Log:Silent Auction(p1): First Impressions
Silent Auction(p1): First Impressions
OOC Date: January 24, 2017
Location: Art Gallery
Participants: Eebua Gnuda, Narsai Ordo, Russ Ordo, Rheisa Dirleel, Ax, Kadi, Jehni'va Cihn, Nyla Forr, Bishop, Sienn Ko, Gr'vesh, Quentin Haslett
This is part one of probably 3 volumes of the charity auction put on by Eebua, the Mandos, and Rheisa at the Muse. Many thanks to all who participated and/or donated to the cause. There were 35 pages of log - just poses - by the end of it, so I'm breaking it down into more easily-digested chunks. You're welcome. :)
The Muse is alive. For some time it lay dormant under drapery of renovation, but the metamorphosis is now complete. A rebirth mirroring its owners, except with copious amounts of paint rather than bacta. The organic design flows from room to room, earthy colors softening to cooler tones as one ascends ramp to the level above. It is a feast for the senses - not only visual aesthetics of the art, or the ebb of quiet music, but everywhere there are textures to appease those of tactile nature, like herself. Supple leathers, stubbly rugs, tickly soft furs, gritty walls, and cool, stone floors, all without leaving the fresh, filtered air of this sensory biome.
It draws breath through the opening doors that admit each stream of newcomers into the space. It welcomes them in with warmth; the amber glow of recessed sconces cast spectral shapes up the soaring height of the entry. Servers are already floating through the rooms with trays of beverage to greet the guests.
It has a pulse - the heartbeats of gathering bodies , harmonizing with the soft music emanating from the walls. [1]It'd be an eclectic beat to dance to, maybe not mainstream, with slinky melodies marked by occasional, odd drumbeats. This rhythm and the new interior design speak volumes about the owner and her quest for refuge on this noxious moon.
She stands now, staring at a reflection more striking than her usual, exotic self. A fierce face, framed by heavy ornamentation. Dangling clusters of assorted, metallic medallions, slender strands of teeth, glistening stones piercing the skin...and the makeup. All white markings on her face have been outlined by charcoal and her left hand hovers, poised with a sliver of wood that's capped in green paint, ready to strike. No longer able to make eye contact with this regal image staring back at her, Rheisa lowers her eyes and applies the finishing touches to her lip from memory. One tiny dot at a time. (hiding out in a screened off dressing area upstairs)
(NOTE: The workroom space in the west room has been cleaned up and converted into an auction staging space. The door in the transparisteel window wall is open, permitting guests to enter in and place their bids as they wish)
Perhaps not one to really bid on art, but one that might be surprised if he finds something, Gr'vesh is an enigma that warps the senses and draws all light into him, wrapping him into that of a walking shadow. Ironic it is then that many will not venture near the Defel, clearing more around him than most might be left, for he becomes no one's shadow only ever his own. The visor swings back and forth as the eyes behind it take the place in, the art, the textures, unique items like himself and perhaps a chance to mingle with those that do have the money, those he would much rather know and network with to get to his own end and means for being on Nar shaddaa.
The entrance of a thirty foot tall Hutt is hardly ever a subtle affair, though this particular entrance is doubly more noteworthy. Lord Eebua Gnuda is carried aloft on the padded dais made up of rich fabrics and huge pillows, the numerous collared slaves holding the platform aloft struggling beneath the mountain of hutt weight. Similarly, the escort of his personal security force surround the platform as it moves toward the Muse. True to the rules of this particular fund raising event, the platform is laid to rest outside of the door, and the Hutt Lord slithers slowly off of the dais, his large head dipping low enough to head bowing surprisingly low for the bulky body so that his crowned head can fit through the door.
The movement of the Hutt Lord is quite slow, fitting his huge size, but he does enter under his own function as Rheisa had mandated. Once inside, the glamour of his "attire" is revealed. His crown glistens in the lighting within the Muse, as does the wide golden belt that stretches around his huge belly(proportioned similar to that of a professional wrestler championship belt). Purple eyes scan the foyer, which is honestly as far as the massive Hutt will be able to enter anyways, and his voice booms, "Mistriss Dirleel! You have truly outdone yourself this evening, the Muse is as beautiful as its owner!"
Walking between the exhibits, with the attire and demeanour of someone who absolutely would have fit in at the old gallery but was a bit of an odd duck in the nature-themed atmosphere, was none other than Quentin Haslett, Scientist. In fact, he looked like he was expecting a more... sedate affair, and he was peering around looking for things that appealed to his sensibilities. Were where the tapestries of the Mandalorian Wars? Where were the displays of Sephi life art, presently in vogue? What about an artistic rendition of the rise and fall of Queen Zira? What about an Ubrikkian Micro-Cactus? This made zero sense and it was clear from the bemused and confused expression on his face. The scientist didn't belong here.
Deep breath. Rheisa draws a shaky one then chases it with a gulp of sweetened, fermented milk. And a mint. She's been quieter than usual in the past week. Anxious. Depressed. But tonight's goal is to entertain and milk the pocket credits of every body to pass through that door, for the benefit of those many poor souls who lost it all during the last spaceport attack. This requires a smile. Pretty faces and a smile. She stands from her seat amid a soft jangle of baubles and turns to greet the boom of a voice that quakes the very air.
"Eebua..." the throaty purr of the Muse's Muse calls from the ornately railed loft above as she appears. A queenly look, compared to her usual digs of rat-hunting rags. Intricately painted and dressed, she beams a toothy smile to those entering below and uplifts bangled arms to welcome all in around HIS girth. "The Muse welcomes you!"
Lost in the crowd is a smallish lavender Twi'lek. She's clearly not dressed for this sort of event, she in her usual armored jumpsuit and long coat. Still she smiles pleasingly at the people who scowl at her or sneer at her lack of formal wear. There are drinks and there's food. So, she may as well mingle and pretend she's a wealthy eccentric. "What do you think, darling..." she asks of one random patron looking at a piece. "Would you call this the artist's Neo-Mandalorian phase or Tatooine period?"
Gr'vesh Von Greowl looks up to see Rheisa welcome them, it was an interesting sigh to see her all dressed up, then again Gr'vesh had never seen her before, so this might be how she always looks. The welcomeover, a waiter passing by with a tray of drinks, he grabs one and decides to take a sip. HE sees many things on display and looks to each, even as many pass around the large Hutt. The same happens to the moving shadow, far smaller and would almost be lost in the crowd and the shadows of others if not so seperated.
Lord Eebua offers a gallant dip of his large crown clad head, one meaty hand laying to rest at the curving slope of his large belly just overtop the golden belt. His gaze shifts down to those entering into the foyer around his bulk and he too offers welcome in a gravelly voice, "Yes, welcome one and all! Please enter in and enjoy the food and drink offered by Mistress Dirleel! Let us leave our differences at the door and join together in brotherhood as we attempt to offer aid to the poor souls hurt in the attack on the Starport District!"
"I'm not sure one can have a Neo-Mandalorian phase, seeing as artworks from the Neo-Crusader period were lost in the Jedi Civil War millenia ago," was Quentin's casual response to whomever addressed him. The voice was vaguely, vaguely familiar but the snooty scientist put no effort into identifying it. A glance to the side revealed a lavender Twi'lek individual. Clearly the question asker. "Note the brushstrokes," he advised, gesturing to the painting. "This was done in anger. Emotion. Fierce work. Particularly messy. I would not be surprised if the edges of the canvas are damaged under the frame. Would you draw that conclusion?"
Behind the descending Togruta, the band is kicking off, air suddenly hit with a few heavy vibrations before it launches into full swing. Her eyes close against the noise, expression masked by a tattooed veil of neutrality - difficult to discern creases and twitches amid the pattern. On the main level, the servers (flesh and droid alike) are busied toting trays of tiny snacks and sippy beverages around the floor, from room to room while others are putting the final garnishes on the buffet-style spread laid out along one lobby wall. The golden monkey lizard statue's been shoved behind it into the corner. In the center of them all is a face as iconic as Rheisa's in this establishment. It is Kee'tch'ka, her protocol droid, and he's busy scuffling from guest to guest introducing himself and the translation service he may offer to any who so need.
Nyla Forr is... well, dressed up. For once. Not a speck of dirt or droid fluid on her. She's got on a deep purple vest, buttoned up, and a long, brown leather jacket that is particularly well tailored. Tight pants, tall boots... and a blaster stuffed alongside the back of her, under the jacket. Because this is still Nar, of course. She steps into the Muse with a look around, smiling with amusement because this is so totally not her usual scene. "J?" Nyla asks, adjusting her jacket and glancing behind her for the pilot that is rarely far away. "You know anything about art?" she asks in a hushed whisper. 'Cause, uh. Nyla steps back as a server swoops by, snagging a drink.
Making the rounds, seeing who is there and what is what possibly only one thing might interest, Gr'vesh then turns to another voice. The Hutt who speaks, large indeed and it seems very well off by his size if that is an indication. Still the Defel is little impressed and has never been with any Hutt he has seen. The droid comes around and indeed he makes sure that the machine knows Defel or not. Sometimes it is easier to deal in ones own language, for more privacy sake. In an auction one never knows.
The leader of the Waywards knew very little about art. Some art he enjoyed, some he didn't, and generally it was the stuff that a critic would love that he found garbage. Of course, he didn't come here for the art, he came because Rheisa was a personal friend, and well... there was a slug involved in the Corellian District, which earned suspicion.
Dressed in his finest white silks, the Echani makes his way into the establishment, his pet tailring, Adder, perched upon his shoulder and attached to his wrist via a long silver chain so that the pet cannot get too far away from Ax.
"I don't know anything about anything." Is the honest reply as the lanky pilot jogs to catch up. Jehn doesn't do the whole 'formal' thing, probably because she's never been able to afford nice clothes - even less so now. But at the end of the day Jehni'va Cihn, as she always has: tries. The lanky pilot is groomed, thick mane wrangled into a single, long braid that hangs down between her shoulder blades, and she's traded in the jumpsuit for a... Pantsuit? It's certainly not her style, in fact her ensemble seems to hold roots in someone else's optimistic stylings than any of the eight completely identical outfits that lurk in her closet. More than one pair of hands have played a part in forcing the Coruscanti pilot into something more resembling a human being, and all have... Kind of suceeded? The navy fabric hangs from her lanky form at flattering angles and even does some good hiding the work boots that sh- oh come on, Jehn. She's spray painted her brown boots black. You can't take her anywhere.
"Dude, check out Rheisa!" The pilot hisses to her companion as she pointedly avoids the Hutt upon entering, a hand snaking out for Nyla's as her eyes cut up to the regal Togruta that lords above them all. Jehn pauses, flicking a glance over the crowd and nudging at the shorter woman. "That guy was there with the... Y'know. The AT incident." She nods at the strange man speaking to the semi-familiar Twi'lek.
Sienn turns as the Hutt speaks. It's not like she can miss him. She lowers her head a moment. "Thank you, O Most Munificent Profundity. You truly are a magnificent specimen of corpulence, my lord. Thank you for the welcome." there's no teasing tone, she seems to be serious. She turns back to Quentin. "Hmm. Perhaps so. The colors are angry enough. You have a good eye." she lies.
Lord Eebua catches the hissed comment about the host of the evening from one young woman to the other and his great belly ripples with the sound of merriment that the "evil" Hutt displays. "Yes, Mistriss Dirleel is a vision of beauty in these dark nights," he compliments, directed toward Nyla and Jehni'va. He leans down, belly bulging around the magnificent belt worn about his midsection and peers closer at the two humans. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he rumbles. "I am Lord Eebua Gnuda, though I am certain you already knew that much."
Head tilting as his purple eyes shift toward the Twi'lek addressing him, Lord Eebua offers Sienn a similar respectful dip of his head at the compliments, after all it is about time that /one/ Twi'lek on this moon remembers her rightful place and bestows some respect upon the Hutt Lord. "Thank you. I do not believe that we have met."
"Ah!" Kee'tch'ka stops just short of the walking suit of armored finery, aka a Defel. He listens with attentive, amber eyes, then out churns a sufficient reply in a simplistic form of the alien language, complete with a great deal of gesturing towards the grand archway that leads into the room beyond.
Nyla Forr follows Jehn's words, glancing up at Rheisa. "Dang," Nyla hums and nods. She glances down as Jehn grabs her hand and then up to the Hutt who has noticed them. "She is, isn't she?" Nyla replies to Eebua as cordially as she can muster through wide eyes. And then the moment the Hutt's attention is on the Twi'lek she pushes Jehn back to lead her towards the main part of the gathering. "I don't know anyone, you know that," Nyla says with a small, nervous laugh. She tugs at Jehn, forgoing hand holding to wrap her arm around the taller woman's. "You, uh. Wanna bid on stuff? We could, ooh..." Nyla pauses and looks at one of the items. "First Order base tour..." Wide, brown eyes focus up on Jehn.
"Good observational skills. Not good eyes," said Quentin wryly. The glasses were a giveaway. He listened to the exchange between the Twi'lek and the Hutt and thought it best to not get involved. Instead, he slipped into the side room where the auctions were taking place. Possibly to make a bid.
Rheisa finally hits the main floor, bare toes deftly keeping out from underfoot of prowling guests as she picks her way through, one greeting at a time. A touch to the arm, a cordial bow of the head, a pearly-fanged smile...she pauses at the shoulder of a certain Echani and murmurs a warm "Greetings to you, my friend. And my thanks for your generous contribution." Hey look at that...she can be eloquent in Basic speak if she so chooses.
Looking to the archway pointed out, the Defel moves towards it. He is gone only a moment before returning to the main room and the glass of drink now gone he places on a server's tray in passing, taking another in its place. Gr'vesh looks around the room some more, satisfied with that he had come all this way now. These were some of the more prominent people on Nar Shaddaa and others as well. The finest event he could have possibly made it to to mingle and network. That is what the Defel does, introducing himself to some of the more oppulent guests in finer clothes then even he currently has. Not in Defel this timee but basic, sort of, "Gr'vesh Von Groewl." He bows his head a little, well the visor dips, that is the best one can tell he is dipping his head, "Dezigner, puilter and creator of fine and elekant starfighders and ships. IF you need zomething ask and I may be aple to broffide."
"I am Sienn Ko, your Hugeness." she responds to the Hutt. "I hope my friends the Ordos arrive soon, they shouldn't miss this exciting event or the chanse to see the great Lord Eebua in the endless flesh." She sips her drink and does her best to smile under the purple gaze of the Hutt.
"We've met!" Jehn squeaks several octaves higher than usual or necessary as the giant Hutt looms down over her and Nyla. Wait - shit, why would she say that? MOVE, MOVE, MOVE! "It's Iva." She stutters back, using the old flight nomer rather than her more complicated and traceable full name. "I - uh -" Thankfully, Nyla isn't a useless lump like her, and Jehn's grip tightens on the mechanic's hand as it tugs her to (relative) safety. "Yeah First Order base tour sounds like a gre- wait is that really a thing? Let me see tha- oooooh!" And, as usual, her short attention span is snatched away. There's a pet! "Think he'll let me pet it?" Jehn whispers urgently, leaning back against Nyla and glancing between the various fancies stumbling about, Rheisa floating through the crowd like a goddess, and the tailring, and - yo did that purple chick just call Eebua fat to his face?
Ax smiles to Rheisa. "It was only a small thing, I am no artist, and I'm afraid it doesn't go that well with the rest of what you are auctioning off, but I am happy to have contributed," the Echani tells the Togruta host of the evening. Ax offers her a slight bow. "It looks like you have a packed house, I do hope that the proceeds go to helping people other than just lining the head slug's coffers."
Perhaps Lord Eebua is simply used to the persons he attempts to make small talk with fleeing his presence when he turns his head, but such is the plight of the tragically misunderstood Hutt. His eyes return to Jehni'va and Nyla, at least to the spot they /were/, and the massive being shrugs before turning his head back to face Sienn. "Ahhh, yes. You are a friend of the Mandalore and his sister? That is quite nice to hear. They should have as many representatives here as they can, given that Rheisa was kind enough to host this benefit for us." His eyes move toward the silken material clad figure of Ax and he dips his head to the Wayward Guild leader in greeting, if he heard the moniker of 'head slug' he is at least honoring his word of keeping the event as pleasant as possible.
A young man slips into the extremely crowded event, wearing a ratty old flight jacket and the tatters of a red doublet underneath. BISHOP is printed quite clearly on the arm of his jacket, which looks a bit Imperial for those who remember the style. Glancing furtively about the crazy crowd, the young man wrings his hands a bit, looking quite nervous to be here and occasionally being distracted by beautiful people, bizarre artworks, and--
"Ahh!" The young man marked as 'Bishop' suddenly recoils when he sees a gigantic slug thing. Recoiling backwards quickly, the young pilot attempts to put some space between himself and His Immenseness.
Even though he had helped organise and fund things but he is clearly not really in his home environment here, even if he is no stranger to high society functions. He is dressed in his armour, although it is no normal armour even for a Mandalorian, it looks rather grand and the entire thing is tied together with a thick cape. He is not wearing his helmet today, the near priceless artifact locked away securely. He looks around curiously at the milling people but seems content not to move just yet, quietly sipping at a small glass held tenderly in his gauntleted hand.
Speckled lips spread into a slow, careful smile and Rheisa flicks a glance toward the slimy behemoth that's sponsoring the bulk of this affair. In ways more unseen that his 'magnificent' self. "As do I," she dips her chin into a solemn nod. "But there is hope...he come inside without help of his slaves. This is show of good faith." Thankfully.
And from there, she leaves Ax and his tailring to sway on into Eebua's shadow and look up. Way up. "Would you do us honor of your voice, Lord Eebua, and inform our guests where they may place their bids?"
"Hello!" Just when Bishop thinks he's safe, a chrome protocol droid toddles into his direct path and chirps a greeting. "I am Kee'tch'ka, human cyborg relations and personal assistance to Mistress Dirleel. Should you require any assistance this evening, I would be happy to oblige. The items available for auction are just in there," he gestures to the archway, “bids are made by entering your name and desired amount. The system will update automatically."
Kadi is not with Ax as the leader of the Waywards arrives. This is perhaps as per plan? Or maybe she is just running late. She enters the gallery somewhat behind Ax, expecting that he is there well ahead of her. As she enters, she steps out of the way and pauses to look around, taking in the sights that are here to be seen. There is an obvious curiosity on her face, and not a smudge of grime to be seen.
"Kee...Kee Teech Kaa?" Bishop looks bewildered at the entirely too cheerful protocol droid. "Kee-teech-aah. Augh, is hurting my tongue to say." Working his jaw with his hand, the thickly-accented kid from the Unknown Regions shakes his head a bit. "Dirleel, she is mistress? Of household or ladies of night?" Nodding his head, Bishop stuffs both hands deep into his jacket pockets. "Was told there would be free food. Free ladies, too?"
"What do you think?" Nyla wonders aloud to Jehni'va, eyes narrowing down on the little description. She's distracted, while reading, and is forced to look up stupidly as Jehn's attention wanders. "Huh?" Nyla grunts and tries to figure out what Jehn could possible be going on abou-- oh, it's an animal. She smiles /knowingly/ and releases her hold of the other woman. "I dunno. Go ask?" Nyla encourages, shooing at Jehn.
No one pay any attention to the little furr ball! Little Meep peeks into the foyer, zipping through the entrance and over to one of the side walls, peeking out around one of the display cases. Whiskers twitch as he looks up and about at all the strange faces and legs, sniffing at the air lightly to try to see if he recognizes anyone.
Ax's gaze follows Rheisa as she moves away to speak with the grand slug, of course, there's a bit of disgust on the Echani's face, but only for a brief moment, as he averts his gaze from the mammoth of wasted flesh. He looks around the room, his eyes landing upon Qadira. Even Adder spots the woman at the same time, the sand dragon letting out a little screech as Ax moves through the crowd towards his wife. "You look amazing, my love," he tells Kadi as he leans in to give her a quick kiss. "Adder says you're beautiful as well."
"Ah, there's one of them now..." Sienn says, noticing the armored Mandalorian. "But not the pretty one." she mutters to herself. She bows her head to the Hutt again and starts to move towards Russ. "Greetings. You're just in time."
His appearance before the ones he speaks is met with mild attention, the two courtly dressed people hurridly move away and Gr'vesh only laughs, a bark-like affair when he finds their reactions amusing and moves on. Such is the wasste tha tif they will not converse, then his skills will be better off with someone else. That being the case it is well enough as the night should prove fruitul enough for Gr'vesh, no matter who is around, who listens, he is there and he is not hard to miss. He finds the food table now and picks out a few things, perhaps considering who he might relate himself to next. More arrive and he munchs slowly, his white, sparkling teeth showing and seeming to float within the shadow of his form.
Russ pushes away from the wall he had been standing near, and begins to slide through the throng of people something that should be difficult with the bulk of his armour but he makes it look easy. He studies a few pieces on auction with a critical eye, funnily enough he does not tend to move towards the weapons maybe he has seen enough of those for several lifetimes. He may not know what fine art is or have any idea what he is bidding on. But he knows what he likes and he knows the money will be going to a good cause, he will make sure of it. He raises one of his gauntlets to his face and punches in a couple of commands putting a few bids down.
Kadi smiles, as Ax approaches, her own attention moving to her husband. "I'm sorry I'm late," she says. She leans briefly into that kiss, and then stretches up to scritch Adder briefly. "Adder is biased, and so are you. But thank you. Have you been here long? Is there anything I missed? Or that I really should see?" She pauses to glance around, curious to see who is here and if she recognizes them.
"I haven't been here long," Ax says, Adder craning his neck to nuzzle Kadi's cheap for a second, the tether keeping him close to Ax. "I haven't even looked around much, but I think someone actually donated a ship engine or something." He laughs. "I donated a rifle, the rest of it is artsy stuff that, well frankly I don't get. There is some jewelry though, I was thinking it might look good on a certain girl I know, maybe help convince her to dress up more often," he adds with a wink.
