victormakesart | (no subject)

(no subject)

Victor led Rico over to the Muse's studio, bypassing the welcome mat and walking right in.

The Muse didn't take his eyes off of the painting that he was currently working on, containers full of paint scattered all around him. It looked like he was painting a person walking out of the water, but it was too early to be sure. His third arm painted wildly while his other two remained still at his sides. It was rather unnerving, even to Victor, who had watched him paint quite often.

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Rico looks over briefly. "What'd they say?"

"We usedta have great convos. Then they started tellin' me to screw off. Then they only let their Receptionists talk t' me."

"God has a secretary. I'm so cynical, that doesn't even surprise me."

"They're right bastards, too." He blew a kiss to one of the clouds.

Rico grins at this. "Think they heard you?"

"'Course they did." He smirked.

Rico looks back up the sky and frowns. "Do you think my Creator's up there, too?"

"I'm sure. Miss Victor's Creator is up there. She's Catholic. And her Creator ain't my Creator."

"I'm Catholic too," he says absently. "Or was. I don't know anymore."

He bows his head for a moment. Without another word, he starts walking back to the Y.

"Hmmm. Just takes thought."

He followed him, thinking about pretty people, lightning and gods at tea.

Rico's in his own thoughts, which have taken a turn for the worse since seeing the first flash of lightning. His feet move themselves as he slips back in the building and into the shower room.

He held the door back into the Nexus for him. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah, amigo. Just thinking."

"Thinkin's a healthy thin' t' do."

Rico shrugs and settles down on his claimed mattress. "You gonna eat now?"

"Oh. Uh-huh." He had completely forgotten about it. He tossed his jacket into a corner and dropped the bag, glancing at the water droplets that had collected on it like so many blinked tears. He opened the wrapper of a taco and took a small bite. "This is good stuff." The Muse ate with more enthusiasm.

"Of course it is. It's America's take on Mexican food. Better than the stuff you'd get in Tijuana." He yawns. "Not better than the stuff in Mexico City, though. Those were some good enchiladas."

He sat down on his bed. "I'll hafta go there sometime, then. Haven't tried much food other 'n Nexus stuff an' right-outta-a-portal, or stuff that a buddy cooked. Tried some Italian when my opera came out."

"Italy nice?"

"I like it. Good buildings."

"Heard something about Venice once. Canals. Gondolas."

"Smells like water an' old buildin's. 'S beautiful."

"Sounds nice." He stretches out and turns on his side. "Got any blankets? It's a little cold here."

"I'd offer ya a change've clothes, but all my shirts have holes in th' back," he said as he stretched up on top of a cabinet to grab a stack of blankets. "'Less ya doan mind that." He handed him some blankets.

"Nah, I'm good with the clothes. Daisy fresh." He grabs the blankets and makes himself a little cocoon, even though it's in the middle of summer.