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Nighttime Patrons of the Arts

Summary:
One-shot:
Only one artist ever dared to draw them.
Review, if you don't mind. =]


Notes:


1. Pomegranate Green Tea

Rating 5/5   Word Count 764   Review this Chapter

Aro, Marcus, and Caius visited the balcony every night. And every night, other artists came and shielded their eyes by the glorious sight.

Even once upon a time, the Pope himself was enjoying a spiritual stroll when he was forced to his knees by the angelic Ancients.

Carlisle enjoyed spending time with the Volturi. They were rather civilized, and he greatly improved his knowledge during his stay.

One night in the year 1700, yet another artist came and was overcome by the beauty of the Immortals.

Francesco Solimena did not, however, avert his eyes as a show of meekness. Francesco Solimena was an aspiring artist. His master always called him his top student. Sometimes, as he sat by a river or on a grassy hill, painting angels in the sky, peasants would pass by him, their heads bowed, muttering “Mio signore,” as they passed.

He was regarded as the next Michelangelo, and he knew it. Arrogance was often an artist’s middle name. Arrogance was never a good thing in mortals. It made them think too highly of themselves. Simply not a good thing.

But to continue the story, Francesco did not cringe away from the greatness of the Volturi and their handsome vegetarian guest. Displaying bravery unbeknownst to the Volturi, he pulled out his rough pencil and sketchbook.

Aro looked calmly down at the fervently scribbling man. Caius worked to smooth his angry face. Marcus looked as he always did. Rather sad. Mostly just apathetic.

Carlisle, still young by vampire standards, was staring at the little mortal, rather intrigued. The painter’s eyes lifted to again capture the beauty of the vampires for a moment, and they met Carlisle’s. The man was captured in their depth.

“Friend, I do believe that the human has been ‘dazzled’,” Aro muttered, causing Caius’s anger to melt from his face and Marcus’s bored face to lighten slightly.

Carlisle laughed slightly. “Hmm, I suppose so,” He studied the artist, as he did everything. Carlisle was always learning, you see.

Francesco broke away from the gaze, realizing that these were not the Gods of the sky, but that they were Gods of only the most evil things. His pencil stumbled slightly on the paper, but continued its journey drawing the beautiful quartet.

Caius smiled grimly. “The poor mortal, he cannot comprehend how these Gods got stuck on the earth,” Aro laughed, causing the mortal to glance up at the vampires again. “Not Gods, brother, more like Angels of Evil,”

The artist called up to them in a shaky voice. “My lords, forgive me. I have been sketching a picture of your intense beauty, and must know – to which names do you answer?”

Caius frowned. “None that you need know,” His voice rang out over the dark street. The human cringed away from the sound of ethereal beauty, and shielded his eyes with a hand.

“Now that’s more like it,” Aro said smugly, noting the average reaction to vampires.

“Peace,” Carlisle called, startling his three companions. “Fear not, mortal. Your scribbling bothers us not.”

“Yet please recall that we are higher than you could imagine to reach – therefore you cannot know our name’s,” Aro hastened to add.

“Don’t allow them such freedom, Carlisle,” Caius snapped, unhappy at the kindness shown.

“Ah, Caius, perhaps kindness is a privilege we must allow occasionally,” Carlisle disagreed lightly. This whole conversation was too silent for the human artist to hear.

“I do agree,” Marcus uttered, contributing his own to the discussion.

“Whatever,” Aro flapped his hand at the others. “This topic bores me.”

The three additional vampires grinned and stopped their talking. All four of them continued to watch the artist in silent wonder.

After a time, the human stuffed his notebook into his robes once more, and looked at the three immortals.

“I thank you for the chance to capture your glory,” He called loudly.

Aro nodded stiffly. “Go now,” He announced, not unkindly.

This was one of the few times they saw the artist himself, for in later years, once his painting had gotten him an illustrious image, the body of Francesco Solimena was found with two small puncture wounds on his throat.

Eventually, as the centuries passed, Carlisle, the blonde angel, managed to snag the painting and secure it in his grasp.

On his centurial visit to see his old friends, Carlisle showed them his prize.

“Amazing,” Marcus sighed.

Aro nodded furiously. “If I had not seen him myself, the human’s hand would’ve seemed as talented as a vampires’,”

Caius frowned, as per usual. “Damn that human. He became much too big-headed after the painting made him more illustrious.”

The others nodded their concurrence. For you see, arrogance was never good for a mortal. It caused jealously even among the Gods.