University AU, setting piece
Oct. 15th, 2016 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wanderingsinSin turned down towards the arts building of the University of Florence, too raw to head towards the study hall just yet. He always felt like this after recitals, even practice ones. Playing his own compositions left him feeling open, exposed. As if he’d said too much and everyone around him could read his history as if it were tattooed on his skin.
He should head back to his apartment and shower. That always helped but he wasn’t ready to face the rush hours trains, not with his violin case in tow. No, better to stay on campus for an hour or two more before heading...back.
He still couldn’t think of the tiny one room studio in a crumbling building as home. Home had to be somewhere but that wasn’t it. The place was an overpriced death-trap on the edge of the city, kept only one step ahead of calamity by his neighbour Ragnar. The Scandinavian construction worker acted as handyman for the disparate denizens of the building, usually paid in favours or food or however they could manage.
Sin stepped into the lee of a building, leaning into the ancient climbing fig that covered so much of the wall to check his messages. His hair frizzing from its tight braid in the humid air that promised later storms, forming a messy halo in the light from his phone’s screen.
Athelstan’s message made him smile. The talented art student had sent him a photo of his latest work, a painting of Sin as St Sebastian, his body half turned away, face in shadow so the arrows down his flank stood out in bright contrast. It was beautiful! Sin had been very hesitant to pose in any way that fully showed his... deformity but Athelstan had been understanding and happy to work with poses that made Sin comfortable. For someone who came across so sweetly naive, Athelstan was surprisingly incurious about Sin’s... difference, never pushing or asking more than Sin was willing to tell.
And he paid generously for Sin’s time. More than most would be willing to pay for a life model. More than most would be willing to pay without expecting something more.
The thought made his shudder and delete the next three messages, all of them from a certain art modelling agent who was more than happy to find Sin high paying gigs with bonuses. It was an arrangement Sin wished he’d never entered into. But tutoring alone couldn’t keep a roof over his head.
Trying to push that bile inducing thought aside, he slipped into the great edifice of the Arts building. He had planned just to take the long way to the study hall, detouring via the new works on display in the hallways but the sounds of applause caught his attention.
He drifted to the door of one of the larger auditoriums just in time to hear Doctor Roman Fell, curator of the Capponi Library introduced. He hadn’t meant to linger but the man who stepped onto the podium had a presence about him. Sin found himself slipping into a seat at the back, his violin case hugged to his chest as he rested his chin on it’s neck curve to listen.
There was something compellingly visceral about the way the doctor spoke of the dark passions of Caravaggio. Something sensual, bordering on sexual. In the heavy half light of the theatre and lingering warmth of late summer, Sin found himself his hypnotised, enthralled.
He lingered as the lecture ended and the art history students broke into groups to discussed or filed out in search of coffee. He had no real reason to linger. After all, he was intruding here, far from his current school of study. Realising he was being foolish, he gathered his things and stood to leave, meaning to slip between the thinning crowd unnoticed.
He should head back to his apartment and shower. That always helped but he wasn’t ready to face the rush hours trains, not with his violin case in tow. No, better to stay on campus for an hour or two more before heading...back.
He still couldn’t think of the tiny one room studio in a crumbling building as home. Home had to be somewhere but that wasn’t it. The place was an overpriced death-trap on the edge of the city, kept only one step ahead of calamity by his neighbour Ragnar. The Scandinavian construction worker acted as handyman for the disparate denizens of the building, usually paid in favours or food or however they could manage.
Sin stepped into the lee of a building, leaning into the ancient climbing fig that covered so much of the wall to check his messages. His hair frizzing from its tight braid in the humid air that promised later storms, forming a messy halo in the light from his phone’s screen.
Athelstan’s message made him smile. The talented art student had sent him a photo of his latest work, a painting of Sin as St Sebastian, his body half turned away, face in shadow so the arrows down his flank stood out in bright contrast. It was beautiful! Sin had been very hesitant to pose in any way that fully showed his... deformity but Athelstan had been understanding and happy to work with poses that made Sin comfortable. For someone who came across so sweetly naive, Athelstan was surprisingly incurious about Sin’s... difference, never pushing or asking more than Sin was willing to tell.
And he paid generously for Sin’s time. More than most would be willing to pay for a life model. More than most would be willing to pay without expecting something more.
The thought made his shudder and delete the next three messages, all of them from a certain art modelling agent who was more than happy to find Sin high paying gigs with bonuses. It was an arrangement Sin wished he’d never entered into. But tutoring alone couldn’t keep a roof over his head.
Trying to push that bile inducing thought aside, he slipped into the great edifice of the Arts building. He had planned just to take the long way to the study hall, detouring via the new works on display in the hallways but the sounds of applause caught his attention.
He drifted to the door of one of the larger auditoriums just in time to hear Doctor Roman Fell, curator of the Capponi Library introduced. He hadn’t meant to linger but the man who stepped onto the podium had a presence about him. Sin found himself slipping into a seat at the back, his violin case hugged to his chest as he rested his chin on it’s neck curve to listen.
There was something compellingly visceral about the way the doctor spoke of the dark passions of Caravaggio. Something sensual, bordering on sexual. In the heavy half light of the theatre and lingering warmth of late summer, Sin found himself his hypnotised, enthralled.
He lingered as the lecture ended and the art history students broke into groups to discussed or filed out in search of coffee. He had no real reason to linger. After all, he was intruding here, far from his current school of study. Realising he was being foolish, he gathered his things and stood to leave, meaning to slip between the thinning crowd unnoticed.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:14 pm (UTC)"Excuse me," he says, holding the door for Sin.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:27 pm (UTC)"I enjoyed it very much. I'd never really thought of the parallel symbolism of the Saint Matthews' paintings in that way. Like a repeated refrains in different movements of an symphony."
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:45 pm (UTC)He glances over his shoulder and lays his hand on a side door, gesturing the Doctor to follow. It leads them to a storeroom of abandoned furniture then out into a shaded courtyard, away from the flow of people and babble of voices. He isn't fond of crowds either.
"Do you lecture here often?" he asks, seeming to know his way.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 04:01 pm (UTC)"It was very kind of you, to share your findings. So few people have the opportunity to be so... intimate with such magnificent works of art. I hope... I look forward to hearing you speak again." He offers Dr Fell his hand in a polite gesture.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 04:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 04:09 pm (UTC)He drops his hand, hugging his case to his chest as he steps out into the evening gloom just as the streetlights come on. He glances back as the first rolls of thunder echo across the campus, the halo of frizz more pronounced in the backlit by the sodium light.
no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 04:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-10-15 04:13 pm (UTC)