Prompt #10: Like a Girl
30 Days in Europe: Day 18
Prompt #10: Like a Girl
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 18
Ray fumbled around in his pocket for his glasses. Pulling them out, he noticed a huge smear on the right lens and wiped it off on the hem of his T shirt. It'd taken enough work to get here - reserving the tickets weeks in advance, breaking camp early to make sure they turned up on time, hanging around waiting with the other eighteen hopefuls, then finally passing from one air-locked door to another like they were boarding a spaceship or something - and after all that he figured he ought to at least get a good look at the thing. He shoved his glasses onto his nose and concentrated, looking for all the stuff he'd read about.
It was big, really big, spanning the whole width of the place. The sense of perspective was clever, and the way the decorative bits at the top carried on to the side wall really did make it feel as if the painting was a continuation of the room, nothing at all like the picture at the opposite end, which was just so much flat decoration. This one felt alive, somehow. All the apostles were doing something: talking, moving, peering around each other to stare at Jesus, and he was sitting there, his hands out and that look on his face like he knew what was going to happen and was going there anyway.
And yeah, there was the guy that all the fuss was about. Ray squinted a bit, looked over the top of his lenses to make sure, stepped closer until he hit the barrier and pushed his glasses up as far as they'd go. It didn't make any difference. The long flowing hair, the face, the tilt of the head, everything: whichever way you looked at him, Saint John the Apostle really did look like a girl.
Ray stared a bit more, and decided that Fraser was going to have to listen to him this time, even though it would probably start another one of those arguments about 'that infernal book' and how if people would only do 'the most cursory research into the cultural norms of the period, they'd know that it was perfectly usual to portray younger men that way.' Ray, who had actually read the book, couldn't see what there was to get annoyed about, and he was damned if he wasn't going to claim the advantage when the evidence was right there in front of them.
He sidled back over to Fraser, preparing to make his point, getting it all lined up and ready to go. Except that Fraser was staring at the wall like someone had hit him over the head with a two by four and managed to leave him standing. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and no way was Ray going to break into a moment like that just for the sake of starting a stupid fight. He edged up close and waited until Fraser blinked and let out a really small sigh.
"Hey," Ray said.
Fraser took in a loud, deep breath and rubbed the side of his hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ray, I -" he cleared his throat, "I was just a little, ah, overwhelmed for a minute. I never thought I would actually have the chance to see -"
"Do not apologise," Ray hissed, his chest feeling tight with a fierce sort of protectiveness, "This is what we're here for. Just look."
Fraser nodded and turned back to the painting. His eyes were moving across it slowly, as if he was memorising the details one by one. Ray watched him for a while, then took a look around the room.
There was a group of Russian tourists over on the left, with their guide giving them the full story in a hushed, respectful voice. An old couple were holding hands and pointing things out to each other with their heads close together. Three Japanese girls, dressed in typical student gear, were chattering quietly and referring to a guide book. The British family were on the right, the father swaying slightly with the younger kid asleep on his shoulder while the mother crouched down to let the little girl sight along her arm as they talked about it. The guard over by the side wall stood with his hands behind him and returned Ray's stare without smiling.
Ray looked back up at the painting, remembering the stuff he'd read. How it had been falling off the wall ever since Leonardo painted it five hundred years ago. How it had been saved by a pile of sandbags when the rest of the building was destroyed by bombs in the Second World War, and how millions of international dollars had been spent on getting it back to how it was now, broken and fragile and still powerful enough to be drawing people in from all over the world to see it.
It was like the two by four had hit him over the head this time because suddenly, Ray got it. They'd heard - and said - 'once in a lifetime' often enough since they started planning this trip, but he hadn't really felt it till now. This was it, this fifteen minutes was their one-time deal, their only chance to get up close and personal with one of the most famous pieces of art in the world. Ray wasn't about to get all teary-eyed over a painting, but maybe he could understand why Fraser did, at least.
They didn't talk until they were on their way out of the room. Waiting for the old couple to get through the door ahead of them, Ray nudged Fraser's shoulder gently and said, "Mort did good, huh?"
Fraser gave him a slight, wobbly-looking smile and said, "Yes, he certainly did."
Afterwards they went in the church next door for a look at the stonework, or maybe just because it was there. Fraser sat in a pew near the back and gazed around him, while Ray (who was Barbara Kowalski's son after all) dug in his pocket for a euro. He lit the candle and stuck it in the middle of the top row under a painting of Jesus on the cross and thought about Mort.
It ought to have been sad, Mort leaving ten thousand dollars to some guy he worked with a few years back just so he could go off to Europe on vacation, but it wasn't, it wasn't sad at all, not when the guy was Fraser. After everything Mort had seen in his life, Fraser must have seemed like a beacon or something, like an island of goodness in the middle of all the other crap. Maybe Mort had deserved a bit of Fraser, just as much as Fraser deserved all this. Ray wasn't quite sure who he was aiming it at, but he said a silent thank you, anyway.
It wasn't until they were out on the street and tracking down something to eat - the biggest pizza in Milan and a couple of beers to go with it, if Ray had anything to do with it - that things lightened up. Fraser had relaxed enough to grin back at Ray and nobody was in danger of getting upset. It was time to get back into it.
"You know something, Frase? That Saint John really does look like a girl."
Fraser raised his eyebrows. "To the untutored eye he certainly appears that way. That, however, is quite beside the point."
It wasn't exactly fighting talk, but it was a good start.
And my prompt table...
Prompt #10: Like a Girl
F/K, silliness, mildly implied smut in places.
Day 18
Ray fumbled around in his pocket for his glasses. Pulling them out, he noticed a huge smear on the right lens and wiped it off on the hem of his T shirt. It'd taken enough work to get here - reserving the tickets weeks in advance, breaking camp early to make sure they turned up on time, hanging around waiting with the other eighteen hopefuls, then finally passing from one air-locked door to another like they were boarding a spaceship or something - and after all that he figured he ought to at least get a good look at the thing. He shoved his glasses onto his nose and concentrated, looking for all the stuff he'd read about.
It was big, really big, spanning the whole width of the place. The sense of perspective was clever, and the way the decorative bits at the top carried on to the side wall really did make it feel as if the painting was a continuation of the room, nothing at all like the picture at the opposite end, which was just so much flat decoration. This one felt alive, somehow. All the apostles were doing something: talking, moving, peering around each other to stare at Jesus, and he was sitting there, his hands out and that look on his face like he knew what was going to happen and was going there anyway.
And yeah, there was the guy that all the fuss was about. Ray squinted a bit, looked over the top of his lenses to make sure, stepped closer until he hit the barrier and pushed his glasses up as far as they'd go. It didn't make any difference. The long flowing hair, the face, the tilt of the head, everything: whichever way you looked at him, Saint John the Apostle really did look like a girl.
Ray stared a bit more, and decided that Fraser was going to have to listen to him this time, even though it would probably start another one of those arguments about 'that infernal book' and how if people would only do 'the most cursory research into the cultural norms of the period, they'd know that it was perfectly usual to portray younger men that way.' Ray, who had actually read the book, couldn't see what there was to get annoyed about, and he was damned if he wasn't going to claim the advantage when the evidence was right there in front of them.
He sidled back over to Fraser, preparing to make his point, getting it all lined up and ready to go. Except that Fraser was staring at the wall like someone had hit him over the head with a two by four and managed to leave him standing. His mouth was slightly open and his eyes looked suspiciously shiny, and no way was Ray going to break into a moment like that just for the sake of starting a stupid fight. He edged up close and waited until Fraser blinked and let out a really small sigh.
"Hey," Ray said.
Fraser took in a loud, deep breath and rubbed the side of his hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ray, I -" he cleared his throat, "I was just a little, ah, overwhelmed for a minute. I never thought I would actually have the chance to see -"
"Do not apologise," Ray hissed, his chest feeling tight with a fierce sort of protectiveness, "This is what we're here for. Just look."
Fraser nodded and turned back to the painting. His eyes were moving across it slowly, as if he was memorising the details one by one. Ray watched him for a while, then took a look around the room.
There was a group of Russian tourists over on the left, with their guide giving them the full story in a hushed, respectful voice. An old couple were holding hands and pointing things out to each other with their heads close together. Three Japanese girls, dressed in typical student gear, were chattering quietly and referring to a guide book. The British family were on the right, the father swaying slightly with the younger kid asleep on his shoulder while the mother crouched down to let the little girl sight along her arm as they talked about it. The guard over by the side wall stood with his hands behind him and returned Ray's stare without smiling.
Ray looked back up at the painting, remembering the stuff he'd read. How it had been falling off the wall ever since Leonardo painted it five hundred years ago. How it had been saved by a pile of sandbags when the rest of the building was destroyed by bombs in the Second World War, and how millions of international dollars had been spent on getting it back to how it was now, broken and fragile and still powerful enough to be drawing people in from all over the world to see it.
It was like the two by four had hit him over the head this time because suddenly, Ray got it. They'd heard - and said - 'once in a lifetime' often enough since they started planning this trip, but he hadn't really felt it till now. This was it, this fifteen minutes was their one-time deal, their only chance to get up close and personal with one of the most famous pieces of art in the world. Ray wasn't about to get all teary-eyed over a painting, but maybe he could understand why Fraser did, at least.
They didn't talk until they were on their way out of the room. Waiting for the old couple to get through the door ahead of them, Ray nudged Fraser's shoulder gently and said, "Mort did good, huh?"
Fraser gave him a slight, wobbly-looking smile and said, "Yes, he certainly did."
Afterwards they went in the church next door for a look at the stonework, or maybe just because it was there. Fraser sat in a pew near the back and gazed around him, while Ray (who was Barbara Kowalski's son after all) dug in his pocket for a euro. He lit the candle and stuck it in the middle of the top row under a painting of Jesus on the cross and thought about Mort.
It ought to have been sad, Mort leaving ten thousand dollars to some guy he worked with a few years back just so he could go off to Europe on vacation, but it wasn't, it wasn't sad at all, not when the guy was Fraser. After everything Mort had seen in his life, Fraser must have seemed like a beacon or something, like an island of goodness in the middle of all the other crap. Maybe Mort had deserved a bit of Fraser, just as much as Fraser deserved all this. Ray wasn't quite sure who he was aiming it at, but he said a silent thank you, anyway.
It wasn't until they were out on the street and tracking down something to eat - the biggest pizza in Milan and a couple of beers to go with it, if Ray had anything to do with it - that things lightened up. Fraser had relaxed enough to grin back at Ray and nobody was in danger of getting upset. It was time to get back into it.
"You know something, Frase? That Saint John really does look like a girl."
Fraser raised his eyebrows. "To the untutored eye he certainly appears that way. That, however, is quite beside the point."
It wasn't exactly fighting talk, but it was a good start.
And my prompt table...