TRAVERSIA

Nov. 15th, 2013 04:43 pm
fiorenza: (vanities)
[personal profile] fiorenza

FIRENZE
NOVEMBRE 15


The crowd let out their first cry of dismay when the flames dared to lick Fra Savonarola, forcing him to halt his ordeal by fire after only the fifth step to pat out the flames from his arm. Then the mob let out a collective sigh of relief (perhaps of disappointment). So even the good friar is not immune then to such mortal things as fire, but it would have made a decent show had he burned to his death all the same. The crowd's eyes are hungry for a spectacle.

The second wail came when the heavy clouds finally broke over the city, sending a torrent of rain down on Florence, leaving the friar standing drenched between the previously burning walls, surrounded only by harmless puffs of smoke. What a terrible shame.

The silence that follows is the calm before the storm, his followers trying to comprehend the meaning of it all. Was it the Lord's intervention meant to save His good servant? Or was it a punishment? The tide is turned only once one man in the crowd shouts angrily: "Light the fire again, Father!" The sentiment is repeated in waves, the meaning and the words changed each time it's echoed until it becomes light him on fire.

The rest, as they say, is history. The aging friar is no match for hundreds eager to be the one to beat the lies out of the heretic and tie him to the wooden wall. It's hard to tell if Savonarola died even before the rain eased enough to let the mob finally set him on fire, but he stopped struggling long before.

[ OOC; Make your own sections as you please! ]
fiorenza: (vanities)
[personal profile] fiorenza

FIRENZE
NOVEMBRE 13tk


Tom Wolfe didn't start the fire. Even the usually spacious Piazza della Signoria feels so cramped with all the treasures of mighty Florence piled high as a mountain: books, antique statues, dresses, Botticelli's paintings, and among them could be your friends tied to wooden stakes for the burning.

Fra Savonarola paces slowly while his followers form a tight circle about the heap, jostling to be closest to the bonfire as if being licked by the flames would ensure safe passage to Heaven. Breaking through the crowd would be close to impossible. With Savonarola already holding the lighted torch aloft to the excited cries and wails of the people, it's also far too late. The mountain goes up in flames almost instantly, the heat is enough to burn the skin off of even those standing many feet away. The friar's loyal followers throw damp rags over their leader and ushers him away from the scene and into a hidden shelter.

This is how it goes: the bonfire of the vanities.

[ OOC; Make your own sections as you please! ]
fiorenza: (savonarola)
[personal profile] fiorenza
[ The inlaid marble floors of the Basilica di Santa Maria del Fiore are invisible under the feet of thousands, hushed to a tense silence as a balding man dressed in gray rags step on to the raised pulpit. If asked, the listener beside you will say that he is Girolamo Savonarola, the great prophet who has foreseen Florence's doom and has no other wishes safe to redeem the city of its sins. More questions would only be met with a dismissive wave as the crowd strain their ears to listen well.

Fra Savonarola's voice is strong and stern for his bent figure. His words echo in the halls like some divine revelation (but then it could all just be a trick. ]


The world suffers from the wickedness of men: your children starve as the Pope dines on forks of gold and Piero de' Medici graces his collar with their bones. But behold, the sword of the Lord will descend quick and sudden upon the earth. The heavens tremble as a voice says:

"I am the hailstorm that shall break the heads of those who do not take shelter!"

Florence, liberate yourself from their lies, your minds and hearts from worldly pleasures! Liberate your neighbors from their thrall! Today I name thee soldiers of the Lord, take up arms and cleanse this city of sin, of sodomites and those who serve the Devil. The Lord has spoken: if there is but ten among you who are righteous, He would grant this Sodom mercy. Righteousness and humility shall be your shelter. Vanities the mark of your blame

[ The sermon does its trick, with the crowd roused to self-righteous rage as they muscle closer to the pulpit, shoving and pushing others to the floor if necessary. Savonarola narrowly succeeds in making his exit surrounded by five of his most faithful followers, but after him comes the mob, too numerous to all fit through the door. Careful not to get trampled on, now. ]

[ OOC; Make your own sections as you please (for before, during or after the sermon)! ]
fiorenza: (fiorino d'oro)
[personal profile] fiorenza

FIRENZE
NOVEMBRE 9tk


Today is the birthday of Medici's daughter; Clarissa, Clarice, does it matter? The wine is flowing freely and the whole city is in an uproar that grows worse the closer one gets to the Piazza della Signoria. The pulsing heart of the city.

Perhaps the noise roused you from sleep only to find an unfamiliar ceiling. Perhaps you were awake already, your curiosity prompting you to jostle with the cheering crowd to see what the commotion is all about (and why there's a giraffe sticking out like a sore thumb among the drunken dancing mob). Perhaps you were among those who planned the festivity, made the torrone and painted the masks for the Commedia dell'arte.

Whoever you are, whether nobility or commoner, this party is for you, everyone, no one.

BANQUET | THE DANCE | PALIO DEI RIONI | PALAZZO MEDICI | THE ROOFS | THE PIAGNONI