Chapter Text
His fingers run along the clay. One fine swoop of jawline forming underneath his very touch. Smooth and sure to reach perfection.
Octavius leans back, to better see his latest change in the clay.
No.
Imperfect.
He tries again, more frustration on his brow this time.
If the clay piece is imperfect, his marble rendition shall be as well, and he cannot have that. This sculpture is sure to get him abroad. If only he could get that jawline right..
He’s been working on this idea for years. Hours upon hours of study in the field of Roman sculpture. His life’s calling. The perfect statue, just as was crafted in ancient Rome.
He bites his lip.
No. Not just like Rome. He could never be so talented. He is only a man working a fantasy of fake talent and—
He shakes his head, refocusing his thoughts before his grip on the clay can waver. Octavius brushes a hand against the cool sculpture’s half-formed cheekbone.
If only. He sighs. If only he were to touch a real person to this degree, to form his own creation underneath his very hands and pull them into an embrace. The sculpture is beautiful, he sees it in his mind's eye. Yet it lacks something— how could such a perfect idea be lacking? He doesn’t understand, and he cannot grasp the answer. It slides from his fingers like wet clay.
There’s an echoing footstep in the hall, followed by a wild whistle. Trying not to jump he swivels his head around to see who’s so rudely interrupted his work.
“Damn I ain’t been in this museum in years! They upgraded, that’s for sure. Lookit all this fancy statue junk, y’see?” The stranger has his back turned to Octavius, looking at another one of the many fine sculptures in the gallery. A southern cowboy hat over their head, and work clothes stained with mud and outdoor muck. Octavius rolls his eyes and scoffs.
“Sir.” He starts. “This gallery is being used as my studio for the time being and I would appreciate it if you weren’t browsing while—“
“Well I’ll be damned!” His unwanted stranger pays more attention to his surroundings now. “Did you make that there statue?! It’s lookin’ mighty fancy if I do say so myself.”
Octavius doesn’t spare the intruder a glance, turning back to look at his clay stained fingers in a deadpan expression. “No. As a matter of fact, I have not sculpted this.” He sasses. “It merely appeared here! Get it away from me— cursed haunted statue!”
A laugh. A drawled, southern accented laugh. A laugh so captivating it snaps the sculptor’s gaze away more permanently now, drawing his eyes with actual interest toward the gallery’s intruder.
Blue eyes. Blue eyes are what greet him underneath the cowboy hat. And a smile, warm and accepting as all the locals in this town wear constantly.
But that jawline. The jawline. Like a snapshot of ancient Rome blessed upon him, forbidden and once inaccessible, lost to time. Yet Octavius sees this. He sees the jawline in front of him— and it is perfect. Somehow on a man so grungy and labor-ridden as this one. It’s almost unfair for such a feature to be scattered amongst the rugged look, a hidden beauty.
His breath hitches, hands seeking the clay again, but this time he doesn’t even look at how he molds it. His eyes never leave the stranger looking up at him in a smile, arm outstretched.
“Uhh. Ain’t gonna shake, partner?” The man asks. “You’re an odd duck if I’ve ever seen one.”
Octavius blinks. Oh, yes, a handshake. He lowers one arm reluctantly, still covered in clay, and takes the offer. Heat races up his arm, and the man pulls away as blush races across the sculptor's skin. “Aw damn you got your fancy clay on me!”
“Well you should have considered the consequences! I am clearly working on this clay project, yet you ask me to greet you anyway? Are you serious?” Octavius glares, eyes not leaving the jawline.
The man doesn’t pay attention for long, poking a finger at the clay. “This things real fancy y’know that? Consider yourself lucky pal, I ain’t ever been so talented.”
Octavius gasps. “I have been working on this for over two years! Refrain from ruining it if you will!”
“Sorry, sorry… Picasso… didn’t realize it was that important.”
“Picasso was a painter, I am a fine arts sculptor! Specialized in Roman techniques!” He snaps. “And I suppose you have.. a career as well?”
The man puts his hands on his hips, perfect jawline exposed even more. “Rancher, pal. I’m a farmhand!— names Jedediah. But everybody just calls me Jed.”
“If introductions are truly in order, my name is Octavius. I am a sculptor, as I suspect you understand now.” He glares. “Why are you in this gallery?”
The cowboy shrugs his shoulders. “Donno, they said the bathroom was to the left.”
“Right..”
“Oh. Well I outta go.” Jedediah begins to leave, and it takes everything in Octavius not to scream.
“Wait!”
“Yeah?”
“Would you… be interested in a commission sometime?”
“A what the hell?” The man mutters. “I dunno what that means, buckeroo.”
Octavius huffs in frustration, studying Jedediah’s jaw and then changing the clay so that it sits like it. “It is an art project made for you— or— I suppose— I am asking if you would be my model..” he wavers.
“Like, be like one of them muse— woah! You made that look like me!” Jedediah grabs his jawline, pointing excitedly to the statue underneath Octavius’s fingers.
“Indeed, that is what I mean— would you stay the moment— only a few seconds longer, so I may replicate that?” Octavius struggles out the words, awkward and foreign. “You are the jawline I have been searching for..”
“I mean, hell, sure! You gotta chair?” Jedediah asks.
The sculptor points. “Over there, underneath the table.”
His scruffy acquaintance pulls up the seat and flops down upon it completely without grace. Octavius could swear he sees dust and dirt fly off the man. So unlike the in-progress statue but with a single detail so on point he couldn’t miss it.
“Y’need me to sit like that statue pose? Arm behind my head an’ all?”
“I only need your jawline for reference— nothing more, unless you want to sit in such a way.”
The southern man puts his hand behind his head, trying to replicate the pose. He looks slightly ridiculous and Octavius has to resist pinching the bridge of his nose in lack of patience.
“How long you been an ‘artiste’ for?” Jedediah questions, using the word as if it were a fancy French concept.
“I attended an apprenticeship in Rome, my home city, for five years. The only reason I am here is for the local materials and this museum offered to take me in for this statue’s construction.”
“Damn! Five years?! That’s some real dedication, ‘Vius.” The cowboy tips his hat. “Didn’t even know people still did ‘apprenticeship’.”
“We have known one another all of five minutes, refrain from calling me ‘Vius.”
Jed huffs. “Tavius?”
“If you feel the need.” He glares into the clay. “Nonetheless, once this clay outline is finished I begin the real work of my marble rendition.”
“You mean you’re gonna make THAT outta marble too?!”
“Yes. It is my life’s work.”
Silence creeps, and Octavius sighs. His aquatintence is waiting to give his own story, likely over sharing as most people in this small city do. American hospitality is still strange.
“What about yourself?” He deadpans.
Jedediah smiles at that, flexing that jawline in a way that makes Octavius’s heart pluck with annoyance and adoration both at once.
“Aw, y’know. I’m just a Texas man makin’ his way in the world. Workin’ at Roosevelt ranch as a farmhand as of late, dunno what I’ll do next though. I ain’t got any land of my own from my family.”
“I see. Have you always wanted to be a… rancher?” He hesitates, the idea of outdoor work unthinkable to him. Clay dances under his control.
“Naw. I guess I just wanna work with my hands. I ain’t gone to school or nothin’ fancy like that.”
“I see..” The sculptor is not surprised.
Almost too soon Octavius finishes the jaw of the statue, smooth and pristine as the marbles of great Rome. “There, that shall do for the time.” He smiles.
“Thanks for the modelin’ job, partner.” Jedediah makes to stand, tipping his cowboy hat back.
The light hits blue eyes and Octavius’s chest is brought to a stop. But he looks away, before any heat can settle onto his face. A man such as his new acquaintance here is an outdoor worker, never interested in the arts or finer ways of life. People like Jedediah hardly leave their homes in the grasslands of America behind, never traveling further. And almost never interested in men.
Imperfect. Unevenly shaved stubble along that perfect jawline. Blue eyes just a bit too light in comparison to the unwashed blonde locks that stick out in an unruly mess from that tattered hat. A nose crooked and broken several times over. So why, why can’t he look away? Even standing here now, on his raised carving platform, Octavius eyes the recent stranger. But he isn’t capable of letting his gaze wander, frustration building up like the roar an ancient colosseum once must have echoed. Jedediah is dirty. He is imperfect.
Yet for some reason, captivating.
“See y’round, alright? Good luck makin’ that statue!” The rancher grins and roughly pats the raised Octavius’s calf muscle. “I outta go find that restroom now..”
His acquaintance wanders off, and it takes everything in the sculptor’s strength not to watch him go and focus again on the clay instead.