I'M NOT A PERVERT, I'M AN ART LOVER.
WHO: Martín and Alfred.
WHEN: Sunday afternoon. (July 25th)
WHERE: WE IN MOCA, BITCH.
WHAT: Helpful young men assist tourists in getting their daily dose of art in Liberty. Really.
( THEY SEE US PERVIN', THEY HATIN'. )
He was leading his own group through the oil gallery when he spotted another group with a guide. He sighed, he was so boned-
"With his gay lover."
A smirk went across his face as he strode over confidently, praying to God that this was going to work. "Actually," he said, clearing his throat, putting his hands behind his back, "He was found with him in Switzerland. His lover was a strapping young-goat herder."
Reply
Was this the actual guide? Martín looked over in surprise. For a few seconds his stomach fluttered nervously as he turned his thoughts over in his head. Play dumb or leave, or... No, he was going to go for it, consequences be damned.
"Luka Baertschi." He nodded at the other man. Those were really just two random names he picked out lighting quick from a group he had once gone skiing with. At least he thought they were Swiss. "Later Baertschi, he went to published the memoirs of they scandaled love affair."
Then he held his breath and raised his brow at the guide.
Reply
"Yes, exactly. Baertschi. Actually I believe those volumes are on sale in the museum's bookstore if you are interested in purchasing them. But I'd advise against it if you're squishy. Baertschi did not spare any of the details."
He looked at the blond, winking slightly. "We'll be... joining our two tours now. I'm Alfred and I'm an expert in Hungarian Cubist impressionist charcoal paintings from 9th century Spain."
Reply
Gracias a Dio. He almost laughed with relief, feigning scratch an itch on his nose just to hide the thin smile stealing across his face. Then he took a step closer to Alfred, sincerely doubting that was his real name, and struck a scholarly pose.
"My name is Martín," he told the second group. "I study the Polynesiastic Abstracted Expressionism of 1920s. Now, we going to the..." He looked over his shoulder through the doorway of the next exhibit, squinting to discern what was in the room beyond. A metal sculpture glowed faintly beneath a spotlight.
"Well, we like to called it the Mecha Room, don't we, Alfred?"
Reply
Good thing Alfred had watched Gundam00 once upon a time. "Now, the mecha room is mostly dedicated to... Moyashimon Tashiro...kun. Who invented the mech back in the Japanese feudal era. Now, this was all before western culture really got a a hold on the island nation and when they first landed, the Emperor... Bumi destroyed all the mechas so the secrets wouldn't stolen and used."
Reply
A tiny noise escaped him. He could feel the laughter right there, trying to punch through his esophagus. All eyes were on them, and he was finding it hard to believe that no one had noticed something... off. After all, there were information panels near the exhibits.
Oh, fuck, the panels. He swiftly stepped in front of one.
"In they 1800s the Americans discover to Japan, and it is through the cooperative that they was able to learn these secrets of the metal-working." He stole a furtive look at the sculpture behind them by... David Smith. "But some of Americans did not trust of these technology, and had retaliation by melting... cubes... together."
Reply
"Yes, and those melted cubes are actually available for your viewing pleasure in the next room. Now, since the Japanese couldn't forge," hahahaha punny. "a mech alliance with the United States, they instead turned their attention to Nazi Germany, which was at the height of it's power."
Nodding at the astonished faces, Alfred fought to keep a straight face. "That's right. Mecha-Nazis."
Reply
"-and just looked at the time!" Martín flashed the back of his wrist, ironically the arm without his wristwatch, and grabbed Alfred by the elbow. He began ushering him into the next room, pointing their large group back toward the museum lobby.
"We will be taken a short recess. Please take all the lunches outside. Ju should be abled to..." His eyes fell on a man already eagerly drawing a squashed Kit Kat from his pocket. "Buy Kit Kats," he finished distractedly, a wide, disarming grin plastered on his face. "Again, at the outside."
Once the last straggling visitor was well out of ear shot, clacking footsteps dying away, he turned to the other man with an incredulous expression. "Mecha-Nazis?"
Reply
The guy looked normal enough (though their hair was oddly similar with the strange cowlick) and obviously could keep himself together under pressure. His blue eyes flicked to the door behind Martin, peering inside to see what appeared to be an actual guide talking to their group of hapless tourists.
"The full name's Alfred F. Jones," he said quickly, grabbing Martin's hand, pulling him quickly into another room filled with statues made from socks, "and I think we should really be going. That kit-kat sounds great right about now. Let's go get it somewhere far away from here."
Reply
It was then, surrounded by towering socks, that Martín allowed himself to just relaaax at the absurdity of the situation; his shoulders shook with almost inaudible laughter. Christ, that was close.
Smearing a hand down his face, he peered over the tips of his fingers at Alfred. "There is the café...?" he suggested. Near the doorway was a clear plastic stand and he picked up a guide, turning it over and unfolding it to look at the map.
Reply
Leave a comment