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Flying With Eagles	By : Zar Category: Individual Celebrities > Orlando Bloom Views: 10191 -:- 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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Title: Flying with Eagles
Author: Zar
Email: squishypiglet@hotmail.co.uk
LJ: http://www.livejournal.com/users/squishypiglet/
Warnings: This is slash. Don't like it? Don't read it!
Pairings: Viggorli with special guest Eric Bana.
Disclaimer: This is not true, despite all my wishes.
Summary: Gods Should Not Be Tarnished By Pain and Disease

Chapter 7

The tension was thick and broken only when Mandy sweeps her way over to us and does her motherly ‘coddling’ thing.

“Oh Figo, you’re finally here! Our little boy was sitting here waiting for you, looking at the door every two minut- “

She is cut off when Orlando pipes up a little too cheerily, that he would like a coffee. The older man seems to have not known about Orlando and my ‘date’ and is casting his friend looks which Orlando is devoutly avoiding. Neither seem comfortable, but Mandy pushes on, oblivious to our discomfort.

I order my coffee, and she s ats at me saying she remembers ‘just how I like it’ before Eric requests, ‘just a double espresso, Mandy.’ Ouch, I feel so…uncultured beside this elegant beautiful man.

Then we’re back to the silence.

The sinfully good-looking man leans over to Orlando and whispers something to him. My boy is obviously not pleased about whatever he was just asked and rolls his eyes before nodding his head. What are they talking t tht that they won’t tell me? Are they…lovers?

Snapping back to attention, I notice Orlando silently begging the evil god with his eyes, not to make things difficult for me, I assume as the older man opens his mouth as if to snarl at me. Leopard-man’s hands are under the table where I can’t see them but I notice my god relax slightly. I can only suppose that the Leopard-man has patted his knee for reassurance or something, but then civility seems to end and I receive the worst interrogation of my life.

Mr Leopard-Bana seems intent on making me look as stupid as possible in front of Orlando – and I have no idea why.

It begins easily enough.

“I know your name. You remember mine?”

I want to snap back, ‘no, I suffer from amnesia,’ but decide to play along with his little game.

“I don’t remember yours since nev never gave your first name, but Orlando mentioned you as Eric.”

Leopard-man doesn’t look impressed. Probably expected me to call him Mr Bana, but I don’t back down, instead staring back defiantly at him.

“Where have you moved from, and what are you doing in Paradise?”

Why the hell am I getting the third degree from a man I don’t know? There is a look of shock across Orlando’s face before a wide grin breaks out.

“You’re staying in Paradise?” He sounds very excited and looking at me eagerly. I am so lucky the answer I am about to give him is the one he’s hoping for.

“Yes, on the top floor. Eagle. Why?”

The young god is smiling happily before gesturing to the man next to him.

“That’s such a coincidence! We live there too!”

My heart seems to have missed a beat. WE live there too? They live together? Then what is the silly young man doing? He mustw I w I like him…he can not be that cruel as to intentionally lead me on. But it’s impossible to frown at the sight of his enthusiasm.

It comes to a stand-still when Leopard-devil clears his throat and curtly states that I haven’t yet answered his question. Orlando goes back to twisting his coffee-soaked napkin nervously and I try to smile encouragingly at him, despite my mixed emotions.

“I am from LA and I am in Paradise because I’d rather be here than in hell.”

Bana is evidently not satisfied with my answer and wants details. But why should I give them to him? I haven’t even admitted the reasons to myself. Besides, if I do tell my life story to anyone, it would be to the gorgeous young man next to him, but certainly not so soon.

Our glaring battle is momentarily put on hold as Mandy waltzes over to our table presenting a tray with our three drinks. This woman is dense; there are no nicer words for it. She chatters happily to us as she places the drinks on the table and actually has the guts to pat the evil-leopard-man on the shoulder and tell him ‘not to stress too much, it’s bad for your pretty head’. I have new found respect for her – very brave, or very stupid.

When she left, I was once again under scrutiny. I would have thought that Orlando would have stood up for me but he just sits there quietly, listening and watching but not interfering. I don’t know why I bother. Is he really worth this? What does he want from me? Before I have time to ponder anything else, Mr God has decided our brief intermission is over and it’s time for round two.

“Are you normally this…careless about your appearance?”

I shrug at him, confused.

“What do you mean? The jeans? It’s just a café.”

He gestures vaguely at my face then my hands. Shit. I’d forgotten about the paint.

“There is paint over both you and your clothing…you have days-old stubble…and your hair is a mess. And you’re sitting here at ten am on a weekday. What do you do for a living…Mr Mortensen.”

The urge to rebel is strong within me. I am not the kind of man who is going to take this lying down.

“I am an artist, and I am going to ask that you treat me with more respect…Mr Bana.” I imitated his degrading tone and waited for his reply.

“An artist.” Then just like that, it seems as if there has been an invisible change in the atmosphere and he is doing his good-bye speech before I can register what happened.

“Wonderful meeting you again. Orlando and I must be on our way.”

Leopard-man (I can’t stop calling him that in my head!) nods to a plainly dressed man sitting at the table behind us and he immediately steps forward bringing with him a crutch. What is going on?

The crutch is handed to a quiet Orlando when something extraordinary occurs. Before my very eyes, that nasty evil Leopard-man suddenly transforms into the sweetest kitten you’ve ever seen. He gets out of his seat and with the help of the man who had been looking after the crutch, slowly support my young God up. What? Why does he need crutches? Bana is propping Orlando up by the elbow and the other man is slowly pulling out the chair from beneath him.

Is my god injured?

In my stunned silence, I merely watch as Orlando stands stiffly and supports himself on the crutch before smiling shyly at me.

“I’ve gotta go now. Hopefully, I’ll see you around.”

Judging by the way his elbow is squeezed by devil-god, I doubt that’s going to happen anytime soon. Besides…I don’t think I want to get into this huge tangled mess. I’ve left a mess behind me in LA…do I want to get into another one already? Is the boy worth it?

I am on the receiving end of one more sad little smile before Orlando is ‘escorted’ out of the café by his lover and…the man who I can only refer to as ‘crutch-babysitter’ man. I can’t believe I never noticed that Orlando was limping and grimaced slightly whenever he moved. I was so smitten every time I saw him…and I hawaysways arrived after him and left before. I usually saw me already at his table except for that one wonderful time when he approached councounter to question my muffin. And that time I was too busy staring at his face to look anywhere else.

It seems unfair that such beauty should be marred by such pain. I saw his wince when he stretched his legs standing up. Gods should not be tarnished by pain and disease – seeing his perfect features creased with discomfort is one vision I never wish to repeat.

I sat alone to ponder in silence with three untouched cups of caffeine to keep me company, the sad pained smile haunting my thoughts long after I left.

TBC...
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Flying With Eagles