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May. 10th, 2006 11:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
h_hollister((This is a piece that takes place in 'current continuity.' Hips and Ramon have snuck away from Tropico for an evening to take in some culture. Feedback welcome. :3))
***
Night. The city was in full night swing, with interesting people doing interesting things in interesting places. The street lights were on, the freeways were clogged, the clubs were full.
At the top of a hill, overlooking a busy freeway, though, all was quiet. The strangely modern architecture was dark and silent. The fountains were all turned off, the buildings were all locked, the alarms were set.
Locks and alarms aren't really designed for PINpoint technology. Not that Hippolyta would ever make a point of bringing this to anybody's attention. Although the man she was with might draw his own conclusions. Good thing he's working on that whole 'reformation' thing, huh?
"What is this place?" Ramon Salazar whispered, his softly accented voice barely carrying. He was dressed in his usual 'pirate' costume, complete with the hat, as it seemed appropriate for a museum trip. Not to mention that he missed that outfit, occasionally. He just felt more comfortable in it than in jeans and a t-shirt. "It resembles some sort of strange, small city."
"It's the Getty museum. We're in Los Angeles. I wanted to come here last time I was in town, but never got a chance to. I think it's pretty." Hippolyta made sure her PINpoint was set on 'dodge' mode, which would jump them thirty yards that-a-way at the touch of a button, and took her lover's hand.
They walked up the shallow stairs to the main building together, the darkness not really complete. The lights of the city made the night sky soft and brown, and lit their path, but only just. She had half an eye out for security guards and the like, but wasn't too terribly worried. If they got busted, it was a simple button push to get them back to Tropico.
Instead, she just focused her attention on his hand in hers.
"It IS lovely," mused Ramon, "In a very, hmmm, I don't know... bland sort of way. Inoffensive. If they were going to build a huge palace on top of a hill like this, you'd think they'd at least make it a bit more foreboding."
Hips rolled her eyes. "It's SUPPOSED to attract people, doof. It's a museum, not a mausoleum. I know they sound similar, but c'mon."
Ramon raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Oh, I know all about mausoleums, my dear. But who's to say that you can't put sculpture in one, hmm? A lovely Rodin, for example. Highlight the differences."
"Seriously, Pom-Pom, you're weird."
"What did you call me?"
"Forget it."
They approached the front doors of the main building... and vanished. Only to reappear inside the museum. There were no blaring alarms, no immediate requests for hands to go up, and Hips relaxed. Holly did his job just right. The motion detectors were off, and the cameras had the fake loop inserted. They were free and clear. Hopefully. She suppressed the slight conscience pang she felt about being slightly... naughty. Breaking the law, breaking the law...
Ramon, on the other hand, seemed to be entirely giddy at the prospect of the inherent naughtiness of this little excursion. He giggled like a hyperactive twelve year old and tapped his fingertips together. Like a very short Montgomery Burns. "Oh, I've never been to a museum before! This is grand."
Hips glanced at him as they made their way through the glass and sandstone lobby, feeling a little sad. She knew he'd grown up in a terrible situation, but little things like that only emphasized the isolation of it. She'd thought HER early home life was twisted, but even she'd been on family outings as a child. Camping and movies and museums and road trips. Ramon never had any of that. Not before Saddler showed up, and certainly not after.
No wonder the man was often so... difficult. Sometimes they had no common frame of reference. It was like trying to translate a book in Spanish into Etruscan or some other dead language. But she kept at it. She had to. For both of their sakes. Loving him the way she did, she had to.
"Well, this one isn't the Louvre or anything, but it does have some nice stuff. They do have a Rodin exhibit, speaking of. He's the guy that did The Thinker, right?"
"Si. He had a remarkable way of detailing the human figure. You can see the emotions in every single pose. I had a book of photographs of his art, once." He paused and looked up at her. Sad and worried. "L-Lo-... Osmund Saddler made me burn it. He said it glorified the evil we were trying to rid the world of."
Hippolyta bit her lip and winced. "Well, we can add art critic to his list of crimes. Now you can see them for real, not just in a book. So there."
Who or what that 'so there' was aimed at wasn't clear, but there it was.
Ramon giggled nervously, still not entirely comfortable discussing Saddler and his past with her. He knew how angry and sad it made her, and was thus totally reluctant to get it out. But on the other hand, she WAS a large part of the reason he'd finally given it up. Not the entirety of it, of course, but still. He was still endlessly grateful that she'd been there for him through all of that, and loved her for helping him crawl out of that darkness. He was about to say something along those lines, but then he was distracted by the first exhibit.
It was a long hall lined with small paintings, each one faintly visible under the dimmed lights. They were by James Ensor, and were arranged in such a way so that the viewer could progress from his earliest works to his later ones.
Hippolyta knew next to nothing about art. Things like composition, brush strokes, color theory... they were a closed book to her. Her attitude was, 'hey, that's kinda pretty.' Art never touched her soul, and she wondered if that was due to something she was lacking. It was sort of similar to how she felt about religion. It was the sort of discomfort she felt when in a temple or church. Just a squirming feeling. Like she was disgracing the art just by looking at it. She distinctly felt that lack while with Ramon, too. He was very intent on the first few paintings for a moment, standing back and regarding them with a fine eye. A glowing fine eye, in fact. He'd turned on his night vision to see everything perfectly.
So she was watching him more intently than the art. So what? This outing was more for his sake than hers, after all. Some might call it stupid, handing him the opportunity to break the law. She knew he wouldn't, though. He might be tempted to, ahem, take a few things home, but he wouldn't give in. He was too strong. Trying too hard to walk the good guy path. Of course, she didn't know that he'd never steal art, but hey. If she ever voiced that to him, he'd probably be incredibly affronted. Heh.
She hauled her attention back to him, just as he nodded at her, his eyes glowing brightly, like little stop lights.
"You can see how he progressed through the years, this way. It's remarkable. I like the way he uses the darker colors with the brighter ones. Very effective. Here, look at this one."
He took her hand gently and led her closer to one particular painting. It was an abstract portrait, five different men in various states of emotion. One of them had fire-engine red, twisted lips and crooked yellow teeth. Another looked like a cadaver in a top hat. Another looked like his face was paralysed. The background was a strange salmony-orange color, while the men were all done in black. And Hippolyta's immediate reaction was 'gah, that's ugly.' Something about those expressions made her want to look away.
"See how he took the most obvious features and twisted them just so?" he asked her. "How he made them look more human by abstracting them? It's beautiful."
"It's horrible," she whispered.
Ramon smiled up at her, a gentle and slightly condescending look on his face. "Hippolyta, mi amor, you're not seeing the whole picture. Look again."
She forced herself to look, still wanting to move on and find something a little easier on the eyes. And the longer she looked, the more uncomfortable she felt.
"I don't like it," she shrugged, finally, walking away from it and him.
Ramon chuckled at his lover's discomfort. Not maliciously, just in a sort of a head-shaking tolerance way. He loved her, but sometimes she could be remarkably stubborn and shallow. Ah, well, she'd either learn, or she wouldn't. Although he was fervently hoping she would. He took one last glance at the painting and then hustled to catch up with her.
For the next half an hour or so, they wandered the dark and abandoned museum, stopping here and there to inspect the artwork. She noticed how drawn he was to the religious themed art. Not the angels and hosannahs, though. No, he was rather attracted to the darker stuff, with devils and demons. He also seemed to have an enjoyment of the paintings with harsher colors. Violent reds and purples and oranges. It would have disturbed her if she didn't know him all that well. Having seen the sculptures and paintings in his own home, she knew his tastes ran toward the macabre, and actually found it a little endearing.
She, on the other hand, had expressed interest in only one painting so far. It was a Monet canvas, and it was just beautiful for its own sake. Ramon had only glanced at it in passing, calling it 'ephemeral.'
"But it's Monet!" she'd protested. "Howinnahell can that be ephemeral? He's one of the most famous artists ever!"
"Not the artist. The subject. Gardens are symbolic of passing time, darling. Even a garden in springtime. Maybe even especially gardens in springtime."
She rolled her eyes. "You just don't like it because it's pretty."
He winced, and then his face twisted a bit. He was annoyed. "Si, Hippolyta. You're correct. I don't like it because it's pretty." His voice was thick with scorn and sarcasm. "I much prefer ugly things. I also kick puppies when you're not looking."
Then it was her turn to wince. "I didn't mean it like that..."
He relented. "I know you didn't, mi amor." He reached out and took her hand, kissing it lightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. But... I don't enjoy being told I have no eye for beautiful art. I like that painting, but it's not quite to my tastes. I have been collecting since I was old enough to do so, after all. Can you concede that?"
"Yes," she answered, a wry half-smirk on her face. "You're basically telling me to shut up and really look, aren't you?"
"Si, senorita. That is precisely what I'm saying." He crossed his arms and nodded at her, as if daring her to do otherwise.
"All right. I'll try. Just for you." She grinned and looked at the Monet again, trying to see it from his point of view.
And, again, all she saw was a pretty painting. At least, at first. Then, little details hit her, and she understood his perspective. The way the blossoms were falling off the tree, the way the bench's cushions were faded and worn, the way the pond was slightly green with algae.
Huh.
Funny, he was absolutely right. Weird, that.
"You see it?" he asked quietly. He'd sensed that perspective shift, how she'd relaxed slightly and tilted her head at it.
"Yes," she nodded. "Is all art like this?"
"Only the good art."
"So what's something more... 'permanent' than this?"
"I'll show you."
He took her hand again and pulled slightly on it as he led her back the way they came, until they were in front of a canvas painted by Rembrandt. She'd noticed it before, but hadn't taken much of a look at it. It showed a messiah figure, arms upraised, ascending toward the sky, surrounded by fat little cherubs lifting him toward the light. At his feet were several men, all of whom looked awed. Supplicating. They were also largely in shadow.
"This is a good example of permanence, to my mind," he murmured to her. "The symbolism here is so easy to see, a child could pick it out. Always will humanity be in that shadow of greatness, always will it be begging for salvation from a higher power."
She stared, first at the painting, and then at him.
"I see that. But I see something else, too. The messiah is also human."
He smiled and looked up at her.
"Well put. Thank you for seeing that."
There was nothing else to say after that, so they just continued studying it for a few more moments, and then they moved on together.
With her new perspective, she was able to dig a little deeper into the canvases they passed, rather than just seeing the superficial details. And she found that her tastes ran almost diametrically opposite to his. She was drawn to the cooler colors, the pieces that depicted humanity as something noble and beautiful.
It wasn't exactly disturbing, but it did underscore their vastly opposite philosophies about life. She knew he had a lifetime of hating humanity under his proverbial belt, so of course he would be interested in the art depicting its baser nature. However, he did also praise a few of her favorite choices, but mostly for their technical skill rather than their subjects.
As she was mulling this over, they finally found the Rodin exhibit.
They both stopped short in the doorway to it, awed and quiet. It was a large room filled almost to capacity with pieces of bronze and marble that looked like it had been found in the earth like that, no artist required.
Then they slowly moved forward.
"Lovely," Ramon murmured, as they crossed the threshold. She could tell he wanted to reach out and touch the pieces, the way his hands were twitching. She smiled. He was so tactile, it was endearing. She knew he had enough sense to not do that, so she didn't bother warning him. He had too much respect for the art to touch it.
They were completely quiet as they moved through the dim room, stopping at each piece for a long, long time. At first, she didn't understand why he liked these pieces. They were clearly showing humans as good subjects for art, which was so opposite of his previous choices. Every single one showed its subject as completely human, no stylization necessary. Just human figures, every perfection simply shown, no flaw glossed over. Every muscle on every piece looked like it was about to move, they were so realistic. And then it hit her; that was why he liked them. Somehow these pieces showed everything about humanity, good and bad, and made them beautiful. She felt her own enjoyment of the sculptures swell at that realization, understanding now why he liked them.
There were no words. He didn't need to talk. He would just point out various details to her, and she would nod and inspect them as closely as he was.
Then, at the far end of the room, they discovered a piece that made them both stop short, breathless and touched.
It was a sculpture of a man and a woman, both naked. She was on a higher level than he was, looking down at him with a loving smile on her face. His mouth was pressed to her breast, and he was leaning into her like he needed her to survive. It was called The Eternal Idol, and they both instantly fell in love with it.
She looked down at him, smiling tenderly. He was still staring at the sculpture, however, and he was shaking slightly.
"Oh, Hippolyta..." he breathed.
"I know," she whispered back.
Those were the first words they'd spoken since entering this room, and they filled the silence, even though they were barely audible. He suddenly turned away from the sculpture and hugged her tightly.
"I love you so much."
"I love you, too."
Holding each other, they continued to stare at the piece until every detail was memorized. Then, finally, reluctantly, they turned away and continued their walk.
It was several more minutes before they could speak again, when they found themselves near the exit to the main building. The other buildings were reserved for the special, temporary exhibits, mostly dedicated to cultural art of various countries. They both agreed to skip those for now. Perhaps another time. They 'pointed out of the main building and into the gardens of the Getty.
They found a quiet little path leading down into the main garden, which they walked together, hands clasped. They found themselves standing on the edge of the hill, looking out at the city of Los Angeles and its lights. It was beautiful, but not as touching as the sculpture they'd just seen.
She sat down on the edge of a rock seat situated so as to allow for the best view. He joined her, his eyes trained unseeing on the valley below. She could tell his mind was still back in the Rodin room. Frankly, so was hers.
They leaned into each other quietly, trying to collect their thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, subtly filled with the muffled rush of the cars zipping along below them on the freeway. Hippolyta felt as if she'd just been subjected to a hard workout. No, more than that. A workout of her soul, as silly as that sounded. Her heart was pounding still.
Ramon, for his part, was wrestling with a couple of conflicting emotions. This whole trip had been a joy from beginning to end, even when they had their little 'disagreement.' But part of his head was still mulling over the fact that Lord Saddler had obviously disapproved of human art. He could still feel the disapproval, in fact, and it worried him. He couldn't help recalling that day when Lord Saddler had burned his book. How cold and aloof the man was when the flames caught, how badly Ramon wanted to beg him to stop. And how he'd forced himself to agree that disposing of the book was better in the long run for the cult and for him.
Now, having seen the pieces of art that he'd been forced to destroy pictures of in person, he felt the small, hot spark of rebellion he'd been nurturing grow just a little bit brighter.
"Hippolyta?"
"Yes?" She knew he was about to talk about what he felt, and braced herself. Whenever something like this happened, it invariably turned into him diving into his regrets. She so wanted to avoid that tonight. This night was too perfect to spend wrangling through his issues. But he surprised her.
"I love good art b-because it strips away all the pretenses." Gah, he stuttered. He took a deep breath and kept going. "Good art is the purest mirror of humanity ever. Nothing can b-be hidden. Not joy, not pain, it's all right there to see if you really look. If there's a drop of humanity left in me, it's because of art and my love of it. That's-... that's why I got so annoyed when you dismissed my opinions. I couldn't explain it then, but I can now. Because you saw that sculpture with me and loved it as I did. Because you and I both saw that beauty, and let it touch us both.
"Hippolyta, that I can share that with you is... just..." He stopped for a moment and glanced down, trying to find the words without stuttering. This was hard for him to express.
She waited for him to get his thoughts together, watching him closely. He always had a hard time getting this sort of thing out.
Finally, he looked back up and simply kissed her.
She thought for a moment that he was avoiding the subject, but then it occurred to her that the kiss really was the only way he could express that feeling.
She returned it, letting her own emotions and thoughts pour into it, showing him that she understood why it was so important to him. Why she was so important to him.
The kiss went on for a long while. It wasn't urgent, or even all that passionate, surprisingly enough. It was just... a long, quiet expression of love for beauty and life.
"...Wow," she said when they finally broke. "I..."
"You don't have to say it," he interrupted. "You and I both know it."
It was the first time he'd ever interrupted her in the middle of a deep thought, and she blinked. He usually heard her out on everything, so this was an odd change. But a welcome one. It was nice for her to see him starting to... grow a spine? Something like that. Not take her word as gospel truth.
She should take him to museums more often.
"Come," he said, standing up. "I want to see the rest of this garden."
"Hey!" The shout took them totally by surprise, and they both blinked in shock as the beam of a powerful flashlight swept over them. They'd been spotted by an elderly security guard. Oops!
"Busted!" muttered Hips. She reached out and took Ramon's hand, then pressed a button on her PINpoint.
They ended up thirty yards or so behind the guard, ducked behind a bush. The guard's jaw dropped as he burst out with one single profanity, and then got busy squawking into his radio and hustling away.
Hips and Ramon giggled together at that, trying to stay quiet.
"We should go. They'll be watching for us now."
"Oh, but that'll be part of the fun!" he protested.
"Ramon..." she started, warningly.
"All right, all right. Si. Let's go. But first..." He leaned in and kissed her again, tangling his fingers in her hair. This kiss was more flirty, passionate. She chuckled against his lips and returned the sentiment.
"You are something else, Ramon Salazar."
"As are you, Hippolyta Hollister."
They giggled together, and then he hugged her, pressed his mouth to her breast... just like in the sculpture. She smiled down at him, recognizing the gesture, and her heart skipped a beat as she took them back to Eiko's island.
***
Night. The city was in full night swing, with interesting people doing interesting things in interesting places. The street lights were on, the freeways were clogged, the clubs were full.
At the top of a hill, overlooking a busy freeway, though, all was quiet. The strangely modern architecture was dark and silent. The fountains were all turned off, the buildings were all locked, the alarms were set.
Locks and alarms aren't really designed for PINpoint technology. Not that Hippolyta would ever make a point of bringing this to anybody's attention. Although the man she was with might draw his own conclusions. Good thing he's working on that whole 'reformation' thing, huh?
"What is this place?" Ramon Salazar whispered, his softly accented voice barely carrying. He was dressed in his usual 'pirate' costume, complete with the hat, as it seemed appropriate for a museum trip. Not to mention that he missed that outfit, occasionally. He just felt more comfortable in it than in jeans and a t-shirt. "It resembles some sort of strange, small city."
"It's the Getty museum. We're in Los Angeles. I wanted to come here last time I was in town, but never got a chance to. I think it's pretty." Hippolyta made sure her PINpoint was set on 'dodge' mode, which would jump them thirty yards that-a-way at the touch of a button, and took her lover's hand.
They walked up the shallow stairs to the main building together, the darkness not really complete. The lights of the city made the night sky soft and brown, and lit their path, but only just. She had half an eye out for security guards and the like, but wasn't too terribly worried. If they got busted, it was a simple button push to get them back to Tropico.
Instead, she just focused her attention on his hand in hers.
"It IS lovely," mused Ramon, "In a very, hmmm, I don't know... bland sort of way. Inoffensive. If they were going to build a huge palace on top of a hill like this, you'd think they'd at least make it a bit more foreboding."
Hips rolled her eyes. "It's SUPPOSED to attract people, doof. It's a museum, not a mausoleum. I know they sound similar, but c'mon."
Ramon raised an eyebrow at her and smirked. "Oh, I know all about mausoleums, my dear. But who's to say that you can't put sculpture in one, hmm? A lovely Rodin, for example. Highlight the differences."
"Seriously, Pom-Pom, you're weird."
"What did you call me?"
"Forget it."
They approached the front doors of the main building... and vanished. Only to reappear inside the museum. There were no blaring alarms, no immediate requests for hands to go up, and Hips relaxed. Holly did his job just right. The motion detectors were off, and the cameras had the fake loop inserted. They were free and clear. Hopefully. She suppressed the slight conscience pang she felt about being slightly... naughty. Breaking the law, breaking the law...
Ramon, on the other hand, seemed to be entirely giddy at the prospect of the inherent naughtiness of this little excursion. He giggled like a hyperactive twelve year old and tapped his fingertips together. Like a very short Montgomery Burns. "Oh, I've never been to a museum before! This is grand."
Hips glanced at him as they made their way through the glass and sandstone lobby, feeling a little sad. She knew he'd grown up in a terrible situation, but little things like that only emphasized the isolation of it. She'd thought HER early home life was twisted, but even she'd been on family outings as a child. Camping and movies and museums and road trips. Ramon never had any of that. Not before Saddler showed up, and certainly not after.
No wonder the man was often so... difficult. Sometimes they had no common frame of reference. It was like trying to translate a book in Spanish into Etruscan or some other dead language. But she kept at it. She had to. For both of their sakes. Loving him the way she did, she had to.
"Well, this one isn't the Louvre or anything, but it does have some nice stuff. They do have a Rodin exhibit, speaking of. He's the guy that did The Thinker, right?"
"Si. He had a remarkable way of detailing the human figure. You can see the emotions in every single pose. I had a book of photographs of his art, once." He paused and looked up at her. Sad and worried. "L-Lo-... Osmund Saddler made me burn it. He said it glorified the evil we were trying to rid the world of."
Hippolyta bit her lip and winced. "Well, we can add art critic to his list of crimes. Now you can see them for real, not just in a book. So there."
Who or what that 'so there' was aimed at wasn't clear, but there it was.
Ramon giggled nervously, still not entirely comfortable discussing Saddler and his past with her. He knew how angry and sad it made her, and was thus totally reluctant to get it out. But on the other hand, she WAS a large part of the reason he'd finally given it up. Not the entirety of it, of course, but still. He was still endlessly grateful that she'd been there for him through all of that, and loved her for helping him crawl out of that darkness. He was about to say something along those lines, but then he was distracted by the first exhibit.
It was a long hall lined with small paintings, each one faintly visible under the dimmed lights. They were by James Ensor, and were arranged in such a way so that the viewer could progress from his earliest works to his later ones.
Hippolyta knew next to nothing about art. Things like composition, brush strokes, color theory... they were a closed book to her. Her attitude was, 'hey, that's kinda pretty.' Art never touched her soul, and she wondered if that was due to something she was lacking. It was sort of similar to how she felt about religion. It was the sort of discomfort she felt when in a temple or church. Just a squirming feeling. Like she was disgracing the art just by looking at it. She distinctly felt that lack while with Ramon, too. He was very intent on the first few paintings for a moment, standing back and regarding them with a fine eye. A glowing fine eye, in fact. He'd turned on his night vision to see everything perfectly.
So she was watching him more intently than the art. So what? This outing was more for his sake than hers, after all. Some might call it stupid, handing him the opportunity to break the law. She knew he wouldn't, though. He might be tempted to, ahem, take a few things home, but he wouldn't give in. He was too strong. Trying too hard to walk the good guy path. Of course, she didn't know that he'd never steal art, but hey. If she ever voiced that to him, he'd probably be incredibly affronted. Heh.
She hauled her attention back to him, just as he nodded at her, his eyes glowing brightly, like little stop lights.
"You can see how he progressed through the years, this way. It's remarkable. I like the way he uses the darker colors with the brighter ones. Very effective. Here, look at this one."
He took her hand gently and led her closer to one particular painting. It was an abstract portrait, five different men in various states of emotion. One of them had fire-engine red, twisted lips and crooked yellow teeth. Another looked like a cadaver in a top hat. Another looked like his face was paralysed. The background was a strange salmony-orange color, while the men were all done in black. And Hippolyta's immediate reaction was 'gah, that's ugly.' Something about those expressions made her want to look away.
"See how he took the most obvious features and twisted them just so?" he asked her. "How he made them look more human by abstracting them? It's beautiful."
"It's horrible," she whispered.
Ramon smiled up at her, a gentle and slightly condescending look on his face. "Hippolyta, mi amor, you're not seeing the whole picture. Look again."
She forced herself to look, still wanting to move on and find something a little easier on the eyes. And the longer she looked, the more uncomfortable she felt.
"I don't like it," she shrugged, finally, walking away from it and him.
Ramon chuckled at his lover's discomfort. Not maliciously, just in a sort of a head-shaking tolerance way. He loved her, but sometimes she could be remarkably stubborn and shallow. Ah, well, she'd either learn, or she wouldn't. Although he was fervently hoping she would. He took one last glance at the painting and then hustled to catch up with her.
For the next half an hour or so, they wandered the dark and abandoned museum, stopping here and there to inspect the artwork. She noticed how drawn he was to the religious themed art. Not the angels and hosannahs, though. No, he was rather attracted to the darker stuff, with devils and demons. He also seemed to have an enjoyment of the paintings with harsher colors. Violent reds and purples and oranges. It would have disturbed her if she didn't know him all that well. Having seen the sculptures and paintings in his own home, she knew his tastes ran toward the macabre, and actually found it a little endearing.
She, on the other hand, had expressed interest in only one painting so far. It was a Monet canvas, and it was just beautiful for its own sake. Ramon had only glanced at it in passing, calling it 'ephemeral.'
"But it's Monet!" she'd protested. "Howinnahell can that be ephemeral? He's one of the most famous artists ever!"
"Not the artist. The subject. Gardens are symbolic of passing time, darling. Even a garden in springtime. Maybe even especially gardens in springtime."
She rolled her eyes. "You just don't like it because it's pretty."
He winced, and then his face twisted a bit. He was annoyed. "Si, Hippolyta. You're correct. I don't like it because it's pretty." His voice was thick with scorn and sarcasm. "I much prefer ugly things. I also kick puppies when you're not looking."
Then it was her turn to wince. "I didn't mean it like that..."
He relented. "I know you didn't, mi amor." He reached out and took her hand, kissing it lightly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. But... I don't enjoy being told I have no eye for beautiful art. I like that painting, but it's not quite to my tastes. I have been collecting since I was old enough to do so, after all. Can you concede that?"
"Yes," she answered, a wry half-smirk on her face. "You're basically telling me to shut up and really look, aren't you?"
"Si, senorita. That is precisely what I'm saying." He crossed his arms and nodded at her, as if daring her to do otherwise.
"All right. I'll try. Just for you." She grinned and looked at the Monet again, trying to see it from his point of view.
And, again, all she saw was a pretty painting. At least, at first. Then, little details hit her, and she understood his perspective. The way the blossoms were falling off the tree, the way the bench's cushions were faded and worn, the way the pond was slightly green with algae.
Huh.
Funny, he was absolutely right. Weird, that.
"You see it?" he asked quietly. He'd sensed that perspective shift, how she'd relaxed slightly and tilted her head at it.
"Yes," she nodded. "Is all art like this?"
"Only the good art."
"So what's something more... 'permanent' than this?"
"I'll show you."
He took her hand again and pulled slightly on it as he led her back the way they came, until they were in front of a canvas painted by Rembrandt. She'd noticed it before, but hadn't taken much of a look at it. It showed a messiah figure, arms upraised, ascending toward the sky, surrounded by fat little cherubs lifting him toward the light. At his feet were several men, all of whom looked awed. Supplicating. They were also largely in shadow.
"This is a good example of permanence, to my mind," he murmured to her. "The symbolism here is so easy to see, a child could pick it out. Always will humanity be in that shadow of greatness, always will it be begging for salvation from a higher power."
She stared, first at the painting, and then at him.
"I see that. But I see something else, too. The messiah is also human."
He smiled and looked up at her.
"Well put. Thank you for seeing that."
There was nothing else to say after that, so they just continued studying it for a few more moments, and then they moved on together.
With her new perspective, she was able to dig a little deeper into the canvases they passed, rather than just seeing the superficial details. And she found that her tastes ran almost diametrically opposite to his. She was drawn to the cooler colors, the pieces that depicted humanity as something noble and beautiful.
It wasn't exactly disturbing, but it did underscore their vastly opposite philosophies about life. She knew he had a lifetime of hating humanity under his proverbial belt, so of course he would be interested in the art depicting its baser nature. However, he did also praise a few of her favorite choices, but mostly for their technical skill rather than their subjects.
As she was mulling this over, they finally found the Rodin exhibit.
They both stopped short in the doorway to it, awed and quiet. It was a large room filled almost to capacity with pieces of bronze and marble that looked like it had been found in the earth like that, no artist required.
Then they slowly moved forward.
"Lovely," Ramon murmured, as they crossed the threshold. She could tell he wanted to reach out and touch the pieces, the way his hands were twitching. She smiled. He was so tactile, it was endearing. She knew he had enough sense to not do that, so she didn't bother warning him. He had too much respect for the art to touch it.
They were completely quiet as they moved through the dim room, stopping at each piece for a long, long time. At first, she didn't understand why he liked these pieces. They were clearly showing humans as good subjects for art, which was so opposite of his previous choices. Every single one showed its subject as completely human, no stylization necessary. Just human figures, every perfection simply shown, no flaw glossed over. Every muscle on every piece looked like it was about to move, they were so realistic. And then it hit her; that was why he liked them. Somehow these pieces showed everything about humanity, good and bad, and made them beautiful. She felt her own enjoyment of the sculptures swell at that realization, understanding now why he liked them.
There were no words. He didn't need to talk. He would just point out various details to her, and she would nod and inspect them as closely as he was.
Then, at the far end of the room, they discovered a piece that made them both stop short, breathless and touched.
It was a sculpture of a man and a woman, both naked. She was on a higher level than he was, looking down at him with a loving smile on her face. His mouth was pressed to her breast, and he was leaning into her like he needed her to survive. It was called The Eternal Idol, and they both instantly fell in love with it.
She looked down at him, smiling tenderly. He was still staring at the sculpture, however, and he was shaking slightly.
"Oh, Hippolyta..." he breathed.
"I know," she whispered back.
Those were the first words they'd spoken since entering this room, and they filled the silence, even though they were barely audible. He suddenly turned away from the sculpture and hugged her tightly.
"I love you so much."
"I love you, too."
Holding each other, they continued to stare at the piece until every detail was memorized. Then, finally, reluctantly, they turned away and continued their walk.
It was several more minutes before they could speak again, when they found themselves near the exit to the main building. The other buildings were reserved for the special, temporary exhibits, mostly dedicated to cultural art of various countries. They both agreed to skip those for now. Perhaps another time. They 'pointed out of the main building and into the gardens of the Getty.
They found a quiet little path leading down into the main garden, which they walked together, hands clasped. They found themselves standing on the edge of the hill, looking out at the city of Los Angeles and its lights. It was beautiful, but not as touching as the sculpture they'd just seen.
She sat down on the edge of a rock seat situated so as to allow for the best view. He joined her, his eyes trained unseeing on the valley below. She could tell his mind was still back in the Rodin room. Frankly, so was hers.
They leaned into each other quietly, trying to collect their thoughts. It was a comfortable silence, subtly filled with the muffled rush of the cars zipping along below them on the freeway. Hippolyta felt as if she'd just been subjected to a hard workout. No, more than that. A workout of her soul, as silly as that sounded. Her heart was pounding still.
Ramon, for his part, was wrestling with a couple of conflicting emotions. This whole trip had been a joy from beginning to end, even when they had their little 'disagreement.' But part of his head was still mulling over the fact that Lord Saddler had obviously disapproved of human art. He could still feel the disapproval, in fact, and it worried him. He couldn't help recalling that day when Lord Saddler had burned his book. How cold and aloof the man was when the flames caught, how badly Ramon wanted to beg him to stop. And how he'd forced himself to agree that disposing of the book was better in the long run for the cult and for him.
Now, having seen the pieces of art that he'd been forced to destroy pictures of in person, he felt the small, hot spark of rebellion he'd been nurturing grow just a little bit brighter.
"Hippolyta?"
"Yes?" She knew he was about to talk about what he felt, and braced herself. Whenever something like this happened, it invariably turned into him diving into his regrets. She so wanted to avoid that tonight. This night was too perfect to spend wrangling through his issues. But he surprised her.
"I love good art b-because it strips away all the pretenses." Gah, he stuttered. He took a deep breath and kept going. "Good art is the purest mirror of humanity ever. Nothing can b-be hidden. Not joy, not pain, it's all right there to see if you really look. If there's a drop of humanity left in me, it's because of art and my love of it. That's-... that's why I got so annoyed when you dismissed my opinions. I couldn't explain it then, but I can now. Because you saw that sculpture with me and loved it as I did. Because you and I both saw that beauty, and let it touch us both.
"Hippolyta, that I can share that with you is... just..." He stopped for a moment and glanced down, trying to find the words without stuttering. This was hard for him to express.
She waited for him to get his thoughts together, watching him closely. He always had a hard time getting this sort of thing out.
Finally, he looked back up and simply kissed her.
She thought for a moment that he was avoiding the subject, but then it occurred to her that the kiss really was the only way he could express that feeling.
She returned it, letting her own emotions and thoughts pour into it, showing him that she understood why it was so important to him. Why she was so important to him.
The kiss went on for a long while. It wasn't urgent, or even all that passionate, surprisingly enough. It was just... a long, quiet expression of love for beauty and life.
"...Wow," she said when they finally broke. "I..."
"You don't have to say it," he interrupted. "You and I both know it."
It was the first time he'd ever interrupted her in the middle of a deep thought, and she blinked. He usually heard her out on everything, so this was an odd change. But a welcome one. It was nice for her to see him starting to... grow a spine? Something like that. Not take her word as gospel truth.
She should take him to museums more often.
"Come," he said, standing up. "I want to see the rest of this garden."
"Hey!" The shout took them totally by surprise, and they both blinked in shock as the beam of a powerful flashlight swept over them. They'd been spotted by an elderly security guard. Oops!
"Busted!" muttered Hips. She reached out and took Ramon's hand, then pressed a button on her PINpoint.
They ended up thirty yards or so behind the guard, ducked behind a bush. The guard's jaw dropped as he burst out with one single profanity, and then got busy squawking into his radio and hustling away.
Hips and Ramon giggled together at that, trying to stay quiet.
"We should go. They'll be watching for us now."
"Oh, but that'll be part of the fun!" he protested.
"Ramon..." she started, warningly.
"All right, all right. Si. Let's go. But first..." He leaned in and kissed her again, tangling his fingers in her hair. This kiss was more flirty, passionate. She chuckled against his lips and returned the sentiment.
"You are something else, Ramon Salazar."
"As are you, Hippolyta Hollister."
They giggled together, and then he hugged her, pressed his mouth to her breast... just like in the sculpture. She smiled down at him, recognizing the gesture, and her heart skipped a beat as she took them back to Eiko's island.
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Date: 2006-05-11 04:03 am (UTC)This was an amazing bit of writing. You managed to keep Ramon IC amazingly well and the whole story was just sweet. A good show of how both of their personalities are different and yet bounce off of one another so perfectly. And this also makes my art geeky self all bouncy, yes it does.
I look forward to any other fic-type posts you might make! Like, hardcore. For shizzle. Yo.))
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Date: 2006-05-11 06:56 am (UTC)And bonus points for the Homstarrunner reference. ))