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Summary: Variations on a theme. Introducing three unrelated stories revolving around the same subject, which can stand together or apart. Pairing: The Viggorli. One track mind, you know? Disclaimer: To the best of my knowledge, only the quote is real. Would love to hear otherwise, but you'd have to tell me. Author's notes: This quote is inspirational. I suggest we all read it at least once a day. But sadly, only one of the stories will be crack. These stories are dedicated: To the sweetest Cream_and_sugar, who surely knew she’s making me do it when she pointed me in the direction of this quote, to Dazzamre, Sharon and Esso, for their bravery as well as their general wonderfulness, and to the beautiful Soar38 who is the most underpaid, but definitely not under-appreciated beta out there. Banners and icon: Are the amazing Dazzamre’s talent and special squishes go out to Silvan_lady, she knows why...
Q: When did you start painting, poetry and photography?
Empty house. Orlando walked back from the long corridor and was again standing in the living room, looking out the window and trying to decide what he should wear to keep himself warm. It's been a while since he's been home and he couldn't remember what to anticipate when the evening grows darker. He was losing himself in thoughts of not wanting to go to this publicity affair at all when little Viggo – as he had imagined him – ran in from the other room with his notebook of drawings open in his hand. "Daddy, Daddy!" He called out, excited. "Look what I pictured!" Orlando smiled at the graceful, unaware usage of the word by the boy that Viggo must have been, as he was sure Mrs. Mortensen did at the time this took place. He leaned over to have a better look at the doodling of the five year old. There were mostly swords there, lots of swords that came in all sorts of shapes and there were also a lot of... "Pee-pees!" Little Viggo saw the puzzlement on Grace Mortensen's face and thought his mother needed further explanation to join in on his joy. "Mom stood back up," Viggo once told Orlando. He seemed somewhat lost within himself. "There was this hard look on her face, a harsh concern. She didn't tell me why, but later I could hear her and Dad arguing about it." Orlando touched Viggo's hand. His lover smiled. "It was alright, I figured out there was something wrong with the pee-pees, even though I didn't get it, but I was a stubborn little thing. I wouldn't change anything and with time, she just sort of got accustomed to it. I did promise myself that I would prove her worry unjustified." He turned with that and didn't add a thing. Orlando wouldn't ask anything, in much the same manner as he wouldn't touch a butterfly resting on his shoulder. The lightning of pain that didn't strike was to be kept safe, who knows until when. "It's beautiful, honey," he whispered to the mental image his mind conjured up, still leaning over the virtual drawing. Then he moved to lay a kiss on top of the golden haired boy's head. "Don't forget. I love you, no matter what."
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