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Oct. 16th, 2009 12:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adiva_calandiaSaw Where the Wild Things Are at the midnight premiere. This is the result. I don't think it's particularly spoilery for anything -- there's only a very little bit of the new information from the movie, so if you've read the book, you should be good.
The pirate strokes his beard. "A rumpus, eh?"
"Yeah!" The boy in the wolf suit throws aside the driftwood he's been using to draw in the sand and leaps to his feet. "A wild rumpus! With howling and growling and dancing and jumping and everything!"
"Can't say I've ever been to one o' those, mate." The pirate pauses, looks thoughtful. "Although it does sound like a wedding or two I've been to. Good weddings."
The boy makes a face. "No, not a wedding. Nothing like a wedding."
"Sorry, mate." The pirate spreads his hands. "My mistake."
"That's okay." The boy picks up the driftwood again, plants it in the sand like a flagpole. "You've never been to one." Pondering the driftwood, he changes his mind, uproots it, and goes running for the surf to see how far out he can throw it. The pirate follows him.
"Where's your boat?" the boy asks. The waves have carried the stick back to the sand; he darts down, heedless of getting wet, and retrieves it to try again.
"Ship," the pirate corrects. "She's, ah. Been temporarily mislaid, like."
The boy stops, arm drawn back to throw, and looks up at him. "You lost her?"
"Not lost, no, not lost! I know just where she is." He squints out at the horizon and points. "She's . . . that direction. Approximately. Specifically."
The boy gives him a shrewd look. "Did she get stolen?"
The pirate gives him a shrew look right back. "Sharp lad. Where's your ship?"
"Boat," the boy corrects, and points down the beach to a tiny sailboat. "She's over there. I found her."
"What's her name?"
". . . I don't know?"
The pirate shakes his head gravely. "A boat needs a name, mate. They're just like any other woman, boats are. You call her by her name and you treat her right, and she'll carry you through the roughest storms."
The boy frowns down the beach at the boat, thinking. "Her name's Emily," he finally declares.
The pirate nods approval. "Good name."
The boy beams -- but then his face falls. "If you don't have your ship, how're you gonna get home?"
"Oh, I'll think of something," the pirate says, waving a hand. "Someone will come along."
"I can't take you," the boy says after a moment, sounding regretful. "There's only room in my boat for one person. And I have to go home. And Mom wouldn't like it if I brought someone home for dinner without telling her. Especially not a pirate. Pirates don't have any table manners."
"That we don't," agrees the pirate, and reaches out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Don't fret yourself, mate. I'll think of something."
"Okay." The boy frowns out at the water, then brightens. "Hey -- hey, maybe you could swim out. Or maybe some dolphins will help you! Or sea turtles!"
"Sea turtles, eh?" The pirate looks thoughtful. "They might at that."
The boy beams, and turns back to the water, and pitches the driftwood as hard as he can. This time, the waves catch it and carry it out, away from the island. The boy and the pirate watch until the glare of the sun on the water erases it from view.
"I'm gonna go," the boy announces. He turns to the pirate and, after a moment, holds out a hand, awkwardly formal. "It was nice to meet you."
The pirate shakes his hand solemnly. "Likewise, mate, I'm sure."
"Are you gonna be okay here?"
The pirate scratches his chin. "Well, I've plenty of shade, and I've plenty of rum . . . seems to me the only danger I'm in is of gettin' bored while I'm waiting. I do hate waiting."
The boy cocks his head. "I could tell you a story."
The pirate raises his eyebrows. "Tell on, mate."
"Okay, so. One time I went exploring? In a boat. In Emily but I didn't know that was her name then. And I went sailing and I came to where the Wild Things are. And when I met the Wild Things they were going to eat me up. But I told them to BE STILL. And I stared into all their yellow eyes without blinking and then they knew they couldn't eat me up. And then they made me their king."
There's a pause as the pirate looks down on the little boy in the wolf suit, dirtied and stained with salt water and sand. The boy has his arms folded, his chin lifted, unblinking in spite of the sun in his eyes.
". . . Mate," says the pirate, "I was underestimating you." He removes his hat and sweeps a boy. "Your majesty."
The boy accepts the bow with a grave nod -- then pulls his ear-ed hood up over his head. "I'm hungry. I'm gonna go home and eat supper."
"Well, your majesty, may the wind fill your sails."
The boy shakes his head. "I'm not a king anymore. I just was. It's hard work being a king." He grins up at the pirate. "Maybe you'll find someplace that needs a king, though. When you get off here."
"We should all be so lucky, mate."
The boy laughs, and then turns and trots for his boat, the tail sewn to his suit bouncing, kicking up sand. He waves over his shoulder. "Bye!"
"Fair sailing!" the pirate yells back, waving as the boy pushes the boat into the water, leaps in -- sails out of sight. He stands watching the horizon for a few minutes, even after the little sail is long gone.
Eventually, he shakes his head and heads for the shade. "Sea turtles."
Far out at sea, there's a faint, wild whoop. The pirate uncorks a bottle of rum and grins.
"A king who throws a wild rumpus?" A swallow. "I'd vote for him."
The pirate strokes his beard. "A rumpus, eh?"
"Yeah!" The boy in the wolf suit throws aside the driftwood he's been using to draw in the sand and leaps to his feet. "A wild rumpus! With howling and growling and dancing and jumping and everything!"
"Can't say I've ever been to one o' those, mate." The pirate pauses, looks thoughtful. "Although it does sound like a wedding or two I've been to. Good weddings."
The boy makes a face. "No, not a wedding. Nothing like a wedding."
"Sorry, mate." The pirate spreads his hands. "My mistake."
"That's okay." The boy picks up the driftwood again, plants it in the sand like a flagpole. "You've never been to one." Pondering the driftwood, he changes his mind, uproots it, and goes running for the surf to see how far out he can throw it. The pirate follows him.
"Where's your boat?" the boy asks. The waves have carried the stick back to the sand; he darts down, heedless of getting wet, and retrieves it to try again.
"Ship," the pirate corrects. "She's, ah. Been temporarily mislaid, like."
The boy stops, arm drawn back to throw, and looks up at him. "You lost her?"
"Not lost, no, not lost! I know just where she is." He squints out at the horizon and points. "She's . . . that direction. Approximately. Specifically."
The boy gives him a shrewd look. "Did she get stolen?"
The pirate gives him a shrew look right back. "Sharp lad. Where's your ship?"
"Boat," the boy corrects, and points down the beach to a tiny sailboat. "She's over there. I found her."
"What's her name?"
". . . I don't know?"
The pirate shakes his head gravely. "A boat needs a name, mate. They're just like any other woman, boats are. You call her by her name and you treat her right, and she'll carry you through the roughest storms."
The boy frowns down the beach at the boat, thinking. "Her name's Emily," he finally declares.
The pirate nods approval. "Good name."
The boy beams -- but then his face falls. "If you don't have your ship, how're you gonna get home?"
"Oh, I'll think of something," the pirate says, waving a hand. "Someone will come along."
"I can't take you," the boy says after a moment, sounding regretful. "There's only room in my boat for one person. And I have to go home. And Mom wouldn't like it if I brought someone home for dinner without telling her. Especially not a pirate. Pirates don't have any table manners."
"That we don't," agrees the pirate, and reaches out to ruffle the boy's hair. "Don't fret yourself, mate. I'll think of something."
"Okay." The boy frowns out at the water, then brightens. "Hey -- hey, maybe you could swim out. Or maybe some dolphins will help you! Or sea turtles!"
"Sea turtles, eh?" The pirate looks thoughtful. "They might at that."
The boy beams, and turns back to the water, and pitches the driftwood as hard as he can. This time, the waves catch it and carry it out, away from the island. The boy and the pirate watch until the glare of the sun on the water erases it from view.
"I'm gonna go," the boy announces. He turns to the pirate and, after a moment, holds out a hand, awkwardly formal. "It was nice to meet you."
The pirate shakes his hand solemnly. "Likewise, mate, I'm sure."
"Are you gonna be okay here?"
The pirate scratches his chin. "Well, I've plenty of shade, and I've plenty of rum . . . seems to me the only danger I'm in is of gettin' bored while I'm waiting. I do hate waiting."
The boy cocks his head. "I could tell you a story."
The pirate raises his eyebrows. "Tell on, mate."
"Okay, so. One time I went exploring? In a boat. In Emily but I didn't know that was her name then. And I went sailing and I came to where the Wild Things are. And when I met the Wild Things they were going to eat me up. But I told them to BE STILL. And I stared into all their yellow eyes without blinking and then they knew they couldn't eat me up. And then they made me their king."
There's a pause as the pirate looks down on the little boy in the wolf suit, dirtied and stained with salt water and sand. The boy has his arms folded, his chin lifted, unblinking in spite of the sun in his eyes.
". . . Mate," says the pirate, "I was underestimating you." He removes his hat and sweeps a boy. "Your majesty."
The boy accepts the bow with a grave nod -- then pulls his ear-ed hood up over his head. "I'm hungry. I'm gonna go home and eat supper."
"Well, your majesty, may the wind fill your sails."
The boy shakes his head. "I'm not a king anymore. I just was. It's hard work being a king." He grins up at the pirate. "Maybe you'll find someplace that needs a king, though. When you get off here."
"We should all be so lucky, mate."
The boy laughs, and then turns and trots for his boat, the tail sewn to his suit bouncing, kicking up sand. He waves over his shoulder. "Bye!"
"Fair sailing!" the pirate yells back, waving as the boy pushes the boat into the water, leaps in -- sails out of sight. He stands watching the horizon for a few minutes, even after the little sail is long gone.
Eventually, he shakes his head and heads for the shade. "Sea turtles."
Far out at sea, there's a faint, wild whoop. The pirate uncorks a bottle of rum and grins.
"A king who throws a wild rumpus?" A swallow. "I'd vote for him."
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 05:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 06:02 pm (UTC)Has anyone made movie!WTWT "AND THEN THEY MADE ME THEIR KING" icons yet?
no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 06:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 10:09 pm (UTC)>.>
no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 06:10 pm (UTC)The movie is lovely.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 07:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-17 02:28 pm (UTC)*HAPPY FLAIL*
I want. To see this movie. SO MUCH MORE NOW.
no subject
Date: 2009-10-17 05:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-17 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-18 01:20 am (UTC)Adiva?
I love you so much for this.
*beaming uncontrollably*