This was just another weird idea I had, so yeah.
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING FOR I AM JUST A BENEDICTINE MONK OR SOMETHING...no not really.
Lovino was an artist by heart. Even if his younger brother, Feliciano Vargas, was the more famous one, he still continued to create his own works, trying not to care about his own brother's growing success while his own career was at a standstill. He was a temperamental artist and was often criticized for the harsh and rough characteristics of his paintings, which was why he wasn't as popular as his younger brother.
He often found himself cursing out art critics behind their backs as he read their reviews. This particular one, Francis Bonnefoy, got on his nerves. This Bonnefoy man was usually the final word in art critique, if he said your work was horrible, then it was. The review wasn't stating that his work was horrible exactly. It was just so retarded, the ending line.
A talented artiste, however, his works are missing the passion of life, non? -Bonnefoy
What the fuck? Lovino crumpled up the piece of paper. Who the fuck did this guy think he was? Well, besides being one of the most influential art critics in the modern world.
More passion? He was an Italian, damn it! Nobody got more passionate than him...or was it supposed to be the Spanish who were passionate? Bah, whatever, Lovino would just have to visit this Francis Bonnefoy later to give him a piece of his mind...or ask for how to improve and add more passion into his damn art.
His latest model had put up with him for a week before quitting loudly and with some violence. Sure, he had been yelling at her about how weird she looked in that dress and that her pose was all wrong and well, he was just being honest, really.
She ended up throwing some of his paints at him. It took him a while to get the rainbow stains out of his shirt.
Now he needed a new model and with his reputation for being such a fussy painter, it wasn't going to be easy getting a new one. Really, things just weren't going his way these days. Then again, when were they ever going well?
Sighing, he bit into his tomato, hating this horrible day. Sure, he had had his share of horrible days, but this one really topped them all. No model, this stupid critique, it all reminded him of how inferior he was to his younger brother. That idiot.
His younger brother was always so happy-go-lucky and stupid. Lovino couldn't even believe they were even related. Feliciano had always been so different from him and had always been the one who was more well-liked, what with his friendly disposition. And Feliciano was spending more time with some German bastard these days. Damn Germans.
Lovino got up from his seat, grumbling under his breath. He needed alcohol badly. Jeez, he was, is a great artist. He's talented, so why do these things keep going so wrong for him?
So he got drunk off of sweet wine, a habit that was growing increasingly more common, to his great dismay. Ugh, how stupid this damn world was. Fuck it all. He would just stay home all day and welcome the night with drunken Italian songs about black cats, and maybe phone his twin brother, just to see how things were going for him.
He only managed to wake up with a horrible hangover and it was the day he had to visit that stupid art critic. He groaned, righting himself on the floor and rubbing his sore head. He absolutely could not go out looking like this. His clothes were a mess and his hair was just a disaster. The few friends he had always commented in a snide way about how vain he seemed. Tch, those idiots. In Italy, fashion was a lot more important than it was to Americans.
Lovino stood, going off to make himself look presentable before setting off to Francis Bonnefoy's flat. Once he rang the doorbell, an obnoxious sounding, heavily accented voice answered.
"Ohohoho, be right there, mon ami~" the door swung open and there stood a man with wavy blonde hair and stubble on his chin.
Figured it would be someone French, Lovino thought, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, who are you? Did I hit on you while I was drunk? I usually do not go for your type, but I am open to anything!" The damn annoying Frenchie winked, placing a manicured hand on Lovino's shoulder.
Lovino shrugged him off, giving him a dark glare. "I am not here to be disgusted. I'm Lovino Vargas. I came to talk about your critique," he said, crossing his arms.
Francis's expression fell, only to be replaced by a cunning smile.
"Oh, that. My friend helped me with that review. I should introduce you to her. You need a new model right?" the man asked, smirking.
Damn, news travels fast...Lovino nodded, looking very unamused. What was this guy doing letting his friend write his reviews for him? No wonder why it sounded so stupid. And her be his model? Fat chance! He wouldn't say anything for now since she would just quit within a week anyway. Lovino would make sure to be especially nasty to this girl, who was probably a dumb blond sex friend of Francis's.
Lovino went back home, satisfied that he had handled that well. Only a few days later would he realize that things would end up very differently than he expected.
Um, the credit goes to one of my friends for writing the curse words for me. I am a wimp...and this introduction stinks. I think it'll get a bit more eventful later?
