He has the grace (or perhaps the ingrained habit) to duck his head at the compliment, though he knows he can hardly deny it. Ganymede doesn't really intend to, because he knows he isn't horrible to look at--that much has been made unerringly clear to him over the millennia. But he knows what Armand is getting at anyway, that he is at least as attractive as a man than he ever would have been as a woman; he's never particularly felt the need to try blending in with the fairer sex visually. He seeks enough refuge among them every other day. "I was told the last time I gave it any sort of attempt, at a friend's behest, that I look less like a woman and more like a man in a very uncomfortable dress."
It had been, and he had been, and the laughter was merry while it had lasted. And then he'd gotten back into his own clothes.
"I think flaws...are what makes people people, not mannequins. It's the scars, the bad haircuts, the unsettling looks, and the strangeness of those little out-of-place things about people that makes them unique. Flaws are valuable, for me at least, because they are what I like to find in people. I don't need perfect--I've lived a long time, and perfection is largely overrated. Perfect is boring, partly because it's impossible to achieve naturally. But I am not interested in making anyone else vulnerable, honestly. It's better to be given something than to take it, most of the time." Ganymede is at ease talking like this with Armand, and he doesn't mind the unsettling look his friend is giving him when he confesses that he has indeed posed on purpose for some artwork. But he won't give away the exact statue quite that easily. He knows Armand likes a challenge.
"I have lived in Florence at several points, yes. And I did know Michelangelo quite well. He was one of the people I posed for. He gave me a little wax doll and a sketch of what he intended to sculpt from my posing for him. I'm not sure which museum that's in, anymore...they might have been split up." He meets Armand's burning orange gaze evenly and without fright, watching his friend watch him carefully and almost seeing the wheels in his head turn. "You seem to have an idea of what statue I posed for."
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It had been, and he had been, and the laughter was merry while it had lasted. And then he'd gotten back into his own clothes.
"I think flaws...are what makes people people, not mannequins. It's the scars, the bad haircuts, the unsettling looks, and the strangeness of those little out-of-place things about people that makes them unique. Flaws are valuable, for me at least, because they are what I like to find in people. I don't need perfect--I've lived a long time, and perfection is largely overrated. Perfect is boring, partly because it's impossible to achieve naturally. But I am not interested in making anyone else vulnerable, honestly. It's better to be given something than to take it, most of the time." Ganymede is at ease talking like this with Armand, and he doesn't mind the unsettling look his friend is giving him when he confesses that he has indeed posed on purpose for some artwork. But he won't give away the exact statue quite that easily. He knows Armand likes a challenge.
"I have lived in Florence at several points, yes. And I did know Michelangelo quite well. He was one of the people I posed for. He gave me a little wax doll and a sketch of what he intended to sculpt from my posing for him. I'm not sure which museum that's in, anymore...they might have been split up." He meets Armand's burning orange gaze evenly and without fright, watching his friend watch him carefully and almost seeing the wheels in his head turn. "You seem to have an idea of what statue I posed for."