ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 16, 2009 23:43:31 GMT -5
Salvador Dali was an undisputed genius in the art community, and he strove to prove his genius with works created over a span of many years. Ironically enough the people who tended to dispute Dali's genius were people who knew nothing about art at all.
The objects subjected to Ari's killer glare were American tourists. An overweight, middle-aged woman with a bad perm, a passive husband, and a teenage son whose eyes were permanently fixated on a video game (Ari couldn't identity what or what kind because she never played one.) On some level of consciousness, Ari actually believed that smoke should be emanating from the woman's back at any moment. It was one of her tendencies to believe that if she wanted something with enough passion, it would actually happen.
Before her face was a book, but her eyes were elsewhere. Maybe she wouldn't have been so angry if the family wasn't so loud; or if their comments weren't so pretentious; or maybe if they weren't a reminder of everything she hoped never to become.
She entered their discussion midway. The topic was Clocks, one of Dali's most famous works. "... this isn't art-" The mother was saying, managing spiteful chuckles in between sentences that sounded like grunts. "In relation to what Senora?" Ari asked pleasantly, pretending to be a native interested in their point of view, though her solid English held a French accent, not Spanish. There may've been an undercurrent of degrading irony, but they didn't catch.
The tourists looked her up and down, taking in the tan, blonde hair highlighted by sun, tie-died floor length skirt and short white tank-top exposing her tattoo. Though colorful and bright, to them she must've seemed like an artsy radical.
The husband stared with his mouth slightly open, in shock or confusion, while the lady responded, obviously sensing some animosity. "Art is supposed to be pretty. How much talent does it take to draw this? It's like a bad cartoon?"
"It doesn't take much talent to draw things as they are. But it takes a real genius to take the everyday, turn it around and display it from another side." Ari responded. Out of her peripheral vision, she knew there were people nearby - people who probably noticed the annoying tourists and followed the conversation so far. She turned to the closest figure, a man about five inches taller than her and very well built.
It may've been an instinctive first choice. In a fight the American lady could easily squash her. Her following words could've been a subtle cry for help.
"Don't you think so?" She asked casually. What she believed she was doing was employing numbers in her favor. The man, like her, was clearly a native (of Europe.) In situations like these, people who have more in common tend to stick together.
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 0:00:27 GMT -5
Christopher wasn't exactly what one would call an artist. He was more of an athletic type, but he could work with his hands, wood, metal. Not what you would call art unless you were into mailboxes and cars. But he was handy, and real. So what if he wasn't a genius, critic or sophisticated? He was good, and true. Frankly, he figured the world needed more people like him, this city certainly did. But since he was such a low ranking policeman he didn't get much of the action, and that was hard for him. Chris liked to move.
So, since his hours were fewer than he would have liked, fewer than they should have been given the impending war, he decided to hit up Vila De Gracia. He was bound to find something to watch, or to read. Chris, while you might expect him to be simply a movie person did like to read. He liked movies because you could see the actions, the touches, the faces. But reading was a physical event, the feel of the page, the sound as they turn. Not like he would ever tell anyone it was for those physical feelings that he picked up books and that if he wanted a story, he'd probably rather watch it.
In any case, he was browsing a row of DVDs over near an arrangement of posters by famous Spanish artists, and some tourist family was hanging around talking in English about Dali's Clocks. Now, Chris was hardly listening until a pretty female voice near him started speaking. A sound like semi-melted butter being spread onto a biscuit. Soft, with texture, picking up from other sources---her obvious accent for one.
Now, he wasn't an artist and he didn't quite have the eye for it, but who could resist a woman in need? "Yes, you're right. Ordinary things are easy to make look ordinary, its when the ordinary looks new that it counts.. I guess..." He squinted slightly at the poster from where he stood. Dali was famous, it didn't matter what you thought. Dali was an artist, weather you agreed or not. Why argue about it?
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 0:21:29 GMT -5
Ari sent a small smile of gratitude toward this new man even before he spoke the words, because his body language told her he was already on her side. Her smile widened slightly as she listened to him echo her words without her poetic style. Clearly she hadn't stumbled upon a kindred artistic soul, but he was supporting her regardless - which meant something different than if he turned out to share her opinion.
The tourist woman harrumphed and made a motion a leave. Husband and son followed ignorantly. "Art's supposed to look nice, not prove some ..." the lady struggled for the word and waved her hands, indicating an absurd notion " ... philosophical point!"
Her words tore at Ari's faith in humanity bit by bit.
And they left.
Ari turned to man - curious because when he spoke, she picked up on something interesting. "You are from the United Kingdom?" She asked, placing her book back on the shelf and turning towards him completely.
Here she thought she'd be an a slight oddity in Barcelona, not being Spanish. Though Europeans traveled easily throughout Europe, the UK was an island. She was also amused by another notion - the French and English had slight ... differences and had clear opinions on one another.
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 0:33:36 GMT -5
Chris smiled lightly, "Yeah, London." He said with a nod. His accent was obvious, given the fact that he had spent 18 years living there. he had only been in Barcelona for two years, with trips home, so it wasn't like his accent had left him in any way. His mother might have been French and Spanish but he hadn't been in either country enough to sound like it was part of him. He just was good at all three languages.
"And did she just say art wasn't supposed to be philosophical? I figured it was, which I why I'm bloody hopeless when it comes to art." He cracked her another grin, obviously they were of a different sort and yet, he had a feeling he wouldn't have a hard time relating to her, even though she was obviously the cultured type.
"I'm Christopher, you can call me Chris." He said offering her his hand. His hand was like the rest of him, broad, strong, tanned and they had definitely seen a hard days work. he had no trouble throwing out his name, he wasn't worried. Besides, who knew where something this simple could lead? It always started with a meeting, so why cut any meeting short? There was no point, and for him people gave the universe meaning, it didn't matter in terms of what technical jargon you could use to explain why things happened, it was the people that made the world the way it was. Words couldn't keep you company.
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 0:57:05 GMT -5
London. Ariella had been to London a few years back. She made note of this similarity, and kept it ready in the back of mind to bring up in later conversation.
She loved English accents. The way he said "bloody hopeless" put a smile on her face. There was something about it, like his statements thus far, that was sincere and candid. It was real. And so was he. He seemed rugged and strong but human - a real person, without any pretenses or facades. She couldn't quite pinpoint it any other way. She knew she liked him. And thus, she knew they'd get along.
Ariella appreciated people, truly believing that everyone had something beautiful about them - however she had a short fuse for arrogance, facity, and certainty.
Christopher, displaying none of the mentioned qualities, was a character she was interested in pursuing. She shook his hand, feeling slightly out of place by the gesture - guys back home tended to kiss her hand. "Ariella." She enunciated clearly, making sure he caught all the stresses and sounds. Sometimes non-French people got confused with the flow of vowel sounds in the middle. It was probably her accent.
"Philosophy is everywhere in our lives when we decide to think. It isn't all complicated theories like most people think it is. It is merely the practice of questioning the nature of things." She explained.
"May I ask why it is you are in Barcelona?" Ariella asked politely.
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 1:11:56 GMT -5
"Ariella," he repeated. Christopher was pretty sure he had it right. The spoke English back home mostly, but he know Spanish and French well, basically fluent so he wasn't completely unfamiliar to the sounds. And her name was obviously French, so he knew he was on the right track if not already right.
Why was he in Barcelona, well... it was a long story and he wasn't sure he wanted to give her the details of the day that made him swear to come and join the police force. He could go with, the easy and truthful, I have family here. He but wasn't one for lies, he could tell her the real truth without all the details. "Something happened while I was here visiting my grandparents five years ago, and when I turned eighteen I came over here to join the police force." He offered a small shrug. In fact, his badge was tucked in his back pocket, but he was low ranking and he didn't want to make a point of his authority, he was just stating fact. Plain and simple.
"As for philosophy... I don't usually think about the how and why. Things just are. If you know what people do, you don't have to know why, it just is... I mean, that doesn't make sense does it.. I knew there was a reason I didn't even try to get into university." He gave a gentle laugh, not minding poking fun at himself in the least. He was used to other people's comments about his intelligence being limited, but he had a good idea about people, about situations, about common things. He lived life, he observed it, but he didn't dissect it. If you start focusing on the bits, you forget what you're looking at. He just wanted to see humanity, and understand it, but not in such a way that took away the mystery.
It made sense in his own head.
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 10:27:09 GMT -5
Their hands let go and Ariella intertwined her arms loosely behind her back - she didn't like leaving them hanging at her sides, and crossing them in front was a subconsciously defensive body gesture. Keeping her arms behind her, wrists gently resting on the small of her back, seemed like a very earnest, very innocent stance - almost childlike. When he repeated her name, she got flashes of memories of being in London ... walking around Cambridge ... visiting Stone Henge ...
He was in the police force. It seemed like a fitting occupation for him - tall and strong. Only he wasn't a jerk like most other police officers, but she suspected they all didn't turn out that way. But what worried her is that he clearly wasn't an officer for a very good reason. Something happened involving crime - it could've been inspiring (he could've seen an officer save someone) or it could've bad (making him want to seek revenge) - either way, it was traumatic enough for him to base a life decision on this. There was a reason Ari was here and not in the university; she wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do.
She appreciated his humility and smiled when he laughed. But she couldn't help saying, " 'If you know what people do, you don't have to know why?' Isn't a big part of criminal investigation finding peoples' motives?" Her smile was slightly sympathetic - she knew she must be complicating things and she was sorry that he had to deal with her - and she shook her head dismissing the subject. As much as she liked challenging people, she wanted to understand him more - and that couldn't happen if she drove him away.
She nodded towards a DVD in his hand. "What are you looking at?" She asked amiably and looked up into his eyes. "What have you hoped to discover in coming here today?"
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 11:23:46 GMT -5
Chris smiled and leaned into her a little bit. "And that would be why I don't get promoted." He said with a smile. "But in all seriousness, I wasn't talking about life in terms of police work, I meant in general. I don't need to know why people in general do the things they do. Never mind, I don't know how to make it make sense." Chris felt rather stupid talking to her like this, he wasn't really about this. it wasn't thinking, it was being, experiencing, doing. Lots of thinking and a little talking was his idea of hell. You had a body, you had to use it, not just as a shell to protect your brain.
"Oh," He looked down at the DVD in his hands, the first in the Bourne series. "I'm here to kill time as it were." Christopher didn't tell her that he was here to move, to physically walk around the store and feel things. He was tired of the same spaces, the station and his apartment. He just wanted something, anything. And obviously, he had found her. Which seemed to be going very well.
Chris paused a moment, rocking lightly on his heels. "Have you ever seen Barcelona from the back of a vespa?" He asked, raising his eyebrows lightly. "It would be an easier way for me to impress you, since I'm obviously not that good at being philosophical." He laughed lightly. Sometimes he hardly realized how blunt he was, yes he wanted to impress her. Now, she might or might not be a tourist, he figured not, she looked physically at home where she was, but either way, she hardly seemed the motorcycle type. But he wasn't exactly riding a harley davidson, which would have been more manly, but scooters were simpler, and cheaper.
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 11:49:15 GMT -5
Ariella felt a wave of pleasant relief when he took her theoretical rhetoric with humor and charm. She imagined herself responding: You may not be able to explain it, but you do have a philosophy, and it does make sense. I would call you slightly Eupicurean., but she kept mouth shut and watched his face. When he leaned closer, she had a premonition of the distance between them disappearing entirely and that sent a wave of electrifying joy in the form of adrenaline through her system.
Europe wasn't America that was colonized by Puritans - flirting, especially in Italy, was practically a ritual. People seemed almost more romantic and laid-back here. Ariella knew boys. And she knew men. And she had been to Italy where she was subjected to the attention of both. England was not Italy, but it wasn't America either. She had no problem with where this could lead.
And she was doing well for keeping her mouth closed - Time is subjective. Was what flitted through her mind, but quickly disappeared.
His question threw her off a little - she hadn't expected that coming and it surprised her. "A vespa?" she echoed. Her mind rattled for memories to answer his question. Yes, she had been on a vespa before - but not through Barcelona. "No, I have not seen Barcelona from the back of a vespa." She responded - and added with a smile. "And that does seem very impressive."
She chuckled. "I had no idea you were keen on impressing the local who harasses tourists."
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 12:01:23 GMT -5
"I'm keen on impressing a pretty woman with a bold and interesting point of view." he corrected her. "And tourists are fun to mess with, everyone knows that." Chris said with a smile. She was pretty, and maybe she was too smart for him, but something about her felt nice. Not to mention he liked her voice, and thus far she'd been standing still, he couldn't wait to watch her move. You could tell a lot about a person by how they handled themselves. And from how she was standing, she was open to him, open as much as you could be with a friendly stranger, he supposed.
"I've got mine parked outside, up for a ride?" He asked her pulling a set of keys out of the left front pocket of his jeans and spinning them around on his finger once. Chris happened to be left handed actually, not like it was inherently obvious. His eyes were hopeful and his smile genuine. "I promise I'm a good driver." He added, in case she was worried. Chris was a good guy, he wouldn't let anything happen to her, but it sounded stuck up to say so, at least to him it did. So he didn't add that part.
"What do you say? We can make a deal, you go for a ride with me and then I'll go somewhere of your choosing, fair?" Chris said. Maybe he was trying to hard to make her comfortable with the idea, he just enjoyed her company, even if he was starting to feel dumb.
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 12:26:45 GMT -5
Ariella liked very how everything was unfolding. "A ride sounds magnifique." She agreed. "And I trust you not to put me in way of harm." Being impressed started from simply watching him spin his keys - she was sure that if she attempted the same without enough concentration, the keys would go flying off in a random direction and land in someone's eye.
Her body turned in the general direction of the exit, while her eyes stayed on him. "Right outside the main entrance?" She asked while taking a step, before turning her face as well and realized she was about to collide with the corner of the DVD's shelf. Her eyes widened then flinched; her mind registered what would happen before it did; but her body was already in motion and didn't get the message until it was too late - she bumped gently into shelf. "Oh!" she exclaimed softly, mostly from surprise - she wasn't moving with nearly enough speed or strength to cause actual damage.
"Pardon." she muttered - half to the shelf because it was a habit, and half to him in case he was momentarily worried (or disturbed by the thought of her being so obviously inept.) If he was at all put off by their conversation before, he might be relieved to find that she was uncoordinated when he was clearly not (not mention probably very athletic.)
This typically happened because she was lost in thought or distracted. She was distracted now, and slightly jittery because he was making her so. Jittery, but comfortable. Excited, but safe.
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 12:40:05 GMT -5
Christopher laughed and placed his hands on her shoulders. If she minded, she would tell him. She hardly seemed the quiet type. "Maybe you should stop thinking abstractly all the time Ariella." He suggested. If there was one thing he had, it was a physical understanding, space, relationship between things, objects. He was very coordinated. It was adorable that she wasn't.
He steered her in this fashion until they were outside, the navy blue vespa parked right there by the curb, as he had said. Chris released her lightly, resisting the urge to make a joke about if she would be okay standing on her own and popped open the seat, pulling out two helmets. He snapped his own and handed one to her. "Now, remember to hold on, remember you have arms. Otherwise you'll fall and get hit by a truck, and that would be a sad day." he was half teasing her, and half completely serious. He obviously wasn't trying to poke fun at her, he did feel a bit better though. If she had been completely graceful too he would have known she was completely out of his league.
Chris climbed on and got it in place to get going and then he nodded for her to come over and join him on the bike. Part of him was maybe a little too excited to feel her arms around him, because if she wanted to stay on, she'd have to cling to him. The sensation of touch was his favorite and right now he was feeling all kinds of things and noticing them, the air, the feeling of the handle bars, the seat, the empty space behind him where she ought to be...
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 13:04:17 GMT -5
Normally she would have a clever response to gentle teasing akin to his own, but from the embarrasment of displaying lack of coordination to her heart going haywire because his hands were on her shoulders, she was rendered momentarily mute. Sometimes life moved too quickly - sending so much information and emotion her way - that her mind hardly had time to filter and process everything. At these points, she knew to let go and follow the path of things.
So she let herself be steered outside, with a smile on her lips, because it was the rational thing to do. Though what part of her was imaging (and wanting) was her stopping and leaning back into him, against his chest, which she imagined must be strong like the rest of him. Her head would lean back - she wasn't so much shorter than the top of her head would fit under his chin; but if she arched her neck at an angle, it would rest nicely on the side of his neck, and if she turned her face towards him, her nose could trail the beginnings of stubble along his jaw. His arms would wrap around her shoulders and pull her closer so that she could feel his heartbeat behind her and notice her own racing in her chest, but their breathing would sync and she'd melt into warmth and electricity and soon she'd forget where she ended and he began. They'd notice that their heartbeats were one and the same and that they were one.
This didn't happen, but Ari was so absorbed in the thought, that she was slightly surprised when they reached the vespa and she entered back into reality. For a second she held the helmet, confused, and unsure what happened next. Then she realized and snapped it on - feeling goofy, because wearing helmets always made her feel so. "A sad day indeed." She agreed with a smile because she didn't want him to think she forgot to speak entirely. "It would be fortunate though that a police officer would be right at the scene of that accident immediately."
He got onto the vespa. A thought occurred to her - if this was her vespa, it'd be decorated in all sorts of funky designs. She paused for a moment, rationalizing how she would go about getting onto the thing without making a fool of herself. And then she did - much more easily than she expected. She remembered she had arms; she remembered she had to hold on. Her arms wrapped around his midriff, which was how she imagined it, if not more.
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Post by CHRISTOPHER PIERRE LANE on Nov 17, 2009 18:05:22 GMT -5
Chris smiled a little. He would do the same as anyone else, call 911, make sure to try and keep her alive, no way he could investigate something he was a part of, but really, all in all, she was right. He would be able to take care of her if anything happened. That was what counted, and he waited until he felt her arms firmly around his waist. The touch made him smile at her over his shoulder. "Ready?" Chris looked in his element now, outdoors and doing something. No art here. Not in the same way.
And then he joined the flow of traffic.
They flew around corners not too far over the speed limit, curving around by stores and peddlers on the street, colorful scarves and bangles all at eye level as they went down the long streets. The sunlight streaming down on them, warm and the rush of the wind cool. Perfect really. He would be sad once winter really hit. He hoped she would stop them if she wanted to stop and look at something, he planned on doing the same. Not like he could think of something he would stop and see, unless there was a dance going on in the street. he was actually a very good dancer, all that prep school in Britain had taught him all forms of ballroom. Everything from there wasn't too hard really.
He circled a large fountain and stopped at the light. Red. "So, where do you wanna drive, by the beach? Or around the high end bit of town, or the lower part of town?" it wasn't about where they would stop, it was about the trip itself, not to mention where she wanted to be dropped off ultimately.
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ARIELLA MANON
CITIZEN
Live and Create. Live to the point of tears.
Posts: 17
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Post by ARIELLA MANON on Nov 17, 2009 22:45:31 GMT -5
Ariella had a notion of resting her head on his back, but the blur of sights, colors and lights kept her head up and turning this way and that. Her residence in this city was coming to its two month anniversary, and except for the drive there the first day, she had walked the entirety of the time - taking a boat maybe once or twice. It was so strange seeing the streets already familiar from a completely different perspective. She was seeing her normal routes - getting from point A to B ... to C and D and E ... - that normally took tens of minutes, be traveled in mere seconds. Technology was so much more impressive when people went a long time without it.
Her normal buzz of thoughts were singling on a notion. A notion that this was exciting. The city seemed a little brighter. The weather could be called ideal. She was sitting on the back of vespa, holding onto an attractive man, and flying through one of the most famous cities in the world. It seemed perfect.
She considered his question for a moment, but knew she wouldn't come to a decision. Everything was going great and she was content and she had a suspicion it had not much to do with the places. "Everything sounds very nice - could we do it all?" She asked tentatively. He was a working person after all - she didn't want to take up all his time.
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