It was kind of amazing to find this. This particular painting had an interesting history, and Ezio knew it already. The plaque under it, from what he could see, didn't mention anything about it, but Ezio knew this was painted as a memorial piece for the artist's lover. They weren't married, she was made to marry someone else in order to continue bloodlines; strong magical bloodlines were so highly valued of course.
Today, Ezio wore a white collared shirt with a black, off-shoulder sweater over it, buckled belt around the waist, black pants and white boots. He had eyeliner on, just a line on his upper lids, under his glasses, but mostly he looked decently normal. Today was experiment day, just to see how it went, and Drake hadn't lost his shit this morning, so that was certainly a start. It was hard to explain back then; no one had any words for things the weird shit in Ezio's head, hadn't had any words for what was in Morgyn's either. Ostensibly, Ezio's gender issues were easier. It was just that, sometimes, he didn't feel like a man, but instead like a woman. The he pronoun got annoying, he felt like he'd rather be called she, and then as quick as it came, it went away.
Mostly, Ezio stayed out of the LGBT community. They had so many words for things now, and none of them made any damn sense to him. It all just confused him more rather than helped. Grey eyes looked back up at the painting on the wall. He knew the guy that had painted this. It was rather well preserved, almost impressively, and one hand reached out to touch it. And then he realised what he was doing, and put his arm back down.
He pulled a notebook out of his pocket, scribbling a note. Sometimes, he took side classes related to art, just because he did enjoy art. Ezio was more creative than he seemed like (and he was going into law, so one would probably assume he wasn't very into the abstract and immeasurable), simply he never had the time to bother refining it. After his vague attempts at publishing books, he'd given up on creative pursuits in favour of being able to eat. Seemed more prudent.
How long had he been here, anyway? He pulled his phone out, checked the time, and then made a face at it. He should probably sit down, at least. That in mind, he shuffled off to one side, settling down out of the way, and looking over his notes. This class wasn't necessary, really, but he'd still like to pass it.