Pitch:

He's been watching the cards as they hit the table. The scores are tallied up on a scrap piece of paper but he's been keeping track of them in his head. He's just watching and waiting as the deck slides from person to person as they deal out hands. He's leaning against the wall being quiet and patient.

The only cards he can see belong to Viggo, Ian, and John. Billy and Sean's cards are too far away to kibitz. John's been in the lead and Karl's waiting for him to win this hand. If John makes his three points, then he'll win the game as well with a score of twenty-two. After that, Karl can ask to be dealt in.

A quiet shuffling draws his attention away from the table. He looks to the doorway in time to see Orlando walk in. Perhaps it's just him, but Karl doesn't think he'll ever get used to the sight of an Elf smoking. Not that Orlando should be doing that in costume anyway. Wardrobe will throw a fit if he burns the material. Karl looks back at the table to see John trump. The boy might even make game as well.

Orlando watches the card game quietly. His eyes flicker over Karl, linger just a moment too long, then back to the cards. It's three weeks before they'll be at the bar, betting and taunting, now however it's only been mere days after Orlando's mutual breakup. Little plastic coated pieces of paper don't provide the necessary distraction and he's too hungry for vending machine fare. The game, whatever it is, Orli doesn't know-- hearts, bridge, canasta, whatever-- breaks with John pounding the table, boasting obvious.

Billy reads off the final scores: John has 23 points (he whoops loudly), Ian has 16 ("Quite a respectable score, thank you."), Billy, 15 ("Wasn't as bad as I thought."), Viggo, 13 ("Good game lads."), and Sean with only nine points.

Sean Bean stands, his cards flying towards the center of the table. He takes a few steps back. "That's it for me."

Orlando near pounces but John's just a tiny bit quicker.

"Come now. It's hardly that bad. Sit back down and try to salvage your pride."

Sean hesitates and Orlando sees his cue. He grasps Sean's arm lightly. "Want to go for a drive? Get some food?" he offers. He wants a bit of companionship and needs someone to listen as he vents.

"Yeah," Sean says grateful for the out. "Works for me." He points to John. "I'll get you back next time."

"We'll have to see about that," John remarks. He picks up the deck again to shuffle. Four people isn't ideal for this game. It's not a bad number, but sometimes it's just more exciting with more. He looks around the room where Karl's still leaning against the wall looking all casual. John's gaze fixes on him. He nods his head slightly. "And what about you? Care to take a risk?"

Karl nods and moves over to the table. He turns a plastic chair around before picking up the deck. "Cutthroat, right?" he holds his hands out for the deck. John places it neatly in his hand and Karl begins to shuffle.

War:

Dom and Billy are waiting for Makeup. They want out of Hobbit feet and Hobbit ears. Not for the first time, Orlando's glad he's an elf. A little of this, a touch of that, simple costume, and he gets to be normal height on screen too. Also, on days like this, he gets to leave almost an hour earlier than they do. He walks by trying to be eager and exciting instead of showing the fatigue he feels. "Have a nice wait," he taunts, not really into it.

For a moment, Billy looks up. He's in the process of lazily taking a ten and a four from the table. "See you tomorrow, mate," he says. He's looking at Orlando, but there's a distracted quality present.

"Bye, Orli." Dom doesn't even look up at him but flips another card from the pile in his hand. A seven of clubs slides into the center of the table. Orlando watches silently as Billy turns a Jack over then picks up both cards.

Orlando frowns. "You guys are really bored aren't you?"

"No," Billy says. He turns over the six of diamonds.

Dom turns a card, not bothering to look at it. He looks up at Orlando dressed in jeans, card keys in hand. His voice is sarcastic but not bitter enough to be rude. "Whatever gives you that idea?" he asks then turns over a four.

As Billy takes the cards, Orlando shakes his head. "Forget I asked."

Freecell:

He's sitting by the phone not sure if he wants it to ring. After long minutes of contemplation, he decides he just wants it to stay nice and quiet. Even if the phone rings, it won't be her. He knows she won't call him anymore than he'd call her, which is rare. Still...

Frustrated, he moves out of the living so he doesn't have to focus on the silent phone. In the kitchen, he fills a glass of water. He's not really thirsty, it just seems like something to do. He pauses, looking out the window as the tap runs. The view awes him.

New Zealand is a real fucking beautiful place but now he's not sure if he likes it. If he stayed in England, it never would have turned into a long distance thing. That, ultimately, is what gave it the little nudge into nothingness.

He should call. Just a friendly hello. A just wanted to see what's up. A just wanted to hear your voice, and that's the reason he doesn't call. No calling, unless he has an excuse. Which he doesn't have.

After she left, he spent three days looking for one. Something she forgot to pack, to take, something of his that she took. His blue sweatshirt is missing. The comfortable one with the faded letters. She always borrowed it, but he can't call her for that. He wanted her to have it anyway.

He's about to leave the kitchen when he catches sight of his laptop. Closed, just sitting on the kitchen table. He doesn't use it that often, lack of time but more often lack of interest. Now, however, he connects to a server, intent on sending her an email.

It's nothing too personal. The net is about as impersonal as you can get. Still... she knows he doesn't use it often, preferring live conversations to the electronic gizmo. So there's a possibility that with even a nice, casual email she might read into it too much. It wouldn't be good.

However, it wouldn't be that bad to let her know he misses her.

He starts to overanalyze and then he realizes once he's figured out that he needs to guess what she'll think of it all. He plays with the other programs to distract himself. The email stays safely minimized on the taskbar. Clicking random icons turns to clicking random cards on the computer. For an instant, he thinks he's not thinking but then that gets him thinking again and he focuses on the screen.

Mindlessly, absently, the electronic cards move across the screen. When he wins a game, seeing the giant King appear gives him a bit of a thrill. For hours, he stares blankly at the screen until he's forgotten all about the email. Tired, with blurry eyes, he powers down the computer.

The email doesn't save.

Draw Poker:

They should have known she'd be a card shark. It's true that the American lass doesn't look it, but still, they should have known. Beneath that sexy smile, the bubbly laughter, she's got some good keen sense about her. She's grown up in the business and she knows the way it works. She's no novice. Still, they didn't expect her to outclass them. Not in this.

They didn't expect her to be able to bridge the deck with hands split a good twelve inches apart. They didn’t expect to see the cards shoot at one another before stopping dead center. They didn't expect her to show off when she shuffled. Then again, they consider her father-- famous singer and rocker-- maybe she learned it from him. With precision, she deals the cards, firing them to everyone in a flash as she lays down the rules.

"Game is five card draw. Jacks or better to open. Trips to win. Red twos are wild and straights can walk around the corner."

They watch dumbfounded. It still hasn't sunk in. Maybe she learned it from a friend-- one of the cast members from that save the world movie. That's another movie where it was all guys. One of them must have taught her. Or maybe her dad's band member, Joe... something or other. Maybe she picked it up there.

Dom looks a bit confused and he doesn't want to ask. He doesn't exactly know what 'around the corner' means but he stays quiet when she turns demanding, confident eyes at the group of them and asks, "Any questions, boys?"

She watches satisfied as they shake their heads. They still look in a state of confusion. She likes to show off but this is different. This is breaking down impressions and gender roles and getting people to stop jumping to conclusions. She draws up her cards, fanning them out. She smiles as her blue eyes look over the top of them. She's got two pair, low cards, but she can swing them.

She's daddy's little girl for sure.

They should have remembered that.

Hand-Eye Coordination:

He's called everyone already. Dom and Billy are somewhere and town doing something. It didn't sound interesting so he's forgotten. Viggo's doing boring, creative type things. He said he's going to shower and then going to read. To read! Who reads on a Saturday night?

Of course, he can't talk either. He's sitting alone in his hotel room wondering who sits home on a Saturday night. The television drones on lazily, but Elijah's not paying attention to it. The commercials play interspersed with the nightly news making him feel very bored. One of the dresser drawers is open and he's flipping cards into it. He's very sure that he really needs to get out a bit tonight.

Karl and Orli went out clubbing or drinking or both. Elijah should have gone but he said no. He's too tired to dance. He flicks out another card and doesn't bother to watch as it flutters to the dark carpet. With a sigh he sets the remaining lot of them on the bed. He should have gone out.

He gets an idea. Nothing grandiose or exciting, but it'll get him out the room for a bit. He tucks a cigarette in his mouth and grabs his lighter from his jacket pocket. Carefully, he makes his way to the door. There's about twenty cards scattered about on the ugly carpet. Elijah's pretty sure he got at least six in the drawer. Not that anyone's counting.

Shortly, he's standing in the parking lot. The night air is brisk but it's not that bad. A bit cold for comfort but it gives him that refreshing sort of feel. Flicks the lighter top off, clicks it, and then takes a slow drag of the cigarette and leans casually against the outside wall. He exhales, looking around at the almost empty parking lot. Carefully spaced trees that are more for show. Tacky off white curtains are in each sliding glass door. Some are illuminated by interior room lights, some aren't. He's pretty sure the dark rooms aren't filled with people. They're probably out having a good time. He taps some ash from the cigarette, and thinks that the night's too quiet but maybe peaceful is... good.

"Those things'll kill you, you know?" Sean criticizes lightly as he walks up.

Elijah's a bit shocked. Somehow, he'd forgotten about Sean. He's forgotten that his wife is off set and that the guy actually has some free time. It just seemed a given, Sean and his wife, the latter always present.

"Maybe," Elijah gives a slight smile, "but not for a while."

"Well if they don't, this weather will." Sean shudders for emphasis and Elijah can't tell if it's real or fake. He's about to suggest that Sean go inside, but the other man starts to speak again. "Quiet night."

Elijah smiles. "Cold, too. I've been told," he jokes. He wants to say more but can't think of anything that won't sound like small talk. Instead, he takes another drag.

Sean's standing shifting his weight, trying to stay moving and pretend he's not cold. His hands are now stuffed deep into his pant's pocket. Elijah raises a slight eyebrow. Taking the cigarette from his mouth, he urges, "Go inside."

"Nah, I’m okay," but he looks far from it. He looks cold.

Elijah decides not to push. Sean's older than him after all, besides it feels good not being alone. They're social, even if they're just standing relaxed and silent.

Elijah takes one last drag then drops the butt to the ground. He watches absently as he grinds out the flame with his shoe. When he looks up, Sean's smiling at him with eager eyes.

A little too anxious he asks, "So, you're going in now. Right?"

It takes a moment before Elijah understands it all. He looks down at the cigarette then to Sean and smiles. He tosses an arm around the other man and leads him into the building.

"You're a good friend, Sean."

Sean gives a little shrug. "Yeah. Well, I try."

High Card:

"Hey have you seen Sean?" Dom climbs up the grassy hill.

Orlando shakes his head, snuffing out a cigarette in an ashtray. Cigarette butts do not Middle Earth make. Elijah looks up from where's he's sitting, he points in the distance. "I think I just saw him go off that way."

"Thanks," and Dom turns to follow. Five minutes later, he reappears, looking dour at Orli and 'Lij. "Shall we try this again mates. Where's the other Sean?"

Elijah blinks, holding out his hand for one of Orlando's cigarettes. "Ah, I don't know."

Dom huffs.

"It's not as if you specified," Orlando points out, flipping Elijah his lighter. "How did we know you wanted the other one?"

"I shouldn't have to specify, should I? I mean, he was here first, wasn't he? If I wanted the other Sean I would have said, 'Have you seen the Other Sean?'"

"You know," Sean remarks, having followed Dom back to the group, "I don't think my name involves the word 'other.'"

Dom shrugs noncommittally.

Sean raises an eyebrow. "I'm older, you know."

"Than who?" Billy questions, walking back with Astin, each with a soda in their hands.

"Than him," and Sean points at his counterpart.

"Ah, yes," Billy scrunches up his face in confusion. There's got to be something he's not getting. "We've known this all, haven't we?"

"He should be the Other Sean," Sean insists.

"Yeah," Elijah takes a long drag, "but, he came to set first. So, he was technically the first Sean."

Bean stares at him incredulously. Orlando shrugs, and gives a weak sympathetic smile. He agrees.

"Sean," Sean says coming into the discussion for the first time, "We can flip a coin for it or something."

Dom quirks an eyebrow and makes a show of patting his wardrobe. Ah, yes, money and Middle Earth don't mix either. "Let's see, pocket watch, gum, a miniature deck of cards."

"What? Let me see that." and Billy takes it from his hand. "This looks like the junk you get out of the vending machines at the grocers." Dom blushes and Billy knows he's just made a true statement. He sighs and opens the box. "So why do you have this?"

"Unique, isn't it?" Dom boasts. "I was going to post it back." He takes the case from Billy, letting the man shuffle the inch long cards in mid-air.

Finally, Billy hands the deck to Bean, who looks at him as if he's just lost his mind. "High card, low card, mates. Whoever’s low is Other."

The Seans exchange looks. How did it get to this point, they wonder, also pondering about the quirks of their friends. Oh, well, best to indulge. Sean splits the deck, then hands it to the younger man. Astin repeats his actions. They look at their cards, both low, damn it.

"So?" Dom prods. He wants his cards back as much as he wants the answer.

Astin flips his card around, seven of diamonds.

"That would be a draw then," Bean starts to laugh. He holds up the seven of spades.

Dom smacks Billy on the arm. "So much for that idea."

Gin:

It's all quiet on set, but not because they're filming. The lights are off and the gaffers, handlers, and extras have long gone home. The only light to be seen is from the break room. It trickles down the hallway illuminating the pale blue walls.

Inside the room, one would think the light would be stronger but it isn't. It barely casts on the dark green walls and dirty aged tiles. The microwave, that no one is sure works, is hidden in darkness. The vending machines lining the wall hum softly. The room should be closed for the night, but it isn't.

Two men are talking, laughing at the table. Spread out atop the Formica tabletop is Chinese takeout. Little packets of duck sauce and soy sauce are strewn about along with napkins and fortune cookies. They've been done eating for a while but it's a big table and they're not motivated enough to clean.

Peripherally, they both know they're the only ones on set but it doesn't really matter. They've lost track of time doing just talking. Cards hit the table absently as they try to make runs and trips, picking one card up in favor for another. The game plays at an easy pace, the men relaxing into the gentle cycle.

"So it was Superman for me." Orlando flips the two of hearts down.

"That's--" Karl says, reaching for the card.

"Don't even," Orlando admonishes. "Superman is untouchable."

"I never said he wasn't cool. He's epic man."

"Sort of like Tolkien." Orlando picks up another card. If he can get one more card he needs then he can go out.

"Yeah. Who would have thought it." Karl discards the six of diamonds.

Orlando picks it up. "Gin. Now all the have to do is make Catcher in the Rye and then anything goes."

"Yeah maybe someday." Karl picks up the deck and begins to shuffle. It's not his turn to deal but considering that they haven't been keeping score it doesn't matter all that much. The game hasn't been the focus in the slightest. "After all, how long did it take Peter?"

"Years," Orlando says. "I think."

"Yeah," Karl begins to deal. "You just never know."

Go Fish:

"So if I have all red cards, does that mean anything?" She stares down at the five cards in her hand, utterly confused. She shuffles them around a bit to see what combinations they will make. Cards aren't her thing. She just never had interest in them.

"Only if they're the same suit," Viggo explains. "Then it's a flush."

"Ah," she frowns slightly. "Okay."

"Do you want help?" he asks.

"No, I'm good. I think."

They lay their cards on the table. Viggo has two pair, tens over fours. Liv's got three of kind, a little string of ducks. John's got Ace high with a queen to back it. Cate puts down her cards. "I don't think I have anything."

Viggo leans over, carefully pulling out the two sevens. "You have a pair, see?"

She nods, smiles. "Yeah. I guess. You probably should deal me out next hand."

"No, we'd miss you," Liv asserts.

"Agreed. It would hardly be the same."

"We can play something else," Viggo suggests and hands her the deck. "You pick the game."

Cate shrugs and smiles. "If you're sure. I don't know that many... I mean I don't mind watching."

"Nonsense, my lady," John asserts.

They all watch her as she deals out six cards, one at a time. So it's not pitch, or poker, or anything else. Liv smiles as Cate spreads the remaining cards out in the middle of the table, moving them around with her hand as if they were finger paint. Liv's figured out what game it is. John looks shocked, almost put out. Viggo looks confused, but not concerned, just a bit dumbfounded actually.

John doesn't move to pick up his cards until Liv and Cate do. He doesn't want to commit a new game blunder. He exchanges looks with Viggo. It's agreed; they're both clueless.

Liv smiles reassuringly to Cate, she's glad she gets to go first.

Cate shrugs weakly. "I told you I didn't know many games."

"I hate to be rude," John starts, "but perhaps you could tell us, exactly what we're playing?"

Liv nods her head, catching John's eye. "John," she says before Cate can utter a word, "do you have any sixes?"

John flusters for a moment. He looks from his cards to Liv, to the table and then to Cate, and then back again to check to see if he does has a six in his hand. "Er... no. I don't. Um. Go fish."

House of Cards:

They're not on set. Pretty soon Peter's going to come looking for them, wanting to know what the hell is up. The strange thing is, they don't even know they're late. Around the table, but carefully not touching it, they stand mesmerized because they've never succeeded at it before.

It's in the middle of the table, carefully balanced. A strong wind, a slight bump, and everyone knows it'll all come down. They tense as Viggo sets another two cards on top, each supporting the other's weight. It's amazing that the ratty old deck can make something like this. With those two cards, it's become four card stories high. Everyone is tense. They wait for it to tumble even as they hope it doesn't. The want to get a camera, Dom in particular, but no one can brings themselves to move.

Two more cards. They waver slightly before Viggo lets go. The whole lot shakes but stays upright. Everyone lets out their breath that they didn't even realize they'd been holding. Viggo only has eight more cards to use. Another story after this one. Then it will be finished.

When Peter comes in Viggo's got four cards left. Before Jackson can even ask what hell's going on, Liv gives him a pointed look and Cate gestures for him to be quiet. He doesn’t see the big deal. It's just a bunch of cards.

Viggo's hovering carefully over the table trying to keep a steady hand as he puts the final two. Finally, after an eternity he breaks away. The cards waver slightly and it looks as if one side is going to give. For tense seconds everyone freezes but quickly they relax as nothing happens. The room breaks in applause and Viggo gives an embarrassed smile.

To his credit, Peter waits until the accolades die down before clearing his throat. As if caught by a truant officer from school, the group walks sheepishly out of the room, keeping their eyes downcast as they pass. Peter catches Viggo's arm before he leaves.

"You really did that?" he asks.

Viggo's eyes go a bit wide, slightly offended, but really not. "Yeah," he says in a soft, but serious, even tone. "I did."

Their eyes lock for moments. "I'm impressed," Peter relates and let's go of Viggo's arm letting him leave. Peter looks back at the table in awe before turning off the light. The smallest things... He closes the door behind him and sincerely hopes it's still standing at the end of the day.

Solitaire:

He studies the cards as if they hold the meaning to life itself. He's double-checking just to make sure. Once satisfied, he turns over three cards and fans them out on the table. Now he repeats the processing, going back to staring. Absently, he scratches his head at the seam of the wig. The itchy, annoying, floppy thing. Hobbit hair and hobbit feet. He supposes it could be worse, but nothing in particular comes to mind. Oh, wait, maybe the last scene of The Faculty...

He flips three more cards, trying very hard to block out the sound of Peter fuming in the distance. Technically, Elijah's not on break. Instead, filming is held up.

The props department has misplaced Sting and now Peter's conducting a mad search. He's recruited everyone but the talent thus far. Elijah is certain that in a few minutes, he'll be called to pitch in which is why he's around the corner, out of sight, keeping a low profile.

He would rather not clump around everywhere in search of the sword. He scratches his head again. He doesn't want to be playing cards either. If Peter doesn't find the damned thing in fifteen minutes, he's going to have to change the shooting schedule. Elijah turns over more cards. He doesn't care which scene they shot, just as long as they start, the sooner started, the sooner finished after all. The sooner finished, the sooner he'll be rid of this damned itch.

He moves the two of spades up to the top even as he scratches his head with his left hand. He's studies the scene again before flipping over cards. They hit the table just as he hears a very, very loud crash. Elijah winces in shock and frowns in commiseration.

"You are so lucky you're in here," a very frazzled Dom masquerading as Merry bursts into the room. He slams the door shut as if someone is chasing him and slumps against it. Elijah raises an eyebrow. Perhaps someone is.

"You should have seen it 'Lij." Dom's got a smile that seems almost painful to keep and his hands are motioning everywhere. "Pete was looking through the prop box because one of the handlers said-- Woah!"

The door bucks interrupting the story and making Dom stumble forward. Orlando steps into the room, casts Dom a quick look to make sure he hasn't lost his balance, then bounds up to the table. Elijah's head spins. One moment, Orlando's in front, then behind with his hands resting on Elijah's shoulders proclaiming, "You should have seen it!" In the next moment, he's sitting next to Elijah drumming his fingers excitedly on the table. "It was brilliant, too good to believe. You know the crazy type of things that are too crazy to possibly have any truth whatsoever? I mean, if I didn't see it, I wouldn't have believed it so I don't except you to. But it was great!"

Elijah blinks confused. He looks at his friends. The cards are safer he decides and moves a red seven to back up his point. They're quieter too, an if Orlando's rant was any sort of indication (or warning) of the greatness that happened, Elijah is sure he doesn't want to know.

"Geeze, Orli! Start at the beginning," Dom commands and brings a chair to the other side of Elijah reading to vie for his friend’s attention. "So we have good news, bad news, and--"

"Great news," Orlando interjects.

"Awful news," Dom corrects.

Elijah looks warily up from his cards. "The good...?" he questions.

"Pete found Sting."

Elijah nods, trying to figure out which six to move. "The bad?"

"We're still filming." Orlando moves the six of clubs for Elijah and flips the card underneath it to continue play.

Again, Elijah nods at the news. That was only to be a given, burning daylight and all those euphemisms. He moves away from the table slightly because he just knows it's going to affect him directly, in some way. "So the big deal is?" He hates himself for even asking.

Dom, sensing Elijah's hesitation, reaches over and turns over three more cards. He throws a red five up, then moves a column, King underneath. Cool beans. He gestures to Orlando that moves a queen to it. "Pete's all a fucking rage," Dom relates.

"And he's got a bump the size of an orange on his head," Orlando adds. He throws a black two up.

"What?" Elijah looks at them, confusion clear on his face. He's given up on the game now. Solitaire, it appears, takes three people to play. "Did Sting fall on his head?

"Almost..." Orlando drawls. "Something hit him, but it wasn't Sting."

"Worse," Dom relates, picking up the pack. "You know Ian's long, heavy, wooden staff..."

Elijah looks horrified.

Orlando nods. "Yep, that'd be it."

Fifty-Two Card Pick-Up:

Orlando's flat is trashed.

It wasn't a party per se, just some casual hanging out. Talking, a little cards, some booze and a ton of delivered pizza. The place is a mess but not in the conventional party sense. Nothing is broken, it's all just very disorganized. Extra chairs are stuffed into the living room and all the furniture's been moved around. Empty and not so empty bottles, cups, and cans are scattered everywhere: on the floor, atop the CD shelf, under and on the chairs. The kitchen's filled with empty pizza boxes to the point that there is no room in the trash.

Orlando looks at the mess that almost everyone's gone and left him with. He doesn't want to clean it up today. He flops on the couch, closes his eyes, in an effort to try to recover some energy.

"Uh-uh," he hears a familiar voice scold gently. "None of that now."

Orlando opens his eyes and the first sight that greets him is the living room table. An empty bottle of Corona is on balanced on a deck of cards and some candy. The worn deck is perfectly squared off, a testament to Viggo's neatness. Alongside it is an ashtray filled with only two brands of cigarettes. Four pizza crusts are gathered on a plate and the little two-story card house courtesy of Viggo is on the corner. Yes, he definitely doesn't want to clean any time soon.

He doesn't see Karl anywhere but he knows he just heard his voice from somewhere in front of him. He should probably get up to look but that requires energy, effort, and motivation. Orlando decides to call out instead, "Where are you?"

He gets his answer when Karl comes back in. The older man picks up the empty beer bottle and plate from the table and heads off to the kitchen again. Now Orlando feels like a slacker and an ungrateful one at that.

"Stop it," he commands. "I'll clean it later."

"I thought you weren't drinking today," Karl remarks. There's no scorn or disapproval in his voice just statement of fact. They might be together but Karl believes that Orlando is still very much his own person with his own decisions-- good or bad-- hangover or no.

"Yeah, well, that was before. Besides, I didn't have that much." Which he didn't. Three and half beers isn't bad but can be on only four hours of sleep last night. So fatigued now that sleep is an irresistible prospect. Something infinity more important than cleaning.

Karl doesn't think so. He's still at it. It's starting to annoy Orlando because it's his place, and therefore his mess, and ultimately he figures, it should be his decision when it gets cleaned up.

"Stop it," he tries again. He still hasn't budged from the couch.

Karl pretends not to hear him and that pushes Orlando to his Fuck It point. Orlando closes his eyes and leans back trying to sleep. If Karl's going to be all sorts of domestic clean and organized then he's just not going to argue anymore. Goodbye mess; hello naptime.

"Have you seen the case for the cards?" Karl calls out.

Orlando's eyes that have only been closed for half a second open again. "Oh sod the fucking cards."

"That means no," Karl says, a hint of amusement in his voice. He sets the deck back down on the table and moves off to the other room. Orlando closes his eyes again, trying for take two but sooner than later, Karl's back with another question. "Where's the bottle opener go?"

"Who bloody cares? I said I'd do it later." Orlando kicks the table with his foot to punctuate his words. It slides forward a few inches and the house of card falls down. "Just leave it alone, okay?"

"Never mind. I found a place. Go back to sleep."

It's far too late for that now. Orlando's on his feet, moving towards the kitchen just as Karl's making another trip to the living room. They meet in the doorway, blocking each other's way.

"Need anything else?" Orlando asks. "Blueprints perhaps?"

Karl tries not to laugh but Orlando just looks so put out. He should cut the kid some slack, after all he looks ruddy exhausted. "Go," Karl urges moving to push past him. "Don't let me distract you."

"Well you are." Orlando stands his ground. "I want you to find something better to do with your time."

"Like?"

"Take a nap or something, how should I know?"

"So while you're sleeping I should entertain myself?"

"Exactly."

"Fine," Karl raises an eyebrow, "are you going to move now?"

Orlando blinks. He didn't even realize he's still blocking the doorway.

"Are you going to move or what?" Karl asks.

For reasons beyond him, Orlando's overcome by a bout of hyperness. He grips the doorframe, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Or what," he quips. "No, I'm sorry but it looks like you're just going to have to move me."

"No problem."

Karl's hand grip Orlando's waist pulling him close, then lips meet, a tender kiss but Orlando instinctively open his mouth. The kiss becomes more and Orlando wants everything. He wraps his arms around Karl's back pulling the other man closer even though the kiss is ending. Before he realizes it, he's being turned around and Karl breaks away.

"Thanks," Karl says with a grin. Completely composed he continues to make his way into the living room.

Orlando lets out an indignant shout of protest. More of a whimper actually. "You're harsh man." He moves back to the couch, annoyed as Karl continues to clean. "I'm talking to you, you know."

"Uh huh," it's the distracted non-answer that Karl gives. The one that lets Orlando know he's not listening one bit. Far too busy making trips from this room to the next. Orlando's gotta admit, the room is cleaning up in very short order and Orlando can't stand it.

"Tease," he mutters when Karl's in the other room.

"Pardon?" Karl appears in the doorway, perplexed expression on his face, holding an empty plate that got detoured on his way to the sink.

"Nothing."

"No. I heard something."

"I might have said that you're a--" Orlando coughs, a sound that suspiciously sounds like "cock tease."

"Ah," Karl nods. "That's what I thought." Content with the answer, he turns away. The place is just about organized. Seems fairly pointless to stop now.

Orlando huffs. His jovial mood shot to shit. Damn, if he can even be lewd and flirt and get a reaction... he closes his eyes for the umpteenth and one time. He can still hear Karl moving about like some damned rat or scuttlebutt or something else entirely, something native to the area. Damned Kiwi.

Sooner than later, he feels the couch dip with the other man's weight. He opens one eye and looks at Karl quizzically. "Done?"

"Almost." Karl bends to pick up the cards that Orlando has dropped on the floor. "Did you find the case?"

Orlando scoffs. "I didn't know I was supposed to be looking for it."

Karl shrugs, squares off the deck, turning the cards around in his hands.

"Does it really matter?" Orlando asks, only to get another shrug in return. "Oh, just let it go," Orlando says. He plucks the cards from Karl's grip and flings them to the table. They skid off, falling over the floor once again.

"Hey. I just cleaned you know."

"They'll be fine."

"But--"

"They'll be fine," Orlando reasserts cut Karl off with a kiss. Suddenly, there is something more interesting than sleep and far more exciting than cleaning.

Karl breaks away and licks his lips. "They'll be fine," he repeats.