Charisma "You brought the doggy?" Famine looked at Pestilence, who was still holding the hell-chihuahua. She was nestled into the crook of his elbow, seemingly happy to be leaning up against a body that was closer to pokerwork than flesh. "She wanted to come," said Pestilence. "I think she's keeping an eye on Scuffles." "You didn't bring Scuffles though." "War's bringing him. Though I think it's more to use him as a packhorse than for any other reason." The two personifications looked at the iron railings, and then seemed to become oddly insubstantial. They walked through the railngs and the stone wall supporting them as though they weren't there, which in a sense they weren't, and on the other side seemed to become part of the real world again. "You can't do that at the Sagrada Familia," said Pestilence looking around. "Gaudi did something there, the architecture reaches through more dimensions that it ought to." "I've done it a few times at the Vatican," said Famine. "I think we probably want to go in over there." He pointed. "Yeah, but you and the church have a special relationship," said Pestilence. "I'd be surprised in they could deny you entry anywhere." Famine giggled. The two of them walked across a stone-paved yard towards a door that appeared to lead into a chapel house. A stone portico shaded the door from the intense sun overhead, and only when they stepped into its shadow did they see that the door itself was intricately carved so that it appeared to be a gargoyle. Pestilence ran a hand over the surface, appreciating how it had been cleverly intaglio'd to create an impression of depth from a nearly-two-dimensional surface, while Famine stood slightly back and appraised it. "This is nice," said Pestilence. "One of the greats?" "Practically unknown," said Famine. "She was a woman, and you know what the ancient church was like about that." "Hah, true. So does it have a name?" "Charisma," said Famine. "I think it's political commentary." Pestilence now stood a little back and looked at the leering grotesque. "It grows on you," he said. "I think I can see how it gets its name." "I think she was trying to say that charisma covers up a lot of faults," said Famine. "Heavy-handed if you ask me, especially putting it on the door to a monastery, but hey, I'm not an art-critic."
2 comments:
Charisma
"You brought the doggy?" Famine looked at Pestilence, who was still holding the hell-chihuahua. She was nestled into the crook of his elbow, seemingly happy to be leaning up against a body that was closer to pokerwork than flesh.
"She wanted to come," said Pestilence. "I think she's keeping an eye on Scuffles."
"You didn't bring Scuffles though."
"War's bringing him. Though I think it's more to use him as a packhorse than for any other reason."
The two personifications looked at the iron railings, and then seemed to become oddly insubstantial. They walked through the railngs and the stone wall supporting them as though they weren't there, which in a sense they weren't, and on the other side seemed to become part of the real world again.
"You can't do that at the Sagrada Familia," said Pestilence looking around. "Gaudi did something there, the architecture reaches through more dimensions that it ought to."
"I've done it a few times at the Vatican," said Famine. "I think we probably want to go in over there." He pointed.
"Yeah, but you and the church have a special relationship," said Pestilence. "I'd be surprised in they could deny you entry anywhere."
Famine giggled.
The two of them walked across a stone-paved yard towards a door that appeared to lead into a chapel house. A stone portico shaded the door from the intense sun overhead, and only when they stepped into its shadow did they see that the door itself was intricately carved so that it appeared to be a gargoyle. Pestilence ran a hand over the surface, appreciating how it had been cleverly intaglio'd to create an impression of depth from a nearly-two-dimensional surface, while Famine stood slightly back and appraised it.
"This is nice," said Pestilence. "One of the greats?"
"Practically unknown," said Famine. "She was a woman, and you know what the ancient church was like about that."
"Hah, true. So does it have a name?"
"Charisma," said Famine. "I think it's political commentary."
Pestilence now stood a little back and looked at the leering grotesque. "It grows on you," he said. "I think I can see how it gets its name."
"I think she was trying to say that charisma covers up a lot of faults," said Famine. "Heavy-handed if you ask me, especially putting it on the door to a monastery, but hey, I'm not an art-critic."
Greg - ah, these two together are so great. Love the dialogue here. And the slow reveal of the details of the setting is much appreciated.
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