Furtive Meetings
@macedonian-queen
This particular rendition of The Fall of Icarus had chosen East River as Icarus’s final destination with the Brooklyn bridge as its background. You could barely make out Icarus’s legs sticking out of the water. Christopher wondered how ambitious the photographer had been. Did she set the scene with a model in the water, or had she added the legs in post? She’d taken liberties of course, the images did not include the farmer or the shepherd, but it did somehow a couple picnicking and a hotdog cart. Christopher preferred the original but the new rendition was well lit with a creative composition. He did not know a lot about the art of photography, but to his inexperienced eye, the image was good enough.
He reached for a glass of wine as he waited for Lilit. He’d been tempted to invite Martin along, the only friend he’d bothered keeping in the city who was uninvolved with all aspects of the revolution, but he did not want to endanger the tentative trust he and Lilit were attempting to construct. The gallery was fairly empty, but Christopher had made sure to put a bid on a random photograph that caught his eye when he had first entered. As per the theme of the collection—which was apparently all aspects of Greece instead of neoclassicism as Christopher had initially thought—it was a modern photographic depiction of The Death of Socrates. Christopher had always been a David fan, and the depth in his paintings translated well into photography. It was a shame he couldn’t hang it in his loft, but it was better in a safe with all his other personal items. Christopher preferred for the loft to just be a headquarter of sorts. No personal touches, no friends, no human comforts. Just a packed bag, his weapons and the equipment he needed to train. He kept a proper bed in there because even he needed to sleep.
“You too, Icarus, would have taken no small place in this great work had the grief of Daedalus allowed it,” Christopher muttered, too old to really care if anyone overheard him speaking to himself. “Twice your father tried to shape your fall in gold and twice his hands fell helpless.”
Now that the sun was fully set, Christopher sat and waited by the selected photograph. If Lilit was going to keep her word, she’d be there soon. If not, then at least Christopher had a new art piece to keep holed away. He should hold more of his meetings at galleries and boutiques. It was infinitely better than Joanie’s. Even if it meant having to wear proper clothes rather than his usually sweats. Today it was slacks and a sports jacket. He’d even held off getting his ass kicked the day before so he wouldn’t have any recognizable bruising or marks on his face. He almost looked presentable.