook her head and started shopping again. She would never understand her reaction to him.
~~***~~
The next day, Sierra returned from her first sight seeing trip of London to find a note taped to her door. Taking all her bags into one hand, she ripped it off the door. Knock on my door. Signed, your neighbor, it read. Confused and not bothering to rid herself of her bags, she knocked on Orlando’s door. A few minutes later, it opened.
Her knees went weak. She wanted to drool.
Orlando wore only a loose pair of jeans and a white beater. His feet were bare, his hair falling to just above his shoulders in curls. He hadn’t shaved that day, either. He looked like he just woke up, and smiled a dazzling sleepy grin.
“Hello, love,” he said, yawning. “Where have you been?”
She almost forgot how to speak. “Out. Shopping. Sight seeing. The like.”
His smile only grew. “You received four large packages today. I hope you don’t mind that I signed for them.”
Her mind was blank. Packages? Then, she remembered the photos and house ware she had sent from America. Took long enough. Ooh! Her DVDs! “Awesome. Let me throw this stuff into my flat and I’ll get them.” She turned to do so.
Literally throwing the packages onto her bed, she near ran to Orlando’s flat. She could not wait to set up her DVD player and watch a movie. It had been too long. Besides, it was Monday. Monday was movie day. In fact, she remembered, it was the second Monday of the month. Tonight was Johnny Depp night. She smiled at the thought. Maybe she’d call Ricky to see which one he, Alex, and Will would watch. Of course, she probably wouldn’t have it. She only took the DVDs that were hers; therefore, her collection pretty much divided in half than if she were still in America.
Orlando already placed a box on her kitchen table. “Heavy little buggers,” he commented, walking into his flat.
She followed. “Well, there are dishes, cutlery, and such in one; movies in another; and photos in the last,” she elaborated. She stayed just outside his flat.
He lifted a large box, muscles clenching. He near chased her into her place. “I got ‘em, Phil,” he said. “What’s in the fourth box?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked. “Fourth box? No, there’s only three.”
He shook his head. “No, love, there’s four.” To make his point, he came back with two large boxes. Confused, she opened the one she did not remember packing.
On top of the bubble wrap lay a letter. She recognized the handwriting. Ricky. Grinning like a little girl on Christmas day, she opened the letter.
Mo,
Are you ready to come home yet? As I’m writing this, you haven’t even left. Of course, I know you’d kill me if you found out I planned to send you this. Well, Alex, Ricky, Julie, Brandon, and I are sending it. Think of this as a box of housewarming gifts. One from each of us. And a few assorted odds and ends you might like.
They’d be even better if you were back in America. I’m just saying.
Love ya oodles of noodles!
Ricky
Sierra’s eyes filled with tears. What could they possibly give her? She peeled back the bubble wrap, almost forgetting Orlando at her back. She lifted the first item and ripped open the red wrapping paper. She laughed one, loud guffaw. That was the only way to describe her laugh.
She didn’t even have to look at the card to know it was from Brandon.
He sent her a Legolas doll. Yes, a Legolas doll. Brandon was obsessed with Lord of the Rings, before the books even became a movie. She blushed deep red when Orlando chuckled. She tried explaining about Brandon’s obsession and the fact he had no clue Will was related to Orlando.
He grinned flirtatiously. “So, you have a crush on me then, love?”
If possible, she blushed harder. “No, I just like your movies and…Brandon sucks at life…and…you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Immensely!”
Ignoring him and the inferno that was once her face, she shoved the doll away and almost dreaded opening the next package. It was from Julie, the rich bitch of the group. Sierra wondered what Daddy’s money paid for now. A digital camera. Not cheap, either. Attached was a note telling her to take lots of pictures. A PS told her to send naked pictures of Orlando to Ricky. It was in Ricky’s handwriting. She rolled her eyes, and quickly hid the note.
The next was from Alex. She could tell it was a DVD, which could be dangerous with Hollywood Boy at her right. She knew she would never live the doll down, nevermind whatever this DVD was. Labyrinth. Hmm, David Bowie with weird 80’s-almost-mullet hair and tights, singing odd songs about loving the chick who was trying to get her brother back. Definitely a good movie.
“What?” Orlando said when she showed him. “Not Lord of the Rings?”
She swatted at him. “No!” He didn’t need to know all three extended editions were in one of these boxes. Instead, she opened the next present. This was from Will and it delighted her more than the other two. It was a book of American to English. She laughed openly and leafed through it. “Sod off, you bloody wanker,” she said in a terrible Eliza Doolittle accent. This caused Orlando to laugh so hard, he fell to the floor, clutching his stomach.
She watched him, amused, but scowled when he said: “For the love of god and all that is holy, please never do that again.”
She pouted. “Was it really that bad?”
He stared at her like she was stupid. “Yes,” he deadpanned.
Blowing him a raspberry, she opened the last package. It took up half the box. She gasped at the contents. With a squeal, she shifted through, not believing what was before her eyes. Every single Johnny Depp movie known to man, even obscure ones he just made a cameo in and 21 Jump Street, minus the ones she already owned. Those were in another box. Orlando glanced over her shoulder.
“Are you cheating on me with Johnny Depp?” he asked.
She snorted. “Honey, I’m cheating on Johnny with you,” she retorted, holding Benny and Joon reverently.
“Obsession?”
She spared him a look. “He is an acting genius and has been my muse for a very long time.” Visions of long movie nights with Johnny danced through her head.
Orlando almost looked jealous. “Your muse?”
She sighed. Here it was. She might as well let him know. “I’ve been acting since I could walk,” she admitted. “And he’s an inspiration for me. One of the reasons I’m more of a character actor than a lead actor.”
He looked surprised. “Been in anything I would know?”
She mentally snorted. Hardly. “Naw, just fun and games really. Had a few paying gigs, then decided to go straight for a while.” She did not add that she was thinking of going back into the scene. Nothing was more exhilarating than being in front of an audience. Nothing.
Orlando nodded absently. “Understandable. Revering Johnny like that. Acting with him was the most amazing experience of my life.”
Her eyes bugged out. “I almost forgot,” she muttered. “I mean, you’re so…normal. When we talk, I forget…” she trailed off. Then, almost had a heart attack and died. “You know Johnny Depp! You’re…connected to him.”
He gave her a concerned look. “Phil, are you okay?”
She shook out of it. Taking a deep breath she smiled. “Kay. I’m over it. Let’s unpack these bitches.”
He blinked at her like she was completely insane. “You are a very interesting person, Sierra Collins,” he murmured.
She smiled brightly. “I try.” She put her presents back into the box and stood. “Busy?” she asked.
He stood. “Well, I was considering taking a nap.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I hate naps. But if you’re bored, I plan on having a wild night of watching movies and ODing on popcorn. If you’re interested.”
He took a step back, mock flabbergasted. “You mean, you don’t feel like doing it alone?”
“That sounds dirty,” she said, opening a box filled with plates. “And I decided I know you enough to trust you not to rape and/or kill me.”
“Well, thanks. I think.”
She laughed and looked forward to a nice evening.

Note on the timeline:We’re gonna pretend Elizabethtown stopped filming in November of 2004. And since we are gonna be in November of 2004, we have to pretend Jamie Cullum’s album Catching Tales came out that year, so the song can fit into the timeline.
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London Skies