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22 July 2008 @ 11:51 pm
you; me; the room  
In Bruges.

I don't think I can forgive this film for being so boring. Also, all the jokes were about: black people, dwarfs, Americans, forn'rs with funny accents or fat people. Talk about failboat humour. Also, these guys were supposed to be Irish? Irish guys do not know how to DATE. This is how it happens here: you get off with someone in a club, and five years later you might admit that you're a couple. There is no DATING. We don't understand this ASKING OUT of which you speak. My American flatmate once said: You look totally cute! You're gonna get asked out! And I was like: by who? You?

(Also, I didn't think any line could annoy me as much as 'Hurry up, I'm running out of obsequious banter!' in Melinda and Melinda. But then there was 'It's a fucking inanimate object!')

BUT THE POINT IS, In Bruges, um. Inspired me to write bandom fic.

And you thought I was pretentious before? You ain't seen nuthin' yet.

Not ... In Bruges

They come here every year.


They come here every year.

She'd not been much older than them, at the start. They seemed not to age as quick as she did. Inherited from her father, big dreams about the best, the most wonderful, more prosaically, lots of return business. That screwed wrinkles into her face. They were return business.

Mainly couples with children, brightly coloured buckets. A few elderly women in hideous floral prints and worse perms, complained about the tea. They were a surprise. Young. Single, she thought, but together. So very worried. One: hands knotted together, long fingers, nails chewed to the bone. One: the widest smile she'd ever seen that wasn't smiling, nut-brown skin. They glowed, a light through dirty glass.

She never meant to eavesdrop. It happened, though. Carrying mops or breakfast trays - it was hard to keep good staff, better to relegate them to chopping potatoes till she could trust them. You heard things.

"It's all right." - once. The conversation went.

"It's fucking not. Where the fuck - Cape Cod?" Springs.

"Well, we're not, here." More springs. "I love you."

"Shut up."

She had to let people in at night, when they forgot their keys. One of the old ladies, drunk and rowdy with her lipstick on her teeth. Worse than a gang of bikers. She passed their door yawning. The bed creaked. She didn't mean to stop.


"I -"

Noises spoke louder than words.


She didn't get a vacation like other people got a vacation. People came to her for that. Summer was the busiest season. She was too young for corns. She had them anyway. She recognised them when they came back. Same hands, different smile.

"Would you like a single or a double room?" Professional. Avid.

"A single would be fine."

"Do you have, like. A honeymoon suite?" She'd call it a giggle, what he did then, only it was earthier - dirtier. She nodded.

The honeymoon suite was new - her idea. She'd picked out the paint, the drapes, the throw cushions (velvet and beads, maroon). "You'll be the first ones to use it."

"Use it, huh?"

"God, shut up."

She went to replace the mints. Homemade, tied up in a little linen bag with a sprig of real herb. The suite took up the whole floor; the door stood ajar. On the balcony, between the sheer curtains and the safe interior - two, one, a mass of sheened skin. Dark strands clung to one cheek, immovable.

She didn't think they saw her, or when she left.


Every year. Once for two months. Once for two days. Several times for less time than they wanted. You got to read people: the ones who'd steal the pillowcases and the gravy boats. The ones who'd tip if you remembered their kids' names. This was their bolthole, their sanctuary.

She watched TV - sometimes. She wasn't stupid. She had nieces and nephews, a daughter who might roll her eyes at their taste one day. It was important that they didn't know she knew. The world knew enough. It saw the wedding ring. She didn't.


The year they missed she missed them. Lipstick teeth died and left her five hundred dollars. A multi-millionaire's wife who wore charity shore shoes. She thought she deserved more than five hundred, the bitch, for the hours spent cleaning the tub of sour milk and unguents and, probably, virgin's blood. She didn't think they'd died.

A card came, signed by one. Thinking of you, it read. I miss the mints, it read. The handwriting that signed the cheques.

"Poor kid," she sighed, who was three years older. (Niece had gone to ten of their shows, cried when one, two, three got married. She knew things like birth years, trivia, now.)

"Who?" Her husband thought she meant their daughter. She kissed his bald spot.


What punched out lines around his eyes when he came alone? She wanted to say the word, but she didn't have to.

"Can I have a room for. I don't know. A month? Two?"

Valued customer.

"I'm kind of on a hiatus."

"Do you have a room in mind?" Not probing, but.

A rictus. "Not the honeymoon suite." Almost a laugh, all pain.


Next time, he came alone, but didn't leave alone. She was the first to see him when he spewed gravel, hours of raking, and came in breathless with the car still running.

"Is he here?"

She nodded.

They left together. It was the last time she saw them apart.


A glass of wine in the mellow evening light. A break between dinner and the myriad last requests. Toothpaste. Tea. Wine. Propositions. She had to laugh: pushing fifty, they probably wanted her daughter. Too senile to see the difference, maybe.

They weren't doing anything much. Not scandalous as she knew scandalous, as she knew they could be scandalous (the moans that shook the walls, the fights that broke them). But so intimate, it was nearly obscene: his head on his shoulder, his hand in his hand.

One caught her eye. Small, secret smile. She nodded, walked on.


They came here every year.

it's ryan/brendon. yup.
Current Mood: surprisedsurprised
Current Music: be gentle with me (the boy least likely to)
wildestranger on July 22nd, 2008 11:19 pm (UTC)
Love this. So painful and wonderful. *snuggles them and you*
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: rose petal bowlscoradh on July 22nd, 2008 11:21 pm (UTC)
After a film filled with random dwarfs and endless obscenity and BLUD. Yup, love my brain.
uminohikariuminohikari on July 22nd, 2008 11:28 pm (UTC)
Aww, why so cute~
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: redhot flowersscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:09 pm (UTC)
idk, they just ARE. ;♥;
Lib: patdlibgirl on July 23rd, 2008 12:23 am (UTC)

That is so lovely and well done! I really liked this :D.
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: scarfscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:12 pm (UTC)
Thank you, darlink! ♥
peripatetic extemporizations: Brendon Ryan all blackhatoyona on July 23rd, 2008 12:37 am (UTC)
Ugh I love that movie. I've never seen it, but it made you write this, which was beautiful and hurty and wonderful!
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: frangipaniscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:13 pm (UTC)
This is what pregnant lampshading hotelier characters will do if you're annoyed with a film. INFILTRATE YOUR MIIIIND.

peripatetic extemporizationshatoyona on July 23rd, 2008 08:50 pm (UTC)
Hahaha sounds good, sounds good.
Kspiralstairs on July 23rd, 2008 01:41 am (UTC)
Aw, I love 'In Bruges'. :)
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: socksscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:15 pm (UTC)
Curiouser and curiouser! Care to explain why? I mean, the more I think about it the more things I hated. Then again, if it wasn't supposed to be about Irish people I mightn't get so cross. It was the crossing genres thing that annoyed me most - like the blank pistol shot slash romantic angst scene, WTF?
FEELS TERRORIST!: PATD Ryan/Brendon rufflemomebie on July 23rd, 2008 02:52 am (UTC)
You are my favorite kind of pretentious. ♥
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: For the Roadscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:16 pm (UTC)
It's a sickness, that's what. The only cure is BIG WORDS. :D
FEELS TERRORIST!: PATD Brendon Yes?momebie on July 23rd, 2008 08:19 pm (UTC)
Um no, I totally understand. I was in the middle of looking up Schopenhauer the other day for fic purposes and had to stop and consider that maybe I had a problem. :p Ri-gosh-darn-diculous, in the best way possible. ♥
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: deerscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:29 pm (UTC)
Dude, I think you've got it wrong. What you are is intelligent with, I presume, subcult references! I am pretentious because I don't know what Schopenhauer is but I'm going to wander innocently over to wiki and, five minutes later, pretend that I knew all along.
FEELS TERRORIST!: PATD Brendon smilemomebie on July 23rd, 2008 08:38 pm (UTC)
*snort* He's a philosopher. Metaphysics, all that. Can you tell I just want to be in school again? It's all I want. Just give me some books and leave me alone! *hides in my cube* To be fair, I was only looking it up because in the fic Brendon and Ryan go see I ♥ Huckabee's and there was something I wasn't sure if I remembered right from Uni. It's not like, deep or anything in the context. Hehe.
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: deerscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:47 pm (UTC)
I used to want to be a perpetual student; then I realised I suck at thinking. This will not help me much as a doctor, of course, but I'll probably be able to hide it better. (All I know of philosophy I learned from Sophie's World!)

Oh, Jude Law. I never want to see anything he's in because, well, Jude Law. On the other hand, he's very pretty. It's an existential dilemma, I tell you.

Although I like the thought of Ryan and/or Brendon maybe having repressed feelings for him. (Is this fic posted? Because I should probably stop reading into it if so. ;D)
FEELS TERRORIST!: PATD Ryan/Jon Smirkmomebie on July 23rd, 2008 09:05 pm (UTC)
Haha. I have my moments with the thinking. I also have my moments with the NOT thinking, which is what seems to get saved for posterity most of the time. :p (I remember Sophie's World! God, it's been forever since I read that. I wonder if it's kicking around the apartment somewhere.)

That really is a bona fied dilemma. We should consult some tea leaves or something. *nods*

You know, this fic IS posted, but sadly, there is no repressed lust for Jude Law. I have very obviously, written the wrong fic for the situation. That happens sometimes. ;) The fic be here!
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: Bollywoodscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 11:40 pm (UTC)
Jostein Gaarder was my favourite author at one time. Through a Glass, Darkly is still one of my favourite books. (I thought he came up with the name, though, didn't realise he nicked it from the Bible.)

Or runes. He looks like the sort of guy who'd be into runes. Actually, I did see him in something! The Holiday! Absolutely dreadful film, no wonder I have a thing against him.

FEELS TERRORIST!: FOB Pete Hidemomebie on July 24th, 2008 12:42 am (UTC)
I was actually not aware that she had written many other things. And you know, it probably says it on the back of the book somewhere, because I am a genius. >.> I'll have to look into it though. Same sort of thing or wildly different?

Um, yes, I can see how The Holiday might put you off someone. Jude Law never stood a chance.
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Disney: Sleeping Beautyscoradh on July 24th, 2008 12:05 pm (UTC)
Way different from Sophie's World - at least, I'd say so. It's about angels and Life, the Universe and Everything. Great line about God as an artist, giving life to his drawings but having very little control over what they did next. It made so much sense.

skdjfhalskjdfhaslkjh AND JACK BLACK. Plus my ice-cream melted and I had no spoon. Don't know WHAT I did to deserve all that...
a work in progress: patd: ah dammitwintersjuly on July 23rd, 2008 02:57 am (UTC)
oh wow.
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: Pretty shoesscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:17 pm (UTC)
(Deleted comment)
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: Art: Bollywoodscoradh on July 23rd, 2008 08:32 pm (UTC)
No way, man! The best thing about recs is knowing what's out there. Liking or not liking doesn't come into it as much as watching or not watching. At least now, I can have a conversation about In Bruges whereas before, I'd be sitting there like a stuffed mullet. NO BAD THERE. :D
verbosediatribe on July 29th, 2009 02:24 am (UTC)
This is beautifully vague.

(Going through your fic, it has come to my attention your bigbang is on my list of bigbangs to read. A whole month later. Because I'm special.)
every Starbucks should have a polar bear: anumberonme lighted pathscoradh on July 30th, 2009 03:23 pm (UTC)
I didn't even make a list of bbbs to read. I maybe finished ten of them. So you > me. :D

And thank you!