I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury

Dom and Fran are adorbs.

Places in Books

The Eternal City


They've hopped trains, first one and then another and another.

Traveling south from Switzerland, into right into Italy.

Italy.

The beautiful, sprawling green hilled countryside of wine and tiny charming villas and well, all things Italian.

They won't quite make it to Greece, not all the way down to the booted heel, just a hop, skip, and a boat ride across the Ionian Sea.

Not this time.

Maybe one day they will.

Now that I've started traveling, I don't think I'll ever want to stop.

And Frannie's amused that she automatically thought of it as a 'they' thing.

And not a simple . . .

Well, you started this, Dominic.

. . . she.

And I don't ever want to end it.

So yeah, maybe Greece one day.

Eastern Europe.

Romania, the land of the vampires.

Turkey, Ukraine, Russia.

Asia, with Mongolia and China and Thailand and Japan.

Australia, New Zealand, Papa New Guinea.

South America.

Africa.

The United Kingdom, Scotland.

Norway, Sweden, Finland.

Greenland, Iceland.

Any land.

Every land.

Anywhere.

She could go literally anywhere.

The world is her oyster.

Oyster.

Which have to wait until France.

Because right now . . .

"Okay, Frannie. You ready?"

. . . they've arrived at . . .

"Yes!"

. . . Rome.


Rome.

Oh my gosh.

They've made it all the glorious way to Rome, Italy.

And spent three days seeing everything they could see.

They've toured the Forum, the Pantheon, the Roman Baths.

They've gazed upon the Piazza Navona, dipped their hands into the . . .

"Are you sure it's okay?"

"Yeah, Fran. It's fine."

. . . Trevi Fountain.

They've strolled the Trastevere, the Palatine, and Monti.

The Borghese Gallery.

Stared up in surreal wonder at the statue of Julius Caesar upon the Via dei Fori Imperiali.

Et tu, marinara?

And Emperor Constantine and Emperor Augustus and Marcus Aurelius.

So much art and statues . . .

Man, this Bernini guy was super popular.

I thought there was just that Ninja Turtle guy.

. . . and ruins.

So many wonderful places she'll never remember all the names of and could never imagine seeing with her very own eyes.

They've toured as much of Vatican City, St. Peter's Basilica as they are allowed.

The opulence, the grandeur, the glory.

The paintings and frescoes and statues are stunning.

The ceiling.

Oh no, it's too high. How did he do that without fainting?

The Pieta brings her to tears.

The Mother holding the body of her dead Son, helpless at all to comfort him, shield him from harm, in the hour of his death.

She knows the proportions are off, the Mother shouldn't be so much bigger than the grown man.

The ages, the Mother looking so young, younger than the Son she cradles so heartbrokenly.

And it doesn't matter.

The emotion is there, the love.

She allows Dom to put an arm around her in comfort, so transported by 'the heart's image' of the marble creation that there is no fawn in her of his touch.

Only gratitude.

And back out on the open Square . . .

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. It's just so . . ."

"No. Don't be. It really is."

. . . she eventually wipes away her tears.

And near the spectacle of a horde of habit-wearing nuns in baseball caps and sunglasses . . .

Okayyy.

. . . they recover . . .

That's about as surreal as everything else here.

. . . and move on.

The selfie sticks get in the way.

As do the sweaty, neverending crowds of sight- . . .

I mean, I know I'm one of them but still . . .

. . . -seers.

But the fact remains that they are in Rome.

Rome.

Italy.

And nothing can beat that.


Because it's just a big enough, wild enough, dreamy enough dream.

Compounded with the fact that she never in her life imagined she would be riding a moped through the stuffed, chaotic streets.

Arms wrapped tight around the man of her dreams.

Cars whizzing by on either side, so close she could reach out and touch them.

Her front pressed to his back.

Her thighs clamped firmly on either side of his hips.

Just like in Holland.

Well, . . .

"Oh gosh, everybody's everywhere! This is crazy!"

"Yeah, I know!"

"How are you handling this so well?!"

"Well, you just gotta pay attention!"

Uh, huh, to everything everywhere-

"And, you know, just believe in your right to be exactly where you are in the universe!"

-Well, I'm out-

. . . not exactly.


And then . . .

"Dom, I don't think this is a good idea."

. . . it gets even better.

"Come on, Frannie, I believe in you. You can do this. It's just like riding a bike. And we're on a less crazy street. And-"

And Fran gets incredulous.

"Dom, I have never, and I mean, never, in my entire life, believed in my right to be exactly where I was in the universe! Not ever!"

And Dom gets supportive and encouraging . . .

"Well, maybe now's your time to start."

. . . right back.


"Oh my gosh!"

And it's-

"-amazing I can't believe I'm doing this!"

In her entire quiet, mousy, boring life, Frances Faye Fugleman has never imagined she would, could, be doing this.

"AHHH!"

Especially not with Dominic Hargan.

And it . . .

"Hit the gas, Frannie!"

. . . is . . .

"Okay."

. . . awesome.

"Whoa, not that much!"

If she can just keep her wits about her.


"Whoo! You got it, Fran!"

Because she, with her scrawny frame and girlish pigtails and her slippy glasses . . .

Oh gosh-

. . . is now riding, correction, now driving, the streets of Rome.

On a moped.

He's right-

The man of her dreams snugged up behind her.

Hands light on what hips she has as she pilots their conveyance bravely around . . .

I do got this-

. . . the ruins of . . .

Wow-

. . . the Coliseum.

The Coliseum.

I mean, honestly.


And that's not even the coolest thing . . .

. . . that's happened all day.

She danced . . .

Is this Carmen Fantasy?

. . . with a statue.

Not quite as crazy as it sounds.

Out on some open square, milling people everywhere.

And in the middle of it all, . . .

"Dom? Do you see that?"

"Wh- oh yeah, cool!"

. . . a man.

Covered in white paint.

From sandaled foot.

To wigged head.

Not a spot peeking out from under his white robes not covered in paint.

Even his ears, his eyebrows.

For all intents and purposes, a living marble statue.

Though he does not move as such.

He does not move much at all up there on his pedestal.

A literal pedestal, two feet high at most and she does not know what is made of.

Though it is white too.

And stable enough for a full grown man's weight.

Music playing from a little sound speaker under his feet.

Gesturing to people moving amongst the crowd.

Taking the hand of some jeans-clads female tourist or other.

Turning with her, guiding her gracefully 'round his pedestaled self.

Twirling her as though she is his rare and most exquisite flower at a grand and glorious ball.

A soft and kind smile upon his painted face.

As if she is the most delightful, beautiful, glorious creature in all of Rome.

And Frannie thinks . . .

I want to dance.

. . . it looks like the most marvelous little . . .

This is Carmen.

. . . fantasy.

"Go on. Take a spin."

And Dom's at her side, nudging her along.

And she blushes, ducks her head.

"No. Really?"

"Yeah. Go on, Fran."

And she . . .

Well, it's no juggling, I know but . . .

. . . goes.

He gives her a warm and welcoming smile, the statue man does.

Holds out a gloved hand.

And, grasping just the proper amount, turns her once around the pedestal, a graceful twirl for good measure.

And Fran . . .

Oh, how does he do it? I feel as light as air.

. . . feels . . .

I haven't tripped over my own feet once.

. . . transported.

The statue man with the smile in his eyes lets her go, blows a fond farewell kiss.

Oh thank you.

Fran gifts him a grateful smile she doesn't know is purely beatific . . .

Thank you so much for this.

. . . and turns to find Dom in the crowd.

His smile is huge, all small white teeth on display.

Bright blue eyes lit up as she approaches.

And Fran even manages, . . .

"You were great, Fran!"

. . . to toss out a cheeky little curtsy . . .

"Thank you."

. . . to him.

"I got some pictures."

"You did not!"

And makes good her . . .

"Of course, I did!"

"Oh my gosh!"

. . . escape.


Rome is rockin'. This weird mixture of modern and ancient.

So much more to tell in Italy.

And of course, back to Frannie's roots ;)

Thanks for reading and thank you to DinahRay for reviewing! I really appreciate that. :D