Fugitive Pieces [Herc and Feli}

[Feliciano Vargas]

Words: 868

Tags:@itsallgreektome

Notes: Feli's being a bum again...

It really was beautiful here…

Feliciano leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes as though he could absorb the history of the room simply by being in its presence. Thanks to Nonno, he had grown up surrounded by history and ended up with a deep love of the past. There was nothing like being near an old artifact and knowing that it had seen hundreds of years of human growth. They were the remnants of grand empires, long since fallen. They intertwined lives and captured imaginations. And sometimes… sometimes Feli just needed to be reminded of the grand picture, to know that his life was just another link in an endless chain.

And today was one of those times. He smiled and looked down at his fingers, relieved to see the blood finally returning, finally infusing color into the blanched skin. Everyone agreed that this had been the coldest week in recent memory. The icy weather had kept all but the most ardent of regulars from the Bar, leaving few tips for the employees. Worse still, there had been no contracts that fit Feli’s bill. By the end of the week, his money was gone and he had no idea when he might be able to earn more. For the first time in his life, Feliciano Vargas seriously contemplated relaxing his moral code regarding contracts. There was no money, no food, and (as of last night) no power to heat his tiny little flat. He was tempted to go to Luddi, to Luci, to Fratello, or even to Nonno, and beg for a place to stay. He sighed and opened his eyes, staring up at a worn column (transplanted from Athens). He couldn’t bother Luddi—after all the man had enough on his plate. And though Luci had never turned him away, she was consumed with school and he didn’t dare interrupt her now. As far as turning to his family… Feli moaned and slumped down slightly. He could hear the shouting now… especially from Fratello. He knew few in his family understood why he had chosen the life he had and to go and beg for money from them would only invite more lectures…

He stood up, shaking his head slightly. He came here to cheer up, not dwell on past mistakes. He looked around, a fond smile on his lips as he lingered by the faded frescos and fragmented pottery. While he loved paintings—had spent hours studying the works of the Masters—he was constantly drawn to the ceramic and stone pieces created by unknown people. He loved imagining what they were like, how they had chosen to live their lives; what muse had captured their minds and guided them to produce their works.

He stood before the column, hand stretched out as if to touch it. His fingers stopped a few inches shy of the chiseled stone. A tactile being, Feli yearned to slide his fingers over it, to learn the chaotic pattern of erosion brought on by millennia of battle with the weather. For a brief moment, he flirted with throwing caution to the wind and just going for it, to discover the history through touch.

But that fantasy was shattered as a rather sizable group of people intruded into his make shift sanctuary. Feliciano jerked his hand away, blushing furiously at being caught in such a foolish situation. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he stole a curious glance at the group. The majority of its members were young, late teens to early twenties, but their leader was definitely older and had the undeniable air of a teacher. A professor, Feli corrected himself mentally, feeling less then courteous towards the group in general. Universities had always left a bad taste in his mouth, ever since his own disastrous stint there. He had never felt more stifled than when he’d spent hours upon hours confined to windowless stuffy rooms with similarly stuffy professors. Feeling the first hints of bile rise in his throat, Feliciano began to back away in order to beat a hasty retreat.

But then the professor began to speak.

Well now… Feliciano sank down into a seat, struck by the man’s voice. He was clearly not from London; like Feliciano, his accent was warm, with muted vowels, but it was dissimilar enough for Feli to immediately eliminate him as a fellow Italian. There was definitely a Mediterranean influence. But it wasn’t the man’s accent that stopped him—it was the way he spoke. The students seemed more or less indifferent to their professor’s words, their attentions focused on their phones or eachother. But not Feli. He listened on as the professor detailed the history of the very same column that had caught Feli’s eye. The man spoke with the passion of an artist and the fondness and intimate knowledge of a lover. Feliciano had rarely heard such a tone, and never from his old professors. He closed his eyes again, letting the man’s words wash over him, constructing a vibrant image of an ancient metropolis. A contented smile spread over his face as he listened, completely in the thrall of the young professor.

He wished it would never end.

made by MISSO for KAT

[Deleted]

    The column Feliciano had singled out from all others was of particular interest to the Grecian man, who felt as though a trip to the museum would benefit his students a little more than a simple lecture would. Sometimes, having a physical item in front of them served to hammer in the point far more effectively than a picture did, and for the final leg of their journey he chose to introduce them all to a subject they discussed in class: columns. In particular, this column was of the Doric order, lacking the rolling, scroll-like capitals that were so iconic in Greek architecture.

    The trip he organized wasn’t mandatory, but it was encouraged due to the helpful information one might have been able to gather for any tests he’d give. He never planned to give any credit for simply attending, and was pleasantly surprised to see that almost everyone in his lecture decided to show up – that is, until he realized that over half of them were busy fiddling with their electronics that listening to what he had to say. What was the point? He wasn’t handing out brownie points to people who stopped by, so there was absolutely no point in being there if they didn’t want to listen.

    Heracles frowned heavily in mid-sentence, eying the phones distastefully. His normally audible voice lowered as he spoke.

“Looks like I might need to start removing phones.”

    No response, but his mood was improved by the three pairs of eyes diligently watching and taking notes. At least some of these kids were here to learn. The rest of them were disappointing him. He’d have to make a point to give those three some extra points for being good sports about the whole thing.

    “I hope you’re all listening!” He continued, a little louder this time. “All this material will be on your exam!”

    One heard him and immediately put their phone away, but sadly lacked the materials needed to properly take notes. He’d need to be rather attentive if he wanted to make sure he got everything. Too bad the meeting was almost over and he’d missed out on forty-five minutes worth of lecture. That was his loss though and Heracles had little sympathy for those who couldn’t be bothered to respect him as an educator. He didn’t speak to hear his own voice, he spoke for the benefit of others.

    He ran a hand through his curled, brown hair and heaved a frustrated sigh.

    “Doric. I hope someone can tell me what makes it dissimilar from other orders?”

    From there on the last stretch of lecture continued, with the three attentive students answering most of his questions easily. Heracles already knew who’d be getting the highest scores… but that wasn’t a particularly good thing. He’d much prefer everyone score well. His lecture then complete he dismissed the group and they exited the museum in a clump, though a couple stayed behind to explore the wings they hadn’t touched. It was good to see some people were interested enough to stick around. He hoped they’d go far.

    Heracles rolled his shoulders and stretched. That was his only class for the day and now he’d need to find something to occupy him until the evening. Preferably something that wasn’t grading more midterm papers.

[Feliciano Vargas]

Words: 453

Tags:@itsallgreektome

Notes: Feli may know what he's talking about but I don't... ^^

It really was a shame, wasting such a talent on such apathetic students. Feli got to his feet, eying the professor curiously. He was just so… young. If he didn’t know better, Feliciano would have put him more as a grad student… dressed in a pair of faded jeans with a mop of disheveled hair, he hardly looked like someone in charge of a class. But still, there was no denying the authority with which he spoke, the fear in which his students regarded him. It was obvious he had spent a long time studying the subject at hand, and Feli could tell it was far more than just a job for the man. His interest in the professor only grew as the talk went on and Feliciano prayed that that he wouldn’t just up and leave when he was done. He hoped to get a chance to talk to the brunette, and so the Italian waited, listening patiently as he wrapped up the lecture and dismissed the students. Luckily, the man seemed to in no hurry once the students dispersed, and Felicano seized his chance. He smiled and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets, his amber eyes sparkling with the promise of an interesting conversation.

“Ve… mi scusi,” he began, moving closer towards the column and the man. “I couldn’t help but listen to your impressive discussion on the use of the Doric order columns.” He gestured to the piece with a smile. “Have you ever been to Paestum, in southern Italy? My grandfather took me once to show me the temples there. I loved the simplicity of the design, the clean lines—everything just looked so crisp and dramatic!” He beamed, lost in the memory of it as his hands glided through the air, unable to contain his excitement. When was the last time he’d found someone to discuss art or history with? Someone who did more than simply tolerate his excitement over form and function and style, someone who was eager to join in and discuss the finer points of architecture with the young Italian. Perhaps, he’d found just that person. “I’ve always loved Doric columns… but… the corner conflict has always bothered me. The asymmetry just feels so… jarring, especially given how much emphasis they put into symmetry elsewhere.” He smiled apologetically and looked back to the man.

“Ah, sorry,” Feliciano said, running his hand through his hair, his auburn hair falling back into his eyes stubbornly. He turned to give the professor his full attention, still smiling. “I never introduced myself, did I? So rude…I hope you’ll forgive me. My name is Feliciano Vargas, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” He held out a hand eagerly.

[Deleted]

    “Oh, I know the ruin you’re talking about! Poseidonia, in old Greek. I’ve been there a couple of times, but I don’t go to Italy enough times to study them or explore.” Heracles said regretfully. “Far too busy, unfortunately.”

    He listened interest to the man’s babble. It wasn’t often someone spoke to him at such length about these things. He had a point about the jarring imagery but Greek architects did things like that for a reason. This was the kind of man Heracles would have loved to have in his class. Green eyes widened slightly and his lips tugged into a smile. He took Feliciano’s hand firmly and gave it a short shake as he introduced himself.

    “Heracles,” he spoke, breathing the airy syllables of his name with that muted accent that Feliciano had noticed. Feli’s name and way of speaking alerted Heracles to the presence of a fellow foreigner. Perhaps the two could bond over the mutual feeling of being far away from a place they loved dearly.

    “I find myself attached to Corinthian, myself.” Heracles gestured for the Italian to follow deeper into the exhibit, specifically to a wall some meters away from the Doric column. Somewhere in the world were a group of decapitated columns and their heads were here in this museum. “Columns got more complicated as time went on, as most things do. I agree the simplicity is charming, but I can’t help but appreciate the extent of the Corinthian order.”

    The three orders displayed in the small sub-exhibit, with the Doric order to the far left, the Ionic order in the middle, and to the right was Corinthian, showing off an elaborate carving that seemed to have skipped several generations of developing complexity. Four symmetrical petals bloomed outward from a central point, framing the capital as it topped off flatly where it would go to support a temple roof. Embellishing the capital’s body were intricate figures and items, telling a story in a manner similar to how a story might be conveyed on an ancient vase.

    “Today we see Doric and Ionic columns everywhere, in many countries.” His research had taken him to several locations, many of them in the United States, but also in France particularly during the 17th century. Greek and Roman columns (but of course, Roman columns were inspired by the Greeks so there was no contesting that the originators were the true inspiration!) were built into several of France’s most important buildings, whether free-standing, colonnade, or pilaster.

Europe loved Greek and Rome. No doubt about that…

    “Back in ancient times, the style everyone loved was Corinthian.” Heracles rounded the capital as best he could without getting tangled in the thick rope barrier, speaking all the while. “They were particularly common in Spain and North Africa, you know? Egypt had many temples that used them. They’re distinctive because they were carved to resemble the stems and petals of acanthus flowers.”

    He laughed softly to himself. “They call it the Corinthian order but a lot of scholars are convinced the man who first sculpted the style was Athenian.”

    “And each one has a story…” Every part of a temple had a story to tell. Every brick, every slab, every tile… few people understood just how much humans could understand from simply examining the most overlooked aspects of the architecture, and yet sometimes far more questions were yielded than answers. It was a fascinating mystery that was perpetuated by the continual pursuit of knowledge.

    His appreciation for the art of Corinthian columns couldn’t defeat the elegance of Doric. The order was so symbolic of his country. People saw the columns and immediately thought of Greece which was itself an encouraging thought, reminding him of the impact the culture had on the rest of the world.

    He hummed and stood back up straight, a small nostalgic smile tugging at his lips. “You are right, though. Doric columns are crisp, clean, and beautiful. It’s good to have a piece of home here, no matter what it is.”

If only he could touch it…

[Feliciano Vargas]

Words: 463

Tags:@itsallgreektome

Notes:

“Heracles…” Feliciano tried the name, feeling it roll off of his tongue. It was beautiful, a truly traditional name and just pronouncing it filled Feliciano with warmth. He missed the Mediterranean, the salty air, the heat of it, the taste of it. He wondered if the man standing in front of him dreamt of old homes, of childhood paths and hideaways, he wondered if he ever ached to hear his mother tongue once more, to be surrounded by it. Feliciano smiled and tilted his head as he took the man’s hand in an exuberant shake; it felt nice to meet another foreigner. As much as he enjoyed living in London but Feliciano did find that he seemed drawn to other transplants to the city. Like Luddi and Sadik, Feliciano was attracted to foreigners like a magnet. Though their cultures were drastically different, the feeling of being on the outside was an all too common feeling. Plus, As Feli found out, nostalgia seemed to make people talkative and he could easily learn all about the countries they came from. And if he was really Really lucky, he might even get to try some of their native food. He couldn’t help but drool a bit as he thought about the last dinner he had at Sadik’s apartment. Perhaps this Heracles guy would be just as generous—both with his stories and his food.

“I do love Corinthian,” Feliciano admitted, sidling closer to the man, eager to continue their conversation. “I didn’t see them a lot but when you see a master craftsman’s work…it truly is a work of art. It’s hard to take your eyes off of them. But that’s why I prefer the Doric, they are simple enough to complement the other works of art, not overshadow them.”

Ah, there it is. Feli gave him an empathetic smile as he heard the nostalgia in Heracles’ voice as he spoke of the columns, as he spoke of home. He understood the feeling all too well. “It’s hard being away from home, si?” His eyes grew wet, even though his memories of home were often not happy ones, he still ached for his sunlight, for his country. He rested a hand on the man’s shoulder, still smiling warmly. “If you have time, I’d love to talk you more, perhaps over coffee?” He didn’t have the money for it, but at least he could sit somewhere warm and listen to an intriguing person. He looked down and fiddled with his sleeves, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “Ve…. I just…I love history and none of my professors ever talked bout it the way you did…” He looked up hopefully, trying to gauge the man’s reaction. Maybe today was his lucky day after all.

made by MISSO for KAT

[Deleted]

    The warm nature Feliciano brought to the museum was entirely welcome, heating the cold stone and the cold stares of the visitors who’d come to both gawk and pay respects. Many people meandered through these halls lacking understanding, but a mind of equal prowess when it came to the arts found Heracles in a rather elated mood.

    Heracle’s time in London had not at all worn away his love for his homeland, for the history that dotted its landscapes, the mountains or the crystal water. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. But, Heracles knew that his destiny lay not in the land of Zeus and Hera but in far-away places such as this cold and dreary place called London. Whatever he felt, from the way Feliciano spoke he felt exactly the same way. At least he wasn’t alone here.

    “It is, yes.” Heracles admitted, his heart aching despite the smile shining through. “But this is how it has to be, and I have no regrets.”

    “If you have time, I’d love to talk you more, perhaps over coffee?” Feliciano offered. It was a tempting offer. As warm as the museum was it would certainly feel nicer in a café. He mulled over the offer for only a moment before nodding his acceptance.

    Feliciano’s stance changed. Nervous, perhaps? He tugged at his clothes, shifted on his feet, averted his gaze. He didn’t have to be, Heracles would treat this conversation as if it were one of his students and felt more resolute in this stance when Feliciano mentioned professors who never spoke as Heracles had? Was that even possible? The worst kinds of professors were the ones who couldn’t engage their students, those who couldn’t be bothered to put some emotion into the subject they were teaching.

    Heracles had learned from his own mistakes in the past that students will not become invested if their teacher is not. Lacking enthusiasm for a subject merely gave off the impression that one did not care, and if the professor does not care then why should the student? Heracles held a hand up, hoping to quell the Italian’s anxiety.

    “Of course, of course! I’d love to. Any opportunity is a good one, right?”