Cos Verlaine's I crossed

Artists are a bunch of weirdos.

The group of people who play well are regarded as a madman club by outsiders.

Arthur Rimbaud is no stranger to crazy painters. How crazy was the end of the nineteenth century?Everyone has the courage to show themselves, break through themselves, and indulge in the hallucination of absinthe. The painter Van Gogh who became famous after his death heard that the other party had cut off half of his ear.

Dinner was at a restaurant that required reservations, and Arthur Rimbaud had seen its introduction in the travel magazine of Lan Tang's family.

Suitable for a date, dinner with friends.

Representative dishes from various countries can be tasted here.

Arthur Rimbaud noticed that Oscar Wilde did not fill in the name of the appointment, and the other party's followers helped him throughout the whole process, indicating that the other party was not only a idle painter, but also a rich second generation.

Oscar Wilde put the cut steak in front of him, just like being a guest. The host will always give the best dishes to the guests, otherwise it will be regarded as unfriendly and unenthusiastic.

Arthur Rimbaud said: "Are you Irish?"

Oscar Wilde bent his eyes: "Yes, how did you guess where I was born?"

Arthur Rimbaud said while eating: "I have been to Ireland, it is a hospitable country, and I have drank your local dark beer. By the way, are you still fighting for independence?"

Oscar Wilde: "..."

This is so dangerous!

Oscar Wilde was thankful that he drove the attendant away and didn't let him stay in the box, otherwise the news would have reached the Queen's ears the next day.

——Oscar Wilde, the transcendent, was talking about Irish independence with others.

Oscar Wilde quickly changed the topic: "I have been away from Ireland for a long time, and I usually live in London."

Arthur Rimbaud was surprised: "Ireland is very close to London."

Oscar Wilde choked up: "We don't talk about that."

"Mr. Painter doesn't even have the idea of ​​talking about politics?" Arthur Rimbaud sneered. People in the 21st century are not as daring to speak out as people in the [-]th century when it comes to caring about national affairs. "The more they live, the worse they are in the past."

Oscar Wilde dined without embarrassment, with elegance.

Dressed in a pink suit, he looked more delicate than a flower. He tried to divert Arthur Rimbaud's attention with delicious food and a fashion-forward appearance. After all, Arthur Rimbaud's dress was not particularly appropriate.

Oscar Wilde announced his middle name: "Mr. Model, I am Fingal. This is my name in the trade of painters."

He purposely captured the change of name that Arthur Rimbaud heard.

--no change.

Arthur Rimbaud said indifferently: "I am Arthur Rimbaud, you can call me Rimbaud, you can call me whatever you want."

Oscar Wilde was taken aback for a moment, admiring three points.

As expected of the king of assassinations, you are even more arrogant than me, bearing the name of your late old partner Arthur Rimbaud!

That's right, Oscar Wilde recognized the "identity" of the other party.

After drawing the character picture of the other party, he was so immersed in the amazement that he couldn't help himself, and he took the initiative to invite the other party to dinner.When he came back to his senses, he realized that something was wrong—his model Mr. is not an ordinary person, that face is clearly the assassin king on the French arrest warrant!

Oscar Wilde praised his courage, realized that the "ordinary person" sitting across from him was the assassination queen, he was not surprised but happy, seeing the real face through the appearance, and felt that today was an excellent encounter!

What a meal the British Transcendent had with the Assassin King.

Oscar Wilde decided that he must remember the encounter between the two. The flower bed where they met could be named "Oscar's flower bed". Spend the night here by yourself.

All the troubles of not being able to pursue beautiful women disappeared, and he was fascinated by Arthur Rimbaud in the portrait.

"Rimbaud, come and taste this risotto." Oscar Wilde's eyes fluttered, and he helped scoop up a spoonful and poured the wine again. His behavior was natural, and he performed ordinary people's flattery in a very high-level manner.

Arthur Rimbaud gradually got used to it: "Mr. Fingal, you are the most enthusiastic Irishman I have ever met."

This point, the British transcenders have a deep understanding.

The award for the best colleague in the UK must be awarded to Oscar Wilde, who is a fancy licker. William Shakespeare jokingly called him "Little Sweet", referring to Wilde as a sweetheart in front of them.

For all his good-looking colleagues, Oscar Wilde was full of kindness, took the initiative to work overtime, greeted their relatives, said good things for them unconditionally, and didn't care about their cold faces, who didn't give a thumbs up.

After watching his British colleagues for a long time, Oscar Wilde has a great sense of freshness in French style, and the rainbow farts are endless.

"What country are you from? The country where you were raised must be beautiful."

France is beautiful√

"How do you take care of your hair? It looks very shiny, and the ends of your hair are milky golden. Your hands are very suitable for playing the piano..."

A murderous hand, both dangerous and charming√

"Do you like snacks? Sweet or salty, I think summer is suitable for eating iced, sweet pudding. The way you eat it will definitely sweeten my heart."

The Assassin King's smile is so beautiful√

"You think I'm nasty? No, this is my truth!"

True than real gold√

Oscar Wilde once again saw Arthur Rimbaud's chuckle, and even the mask couldn't stop that sweet feeling.

When Arthur Rimbaud laughed, he was innocent and presumptuous.

Human beings are always a collection of contradictions.

Oscar Wilde thought: Just like me, after seeing Alfred Douglas, I will still be shocked by the Frenchman's demeanor.

If little Douglas is the rose in the hand of the god of beauty, blooming at the moment of pride, and even the sharp thorns seem to be an ornament, then Arthur Rimbaud is the god wandering in the lower world. Seeing each other off is a magnificent aura.

"Fingo, have you seen so much from the oil painting?" Arthur Rimbaud was no idiot, the other party's sudden change made him curious about the process, "My back, there is something special place?"

Oscar Wilde opened his mouth and fabricated it like nature: "When you are sitting, your spine is not very straight, you are free and easy, and your limbs are in excellent proportions, like a bow that has been relaxed. A moment of beauty..."

Arthur Rimbaud unconsciously stopped chewing, rested his chin, and stared at the man's boasting with bright eyes.

Oscar Wilde enjoyed being looked at by beautiful women.

His happiness is as simple as that.

He is not a politician, a star, or bothered about interests. He is a simple painter in private, running a company in the art field, and funding those Irish who purely cheer for art.

Arthur Rimbaud lamented Wilde's statement.

Is this how you look in the eyes of outsiders?

At the end of the nineteenth century, Arthur Rimbaud was belittled by newspapers because of his homosexuality, and the mainstream media only affirmed that he had the eyes of a wandering angel to a country boy from the suburbs of Paris.

Praise without malice and evaluation without prejudice are the things that Arthur Rimbaud has the least contact with.

In the 21st century, he was influenced by the actor, and fans chased after him in order to see the beauty of the actor when he was young.

That's not loving him, it's treating him as a substitute.

This Englishman who called himself Fingal saw his real self, even though he was wearing a mask, he ignored his beauty.

Under the expectation of Oscar Wilde, Arthur Rimbaud blinked and expressed his opinion: "It's very novel, I don't like people who look at the face, you think I'm beautiful through the back, I want to speak out Praise Fingal, you are the first to praise my soul!"

Oscar Wilde hastened to remember the point: Hate people who look at faces.

Beauty's preference is the most important test question.

"I am not superficial, I love art." Oscar Wilde said righteously, "As long as you can touch my soul, my soul will cheer for you alone, regardless of your appearance!"

Arthur Rimbaud's resigned expression was slightly moved.

"Cheers for me alone...?"

"Sorry, I said something wrong, there must be someone who appreciates you."

Oscar Wilde punched himself on the mouth.

"No, that's different." Arthur Rimbaud's gaze fell on the tablecloth, whose hem was like a girl's first love, "Their appreciation is mixed with worldly views, once they see my essence, they will pull their feet Just run away, disdain to be with me, and say that I am too crazy."

Oscar Wilde was a little distressed. How could such a good-looking person be appreciated by no one? Do the French reject their compatriots so much?

"Even if it is madness, not everyone is afraid." Oscar Wilde said tenderly. "Some people are born without fear."

Arthur Rimbaud looked up at this stranger whom he had known for less than a day.

The implication is, are you not afraid of going crazy?

Oscar Wilde patted his chest: "I am very willing to be your friend, as long as you don't dislike me or Britain, I—Fingal will be your most loyal and friendly friend!"

Oscar Wilde said in a melancholy, talkative and positive way different from Lan Tang: "My friend, England welcomes you!"

Arthur Rimbaud felt the beginning of a friendship with a sore nose.

The premise is that I have money to live in London... Mr. Painter in front of me, do you know if there are any vacant houses?

Arthur Rimbaud dropped his excess pride and said suggestively: "I have no place to live, I am poor."

"No place to live?" Oscar Wilde answered quickly, more proactively than Arthur Rimbaud thought, "I mean, I didn't mean to ask about your whereabouts. There's a chic apartment in the Arts District, where you can watch the swans and ducks cascading down on the river, and the yachts and boats go by...”

"The apartment has been vacant for a long time, would you like to live in the apartment?"

Oscar Wilde wished he could bite his tongue, feeling that he was in too much of a hurry, and wanted to keep someone before the meal was finished.

Arthur Rimbaud said lightly: "Okay."

Oscar Wilde said: "I'm too impatient, if you don't want to...what do you say? You agree?!"

Arthur Rimbaud wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and threw it away, after eating and drinking.

"Take me to see it."

He stood up and squinted at the warm-hearted Mr. Painter condescendingly. Even if he was eating and drinking for free, he still gave people the feeling that he was being aloof.

"How unique is the apartment that Mr. Painter said!"

Omg.

Oscar Wilde was moved.

With just one painting, one meal, and one conversation, he let the beauty he likes live in his home without any interest.Even people with ulterior motives will push and procrastinate themselves for a while.

[Wilde likes reserved and noble beauties, and he must know how to appreciate art, not to be too vulgar, and not to be too proactive. 】

This is the solidified impression the world has of Wilde.

Oscar Wilde admitted that he had some tendencies like this, but people are changeable, and no one knows what kind of person they like in the next moment.

Oscar Wilde walked with wandering steps, leading Arthur Rimbaud to the apartment.

He told his attendants to remember that his name was Fingal, and he was not allowed to report today's events. Apart from that, Oscar Wilde did nothing, and introduced the apartment with a smile as if he did not know the identity of Arthur Rimbaud.

Black and white are the main colors, and the decoration is simple, which is most in line with the changing aesthetics of young people nowadays, and it will never be outdated.

On the spacious T-shaped balcony of the apartment, Arthur Rimbaud was blowing the wind, hugging the balcony railing to see the view of the Thames River, his expression was a little lonely, at that moment, the setting sun fell on his cheeks, passionate and The ruthless appearance - very much like the original face of love.

Oscar Wilde lowered his voice, not daring to disturb the other party loudly.

"Rimbaud, do you like the Thames?"

"do not like."

"Then where do you like?"

"A place that is wider than a river, and more galloping than a great river."

"It's the sea... You like the sea. I also have a house on a foreign island. If you have time in the future, you can make an appointment and go play together."

"In the future?"

Arthur Rimbaud's hand scooped forward, grabbing Xia Tian's tail.

The wind flies through the fingers.

Once summer is over, it's autumn.

Arthur Rimbaud tilted his head, his body leaned into a sexy arc, and the long legs below the waist gave people a visual impact.

Oscar Wilde secretly swallowed, feasted his eyes, and placed his gaze below the mask—perfect.

Arthur Rimbaud did not know that he was looking at the figure and thought he was thinking.

"Thank you for giving me a place to live."

"Is there anything you want? I will try my best to give you a gift in return."

"Friend! Don't be in a daze!"

Arthur Rimbaud patted Oscar Wilde on the shoulder, and Oscar Wilde said without thinking: "Can I chase you?"

Arthur Rimbaud said: "No."

Oscar Wilde was greatly disappointed, and said coyly, "Why?"

Arthur Rimbaud touched his face. There was nothing wrong with the mask still on. Mr. Painter's gaze always gave him the illusion that he could see through the face.

Sure enough, he is a soul painter with superb painting skills and tricky angles.

"Because I don't want to fall in love with a man again."

"what???"

"Don't look at me with a desperate expression, I know you are not bad looking, and your family is rich, but the problem is that I don't look at your face."

Arthur Rimbaud shrugged his shoulders and made a fool of himself, "Fingal, my dear new friend, I'm telling the truth, if you think I'm not clear enough, so be it... When I want to When we kiss you, we will talk about the follow-up."

He couldn't understand Oscar Wilde's pursuit, and said with a slightly languid look as his enthusiasm flamed down.

"Really... Love can't last forever."

……

This is the cold reality.

It is impossible for me to bend down and give a kiss to a man.