I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury
Dom and Fran are adorbs.
Places in Books
Ah, Venice. (And Pisa. And Florence.)
And they do climb Mt. Vesuvius.
"You okay, Fran?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm . . . whew . . . good."
And the volcano does not explode.
And it is . . .
"Wow."
"Yeah."
. . . absolutely beautiful up there.
And after that, well, after a rest after that, they hop a train . . .
Farewell, Home of Pizza, you will always be in my heart . . .
. . . and ride it the three hours . . .
"So, Fran, how's the book? Will you read more to me?"
"Oh, uh, sure. I mean, if you like. Um, okay, . . . 'There's no greys, only white that's got grubby . . .'"
. . . to Florence.
Where they visit the Duomo and the Uffizi Gallery and the Palazzo Vecchio.
". . . many beautiful places, I mean, how can there be so many beautiful places in all the world . . ."
As well as . . .
"Where are we, Dom?"
"I'm not really sure. All these backstreets look the same."
. . . getting completely and utterly lost.
"Yeah. And so cool. I mean, look at all these little cafes and shops and stuff."
Which actually turns out to be pretty . . .
"Yeah. I guess we'll find our way out eventually."
"Yep, we always do."
. . . awesome in and of itself.
"Okay, whew, gotta love trains. I'm beat."
"Yeah."
And they rest and recover strength and in general just enjoy the sprawling countryside and little villas and towns and hamlets from Florence . . .
"Hey, you got any more Snickers?"
"I think so. Here."
"Thanks."
. . . to Bologna . . .
". . . deli meat?"
"The tomato sauce, I think."
"Oh. That makes more sense."
. . . to Padua . . .
"Isn't that where part of Romeo and Juliet takes place?"
"Yeah. Wanna stop and check it out?"
"No. Double suicide is not romantic. It's just sad."
"You're the best, Fran."
"Um, thank you?"
. . . all the way to . . .
"Oh my gosh, Dom. Really?"
"Yeah. You up for this?"
". . . Venice?! Yeah!"
The one place there aren't any vrooming cars.
Honking trucks.
Or even . . .
"Well, I guess we're hoofing it."
. . . any puttering mopeds.
"Sure. Or we could . . ."
"Oh. Okay!"
Only in her wildest dreams has Frances Faye Fugleman ever dared to imagine this sort of scenario.
Her.
And a man.
"Come here, Fran."
This man.
"What?"
Drifting down the lazy waterways . . .
"Sit next to me."
. . . of Venice, Italy . . .
"Really?"
. . . on a sleek, black gondola.
"Yeah. I mean, if you want."
You bet, I want.
Ahem.
Over the sparkling waters.
Under the arched walkways.
Between narrow buildings, ancient and beautiful, . . .
". . . nessun . . . dorma. . ."
. . . green potted plants waving languidly in the gentle breeze.
". . . nessun . . . dorma . . ."
Their gondolier, decked out in an actual red-striped shirt and red ribboned sashed straw hat, expertly and casually guiding their floating conveyance along the waterways . . .
" . . . tu pure, o Principessa . . ."
. . . of the most romantic city in all the wide world.
". . . nella tua fredda stanza . . ."
And by his own invitation and her bravery, Frannie enjoys all this whilst snuggled against the warm side of Dominic Hargan.
"guardi le stelle che tremano . . ."
Half reposed in their seats, gondolier behind them.
". . . d'amore e di speranza . . ."
Sun warm upon their faces, breeze refeshing upon their skin.
". . . ma il mio mistero รจ chiuso in me . . ."
There in . . .
Ah, Venice.
. . . Italy.
There's an open air market, like so many.
Jewelry, clothes, leather goods, food.
She's standing idly by a fig bin when it happens.
"Hey, Frannie, catch!"
And she looks.
Dom, just a few feet away.
Mischeivous grin in his face, that twinkle in his blue eyes.
And she . . .
Oop-
. . . just manages to catch the red apple he has tossed to her.
Hey, . . .
A little more gracefully than she usually would.
. . . I caught it.
And she giggles and he grins.
". . . ragazzo amante you have there. Lucky girl."
And it's the fig seller, a little old lady, head wrapped in a colorful scarf.
And Fran's . . .
"Pardon?"
. . . bewildered.
The lady grins at her, missing teeth and green ocean eyes.
"Your lover boy. Throwing apple."
And Fran's blushing.
"Wha- lover boy? Oh no, no, we're just friends."
Comforting pat of the hand, old and wrinkled upon hers.
"He throw you apple. Sign of love."
Fran glances over at Dom.
Feet away, too much to hear, surely.
And Dom, . . .
Oh my gosh . . .
. . . winks.
No. That's silly.
But still . . .
He just threw me an apple.
. . . it's nice.
And Pisa . . .
"Oh my gosh, is it . . . is it safe?"
. . . is just as fascinating.
First there was the sinking, tilting city of Venice.
Now there's . . .
"Well, I mean, I guess."
. . . the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
And she guesses Dom's right.
Of course the wires and cords and leaning tower wouldn't concern him.
He's got Rhino power.
A sword of white light that can blaze forth from his hand at any time.
Save them from imminent danger.
Just like he did on the docks when she was almost struck . . .
I mean, in retrospect, I guess I could have just moved.
. . . by that falling metal sign.
So she guesses he can just . . .
You know, pfooof . . .
. . . protect them if something were to happen.
Still . . .
"What, uh, what else is there here? Something less . . . tumbly?"
And Dom . . .
"Yeah, I still have just the thing. Come on."
And boy, . . .
Oh my gosh-
. . . does he.
It's cold.
It's creamy.
It's delicious, delectable, and delightful.
And it comes in so many flavors.
Custard. Sweetened Cream. Rice Pudding.
Rum Raisin.
Cream and Sweet Wine.
Cream and Sour Cherry.
Nougat and Nut. And Cream with Chocolate Sauce and Black Licorice and Bubble Gum and Mint and Cinnamon and Pistachio and Coconut and Walnut and Orange Chocolate and Spiced Hot Chocolate and Chocolate with Chili Peppers . . .
"See, now, this is the way to do Hot Chili Pepper, right, Fran?"
"Well, I wasn't going to say anything . . ."
. . . and Extra Dark Chocolate and Chestnut and Dark Chocolate Hazelnut and Caramel and Almond and Almond Cookie and Cooked Cream and Custard Chocolate with Ladyfingers and Chocolate Chip Cookie and Coffee and Tiramisu and Milk Chocolate with Hazelnuts.
And yes, even . . .
"Can I try . . ."
. . . simple Hazelnut.
True . . .
Oh . . .
. . . Italian . . .
. . . my . . .
. . . gelato.
. . . gosh-
She could eat the gelato alllll day.
She could eat it until her brains froze.
She could eat until her belly bulged.
She could eat until she made herself sick.
But instead . . .
"Uno o due?"
"Um, uno?"
"Si, Signora."
"Grazie."
"Molto gradito."
. . . she settles for a single delicious, delectable, delightful scoop.
"Oh my gosh-"
Of cold, creamy hazelnut.
Though they may . . .
"Where are we going next?"
"Well-"
"And will there be gelato?"
. . . have to stop off for more . . .
"Oh, Fran, you're so cute."
I'm so hungry for gelato.
. . . along the way.
And there is more gelato.
Much more gelato.
Though she just settles for one more scoop in a tiny cup.
Well, . . .
Maybe two?
And that's okay.
Because there will be more delicious delicacies.
"What do you say, Fran? On to France?"
Oh gosh, well, . . .
"Yes!"
Before their trip is through.
The song playing as they ride the gondola is Nessun Dorma by Luciano Pavarotti. If it doesn't sound familiar, trust me, it's more familiar than you think. It's just one of those things that's everywhere.
And the apple thing is a Greece thing.
So enough. And fun. ;)
And thanks for reading. :)
