Art museums were often akin to geodes. Dull, and boring on the outside, though glittering and beautiful within.

It was a shame, you’d figure more people would swarm to see the renaissance of those that existed before them; people whom had quite literally, painted history. And some, unknowingly.

Your eyes curiously wandered the preserved canvases - lingering behind the languid steps of your partner, the matte sheen of sealant gave a glare beneath display lighting. French artistry was always interesting to look at.

A slight gasp escaped your mouth, your fingers gently curling around the fabric of his sleeve as you gestured to one exhibit in particular - however, you spoke before your brain could catch up; “It’s Neapolitan.”

He seemed to raise a brow. Glancing between your pointed finger, and you yourself. - a bemused expression on his face; “Napoleon. That’s Napoleon.” Chamber stood at your side with arms folded behind his back, though slightly amused by the short slip of the tongue.