Requiem for the living

Chapter 10: The Ballad of Mona Lisa

"In the beginning of time
As a bright light appeared in the sky
The voice of God Himself could've been heard
As saint Gabriel would sing from his Horn
Begone, Thot!"

"And this is what Saint Peter would tell me if he would see this. Oh God, the pope is going to burn me on stake. Like an ungrateful witch or a cannibalistic barbeque"

Clinging desperate to Fra Luca's cloth as he would be dying - not necessarily from being sober - Leonardo DaVinci looked him in the eyes as he would have seemed the final jury. "Does she looks like a man?" he pointed angrily to the painting that was later to be called the Last Supper.

"Well...A gifted one, I suppose..." Fra Pacioli squinted shyly at the kinda transgender lady clivage,"...or like a less gifted woman."

"You're not helping!" Leonardo yelled frustrated, his hands cutting the air franatically.

"Excuse me, my dear, but weren't you the one that wanted to show off with some painting where you were chatting with Saint Peter?" Fra Luca cut him off with the irony that sounded rather bitter, wounding the pure, but damned soul of the painter.

"Yes!"

"And now you are triggered that you painted Maria Magdalena as an apostle in disguise."

"Well, she is charming at least, isn't she? he gesticuled ridiculously towards the painting like a man that tries so hard to well something. "I mean...Jesus aproves."

"We will meet in Hell."

"I never thought you would ask me for a date, but you know...I like someone else."
"God help me, I will cut thy tongue". The ridiculousness of the situation never get the chance to cease Luca Pacioli, considering the witty chart and outdated manners Leonardo DaVinci was armed with.

"I am not a kinkshamer....",DaVinci claimed rapidly with a naughty grin on his face that had confusion written all over it. "But don't you think it is a bit...brutal?"

"The pope is coming, you have drank a grape domain worth and now the pope would only think if you are worthy or not to be his new buffon, not painter!"

"What can I say, I have many talents, mate-y", he dared proudly to say as he got two empty bottles of rum off the table in an terrible attempt to show off with his lesser known skill of jonglery.

And nevertheless, it is obvious that the first instinct that bursted out in Fra Luca's mind and body was to avoid the triggering sound of glass that would have been made if he wouldn't have taken those bottles from the painter's hands in a quick move.

"You are showing off, thou wimp!" he yelled out of anger, calming down as he felt that sad vibe that took over the soul of DaVinci, as he was a man of horrors disguised in the cloth of his talent.

"And when shall the pope cometh?" The painter asked almost in stillness of his misunderstanding, something at the verge of frustration and dissapointment, something that amused, intrigued and broke the heart of his friend.

"Not late enough for thou to sober up. Come on, ay? Chieff Sfortza told me that he shall arrive at midday, when sun is at its highest."

And the very words of the lamb of God shall never be broken, as the Pope Alexander the sixth came indeed as he claimed, like an angel descending from the high circles of Heaven no sinner can comprehend or touch, dressed as a saint would be believe to do so, in the shining armour of a gladiator that militates for mortals sins.

Leaving aside the fastuous presenting no one would believe in today, as we all know what most clerics used to be like in the descending of time where society was twisted after filthy interests, the life of such a man was put in center of his rank - the very thing that made him like a the son of Gods - nothing like Hercule thought, as no one would dare to even compare the muscular mass of those two.