Log:Scandalous Storytime

Scandalous Storytime

OOC Date: November 29, 2016 (Optional)
Location: Art Gallery
Participants: Valko Tosha, Raim Shah, Rheisa Dirleel

Art Room - Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa This room showcases the major works of a traveling show, but is also used to display work by local artists. Right now, it's filled by a diverse blend of the owners' private painting collection, some works of scrap metal sculpture - priced moderately low to quadruple digits - and a small case of primitive pottery, featuring muted tones of grey, white, terracotta, and geometric design. One wooden sculpture is tucked in with the pottery - a squatly carved humanoid with horns and two pairs of headtails. If the v-shaped form of teats hanging to the knees is any indication, it depicts a female. A very small protective case also displays some handcrafted jewelry. The back third of the room is cordoned off by a massive window with door, allowing visitors to watch attending artists labor away at their craft. A couple countertops and metal cabinets hold supplies while two metal tables, supporting various tools of the trade are bolted to the center of the floor. There is a small kiln in one rear corner and a sink in the other. There is a door in the front leading back to the foyer.

There's only one Togruta at work behind the transparent barrier today, and it's not the adorably vicious one. Rheisa is taking advantage of an Umak-free day, where she only has to cleanup HER mess and not a room covered in paint. Fun as it was. There's a lower, more rhythmic song being chanted today, something with a more determined sound to it than crooning. She's mounted one of the two work tables and is bowed over her work. It's an infant-sized block of wood, held deftly between feet while she methodically carves away with both hands. A rough shape has taken place and it resembles...mountainous lumps. The central hump is the tallest, stooping forward a little more than the two shorter ones that jut out near the base. "...ne tuuhl -- " Aw, crap. One of the blades hiccups over a knot in the wood and the resulting jerk slips it back into the pad of her thumb. A self admonishing hiss curdles around the poor digit as she pops it promptly into her mouth and applies a little potent saliva. The other hand continues, albeit more slowly.

Raim had entered the Art Room moments before that unfortunate slip of blade, and had been peering through the transparent barrier at Rheisa working like some sort of glowing red eyed monster-creeper. He frowns in sympathy as the blade digs her finger, and then steps around toward the doorway to allow him entry to the workroom itself. "Good boshar," he intoned in the deep thrum of his generally monotone voice. He glosses over the cut as he says, "shu at work again, I bararitum."

Rheisa said there was only one Togruta here today, LIES, there are two of them. Well, there was only one. Now there's two. It's a big male Togruta, maybe a distant echo of what Umak might look like someday, barefoot and wearing scrubs that identify him as an employee of the Wayside medical clinic. He seems both tired and cautious as he leaves the foyer for the art room, and the work area in the rear. "Hello," he greets the mixed-species pair in Togruta, and then switches to Basic. "Are you busy? You look busy, I can...?" He awkwardly points at the door he just came in, in an offer to get gone.

"Mm." Rheisa confirms Raim's observation from around the ooze of her thumb without looking up. Maybe it's because the inflection of his attempted address greeted her - identified her -as a male. Or maybe she's just really into her work. Until she hears Valko's voice and DOES look up. The thumb leaves her mouth with a little slurp and she presses it against forefinger instead. Of all the scars to tell her story, this one will no doubt be the tiniest of all.

"No," she gestures. "Come. You say you return to hear the rest of story, so I will tell." A gracious dip of her head, brow wrinkled a bit with unspoken worry regarding the outcome of what kept him away. It's there in her eyes, in the knowing. No need to say it. For Raim's benefit, though, Rheisa offers a little smile and puts down the other knife to touch his sleeve with an unbloodied hand. "Valko came to buy art, but he does not know what all the shapes mean." Shapes? Creatures. Same thing. She slides off the table and leaves her carving with a graceful limp past Raim's glowing stare.

Raim's gaze flicks toward Rheisa to mark Valko. His brow lifts and there is perhaps something that flits across in his expression, somewhere about the flesh around his eyes before he returns his gaze toward Rheisa, offering her a smile as she reaches out to touch his sleeve. He nods and says, "Yes. I met the doctor a week or so ago. I was wondering how long it would take for you to meet."

"I'm not really a doctor," Val notes for the record, as though concerned someone might ascribe to him more accolades than he's earned. "I'm learning to be one. I'm a physician assistant. Nurse. Janitor. Therapist. Social worker. Surgeon in a pinch. I guess I do a lot of things," he realizes, though it sounds like this wearing of many hats is filed in his brain under 'this moon is the worst' and not 'Val is awesome.' "It's good to see you again," he offers to Raim, and then looks to Rheisa. There's no offer of assistance for the little cut, but likely it doesn't register as a concern by either Rheisa standards or I Work at a Ghetto Urgent Care standards. "I did come to hear the rest of the story."

Val's list of duties - most of them - still file under away Rheisa's definition of 'doctor' in her little mental vocabulary database. She doesn't comment on the correction, too busy focusing on her motor control, wrestling the bum leg into proper rhythm of flex and planting. To the netherworld with tweaking scar tissue and painful joints! A weak heart can't be bluffed away, but this maybe can. Normal Rheisa wouldn't give two flying farts about the inferior image. Hormonal Rheisa does. Muchly.

She stops at the desired display cabinet and goes through the ritual of opening it up and retrieving all the needed pieces to this story, then arranging them into place atop the lid.

Raim watches Rheisa closely, his expression hardening slightly as he notes her forced posture and noticable lack of her usually present limp. His eyes flick toward Valko once more and the corners of his mouth twitch in a not even smile at the Togruta's correction. "I see," he says shortly. "Forgive my misplacing of your professional abilities. I suppose I believed them to be more advanced than they are?"

Painful joints? Aha, though, Val is a DOCTOR. Or, well, not a doctor. He's a healthcare worker of some description, whatever he thinks he is, and he notices Rheisa's bum leg, the hint of pain. He himself is a great specimen of healthy Togruta-ness, other than that he's obviously mentally handicapped and doesn't know what shadow children are. "Are you injured?" he inquires in his quiet way, stepping through the door, not coming too close. And, full stop, at Raim's response. Nope, not coming closer. "I have a great deal to learn," he offers quietly, then reaches into a pocket, and withdraws a small bottle. It's extended towards Raim. "I brought this for you, if you find it might be of use to you. These are digestive enzymes that will allow Umak to digest a broader array of foods, should doing so be necessary." Another pause, then, "This way you will be able to let him try the food of your home. Not just Togruta food."

If Rheisa's prey instincts are tingling beneath the sharpness of Raim's stare, she doesn't let slip a sign of notice. "Is old. Am fine," Rheisa tersely replies as she expertly scoots back into the room, arms full, and around Valko without so much as a fiber of her garments swishing against his. See? She's behaving, the little master of spatial awareness that she is. She listens to the not-doctor's explanation of what's in the magic bottle while her hands rearrange the figurines on the worktable, opposite her gestating creation lumped at the other end. Food of what home? Csilla? For a moment, Rheisa turns inward, struggling to recall if she even knows what that might be. She doesn't. Snow? She remembers Raim's description of snow. Frozen water. Okay, probably food is not snow. She frowns and looks down at the little Djeba (antelopey) effigy. Real Togruta food. There's more to a healthy diet than rats, eels, and chuba. If they were on Shili, there would be no such need for little bottles of fake gut juice. "He would be sick less," she grudgingly agrees, knowing how many different 'foods' Umak tries to eat daily, anyway.

Valko hands the bottle over to Raim very carefully. "It is a powder. Mix a small amount into a drink when he is eating human food. Or Chiss food," he explains. "I was raised by humans," this explains SO MUCH, "and it was of help to me when I was a child. It's less effective for adults, but still helpful." As for Rheisa, and her limp, "If you ever do need it looked at, though the injury is old, I would be happy to help you. Sister," he adds, while looking at Raim as he says it, in an extremely transparent attempt to promise that he's not the world's most socially awkward Togruta homewrecker.

Raised by humans, eh? Poor guy didn't stand a chance. But, unlike the 'Mandalorian' and the shop propietor, HIS feet don't play dress up. So there's that.

Rheisa's hindbrain just keeps chugging away while her more sophisticated side does its best to keep primal signals and their driving urges in check. Storytime. Stories are good distractions. "Thank," she offers a note of quiet gratitude with a fleeting, sideways look at Raim before deciding that one word can summarize gratitude for all things. Moving on! She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through her nose. Once, twice, three times. A visible transformation occurs o'er the woman's face. She's transporting to another place and time, following the trail of oration and memory left by thousands of generations gone by. "As was already begun," she begins in a voice more befitting shamanic solemnity than this casual entreat, "I tell this truth to you, which the ancestors, the Marrrukki, tell me." Bicolored eyes snap back open, locked onto the icy blue across from her. "When last we leave, the Moon finds his days of being alone are at end, yes?"

Marrrukki. Alright. Val is learning all kinds of words, here, including the ones he learned last time, the... well, he forgot the ones from last time. But it's been a long and potentially horrible day over there at Wayside, and he seems glad to forget about it in Rheisa's stories. "The moon was dreaming," he confirms, quiet. His attention is rapt, but his distance is scrupulously a proper personal space bubble away. "The moon dreamed the sun."

Rheisa rewards his remembering with a quick but contented thrum from deep within her chest. White-splotched eyelids flutter closed again and she rests one hand over her heart. "The moon so happy to not be alone. He sing and lure the Suun again...and again...and again," her smile takes on a rather devious twist and a brief by lusty sound rolls around her throat. "The moon take the suun for his mate, and their closeness gives birth to shadows below." One hand pats gently down over the tabletop.

"The first life of awakening Shili. The children of dark and light, the Sa'daar, made many beautiful shapes to give company." One by one, she touches a finger to the bird, snake, and ungulate. "Some to make the skies their home, to travel on Shili's breath through the trees. Some to roam the grasses, some to dwell lower than all others, and hide under the ground."

Hey whoa wait, nobody warned Val that this was a kissing book. Devious smile, lusty sound, nnnoooooope, he pulls back a little and looks towards Raim as though concerned that the Chiss understands he's not responsible for what they teach in Togruta sunday school. "Children. Sa'daar, right," he ignores there being any sun-moon naughty business in this story. "All types of creatures."

As Valko looks toward Raim, he will find the Chiss' eyes narrowed and boring scarlet tinged holes into the man, his sapphire hued arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders sqaured solidly.

"This child," Rheisa confides with a blind touch aside to the roughly 'gruta-shaped figure (disproportionately long arms), "was born last. And so it came to know what all the other creatures born before it know. It veeeery smart, and soon this child - part Daark part Sa'aan - did not fear ANY." She slices a palm laterally through the air in sign of 'nil'.

Twin pupils are again examining her student from under half closed lids as though assessing just how much of this tale he's buying into. "The Tog'rrr make tools to grow power, do more things. Soon, these children forget who made them, because is so easy to make new life by self. To take other life, eat it, and grow strong. They did not fear the Sa'aan, because it bring them warmth, and show where to get food. They did not fear the Darrrk, because they eyes SO big, they still see what darkness try to hide from them."

Valko Tosha is 6+ ft of ripped Togruta dude, with big fangs, and big montrals... and a gentle heart. His might is likely not applied to situations beyond the restraint of panicking patients. So Rheisa's over there telling the story, trying to get through, again, what happened after the sun and moon got nasty, but that's hard to focus on right now. There's just waves of disapproval radiating off that scary older Chiss. Rheisa's saying things, but into the glare Val imagines he hears Raim. Something something Daark and Saan... YOU WILL DIIIIIIIE... something something, new life.... I WILL CUT OFF YOUR HEAD AND GO TO CSILLA AND EAT SNOW CONES OUT OF YOUR MONTRALS... something something they see what the darkness hides... something.. Val can't concentrate on the story anymore. His stripes go a little pale. "I've forgotten something at work," he says quietly, abruptly, and then just bolts. Bye!

"The Saan, she sees this is bad. Bad for her children in the sky, the grass, and the water also. She say to Darrrk, 'My mate - we must make another child, one to make the Togrrr share his food and remember he does not have most p--" Rheisa stops, turning her head to look at what's causing strapping young Valko to balk. Oh. Her own headtails get a little snug about her head for a moment, but the immediate effect is lost when Val caves in to the fear and 'excuses' himself.

The disappointment is palpable, emanating from the storyteller. Disappointment turns to a volatile blend of sadness and frustration, and that turns into ...stone. Or her face does, at least, as it downturns to collect the twice abandoned effigies.

The corners of Raim's mouth flicker in a pleased fashion as the large Togruta flees before him, but the pleased expression fades as he sees Rheisa. He watches her in silence for a moment, not coming to her. "You are unhappy with me," he says plainly.

"You feel enough happiness for yourself, in this moment. Does it matter?" Sass served with a side of lip curl. Rheisa IS unhappy, but this mood's already blown out of proportion beyond of realm of capture, so she doesn't even try to wrangle it in or pretend otherwise. "It is bad, to interrupt a story. Before, story stopped when hoverbus crash and Valko have go fix broken people. That was okay. This - your face --" she flashes an exaggerated imitation of his possessive glare, "--Not okay." She hugs all the little sa'daar to her chest, hands hooked over her shoulders, and marches back out of the workroom to return all of them to the cabinet from which they came.

Raim's posture has relaxed, though there is still a slight scowl on his features. His voice is not unkind, however as he says, "And what of you? Your hiding of your limp? Putting on a false appearance for him. And the sounds you were making during your story? I have heard those sounds from you before, but never during story telling. Is that okay?" He paces Rheisa as she moves, though he allows her the space she desires.

"Is part of stOry!" Rheisa emphatically bleats back at him as she closes up the display lid. As for the limp, well...was she? Her face flushes with a darker, russet hue. Eye contact falters and she retreats back to the permeable privacy of the workshop, like a bug in a jar. She struggles to maintain neutral expression and coloring for the benefit of any gallery visitors that pass through the outside room.

"Part of the story?" Raim questions, his tone still even though obviously doubtful, indicating that he does not believe that at all. "I know you, Rheisa, better than any on this moon. I have paid attention to you. I can tell when you are acting a certain way, I can feel it. Like you can feel it when I walk into a room. Am I wrong?"

"I cannot answer that question, if I am not you." Rheisa palms a button alongside the vented window between them and the rest of the gallery space, effectively sealing up their noise away from any nosy patrons. "The story tells of the Sa'daar. The sa'daar born from Sun and Moon. No thing born without ___" in place of a word, she mimics the throaty purr. "So, is part of story. Not what YOU think. I do not ask him to 'rrrrrrr' me," she huffs and climbs back onto the table to pick up her knives and stare at the lumpy, dumpy new carving.

Raim finally approaches Rheisa, his eyes on her closely as he sidles up to lean against the work table. He leans close to her, as close as she will allow, in any case, and says quietly, "I am sorry if I upset you. I..." he stalls for a moment. "I am defensive of my family. /You/ are my family. You and Umak are all that I have." It seems as though words fail him as he stalls and considers before finally falling into silence.

"Families are big, sometimes shared. To keep them small is to be lonely." Rheisa puts her hands slowly back into motion, focusing on the head region of the piece to etch a little more definition between what will be the jaw and the neck. She stiffly tips her head aside to bump his temple with the butt of a montral. Proverbial hackles haven't lowered yet, but she is at least willing to offer a small gesture of peace.

Raim stiffens once more as he listens to what Rheisa says before he says quietly, "What exactly are you talking about sharing?"

Rheisa sighs, pausing her work again. "Like Rheisa is shared with Qo and Veela. Ax and Kadi. Hek'sashkuri and Naelyn and all the others...and you. Different families, all connected, many relation ships. Can be close with many peoples outside one home." So, platonic, then. "On Shili, children are free to sleep between homes in a pack. Sometimes, adults break from a pair for form another, freely, but I know /this/ is not your way."

Raim relaxes slightly before he offers a stiff nod. "That is not my way," he agrees, leaving no room for barter given his tone. "I wish for you to be happy," he angles his head to attempt and catch Rheisa's eye. "I want you to be happy, Rheisa. If you think you would be happier trying to find some togruta to be with, other than me, then I would wish for you to do so, even if it saddens me." He shakes his head before saying, "I am not opposed to the first bit that you described."

"Good." Rheisa flicks an 'eye' at him in a tone that's still harboring some resentment, but she isn't shoving him away at least. Then, in attempt to divert attention, she changes the subject. "Umak is with Veela today, to play with Bhija. She is too rough with her little brother, so he is a better match and will bite back." ...because that's not a disaster waiting to happen.

Raim's visage cracks at this, his mouth curling upward into a smile that radiates across his sapphire cheeks and crinkles the flesh at the corners of his eyes. His chest swells in what can only be pride at the thought of their son being able to hold his own with the older child. It is likely not a good idea, but that doesn't stop the warmth spreading across Raim's chest in favor of his adoptive son. Without a word, he reaches out and grasps Rheisa's hand, the one that was cut earlier and lifts her hand to press his lips, a subtly darker shade of blue than that of his face, to the cut. "Our boy," he says softly, happily.

Rheisa's hand flinches, just once, but the gesture does manage to bring a small smile reluctantly to her face. "'Our' boy must be more careful to not find trouble. His teeth grow. It could become a problem."