Of course he hadn't heard of him. Bastien shrugged, but he was a little disappointed he was not yet cemented in the minds of Venice as the lovable underdog artist performing in their markets and painting in their alleyways. Oh well.

He lifted his hands to show he meant no offence. "I am not saying you do. But we all need a break from the stress of life every so often, especially the creative people among us." When he heard Galene wanted to visit, he grinned wide and nodded.

"Of course! I'd love for you to come and see." And maybe once Galene had seen, he would come and visit again, and play for them. I can hope.

He motioned for Galene to follow and began to head towards the Ghetto, a spring in his step. He loved showing people his sanctuary. It was his proudest achievement.

He could have watched this man speak for the rest of his life if he did so with such excitement and passion, and when the invitation followed through, Gale smiled and followed as well. He had to take a few extra steps to keep up and came to take the arm of the man when the crowd got too thick.

"Is it very far?" He was out of breath from the walk, even the short length, but today was one of those days where the dust that settled into the streets swirled up and invaded his lungs. Clearly he wasn't used to navigating the busier and less...fortunate.

Excitement ran through him like a spark of light as he realized they were going further than he had ever been permitted to go, and he bit his lip to keep from grinning.

"So your sanctuary, is it only for artists? And did you know that Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi," He said his name with such conviction and perfection that it seemed practiced--as though his governess was there with her switch ready to smack his hands.

"No, not too far." Bastien looked back at Galene, surprised to see him out of breath. The young man seemed young and fit, and he wondered if he was ill.

Pushing through the crowd and onto less busy streets, he took note of how happy Galene looked to be heading to the Sanctuary - it had that affect on some people. He loved to see the joy that appeared in young artist's faces when they saw people like themselves thrive.

"It is for anyone who wants to create or buck the status quo." There wasn't so much a requirement to join, or a desired skill - Bastien just had to like you; and he liked this young man so far. He couldn't help but laugh at his next question. "Know him? Not personally. I don't know how old you think I am."

Turning onto the street which contained his Sanctuary, he casually pointed it out. "There. You won't find Signore Donatello in there, but you may find some brilliant minds of our own generation." From the outside, the building was nothing special - the same as the other houses in the row, but the noise of music and conversation could be heard from within, and bright cloths hung in the windows, fluttering out with breeze.

<a href='index.php?showuser=34' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Galene Rousseau</a>

“I am sorry…that did not come out as I meant.” He flushed at the slip, “I did not mean to ask if you know him, but knew of him?” He grinned to help ease the tension from his face, knowing darn well he was making a complete fool of himself before this dark stranger—the artist of both the street and of conversation.

“Master di Niccolò di Betto Bardi is buried beside Cosimo de' Medici in Florence, actually—“ If there had been such a thing as nerd glasses this would have been the time for he to push them up, “His gave is in the Basilica di San Lorenzo, and it is one of the largest churches in Florence. Everyone who goes to see the statue David, but my favorite is the pulpit of Prato.”

As they walked Gale kept close to the man, his words were endless and they prattled on about nearly nothing yet everything all at once.

“I think it a very bold commission, as the relief is of half naked pagans.” Clearly this amused him to no end, but when he came to glance up at the stranger he paused a moment to watch the bright cloth as it danced in the wind.

“I am not supposed to go this far away from the square,” He whispered more for his own reminder, but was simply too drawn in to move away now, “Brilliant minds of this generation are far between or so my father says.” With a small glance over his shoulder to make sure they had not been followed Gale set his face forward as though to push back all of that doubt.

“I want to meet every one of them.”

"Of course. I am educated in most things artistic." The hours he'd spent in libraries and among scholars finally counted towards something other than his own ego. Still, he did not know about the grave, and he politely nodded along to the information. He did not care about where artists were buried; to him the important thing was the work which lived on.

"Bold indeed." He replied, with a little laugh. "I'm sure if I put anything from my sketchbooks on there I'd be taken to be prostrated before the cross instantly." Much worse than some half naked pagans lived in those pages.

Bastien wasn't sure if he was meant to respond to Galene's mumbled comment, but he heard it and shrugged. It wasn't like Galene was going to see anything worth seeing in that square now that he had left. "Then please, do come in."

The Sanctuary was quiet right now; during the day a lot of the students slept or went out to draw. Still, a few painters sat downstairs, smoking and lazily putting brush to canvas every so often. When Bastien entered, some bothered to sit to attention and work harder.

"Galene, meet my associates." He waved a hand towards all of them. "Some of them are making art...some of them are making a mess." With this, he cast a glare at a particularly splattered artist in the corner.

<a href='index.php?showuser=34' rel='nofollow' alt='profile link' class='user-tagged mgroup-3'>@Galene Rousseau</a>