Brains over Beauty

Quinque

UNEDITED

I strolled through the halls of the university art gallery, during my two hour break between classes, gazing at the classical, pieces such as Monet's, van Gogh's, Da Vinci's and Michelangelo's that had been obtained through many years of fundraising and donating from famous. As I was studying one of van Gogh's early sketches I heard a soft male voice floating through the room its intelligent english lilt drawing my attention. 

"This is the Esposito room, it is filled with pieces that were either bought or donated by the Italian family, famously referred to as one of the most respected founders of the university" I turned to face the owner of the voice, and found it to be a dashing young man, dressed in a dark suit with an outrageously patterned tie, wire framed glasses  and messy, curly brown hair. He was leading what looked like a tour through the gallery and I watched as the eyes of the women stayed trained on him, rather than the art, as he motioned passionately towards the pieces. I smiled slightly at his raw passion and his naivety, before turning back to the piece studying van Gogh's line work. I was just about to turn and move on when I heard the guides voice grow closer, "And ladies and gentlemen, the piece this lovely lady is looking at is one of the three van Gogh's we have here at the university," he paused, shooting me a friendly but shy smile, i shot him a quick grin noticing the eyes of the group studying me and receiving a few appreciative glances from the men in the group, before quickly moving on to the other side of the room. 

Ten minutes later I had made my way to the last painting in the room when I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, I turned to see none other then the tour guide himself standing next to me, he shifted slightly on his feet. "I'm so sorry we interrupted you're viewing," he said a faint blush creeping up on his high cheekbones, I studied him my face expressionless before turning back towards the piece, "It's not a problem I was finished with that one anyway" he loosed a breath and moved closer to where I was standing in front of the painting, "You see that faint watermark there?" he asked, pointing a long slender finger to an almost invisible waterline in the Durer watercolour I was currently viewing, "It's said that whilst Durer was painting this piece when arguing with his wife and she had knocked over a container of water after he made the famous comment of her being an 'old crow'" I raised my eyebrows and turned to him, "I didn't know that," I said pausing, "I wonder if she knew that by doing that she would put her own mark on art history" he let out a soft laugh, raising a hand to cover his mouth slightly before speaking through his chuckle, "I suppose not" my eyes watched the movement and I clocked his artist's hands, stained with what looked like dark blue and red oil paints, I looked to his nails and found I was correct because there were slight remains of both a deep red and a dark blue wedged in the corners of his nails as though he had just finished washing his brushes. "Baking soda and coconut oil" I said meeting his gaze, he cocked his head to the side and I caught the spicy scent of whatever cologne he was wearing, "Excuse me?" he asked, I held up a hand, "to get the oil paint off, mix baking soda and coconut oil, it works better then any chemical and it'll keep your hands in good shape"  his eyes widened and I pursed my lips before I turned and began walking away, "Thank-you!" I heard him yell, and I shot him a strained smile over my shoulder before exiting the gallery with one thought floating around in my head 'what an odd, shy man'.