sheldrake

So trianne had the cool idea of holding the Slasholympics, which you can find in this post and this post. And I entered Orlando in the archery. It's stupid and it's short. And reposting it here is undoubtedly the very height of folly. But it does involve some actual real words, strung together by me, and my ego wishes to celebrate that fact, thank you very much. So there.

Plus, I won a wreath for it and everything.




Orlando sucked on the end of his pencil. It tasted of wood and delicious graphite. Yum.

"Dear Elijah," he wrote. He had another suck, just for inspiration.

"The thing is, actualy, is this. please do not come & wotch me today in the bow & arrow contest. i no you wil be upset that i am arksing you this. but you must do it for me dear elijah.

the thing is you tned to make me tremble wenever i see you, yor alabastre skin & seruliaen eyes. as u no, shooting arrows needs a stedy hand & if u r their i no i wil not be able to help myself. plese stay away i am sory,

orlando xx"

He sighed. Life was difficult sometimes, even when you were a stunningly beautiful celebrated athlete, lithe and tanned like some kind of young god. He looked into the mirror he'd hung up in his hotel room to cheer himself up. He looked nice.

He licked envelope's sticky strip; it tasted of glue, yum.


***


Things were going well. Orlando had never felt so good with his bow in his hand; it was as though they were connected in some deep, spiritual way, as though he were handling a part of himself. He smiled and checked himself out in his handy pocket mirror. He looked nice. He smiled again, showing his teeth this time.

Suddenly, his view was impaired. His reflection faded to black, as two warm hands reached around from behind him and covered his eyes.

"Guess who!"

Orlando whipped round. He was feeling very cross. He'd been having a lovely day at the Olympics and now it was ruined.

"Didn't you get my letter?" he wailed. His face felt hot. He had a feeling his eyes might be flashing. "I said, don't come! How am I supposed to win the gold medal now? I'll never even hit the target! I should have known this would happen. Everything's all fucked up!"

"Oh, relax." Eljah's smile was sunny. His eyes were a shade of blue that Orlando couldn't remember how to spell. His skin was ... really good. Orlando wondered vaguely what brand of moisturiser Elijah used.

"Here." Eljah came and stood close to Orlando. He slipped a hand into Orlando's pocket. He put his mouth very close to Orlando's ear. "Take this," he whispered. But hey - keep it secret. Keep it safe."

Orlando put his hand into his pocket. He felt Elijah's hand in there too, along with something hard and smooth and metallic. He thought things were getting kind of crowded in that pocket.

"What is it?" he said.

"Hip flask." Elijah removed his hand from Orlando's pocket and shrugged. "My great-grandmother's patent recipe. Guaranteed to give you a steady hand at all times."

Orlando's eyes widened. "But that's not--"

Elijah put a finger to his lips. "Think of the gold, Orli," he said. "Think of the gold." He smiled and turned to go. "I'll be watching. Oh, and I'll see you later, right? Don't forget to bring any shiny new neckwear you may have acquired between now and then." He grinned.

"Right." Orlando's mouth felt dry, as he watched Elijah melt away into the crowd. He wasn't sure this was really the right thing to do. But ... after all, what harm could it do? Gold. He'd always thought gold was his colour. It was just that...

He had a quick look in his pocket mirror and immediately felt better. He looked nice. Elijah would like him in gold. He had a feeling about it.


***