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Venice, 1486.
At first, he puts up a bit of a fight –– he has better things to do with his time, doesn't he? –– but he is sufficiently drunk and everyone else has wandered off with various women to pass out, and there's no beautiful woman catching his fancy tonight. What's the harm in any of it?
"Any of it" is, of course, Leonardo's canvas and paint.
Leonardo is in the mood to paint, as well as being a great deal more sober, and Ezio's as good of a subject as any. Leonardo's like that, sometimes; he can be fickle and so picky about his art, and when the inspiration strikes, he acts on it. It's doubly frustrating when Ezio knows the piece likely won't get finished. Leonardo is getting notorious about that.
When he points that out, Leonardo replies, "Conceiving it in my mind is enough for me. I don't need to finish it."
"Not all of us can conceive it as you can, nor can we look into your mind," Ezio scoffs. "I will end up doing all that posing for nothing."
"No one would buy a painting of you anyway," Leonardo says. It could be a snipe, but it isn't; Ezio Auditore isn't exactly in high demand as a subject of paintings, and even if he were, he doesn't need to make his face more public than it already is. Conspirators and Pazzi family members and Templars don't need to hang his face on their walls, now, do they?
"No one wants to buy your paintings at all, my friend," Ezio replies. This is an obvious snipe, but Leonardo isn't bothered by it, as he is well aware that his habit of abandoning projects before completion is making it tough to find dedicated customers. In fact, Leonardo even seems content that way –– until he can no longer afford to live comfortably, he can skate by on this.
Leonardo hasn't asked Ezio to take his clothes off, or even suggested that this painting would be better nude, but Ezio starts stripping off his tunic anyway. Leonardo looks at him with a faint sort of surprise, eyebrows lifted.
"Ezio, that won't be necessary."
Ezio ignores him, already stripped to the waist. He drops his shirts on the ground and then picks up a flagon of wine by the neck and tips it back, drinking deeply for a moment. Leonardo watches him, still holding a tube of paint in one hand, open and oozing.
"If I'm going to do this, it might as well be memorable," he replies, firmly, before moving on to his pants. "I don't need a stuffy portrait. I'd rather look like a God."
Leonardo just laughs, going back to reading his palette. Ezio drags a couch away from the wall, cramming the decorative pillows to one end. He flops over on the pile, wine still in hand. He spends a brief moment shifting about, getting comfortable.
"There's a rule, though."
"And what's what?" Leonardo replies, setting a canvas on a rack. Ezio takes another swig.
"None of that androgynous nonsense," Ezio says, rolling his shoulders experimentally. They're still sore from a few days of hard work and climbing and assassinations –– the entire cause of this night of celebration and drinking. "I know it's in vogue right now to make men look more like women, but I am most certainly a man."
He shoots a pointed look in Leonardo's direction, but Leonardo has vanished behind the canvas. Ezio takes a moment to adjust himself, not sure how the hell these things are supposed to go, but confident enough (and drunk enough) to be comfortable laying about naked in his own house. As long as everyone else is still sleeping, anyhow. He's not sure Claudia would appreciate knowing what went on in the study while she was sleeping.
Leonardo reappears. He has this odd little smile on his face, though he's looking at the canvas, which he turns at an angle, so that he can better see both his work and his subject.
"Well, si, I can see that."
Ezio laughs, taking one last swig and setting the empty flagon down on the floor. He closes his eyes, stretching his arms out over his head to sprawl across the couch. At that very moment, he considered doing this more. It's certainly easier than running around on rooftops and lunging from the rafters. That's exhausting on a good day.
"You know," Leonardo says, "I have never had a model quite like you."
"I can be more professional, if you'd like," Ezio replies, but he doesn't even try. In fact, he relaxes even more, like some sort of oversized cat draped over the furniture.
Leonardo replies with something, but Ezio isn't exactly listening anymore. Within moments, he's fast asleep and snoring.
At first, he puts up a bit of a fight –– he has better things to do with his time, doesn't he? –– but he is sufficiently drunk and everyone else has wandered off with various women to pass out, and there's no beautiful woman catching his fancy tonight. What's the harm in any of it?
"Any of it" is, of course, Leonardo's canvas and paint.
Leonardo is in the mood to paint, as well as being a great deal more sober, and Ezio's as good of a subject as any. Leonardo's like that, sometimes; he can be fickle and so picky about his art, and when the inspiration strikes, he acts on it. It's doubly frustrating when Ezio knows the piece likely won't get finished. Leonardo is getting notorious about that.
When he points that out, Leonardo replies, "Conceiving it in my mind is enough for me. I don't need to finish it."
"Not all of us can conceive it as you can, nor can we look into your mind," Ezio scoffs. "I will end up doing all that posing for nothing."
"No one would buy a painting of you anyway," Leonardo says. It could be a snipe, but it isn't; Ezio Auditore isn't exactly in high demand as a subject of paintings, and even if he were, he doesn't need to make his face more public than it already is. Conspirators and Pazzi family members and Templars don't need to hang his face on their walls, now, do they?
"No one wants to buy your paintings at all, my friend," Ezio replies. This is an obvious snipe, but Leonardo isn't bothered by it, as he is well aware that his habit of abandoning projects before completion is making it tough to find dedicated customers. In fact, Leonardo even seems content that way –– until he can no longer afford to live comfortably, he can skate by on this.
Leonardo hasn't asked Ezio to take his clothes off, or even suggested that this painting would be better nude, but Ezio starts stripping off his tunic anyway. Leonardo looks at him with a faint sort of surprise, eyebrows lifted.
"Ezio, that won't be necessary."
Ezio ignores him, already stripped to the waist. He drops his shirts on the ground and then picks up a flagon of wine by the neck and tips it back, drinking deeply for a moment. Leonardo watches him, still holding a tube of paint in one hand, open and oozing.
"If I'm going to do this, it might as well be memorable," he replies, firmly, before moving on to his pants. "I don't need a stuffy portrait. I'd rather look like a God."
Leonardo just laughs, going back to reading his palette. Ezio drags a couch away from the wall, cramming the decorative pillows to one end. He flops over on the pile, wine still in hand. He spends a brief moment shifting about, getting comfortable.
"There's a rule, though."
"And what's what?" Leonardo replies, setting a canvas on a rack. Ezio takes another swig.
"None of that androgynous nonsense," Ezio says, rolling his shoulders experimentally. They're still sore from a few days of hard work and climbing and assassinations –– the entire cause of this night of celebration and drinking. "I know it's in vogue right now to make men look more like women, but I am most certainly a man."
He shoots a pointed look in Leonardo's direction, but Leonardo has vanished behind the canvas. Ezio takes a moment to adjust himself, not sure how the hell these things are supposed to go, but confident enough (and drunk enough) to be comfortable laying about naked in his own house. As long as everyone else is still sleeping, anyhow. He's not sure Claudia would appreciate knowing what went on in the study while she was sleeping.
Leonardo reappears. He has this odd little smile on his face, though he's looking at the canvas, which he turns at an angle, so that he can better see both his work and his subject.
"Well, si, I can see that."
Ezio laughs, taking one last swig and setting the empty flagon down on the floor. He closes his eyes, stretching his arms out over his head to sprawl across the couch. At that very moment, he considered doing this more. It's certainly easier than running around on rooftops and lunging from the rafters. That's exhausting on a good day.
"You know," Leonardo says, "I have never had a model quite like you."
"I can be more professional, if you'd like," Ezio replies, but he doesn't even try. In fact, he relaxes even more, like some sort of oversized cat draped over the furniture.
Leonardo replies with something, but Ezio isn't exactly listening anymore. Within moments, he's fast asleep and snoring.