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Outings like this between the two of them were not necessarily rare. Not nowadays, anyway. It had become more or less public knowledge that Balalaika and Revy were together. Revy lived on the grounds of Hotel Moscow now, and no one would be stupid enough to challenge them and threaten Revy.
Balalaika had loosened up somewhat over the two of them being out in public like this. They would go out to dinner sometimes. In this particular case, before they were to go to dinner, Balalaika had planned for them to go to a museum. Needless to say, this was a few cities away from Roanapur; the closest thing you’d find to something that had “high society culture” was the books and artworks kept by the Rip Off Church or Hotel Moscow itself.
Revy looked over the paintings that she was walking by alongside Balalaika as they went through the hall.
Boris and a few of the other men flanked them.
Revy glanced at Balalaika, trying not to laugh when she saw the older woman observing her.
Balalaika, Revy assumed was trying to see how her lover reacted to the artworks around her. Revy by no means had missed how Balalaika sometimes tried to see if she could bring some culture to the younger woman she had been sleeping with for several years now.
Revy wasn’t completely without knowledge about art and literature. Just without a lot of knowledge of it.
Revy tried not to roll her eyes as she glanced at the various paintings along the hall’s walls. Many of the other people that were at the museum seemed to get the memo that something unconventional in an ominous way, was happening, so, cleared out of the room when they saw the two women surrounded by the group of men, approach.
Revy’s eyes widened when they reached the side of the room where there was a painting of a drawn figure with horns, lying on its side, with an arrow in it, and three figures on a boat in the ocean next to where the body lay.
Revy knew what this painting was. It was by Picasso. It was of the minotaur.
Revy edged closer to the painting, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the painting. “Hey,” she said, grinning, “It’s the minotaur!”
“Yes, yes, it is,” Balalaika said, a chuckle in her voice, “As I recall, you’re fond of that story, yes?”
Revy shrugged. “Sorta,” she said.
It wasn’t so much as being “fond of the story,” as Balalaika put it, and Revy was positive that the older woman knew that.
It was more along the lines that Revy was fascinated with the minotaur.
Revy had read a bit of literature when she’d been forced to as a kid in the few classes she’d been in at school.
And all kids her age at the time were exposed to at least some Greek mythology. So, Revy knew about the story of the minotaur.
Everyone else referred to that story as the “story of Theseus.” But Revy thought of it as the minotaur’s story and Balalaika knew that.
She knew, because she’d seen the way Revy’s face changed when talking about the minotaur. How her eyes lit up, how her face became an expression of a cross between sadness and fascination.
Revy talked about how the minotaur was a victim. How he hadn’t asked to be born. How he was a freak, not accepted by humans or gods. And killed by “some asshole” who only survived because of the minotaur’s half-sister. That was how Revy summarized Theseus. As “some asshole.”
Considering what else Balalaika had read about that particular Greek hero? It was an accurate title for Theseus.
Balalaika didn’t need to question Revy more on the subject. She had an idea of why Revy was so fascinated by the minotaur.
Still, as Revy looked at one of Picasso’s many paintings of the minotaur, she said, “You know that Picasso did quite a lot of drawings and paintings on the minotaur. I believe he was obsessed. He connected to the minotaur, because he believed that it was like him when it came to impulses and urges. He admired the minotaur for its virility, I believe.”
Revy snorted, clearly skeptical at this. And yes, Revy knew what “virility” meant. She had even startled Balalaika by mentioning jokingly to the blonde one time they were in bed together, when Balalaika passingly asked Revy if she could sum her up in one word, Revy had just flat out said, “Virile.”
Balalaika, after recovering from her surprise, had said, “That word, you know, is usually used for men.”
“I know,” Revy had grumbled, “Doesn’t fucking matter. ‘Virile’ fucking fits for you.”
Balalaika had been unable to do anything, except laugh.
Revy said, as she kept her eyes on the painting of the minotaur, “That’s cause he just wanted to have an excuse for why he was the way he was, but the minotaur was trapped in a maze and forced to fucking eat people. Think he’d eat people if he wasn’t trapped and forced to?”
Balalaika smiled.
Funny how one could look at a minotaur and think of it as only a horrid creature that needed to be put down.
But Revy saw the minotaur as a victim.
And Balalaika was positive as to why, as well.
The minotaur was a victim in Revy’s eyes. And in a way, that fit. The minotaur was half human, half bull.
Being half of something, half of something else………not being allowed to fit in either world? Treated like an animal?
Balalaika knew such thoughts were derogatory if compared to a human being, but she was certain that Revy identified with the minotaur because of this.
Because Revy had been treated this way her whole life before coming to Roanapur.
New York City had been Revy’s Crete.
Her father, the police, her peers growing up in that city of glass and metal, rather than stone, had treated her as king Minos had treated the creature that his wife, Pasiphae, had birthed as punishment of the gods.
The minotaur had not asked to be born. Trapped for years and years, treated as the king’s secreted away boogeyman, then killed by a thug who would later abandon the minotaur’s sister on the island of Naxos. Dionysus had been the one to pick up the pieces after Theseus had abandoned the minotaur’s sister, Ariadne.
Revy had not asked to be born. Trapped for years and years in New York City, treated as a punching bag by everyone around her, violated by a police officer, forced to flee.
(Rock? He had not abandoned Revy yet, regardless of how much Revy had protected him. But give him time? Balalaika knew he would abandon her to some enemy, if it benefitted him, and Balalaika would pick up the pieces.)
Revy could claim otherwise, but Balalaika knew why Revy identified with the minotaur.
Balalaika was unable to help but smile softly, but sadly at her young lover at this acknowledgment.