[ as he waits for a reply, assuming raphael is even awake at all, justin takes a few minutes to double check that closing procedures were executed properly by his staff (his staff - it still sounds strange to him), making sure all entrances are locked and secure and that security systems are engaged appropriately where necessary.
everything seems brighter, more vibrant as he wanders, drifting from painting to painting and taking in the finer details he's never really noticed before for whatever reason. perhaps it's the lack of distraction, he thinks, the near silence and the ability to just stop and look and not worry about lingering too long or being in the way of someone else trying to appreciate the artistry.
justin's phone vibrates in his hand and he finds himself smiling faintly to himself without even having to check who it is. there aren't many people in eudio who he semi-consistently talks to at this hour (as if it's some ungodly hour and not late-evening/early night), and if he's honest, he's come to consider the few hours just after dusk as theirs - a pocket of time where two opposite worlds overlap and 'hello, good morning' isn't such a strange thing to say while the sun is setting. ]
A quien madruga. [ a kwee-en mah-droo-guh. he tries the words out on his tongue, confident that he more than likely butchered the pronunciation. he laughs at himself under his breath, still smiling slightly as he taps out a response, slowly wandering towards the front of the building. ]
Is there a saying for those who rise late? [ probably not, and if there is, it's probably not as inspirational. either way, justin's only being playful. ] The museum's open late tonight. Invitation only.
no subject
everything seems brighter, more vibrant as he wanders, drifting from painting to painting and taking in the finer details he's never really noticed before for whatever reason. perhaps it's the lack of distraction, he thinks, the near silence and the ability to just stop and look and not worry about lingering too long or being in the way of someone else trying to appreciate the artistry.
justin's phone vibrates in his hand and he finds himself smiling faintly to himself without even having to check who it is. there aren't many people in eudio who he semi-consistently talks to at this hour (as if it's some ungodly hour and not late-evening/early night), and if he's honest, he's come to consider the few hours just after dusk as theirs - a pocket of time where two opposite worlds overlap and 'hello, good morning' isn't such a strange thing to say while the sun is setting. ]
A quien madruga. [ a kwee-en mah-droo-guh. he tries the words out on his tongue, confident that he more than likely butchered the pronunciation. he laughs at himself under his breath, still smiling slightly as he taps out a response, slowly wandering towards the front of the building. ]
Is there a saying for those who rise late? [ probably not, and if there is, it's probably not as inspirational. either way, justin's only being playful. ] The museum's open late tonight. Invitation only.