tempus non prohibere

Professor Giovanni Sorrentino *** Theological history and philosophy professor. Someone stop the changing tides of time. It has already left he behind. welcome to paris

[professorsorrentino]

elliotmurdock‌:

“I will, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” Elliot told him, returning his smile. “I know, I’m just praying I don’t catch it - after the fire at L’Enfer, I can’t afford to get sick.” He wasn’t in the hospital that long, but it had taken a toll on him - it took weeks before he truly felt back to normal.

The brunet watched curiously as the professor began to open up his briefcase, only to reveal copies of his books inside. “Alright - I can arrange a seating area then, for those who come to listen. I started setting up the table this morning. It’s just in the back, if you want to see.”

His gaze moved to where he was motioning to, past a few of the shelves, to where he’d began setting up a table in a more open area of the shop - but when he looked back, the other was holding his book out to him. “Oh.” He took it, and gave him a smile, nodding. He had a thank you in his head already, truly appreciative of it, even if he was rather dense when it came to visual art (although, perhaps reading about it may improve that situation.)

He was ready to thank him, when he suddenly heard several books toppling to the floor. He groaned, setting Giovanni’s book down behind the counter quickly. “I’m just going to pick them up, so they’re not in the way - I can just sort them later. I’m terribly sorry for this.”

The brunet moved to do just as he said, before poking his head out around the corner, books piled up on one of his hands as he continued adding to it. “Is there anything particular you want arranged for the reading? Tea, snacks, posters…?”

Giovanni moved to action as quickly as the bookseller did. “Please, let me help,” he said, not waiting to be affirmed or refused. He crouched down to pick up a newly damaged copy of the newest Fitzgerald, the blue face of mourning staring back at him over the city lights. Giovanni tucked the book under his arm as he moved to help clean the mess. “Some children have such little respect for things that don’t belong to them,” he said gathering as many fallen books as he could in his arms.

He deposited his stack on the shelf, looking at the small man running himself ragged. “I’m sorry to hear about the fire,” he said quietly. “One of my dear friends was in attendance as well. What a tragic way to lay a loved one to rest. Were you close?” he asked, before immediately shaking his head and dismissing his own question. “I’m sorry, that’s inappropriate of me. I hope your health is returning.”

He placed the copy of The Great Gatsby on the counter beside his own possessions. “Tea and snacks would be ideal. It might be the only thing people come from,” he said, attempting a half-hearted laugh at his own self-depreciation.

[professorsorrentino]

nettyfawn‌:

For a moment, Annette is stunned by the man’s reaction – and it shows briefly on the face of her character as her browns lightly lift. However, Fawn recovers quickly – courtesans must be ready to improvise their way through the unexpected. 

“Now come, Monsieur Sorrentino, you’ll hurt my feelings if you don’t come,” she implores, sporting a pout on her bow shaped lips. “These men have told me so much about you, you can’t leave me wanting.”

She winks at the group of red faced, chuckling behind him before taking his hand.

“I promise that I don’t bite – unless you want me to,” Fawn grins playfully as she pulls him towards her, addressing his cohorts over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up boys, I’ve already decided I like this one. If I keep him longer than an hour it’s going on your tab!”

And with that, she tugs the nervous man (Gio, they said his name was?) in the direction of the pleasure suites. Nervous energy practically radiates from him – and not the kind that signifies the anxiety of anticipation of what is to come. That she knows how to efficiently remedy.

Escorting him into the room, Fawn closed the door behind them and locks it, giving Gio a smile as she nears him once more and extends her dainty fingers to play with his tie. 

“In spite of what your friends at the table directed, you are not required to do anything that you do not wish to do,” she informs him, her voice a smooth lull that is almost a siren melody. 

“I only bring you back here because, well, your friends have already paid for my time. I could rather give it to you than them, monsieur. But we do not have to partake in anything that doesn’t please you. We can just talk the hour away. Get to know each other, yes? Would that be more to your liking?” 

Giovanni isn’t sure what embarrasses him more. His colleagues and their assumption that this sort of "surprise” is necessary, or his own “prudish” (as Cal and Dupont were no doubt calling it at this very moment) reaction to being tugged away from his group by a woman who has been paid to try to impress him. The whole ordeal was so utterly beyond his control and Giovanni was not a man who enjoyed situations in which he could not find some manner of control over.

Once the two had retreated back into the labyrinth of private rooms, the door locked and closed behind them, Giovanni turned to the girl. “I’m so sorry,” he began softly, looking more towards the floor than at her directly. But something about her admission, that someone was going to take advantage of the time bought and paid for regardless of his objection, quieted him for a moment.

“More than anything, I’m sorry that you have to know that man,” he laughed, though the unease and tension never left his shoulders even as his tone softened. “Cal is... obnoxious is too kind a word, no?”

[professorsorrentino]

madamemoreau‌:

These days, Vivienne had been attempting to fill her life with as much buzz and business as she could possibly manage. There was always someone at her table, chattering away about how badly they wanted to play some part or other, or raiding her record collection for hours, making the walls shake by playing Debussy or Cole Porter at thunderous volumes.

She tried to tell herself that she was simply being hospitable, the same as always.

As lies went, it wasn’t outlandish. If not for the overwhelming rushes of horror helplessness that she felt at the thought of being alone, this pretense of normalcy could simply be a regular day.

Unfortunately, today was a rare lonely day for Vivienne. Try as she might, she was unable to let her thoughts drift to anything but momentary flashes of neon, or the acrid stench of smoke.

Before she could dwell on such horrors any further, however, the doorbell suddenly reverberated through her surroundings. Thank god! she thought, springing up from her seat as quickly as she could. 

In a manner that she would have found highly annoying on any other day, the ringing was followed by rapid, deafening knocking. Today, however, the impatient sound had a calming effect. If anyone could distract her a little, surely it was the scholar in combat with her front door.

“Giovanni!” she said as she came face-to-face with her old friend.”Come in! Come in!”  She attempted a smile at the sight of him, small though it was. She gestured through the doorway, and lead the way into her front room as she spoke. “How are you, darling? Tell me everything!”

Vivienne was a whirlwind of kindness as she was each time he saw her. Just the way she excitedly exclaimed his name made him smile as he was ushered into her magnificent home. He followed her gesture, nudging his glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose as he shuffled into the front room.

“You know nothing ever changes with me. My new book was printed last month,” he shrugged and added, “Finally. I have a signing at a bookstore sometime next week that I’m absolutely dreading.” 

He turned to face his friend, perhaps one of his oldest friends outside of his work friends (most of whom he barely considered acquaintances, if he were completely honest with himself), a warm smile on his face so full of affection. “Viv,” he said softly, in a voice so full of concern and sympathy. He opened his arms up, holding himself open as if he might hug her. Though, he made no effort to approach her. She could come to him if she so chose.

“I heard about your friend,” he admitted, “and the fire. Are you okay?”

[professorsorrentino]

elliotmurdock‌:

At Giovanni’s question, Elliot shook his head slightly. “Unfortunately not. He’s been feeling under the weather this week, and doesn’t want to pass the illness on to anyone else.” He explained, eyes quickly flicking over to the group of teenagers as they momentarily got louder. The man seemed to dislike the fact, but he smiled anyway, which was at least partially reassuring.

He’d had meetings by himself before, he didn’t mind. If the owner trusted him to do it himself, then it would be fine… he hoped. He only hoped he would ask all the questions necessary; not everyone had telephones at their disposal, and although Elliot had access to one at the store, he wasn’t sure if Giovanni would have one available to answer a question. 

“Yes…” He answered before actually following Giovanni’s gaze around the store. He bit his lip, not wanting to reschedule. It would be a last resort, if anything else came up, he decided. “Yes, it should be fine. Do you intend to read part of your book to an audience, or will it be just a signing?” 

“Well, please send him my regards,” Giovanni said, sympathetically. He smiled kindly at Elliot and added, “And also my thanks that he’s not here to infect the rest of us. Who has the time to be sick these days?”

Giovanni rested his leather case on top of the counter. The case popped open with a snap and the professor retrieved his book from inside. “My publisher, I believe, would like for me to do a reading. As much as I’d rather not,” he admitted. But anything to make his publisher happy.

“Here,” he said, passing the book to Elliot with an appreciative smile. It was signed with a thank you to the boy inside. An identical one for the owner of the shop was still inside his case. “I’m not sure if analysis of Pagan symbolism in Renaissance art is your favorite genre but--”

Giovanni was interrupted by the sound of books slapping against the floor, an avalanche of pages tumbling off a shelf nearby. The group of youths who had been browsing were skittering like rats towards the exit.

[anneesfollesrpg]

It’s another Meme Monday!

Here’s another meme drop to spice your Mondays up. These memes—which can be done at any time throughout the week until the next one is posted— are not mandatory, but they can be a whole lot of fun. As usual please follow our guideline on meme etiquette to the best of your ability. Who knows, perhaps you may find out something new about your connections!

LIVING SPACES.

[borrowed from here]

Describe your muse’s…

🏠- House

⛰- Front/backyard

🌹- Garden

🚙- Car

📺- Living room/lounge

🔪- Kitchen

🕳- Basement

🛁- Bathroom(s)

🛏- Bedroom(s)

👕- Closet

🛌- Bedding

📥- Nightstand

📦- Desk

🗑- Trashcan

🎐- items/knick knacks they collected

🎀- Jewelry or accessories they have

🐻- Toys or stuffed animals (theirs or not)

🖼- Framed photos

⚱️- Homely decorations

💆- Their hairbrush

📖- Their diary

📔- Their notes/records

🗓- Their calendar

🕰- Their clock

👝- The contents of their purse/backpack/bag

🛠- The contents of their toolbox

🕯- The contents of their emergency supply kit

🍎- The kind of food they store in the kitchen

🔨- Their garage

❓- Any secret rooms they have

[professorsorrentino]

nettyfawn‌:

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for men to buy evenings with the courtesans by proxy. Sometimes a group of rich university boys eager to deflower a classmate, a group of men on a stage night looking to give their soon-to-be-married friend one final night of debauchery, and yes, a group of colleagues looking to give the man of the hour a birthday present he would likely never forget. 

Cal was a regular client of Fawn’s (he made odd sounds when he rutted into her, he was grabby – particularly when it came to her rear – and was all too unremarkable in the bedroom altogether). However, he was generally harmless, so Annette had no reservations when he asked if she would do a favor for him with a friend.

(Well, it couldn’t quite be a favor when she was getting paid, could it?)

“This must be the Monsieur Sorrentio I’ve heard so much about,” Fawn coos as she arrives at the table, kissing the air next to Cal’s cheek in greeting (can’t have a regular client feeling ignored) before casting her eyes on Giovanni with a playful smile and a hand on her hip as she looked him over. She’d picked him out early in the evenings – some men just had a certain look. 

“I’m Fawn, it’s my every pleasure to meet you,” she says lightly, extending her hand to him. “I hope you enjoyed our little show, hm?”

“Absolutely not.” 

Giovanni’s voice is firm and indignant. His shoulder ducks and tosses his colleague’s arm from around his shoulder. The girl standing over him is so young. Barely more than a child. Hell, she could have been his child. Which is, no doubt, part of the appeal for Cal and countless other men. He knows this in a way that makes his stomach turn. Even her name--Fawn--conjures images of a newly born animal. Giant eyes and no reason to distrust anyone, yet. Still all legs and wobbly knees struggling to take her first steps into this cruel world.

Trapped between this girl and his colleagues, the only place for him to recoil is into himself. “I’m sorry, signorina. There’s been a mis--” he begins before he is shoved out of his seat and to his feet.

“Get over yourself, Gio,” Cal hollers from behind him. “This lovely lady here is the best ride in the whole place and she’s all yours for the next hour. Blow off a little steam. Or let her blow some off of you, old man.” 

Crass and vile. Everything Giovanni expects of the American man is on full, unapologetic, display. It is Dupont’s behavior he finds more shocking. The way both men hold each other, laughing in the face of Giovanni’s discomfort. In the face of a young woman who they have seemingly passed between them like a toy on the playground. Mortified doesn’t begin to explain the extent of Giovanni’s horror. 

“Forgive me,” he says quietly, his back towards the colleagues he will never look fully in the face again, “this is all a cruel joke to them.”

[professorsorrentino]

elliotmurdock‌:

Elliot had a meeting soon, and he knew that. They’d had book signings and readings there before, and the owners liked the publicity of having local authors. So, when they were contacted about having an event for a professor’s book, they definitely couldn’t say no. The trouble was that they decided that they weren’t going to be the ones to meet up with the man to discuss details, Elliot was.

It wasn’t that he was incapable of doing the meeting, nor did he mind. And they certainly had a good excuse - they were going to do it, up until a few days prior to the meeting, when one of them started to develop a cold. He wasn’t quite as young anymore, and so when he struck ill, he didn’t often leave the house, leaving Elliot to have the meeting by himself. 

After another moment of trying to calm down the youngsters circled around a certain book, Elliot sighed, giving up. He hadn’t even heard the bell of the door opening, nor did he see Giovanni while he was busy dealing with the teenagers, so when he walked back towards his desk he jumped when he saw the man in the shelves. “Professor Sorrentino,” he greeted, a smile on his face, “I’m afraid it’s just going to be us today, is that alright?” 

Elliot seemed, as best Giovanni could tell, a bit frazzled. He was young, that could be assessed by looking at him. Barely beyond the blissful care free years of his childhood. And yet, he carried on him a sense of responsibility that Giovanni couldn’t help but respect. 

“Will the owner not be joining us today?” he questioned, pushing his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. The natural tone of his voice, bathed in his undoubtedly foreign accent, make the question sound like a condescension rather than a basic curiosity. He smiled, hoping to give himself a bit more warmth. “This is perfectly all right.”

The rustle of patrons around them never quieted and Giovanni glanced at the many many fires that would require Elliot’s attention. “Are you certain you have time today?” Giovanni pointedly did not offer to reschedule. If that was a decision that needed to be made, the boy would have to come to it on his own.

[professorsorrentino]

🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc)

🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc)

1. Giovanni’s hair has been at least partially grey since he was in his late twenties. He took to shaving it when he was thirty and has done so ever since.

2. He isn’t the most physically fit person in the world and he has never been. He is slimmer than he used to be but he was never someone who had an ideal body.

3. His fingers are calloused beyond repair from years of playing the cello.

[professorsorrentino]

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

Arrogance and self-righteousness. He is a brilliant man but that comes with a level of disconnect from the people around him. And while he always has a bleeding heart for the less fortunate or the down on their luck, that same care is rarely extended to those in the same position or social strata as he is.

[professorsorrentino]

🍰what’s my muse’s guilty pleasure? 💚 what does my muse get envious over?

🍰what’s my muse’s guilty pleasure? 

Giovanni has an embarrassing and deeply shameful love of the Paris tabloids. The gossip section is the first section he reads when he opens his paper. There’s something that feels slightly devious and exhilarating about spying on the struggles of those around him.

💚 what does my muse get envious over?

Giovanni is a fiercely competitive academic. Though he will always be polite and cordial, he feels a little green when one of his colleagues is published or makes a discovery that gets picked up by the wider world of academia.

[professorsorrentino]

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them? 🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

Giovanni went through a really deep spiral after his wife died. In the weeks after her death he drank a lot and let his sorrow get the best of him. One night he found himself in L’Enfer and in the arms of a woman he paid a great deal of money for. This is so completely out of character for Giovanni and he has been deeply embarrassed about it for years. His wife’s grave was fresh and he feels as though he betrayed her.

🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

Giovanni was always a gifted student in school though his weakest subject was always arithmetic. His mind is designed for more abstract thought and the application of complex equations and formulas was never something he was going to be good at.

[professorsorrentino]

closed starter ➼ @madamemoreau​

Not in the habit of making house calls--not even to one he would truly call his friend--Giovanni waited anxiously outside a home decidedly too large for the single woman who owned it. 

It was more difficult than it should have been to discern the truth of the catastrophic event from the sensation that had been made of it. One paper said the fire had taken down an entire city block (visibly false). Another said thousand had died in the fire that disrupted their final moments of mourning (morbid, but also likely untrue). One had even asserted that now fewer than twenty women in the night club’s employ had thrown themselves upon the departed’s casket, all exclaiming that they were to go down with their metaphorical ship (this, of course, was the tawdry story that circled the halls of academia--though no one was certain if it was the club or the dead man that was supposed to represent the ship).

Giovanni hadn’t known the man. Sources said he was a blood thirsty criminal, others called him a shrewd businessman and he took the truth to lie somewhere in the middle. But Giovanni knew two things for certain. The first was that death was an awful tragedy inflicted on those left behind. No matter the manner of person meeting their end, they were surely leaving some person behind. And the second was that his friend was, in what way he did not know, one of those people being left behind.

He rapped his knuckles against the door a second time after the chime of the bell faded into the depths of Vivienne’s home. 

[anneesfollesrpg]

It’s another Meme Monday!

Here’s another meme drop to spice your Mondays up. These memes—which can be done at any time throughout the week until the next one is posted— are not mandatory, but they can be a whole lot of fun. As usual please follow our guideline on meme etiquette to the best of your ability. Who knows, perhaps you may find out something new about your connections!

CHARACTER FLAWS.

[borrowed from here]

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw

🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc)

🙈what’s my muse’s biggest blind spot?

🍰what’s my muse’s guilty pleasure?

😰when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?

💚what does my muse get envious over?

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

🛌my muse’s biggest nightmare

✍️does my muse have a learning disability?

🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

🙅‍♂️what does my muse feel insecure about?

👾what was my muse’s childhood bogeyman?

🙉what are two things that make my muse uncomfortable in conversation

[professorsorrentino]

closed starter ➼ @elliotmurdock

This had been his publisher’s idea. Giovanni hardly had time for such things, between his studies and his students. His faculty obligations, his frustrating colleagues, his tragically empty home... The point was that Giovanni was a very busy man. And yet, here he was, forced to set up his own publicity because his publisher was also a very busy man. 

Giovanni moves about the shop like an explorer in a new world. This shop was a far cry from the library of his university. Its few patrons were young and shabby looking, huddled around a single book, laughing at some impenetrable, unknown jest. His hands traced over the spines of a row of poetry books. When he grazed over a row of American imports, he muttered “fascist” like a curse at the embossed lettering of Ezra Pound’s most recent endeavor. 

He had set up a meeting last week. Something quick to set up a reading or a signing. Anything to sell his book, or so his publisher had said. Giovanni wondered if the children in the corner bore even a passing interest in the evolution of Pagan symbolism in Renaissance art.

[professorsorrentino]

closed starter ➼ @charlotte-leigh​

From his office, Giovanni could see just the top of the Chapelle de la Sorbonne. The structure, beautiful in its meticulous symmetry, peeked out just above the horizon. It’s holy spire pierced the setting sun. Catholic architects, he thought to himself, the only thing they love more than their guilt are their domes.

He should go home. He should have gone home hours ago. Burning his candle at both ends--that’s what his wife would call it. Giovanni absently traced his finger through a patch of dust atop the ledge of his window and pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses dangled precariously from its tip. Had it been the sunset that distracted him from his work? Or some distant thought that he ought not be here at all? Giovanni couldn’t remember, but the tea that waited for him beside his typewriter had already cooled to an undrinkable temperature. He nearly spat it all over his desk when he took a sip. His office had grown dark, nighttime spilling out of the punctured sun.

He wasn’t the only one left lurking the faculty offices, though. A knock on his door disturbed the tomb that Giovanni felt near ready to bury himself in. “I’m sorry to interrupt Professor,” came the cautious voice of his doctoral candidate and blessedly hardworking assistant, “there’s someone here to see you.”

[anneesfollesrpg]

It’s another Meme Monday!

Here’s another meme drop to spice your Mondays up. These memes—which can be done at any time throughout the week until the next one is posted— are not mandatory, but they can be a whole lot of fun. As usual please follow our guideline on meme etiquette to the best of your ability. Who knows, perhaps you may find out something new about your connections!

CONFESS.

Blab: Three secrets they’re keeping.

Mwah: Three people they’d like to kiss.

Similar: Three members of the same sex they find attractive.

Different: Three members of the opposite sex they find attractive.

Pastime: Three hobbies they have.

Doing: Three habits that they have.

Psst: Three things that they’ve always wanted to tell your character.

Shh: Three things they wouldn’t want their parents to know.

Dream: Three wishes they have.

Want: Three things they would do to your character if they were alone.

[professorsorrentino]

closed starter: @nettyfawn

"You cannot be serious,” he said under his breath outside the establishment. His colleagues had all but forced him out of the automobile in front of one of Montmartre’s most famous landmarks. The red windmill towered over them ominously as Giovanni, quite indignantly, pushed his glasses back into lack on the bridge of his nose. They--these people who claimed to be his friends, his companions, his amici--paid no attention to his objections.

Professor Martian Dupont waved away his concerns entirely, “It’s your birthday. Lighten up, old man.” Dupont, Giovanni felt it worth noting, was a full half-decade older than he was. Though, you’d never know it if you looked at his academic accomplishments, the company he kept, or his absurdly dyed black hair. It seemed the only gift Giovanni would be receiving for his sixty-first birthday was being held hostage by the polite conventions that put him at the mercy of such a baffoon and his eager young acolytes hoping to squeeze tenure positions out of his culo.

Clearly his birthday was not about him. The later the night dragged on, the more evident that fact became. Giovanni nursed his scotch and watching the ice block melt at about the same rate has his respect for any of his colleagues. They howled at performers on stage as they playfully removed articles of clothing until they were down to the tiny garments that a man would have to pay a great deal to remove.

“Here comes the best part,” exclaimed Cal (he could hardly believe that this was the America’s real name, but he insisted it was and so Giovanni was forced to call him such, having not earned the title of Professor yet). He was drunk, his unsteady finger pointing towards a woman sauntering towards their table. Giovanni hoped she was coming to ask them to leave, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case. It was verified as Dupont threw his arm around his shoulder, raising his fourth gin and tonic in the air. There was a heat rising up from beneath his collar before he even heard the man slur: “This is your real present.”