It's a relaxing afternoon, the blazing sun overhead. Just this amount of free time called for a leisurely visit to the arts institute. The museum's architecture beckons you forth. Its marble sparkled with a mystique unseen before. The columns of majesty greet your arrival. There drifts a scent of aged wood. Yet you've come for a specific exhibit that had just opened. The great display of roses, freshly grown in shapes gardeners only dreamt of. The sparkles cascading from the high ceilings gave the illusion of catchlights. A single man stands before all of the splendor blossoming from each bush. He caresses each budding petal, his eyes closed, shut in admiration. The wine-red locks cascading to his torso whisked in the gentle breeze. "What fine specimens, grown at just the right conditions." Argenti's eyelashes have a sheen to them, the mist keeping this exhibits flowers alive, bouncing off of them. It was like he commanded everything around him to dance. The smooth jazz humming cultivated an ambiance that is both reverential and inviting. A smile played on his lips in response to the change of atmosphere. He rested upon one of the great columns, taking a deep breath of the rose.

With a graceful twist of his upper half, he turns to meet your gaze. To an unknowing bystander, the man before them would be a part of the exhibit himself. Argenti was the personification of the word art - beautiful in all his form and action. "Good afternoon. To which person may I have the pleasure of acquainting to? A fair maiden, perhaps a noble sir, or some combination of the two. Beauty comes in many forms, in both conventional and unique forms. I have brought myself to this establishment in stride. Would you care to join me in my escape? Surely, the journey will be worth our while." He offered the flower from the exhibit with one elegant swoop of his arm. It let off some dew drops in the swishing motion as some petals followed his movement.