(no subject)
The provincial life was beginning to agree with me. Almost. No matter how much the heat tricked my mind into thinking the wine tolerable or the living conditions adequate, I remained a city boy. Not a day went by that I didn't bemoan my fate to Cicero, who, in a birdish sort of way, seemed to be getting annoyed by my complaints. After all, it wasn't his fault that there were no public baths, forums, temples, decent roads, taverns, opportunities for work, or family here. Most of all, there was no Helena. Without her good influence and watchful eye I was once more beginning to slide back into wasteful bachelor days of yore. My residence was a mess, my idea of a good meal was anything I could get, my drinking had increased, and my relationships with blonde women had been getting steadily more perilous.
I was thinking about blondes when I finally came across it. Food had been eaten -I had long since quit the habit of defined meals- and I was making my way towards the beach. There was a spot there where I liked to sit and think, close enough to the water to be relatively cool, but still far enough away that there was little chance of a freak wave sweeping me out to sea. The ocean may have been powerful, and majestic, and beautiful, and probably had no interest in harming me, but the same could be said of a lion in an arena. I didn't want to get too close to either just to be on the safe side.
But today there was something more important than my ever-present mild hydrophobia. It was there. Helena was standing on the beach. In a manner of speaking. Sadly, it wasn't the real thing, but a statue. I'd discovered the bronze while cleaning out the house of her first husband and it still looked as perfect as it did years ago. It was perfect, the highest quality money could buy. She was younger, only a girl really, but it was still my Helena. The determined eyes, the proud face, the matronly dress that still managed to perfectly set off the form beneath, that set to her mouth that meant she was about to say something particularly cutting.
Up until now I'd always thought the Pygmalion myth a bit ridiculous, but suddenly I could understand almost exactly what the guy was going through.
[OOC: Item post! It's a life sized bronze statue of his wife just chilling on the beach and probably pretty noticeable. Falco's a bit shook up, but it's still a good time to meet him/chat. ST/LT are awesome, as always.]
I was thinking about blondes when I finally came across it. Food had been eaten -I had long since quit the habit of defined meals- and I was making my way towards the beach. There was a spot there where I liked to sit and think, close enough to the water to be relatively cool, but still far enough away that there was little chance of a freak wave sweeping me out to sea. The ocean may have been powerful, and majestic, and beautiful, and probably had no interest in harming me, but the same could be said of a lion in an arena. I didn't want to get too close to either just to be on the safe side.
But today there was something more important than my ever-present mild hydrophobia. It was there. Helena was standing on the beach. In a manner of speaking. Sadly, it wasn't the real thing, but a statue. I'd discovered the bronze while cleaning out the house of her first husband and it still looked as perfect as it did years ago. It was perfect, the highest quality money could buy. She was younger, only a girl really, but it was still my Helena. The determined eyes, the proud face, the matronly dress that still managed to perfectly set off the form beneath, that set to her mouth that meant she was about to say something particularly cutting.
Up until now I'd always thought the Pygmalion myth a bit ridiculous, but suddenly I could understand almost exactly what the guy was going through.
[OOC: Item post! It's a life sized bronze statue of his wife just chilling on the beach and probably pretty noticeable. Falco's a bit shook up, but it's still a good time to meet him/chat. ST/LT are awesome, as always.]