Lazy Days in Paradise [ Feli + Herc ]

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Heracles got a certain amout of joy from time to himself when he can just indulge obsessively in his interests. He loved his job, make no mistake about that, but it was stressful and always required his attention. Brief breaks from the chaos, such as now, were always very welcome. What else was Heracles going to do with a free day except laze about in one of his favorite places? He made no secret of his love for art in all forms (though he played favorites, he loved sculpture most of all) but there was a great about of emotion that could be divined from a painting or tapestry as well. He adored it all.

When he ended through the museum’s extravagant doors he unzipped the jacket he had on and clipped the collar around his neck, wearing it around himself characteristically like a cape, as he was often seen. It was a rarity for anyone to ever see Heracles like this when he wasn’t wearing the jacket. When asked about it he would simply reply that it was habit and it made him feel a little more badass than he actually was.

He knew the museum like the back of his hand, coming to hang out in the building whenever he had the chance. He never got bored with looking at the same objects over and over, because they were so fascinating. Every time he examined a pairing or post, he discovered something new. This potential for new discovery or interpretation kept art open-ended and never-ending. Who could possibly not enjoy that?

Not to mention the joy he got out of observing those that visited the museum as well. Watching people also gave Heracles an amount of joy and interest. He noted the expressions of people as they found art they didn’t like, or art they really enjoyed. He chuckled at groups of girls that might squeal over a particularly attractive piece of sculpture, which he would actually agree with! Thank you Greece for your impeccable grasp of the idealized body. (Though he had to admit, Rome and Italy in general had some incredibly lovely sculpture as well. Woo!)

If this museum were Greek the tourists would probably be especially funny.

The interest with which people looked at the pieces was heartwarming to someone like Heracles, who made a living off studying this kind of stuff. His students varied between those that were interested, and those that took his classes because they were forced to. He didn’t think the younger generations had enough appreciation for the arts (or anthropology in general, how many students by now claimed he was boring?) but watching groups of teenagers or young adults explore with such excitement gave Heracles a bit of hope.

He could be looking at the future’s leading art historians. How nice would that be? Yeah, this was a good day so far.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable] You may think that Feliciano Vargas had the most fun at the parties and exclusive events he was always invited to, or spending time with the advanced copies of books from up and coming authors, or even just food critiquing at local restaurants for the price of free, maybe even bringing some eye candy with him. Out of all the activities that Feliciano Vargas enjoyed, those weren't the kinds of things that he enjoyed most. Rather, it was going back to his real passion: Art. He never really had time to draw, paint, or sculpt, no, those were things he enjoyed in his youth at the art school. Admiring it would have to do now. With a keen eye, he could pick up on the little details and appreciate every curve... Ahhh art, the stuff that he could be picky about. Girls don't seem to enjoy you being picky about them, after all. He entered the museum and pulled out his Membership card to show to the front desk. Not that he needed to do that; it was a bit too easy to recognize him as a member of the museum with his prestige. As always, he gave the usual "Ciao" and took a museum map... even if he knew this museum so well. He could wander through this museum to find something with his eyes closed. But why would he close his eyes to art? This place never bored him. He wasn't the kind of guy to interpret the meaning of art, no. He didn't agree with the word interpret. Interpretation? What was that? Art was meant to be felt, loved, adored, explored... no need to ask the artist why they painted something or what emotions they felt. What mattered was what the viewer felt. Even if Renaissance art was quite... hmmm... stiff? Being commissioned was never fun, and that wasn't very fun in art school, to be forced to paint something because you were told to. But ah, an artist has to eat. Among the crowd at the museum, there were the hipsters, the females that squealed at the nude sculptures (he couldn't judge, he squealed too on his first visit here), the stiff art critics, the American tourists who would snap pictures of the art and buy everything from the gift shop, the occasional soiree for those stiff people, and goodness... more hipsters! Not that Feliciano could complain. Sometimes he felt the urge to be part of the hipster crowd... though he was a bit lazy to understand the references they would overreact to. He didn't have the time to look up those overseas movies and listen to those hipster Romanian songs that seemed to be all the rage amongst the hipsters today. But let's not pay attention to the hipsters and people who could afford to come into the museum for dates and to waste their time. He was going to appreciate this art. Though he appreciates it in new ways, through an artist's eye. He stood next to a professor type kind of guy who seemed to be staring intently at a sculpture of a nude man struggling with a large globe. "The Farnese Atlas, 2nd Century Roman. I haven't seen this one in person since the time I saw it in Naples," Feliciano said, looking up at the work of art.

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Heracles, while he was studying the impressive sculpture, was mentally reviewing the myth behind the art. The most interesting parts of art were, for him, the stories behind them or the stories they sought to convey. His train of through was interrupted by the man that slid in beside him, and he snapped back to reality.

"The Farnese Atlas, 2nd Century Roman. I haven't seen this one in person since the time I saw it in Naples,"[/i] he spoke, gazing up at the Titanic being that held the world in his very hands.

“Naples, hm? You must travel a lot.”[/b] Heracle returned with a rather content grin. A fellow enthusiast who came here as often as he did, it seemed. His smile deepened when he looked back up at the sculpture, fondly remembering the story again.

“Atlas, sentenced to an eternity of holding the foundation of the planet intact after siding with the Titans during the Titanomachy.”[/b] Heracles recited from memory. “Doomed to separate the Sky and Earth—I wonder if he thought he got a bargain when the rest of the Titans were sealed away.”[/b]

Myth had a cruel tendency of making Atlas the butt of several legends, particularly with the hero Heracles. He pitied Atlas, of course, but his connection to the ancient hero still made him smirk with amusement whenever he recalled the legends.

“Well, depending on which myth you go with, you could say Heracles made it worse, or saved him from the terrible fate he was given.”[/b] He said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. “Personally, I prefer the myth where Heracles tricked him. What he did was clever.”[/b]

Roman or not, everything always went back to Greece somehow. He couldn’t help it, it was always his favorite genre to study and talk about. Though, he did have to admit Roman art was gorgeous too. If not for several genius artists the world wouldn’t have half the Greek art it did today. Thank you, Roman Copies.

“And then the whole Perseus and Medusa thing happened…”[/b] Heracles recalled, mouth pursed. His body loosened and relaxed as he chuckled at himself. “Well, I’d like to think everyone knows those stories, but I’m so used to lecturing about them.”[/b]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable] This guy knows his art to be able to procure that amount of history on the Atlas. Of course, with the simple read of the informational sign or the click of an iPwn app, one can easily learn the history of a piece. From a quick glance at the man, his eyes were sure of his facts, looking at the sculpture as if analyzing the sculpture. The way he looked at the stunning Roman copy was like that of a storyteller who knew his tales simply by rubbing a hand on the edge of the mahogany table and being able to summon its history. Feliciano could easily continue this historical discussion. Part of his art school education involved art history and sprinkles of architecture. Actually, a huge chunk involved art history, really. It was that kind of thing you ended up doing standardized tests and essays for. The part that some of his fellow classmates deemed "The Boring Compulsory Educational Part that Didn't Involve Drawing". Feliciano would have agreed if art history did not have all the intriguing stories. Nonno's stories were like some of the stories that he was told in art history. Art history had amazing, maybe inappropriate, stories and he very much enjoyed them. But madre de dios, this guy seemed to be able to prepare a whole lecture on this statue. But hey, it felt good that real art enthusiasts that felt the art in their own ways frequented this museum as much as him, not just those one-time tourists. "Naples, hm? You must travel a lot," he said and gave a somewhat lazy grin. This guy isn't one of those guys who frequent the museums with the tight trousers and grumpy frumpy faces. "Si, though I have yet to go check out Athens, one of the biggest art and architecture hot spots in Europe," he said. Man, if those Romans weren't so good at copying Greek work, his exposure to Greecian styles would have been much less! But of course, the Greek originals were best. Originals were always the best. But those curves in the copies looked almost copies, almost... original? But if you have a real eye, you'll know what a copy looks like. Feliciano could easily test that. The Greecian proceeded to telling the story. Feli was tempted to sit down like how he would with Nonno, but this one was laced in facts. Of course it was interesting, even with the facts, but not storytelling to the max. This felt like his old art history classes. There was a bit of an urge to respond with artistic analysis like the old times, but he stopped himself from BSing a thesis like he did in those classes when the man said he was used to lecturing about the stories. Lecturing, eh? "Ah, 'tis a shame people don't see the stories and only see the art and don't appreciate the feelings. And people only see it as a sculpture, not a struggle! And, oh, what I would do to see the original. You could see the struggle between artist and block, man and world." This actually felt nice. A discussion he isn't graded on.

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"Si, though I have yet to go check out Athens, one of the biggest art and architecture hot spots in Europe,"[/i]

Heracles almost sputtered at his almost sinful admittance. Never been to Athens before? Really? Athens was one of the top spots for ancient art—hell, ancient things in general! The West began in Greece, for Heaven’s sake. But alas, this was Herc mentally taking something a little too seriously. Despite the inner shock at this fellow enthusiast’s lack of travelling to places her liked, he had to admit there was something inherently likeable about the guy.

Maybe it was the way he just immediately pointed out the name—he was sure he didn’t even look at the plate in order to get it.

No, he composed himself instead, and merely shook his head incredulously. “You’ve never been to Athens? You need to get over there.”[/b] Now. If he could he’d push him right out the door and onto a plane.

After he rambled on about the origin of the legend, he paused and allowed the Italian to reply.

"Ah, 'tis a shame people don't see the stories and only see the art and don't appreciate the feelings. And people only see it as a sculpture, not a struggle! And, oh, what I would do to see the original. You could see the struggle between artist and block, man and world."[/i]

It was almost a shame, though, that the only examples humanity had of some pieces were Roman copies. Though lovely and remarkable, the original bronzes were long lost to the world. At least they still had some stuff—if only they could get them back into Greece. Who wanted their nation’s treasures locked in another country?

“I don’t think many people understand the concept if they aren’t artists themselves. It’s a difficult idea to comprehend, thinking of it as a struggle.”[/b] Heracles’ face contorted slightly. “Especially when some people regard art as simply a splotch on a canvas.”[/b]

Modern Art, Heracles thought with a snort.

Squares and colors arranged in such a way one would imagine a child could do the same. To take a chisel to marble and carve out perfection? That is talent.

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, width:400px;,bTable] He kinda could tell: You do not simply not go to Athens if you are an art enthusiast. Athens is the cradle of classical art, the beacon of light in a time where everything was rudimentary, a timeless city where ancient art meets modern heights. You don't simply skip going to Athens! Feliciano had planned to go to Athens before, but of course, work decides to not let him be free. Sometimes he wonders why he joined this occupation, they tended to be uptight and only nodded when he came up with a sensational article. Sometimes it felt more like a stiff job than the "artistic" job he expected from this. If he had a choice, he would be in a studio all day, working on various art projects that did not involve three lines on a canvas. He would spend all day drawing life the way it was supposed to be. Maybe ask nonno for money to go back to Italy for a bit. London was just so stiff. Everyone had sticks up their asses, even the pretty girls! But hey, once you warm them up, they can be fiesty ohohoho. This guy knew his art and was probably mentally imploding at the fact that Feliciano hadn't been to Athens. Feliciano himself was mentally imploding and wishing to go on some vacation to Greece. Greece is a nice place. Maybe even visit Sicily, where he and his brother had grown up, though that may be a tad bit painful considering how things went over there. Maybe somewhere a bit more painless, like Rome, or maybe even Venice, where nonno would take him during summer vacations. He sometimes wondered what fratello did while he was in Venice with nonno. “You’ve never been to Athens? You need to get over there.” the man said. Agreed. "Veh, I'm missing out on much by not going! I need to get over there, if only work wasn't so tied up," he said, pouting at the fact that after this museum visit, he better go back running to his office at the Crown Royale Gazette and get cracking down on that article about Sofia Millers and how she's taking things after the death of her husband. Boring. “I don’t think many people understand the concept if they aren’t artists themselves. It’s a difficult idea to comprehend, thinking of it as a struggle. Especially when some people regard art as simply a splotch on a canvas,” the man replied to his sort of spiel on artistry. And honestly, that was true. People saw art as pretty colours on canvas, a picture of something lovely, something that people would say "Oh nice..." and just nod stupidly and not get anything out of it. As an artist himself, that simply wasn't acceptable. "Dio mio, it's a lot more than that! And it's disappointing when you're the artist and your nice work ends up having to compete with three lines on a canvas or somewhat writing their name on a toilet seat!" he lamented. Oh the wonders of modern art. Artists simply didn't exhibit the talent of their forefathers or didn't exert the effort in Feliciano's opinion. It takes so much more skill to draw out a whole scene of paradise with every single leaf taken into account, every gust of wind, every blade of grass, the curvature of the nude humans and their figures, the golden sheen of the apple, the snake that loops around the trees... and then you get your art compared to a box, a square, a line, splotches on canvas. And people call both the paradisaical scene and the splotches that rarely have much thought art. But these statues. They were real art. Real beautiful, real talent. Pick up a chisel and try to shape the block of marble. It's harder than it looks. Try making a butt that beautiful. It's difficult to make it so smooth and round and beautiful.

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"Work? That's no excuse." Spoken like a true lazyman. Herc never wanted to do things he hated. That's probably instead of following his parents intentions for him, he went off and did his own thing. There was no reason to pursue a career one hated, right? Granted, his oldest brother actually enjoyed being a surgeon (last time Heracles had checked), and his sister was a talent vet. Those weren't for him, though. Give him a good art piece or a stunning artifact and one would get a much more favorable reaction out of him. "If I were you I'd pull all of my holidays together for one big trip. Stay out there for a couple of weeks. Take in the sights in the art."

Heracles shrugged. by now he'd had his fill of Atlas and it was now time to move on. He gestured for Feliciano to follow him. "Come along, I could use the company." He grinned now, thoroughly pleased with his knowledge of art and his apparently passion for it as well. "My name is Heracles. No, I'm not joking." He chuckled. Their conversation must have inadvertently turned his introduction into a joke. "That's not my favorite piece, despite the names. Just letting you know."

"Dio mio, it's a lot more than that! And it's disappointing when you're the artist and your nice work ends up having to compete with three lines on a canvas or somewhat writing their name on a toilet seat!" Feliciano replied to his rant. Ugh, modern art! They could both find a mutual hatred for that crap here. There were few things in the artistic world that pissed him off than pretentious wannabe artists who thought barfing on a canvas was somehow more meaningful than the dying warriors on the pediments of the Temple of Aphaia! Granted, the pediments were mostly of the archaeic style and thus were rather ambiguous in their expressions of pain and misery, but that didn't matter. They were a hell of a lot more emotional than anything a modern artist could come up with, not to mention they actually told a story. Mental tangents abound.

"I've always wanted to learn how to sculpt." Heracles shook himself out of his self-contained rage. "But, I'm better with a pencil than I am with a chisel. I'll take what I can get."

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I was never right for the hero type of role; I ADMIT IT

Feliciano was the kind of guy who took spontaneous holidays. The kind of holiday in which you forget you work at the Crown Royale Gazette and forget you are a journalist and decide to go cavorting with a nice bella. It was much more fun to hold a woman by the waist than go write an article. These kinds of holidays tended to be disastrous for Feliciano in that his bosses would often reprimand him and try to get him back on task. They even gave him the more desirable assignments such as reviewing restaurants (he tended to get those Italian restaurant reviews done much more quickly than his usual articles), attending social events to gather information, and photo journalist tasks. Even those kinds of tasks didn't entice Feliciano enough to stay out of his studio and work. And so his holidays were shortened due to lack of productivity. Of course, he didn't heed that and only continued to slack off. It was never intentional (yes it was), his mind just tended to stray away from the confinements of work. "If only the bosses weren't so ah uptight about getting articles in, I would..." Feliciano commented. Says the man whose work schedule is perhaps the most flexible in the office and yet still doesn't get his articles in on time. Perhaps the only reason why he kept his job was his social status. After all, he wasn't the most gifted writer in the paper. Feliciano saw the paper as a way for him to pay off the bills that his artwork couldn't pay off. After all, an artist's job consisted of pouring his soul into his work, being married to his work, and starving. Feliciano wasn't all for starving. And he felt like it would make his work almost like a pretty bella he happened to marry and then things turn a bit awry. Of course, he would have enough passion to stay with things and keep up his work. He had the talent to. It was perhaps the lack of eating that kept him away from going professional. "My name is Heracles. No, I'm not joking." the professor chuckled. Feliciano was of course about to ask if that was in mere jest. Imagine the demigod Heracles... in a suit as a professor. Nope. Can't imagine that. The man wasn't particularly mega-muscle looking. He had handsome Grecian features, but you can't see a hint of exceptional strength in his curvacious Grecian form. "Oh, how rude of me to forget to introduce myself. The name is Feliciano Vargas, feature staff writer at the Crown Royale Gazette and your average Italian," he introduced himself as. The name Vargas usually struck a chord if you knew who was the police chief of London and of the Italian's partying antics. It was a shame that his fratello couldn't share in the good fortune of the name and tended to shy away from introducing himself with his last name. The two started to move on from the exhibit, on the search for more fine art. "I've always wanted to learn how to sculpt." The Grecian lamented "But, I'm better with a pencil than I am with a chisel. I'll take what I can get." This was most certainly different from what the Italian had heard. Is this a fellow artist in his midst? Feliciano's sculpting was something that was of good quality, but sculpting became tedious when you had your bosses always on your tail about not finishing work on time. His paintings were more likely to get into a museum instead of his sculptures (granted, though, his sculpture he had made for a senior thesis at his old art school is still there), but ahh, sculpture. "The trick to sculpting is not to fight the material but to go with the grain. That's what my nonno always told me. The sculpture's already in there, all you're doing is trying to free it from the marble," Feliciano said. Of course, that's easier said than done.

Words: 0670 | Ooc:Yeee I wrote something.

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Heracle's holidays were limited and determined by the days given by the college. He certainly wasn't allowed to simply up and leave the classroom when he felt like it... though he knew people that actually did that and were replaced the next day. Heracles actually wanted to keep his job and write extensive articles about shit no one else cared about.

"If only the bosses weren't so ah uptight about getting articles in, I would..." Feliciano lamented dismally, to which Heracles nodded. Yeah, uptight bosses. He knew about that all too well, but it had gotten better recently. Heracles' class was actually one of the more popular ones despite the huge disinterest he'd seen in his student. The classes were also conspicuously populated by females, something his superiors in the department once brought up as suspicious and blamed Heracles for unscrupulous activities. Heracles had no idea what they were talking about, but when he found the Facebook fanpage that "shipped" him, whatever the hell that word meant, with another professor, the Korean Im Yong Soo, he kind of got the idea that perhaps his class was only popular because he was very obviously sexy.

It was flattering, but at the same time it was very disheartening. For a few weeks in the beginning of the year he was actually almost convinced that archaeology was getting more popular. In reality, they only wanted eye-candy. ... actually, one of the art professors a department over had requested Heracles drop by for some modeling. Hmmm...

"Oh, how rude of me to forget to introduce myself. The name is Feliciano Vargas, feature staff writer at the Crown Royale Gazette and your average Italian." Heracles sputtered. Feliciano was right - Vergas DID strike a cord. Very recently Heracles found himself being harassed by a man whom Nicoleta introduced as her foster father, or something. Heracles had nothing in mind for the Romanian, but it was also difficult getting anything planned with the chief of fucking police breathing down one's neck as if one is a very latent criminal just waiting to emerge.

"Vargas. That's... that's familiar." Heracles frowned and examined the Italian closer. He certainly seemed more typical than Romulus, or his asshole of a grandson Lovino - introduced by the older man, much to his incredible disdain - whom Romulus actually charged a few times with stalking Heracles around. The boy was a bit cowardly and though Heracles didn't look it while in a suit, he was a pretty impressive specimen that may have inadvertently terrified him. "Tell your grandfather Herc says hi. He'll know who I am."

"The trick to sculpting is not to fight the material but to go with the grain. That's what my nonno always told me. The sculpture's already in there, all you're doing is trying to free it from the marble,"

Heracles nodded, stopping momentarily at a painting to examine it. Klimt... Nouveau, was it? Interesting use of color, and rather terrifying to boot. "Oh, I know that," Heracles replied, "i'm just not very good at it. I'm actually not really that good with color, either-- applying it, I mean. Color theory is easy, but I'm a terrible painter. But I have a ton of sketches of my friend." He grinned.

Ahhh, Nicoleta.

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I was never right for the hero type of role; I ADMIT IT

Sometimes, he just had to ponder for himself: Why had man gone against instinct? Why had man chosen pain over pleasure? Why had he decided to work, when he obviously preferred the absence of it? Of course, there were the times when man had to actually work for his meals and even now, a man is not only a lover but a father who must feed people who are incapable of feeding themselves, but why work? Why does it take the whole life of someone, why would they tie themselves in work? Work, strife, fighting.. honestly, why not pleasure, love, and leisure? The world would be a much better place. Or so goes Feliciano's argument against working. A petty argument as to why he skips out on work, but at this point, firing him would only result in another media organization handing him a contract to elevate their own reputations. He had initially been a hard worker at  Crown Royale Gazette offices, but that just wouldn't last. Not with his tendencies, at least. "Vargas. That's... that's familiar. Tell your grandfather Herc said hi. He'll know who I am," the professor said. "Ooh, how do you know nonno? I'll pass the message along," Feliciano asked. Then again, people tended to know who "nonno" was. Even young school children had at least a bit of a sense of who nonno was, thanks to career day. Career days at Padington Academy were fun spectacles when the three of them went together. Nonno would be the funny guy who talked about his police chief duties and gave out stickers. Fratello would (unenthusiastically) pass out lollipops and show off his trusty utility belt. He tended to not like it when children had questions. Feliciano usually wasn't with their group, and so career days were usually him explaining adventures in the office (involving Megumi at times) and telling the students sensational (and slightly inappropriate) stories that he had encountered in his line of work. They continued walking until they turned to one of the limited time galleries. The brochure dubbed this exhibition "Man's Simple Pleasures and Pains", displaying art from other museums all over Europe and pieces lent from China and Japan that captured the said theme. Subjects went from scenes of temptation in the Garden of Eden, to the beauty of angels in heavenly paradise to tongues of fire engulfing London in her sinful acts, to what collection would be complete without elegant sexual scenes in historical dress. "Oh, I know that. I'm just not very good at it. I'm actually not really good with colour, either— applying it, I mean. Colour theory is easy, but I'm a terrible painter. But I have tons of sketches of my friend." Feliciano sensed the satisfaction laced in the word "friend". The kind of satisfaction that he himself has had multiple times. Times when you take the greatest care in trying to replicate your love's perfection. It is rather unfortunate that he cannot say that he has had but one love as in poetry, but all the same. Perhaps, among Herc's sketches, were some nude sketches... oh the drawing of the feminine body, with the curvature of the breasts and the smoking hot ass, oh something that was but a joy to depict... if you knew how to depict it properly and in a respectful manner, that is. "Sometimes you don't need to add colour to something that's already perfect," Feliciano said with a smile.

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Whatever conversation that went unspoken between the two men was two somewhat opposing sides of an argument. Why work, if one didn't enjoy the profession? in fact, Heracles could not see him as anything but what he now was - professor, archaeologist, a lover of ancient artifacts and art. But really, could anyone imagine him as anything other than these things? Somewhere in reality there was a medium between enjoyment and work that made jobs less 'work' and more 'hobby.' That's probably why Heracles was able to wake up in the morning every day and not hate his job at the college.

Granted, there was plenty he disliked about his job. There was a lack of effort among certain students that made him question why they even bothered to show up. There were overachievers that would not stop bothering him with questions. There were students who took pictures of him in class to put him on that disturbing Facebook page that shipped him with other professors.

"Ooh, how do you know nonno? I'll pass the message along," the prospect gladdened Feliciano, it seemed. Yes, there was definitely something unfamiliar and familiar about him at once. The way he smiled and joked was definitely familiar. Looks too. But he wasn't quite as... serious as Romulus could be. Hmm, well one could tell they are related.

"I know him, yes. He's... an interesting character. Given he actually knows the friend I mentioned." Actually, that meant Feliciano probably knew he was well. That would be awkward.

"Sometimes you don't need to add colour to something that's already perfect," Ahh yes, that is true. Her body was perfect, and could be drawn and conveyed perfectly. He couldn't color, but perhaps that was just as well. Coloring took forever and she hadn't quite yet discovered his stash of art supplies and doodles yet.

And then he saw it. The girl was likely a tourist, for her heard her speak with a thick accent he couldn't quite discern. She was with a group and staring up at a statue with one of her friends, giggling. It was a nude, of course they were giggling. But that wasn't what Heracles was noticing. She lacked a coat to cover her backside, so the glorious, beautiful curving of her rear was plainly visible through the seat of her jeans.

"Woah-- Hey. Feliciano. Look straight ahead at the brunette in the sunhat. The one next to the redhead." Heracles pointed subtly in her direction.

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[Deleted]

I was never right for the hero type of role; I ADMIT IT

Art was his lover, his mistress. Writing for the paper was his beautiful, but aging wife. One was filled with passion. One was passionate but had a lack of colour. He had no shame when his wife caught him with his mistress, for his happiness lay with his mistress, but his stability with his wife. But don't get him wrong, he did love his job very much as one would love a wife. He had built quite a lot with his "wife". He had acquired his reputation, received his connections, kept his promises. He wrote, but sometimes the passion would leave him as one would lose passion when it is work. He envied the freelance novelists and their self-declared schedules, but in that, their "wives" came and went. Inspiration and muses were such whores to those freelance novelists, he said. They came and went without stability, leaving the man poor. Now then, with the question of Romulus, there were some differences that Feliciano simply could not see with his grandfather... and he refuses to see them. "I know him, yes. He's... an interesting character. Given he actually knows the friend I mentioned." "Oh, which friend? He knows your pretty friend?" Feliciano asked. Of course he wouldn't know about the "friends" in less than holy places that Romulus had. This in itself was a difference that Feliciano had with Romulus. Feliciano could not see what lay underneath. Romulus pretended that he sat at a high pedestal, yet he was just like the rest of them. In the darker underworld. He would eventually go six feet under if any of his secrets were to arise. And Feliciano would be the key to locking his coffin. If only he knew more. So much more. He would be a much more dangerous person. "Woah-- Hey. Feliciano. Look straight ahead at the brunette in the sunhat. The one next to the redhead." Woah. Now that was perfection! The curvature of the ass was simply amazing. She probably (literally) worked her ass off to have such a lovely one. Her accent seemed very Southern Californian, and the way that she giggled at the nude statue was melodious. In short: A Californian beauty with Asian features. The way her nails were done was artistic, meticulous... THAT ASS. "Oh mio Dio, and that blonde one has a good one too." The blonde one had a regal air to her. She appeared German, but her accent screamed out American. She seemed to be laughing about art history and bits of anthropology. A smart one, yes. Her wavy blonde hair and bright blue gray eyes did not give off the impression of dumb blonde at all. In fact, it made her seem wise, those eyes could be filled with wisdom, like the goddess Minerva. Her glasses only framed her face beautifully... but that ass! Che bello!

Words: 0476 | Ooc: Icy and Misso will love this one

Post template made by Bunny of BTN and GS.

[Joselle]

Southern Californian Brunette

(HAHA I CAN'T)

"Oh my God," the brunette said loudly. She walked towards the marble statue of a Greek god, but turned a heel and eagerly went around behind it. A childish smirk crept on her face as she threw a sly sideways glance at her friends. “It’s perfect,” she added with a giggle.

She threw an arm at the meticulously chiseled gluteus maximus, proudly showcasing it as if it was her work. “Guys guys guys,” she chirped as she pulled out her phone, “Take a picture of me with the b—“

Ohhh man. Hunk alert. Two this time.

The girl cleared her throat once she noticed two men staring at her. Immediately, she shied away from the statue and moved in closer to her friends. In an actual hushed tone, she whispered, “Shit guys, they’re so hot oh my God, what are they doing, they’re looking at us. ”

After a stiff pause, she glanced over at the girls' stares and mustered the courage to make eye-contact with the men and smiled. “European husbands,” She reminded the girls quietly with a flick of amusement on the corner of her lip.

[Misso Pan]

Blonde Anthropology Chick

The noise her blonde friend made at that exact moment was somehow still audible to human ears. It was a squeal of the high-pitched variety, but not quite as loud as it could have been. This was a whisper, and subtlety was, of course, key! European husbands, a dream of many an American girl who sought to explore the exotic world outside the U.S. of A.

The blonde immediately hid behind her brunette friend, the obviously more attractive of the duo, whilst she stared at the two men across the way with a pleased expression. The taller man (the Greek! Eee!) was just as chiseled as the god towered over them, and though the younger man beside him wasn't quite as bulky he was still cute. Hrm, tough choice. They were both gorgeous!

She pushed her glasses back up her face from their dangling at the edge of her nose and swallowed roughly. They joked about this on the plane here and-- oh God, were they actually going to do it!? Their first day of touring, too! Ahh, Heaven above!

The slightly shoved her Californian classmate forward. "Well, go on! They're obviously staring at you!"

[Deleted]

Oh, this was too cute.

When Americans weren't being obnoxious, their females had some of the most amusing reactions to being singled out. That must have been part of living in a country where no matter where one goes, over the border one still finds the same people? Foreigners in Europe were basically local in comparison. A stone's throw in any direction could land in a different country and culture.

The sheer amount of new languages and cultures must have been positively overwhelming to the group of ladies, as they scrambled to prostrate themselves in a such a way that would make them appealing. Or, rather, that's what the blonde was trying to do with the brunette, seemingly too shy to take the plunge now that the opportunity presented itself. The poor thing.

Unfortunately with the girls now all staring at the men with pink cheeks and giggles, he no longer had the privilege of admiring the beautiful rears they had, but this was made up for in the fact that all of them had faces that could only be matched by paintings of the world's most prominent artists. Aphrodite herself would have been envious of them! If Zeus were to accompany Aphrodite to the museum in fact, he would have been smitten from the moment he saw them-- but situations involving Zeus usually rapidly deteriorated into horrible tragedies precipitated by the wrath of Hera... actually, let's leave Zeus out of this. Aphrodite is infinitely more merciful.

Whatever the case may be, the journalist and the professor seemed to have come to an impasse, with the beautiful maidens locked into place across the hall. Neither party seemed capable of movement but ah, Heracles was never one for shyness. With a nudge into Feliciano's side, he gestured for the Italian to follow, and he took the first step forward to introducing himself to the lovely ladies.

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