Log:Silent Auction(p3): Feathers and Winners
Silent Auction(p3): Feathers and Winners
OOC Date: January 24, 2017
Location: Art Gallery
Participants: Eebua Gnuda, Narsai Ordo, Russ Ordo, Rheisa Dirleel, Ax, Kadi, Jehni'va Cihn, Nyla Forr, Sienn Ko, Bishop, Quentin Haslett, Gr'vesh, Meep, Naelyn, Maeve Zavir, Sesti Gath, Jax Greystorm, Fuze
This is the third and final chunk of the charity silent auction held at the Muse to support the damaged properties/people victims of that attack on Parmac/Eebua's starport awhile back. Last chunk. I promise.
A halfhearted thrum lifts from Rheisa's chest in show of 'thanks' for Eebua's offer to hold down the fort. Hopefully he won't squash it. Ick. Before she disappears back into the crowd though, her montrals are abuzz with a /word/. Two actually. Sharp pupils bring 'Fuze' back into focus as she stares through twirling clusters of headress. The painted whorls upon her face start to wrinkle, betraying real from fake as some of those white marking crackle. Nostrils flare and flatten for just one sloshy heartbeat, then she's off, almost knocking into Quentin on her march for the ramp.
With a beep from his datapad and a very good connection, the plan to network was working well for the Defel. Being freed up by the ending of the skirmish that wasn't, Gr'vesh wanders back through the crowd. A ripple of people that move around him more so because of the disturbing way light bends and is absorbed, a shadow where fur peeks out from beneath any covering. A dark hand reaches out to snag a drink from a servitor when it passes an embibes himself with a sip, then agulp and then the rest follows as the glass is tipped back and fluid dissappears between white fangs and the shadowed maw below the visor.
"No, not like that," Quentin mused, looking around for whoever had said the words. Funny how he completely dropped the fawning and respect to the Hutt when his mind was locked on to something. "Something else. In the sense of... I think I heard 'unhealthy'. Female. Do you know of any unhealthy females around here?" What an awkward question to ask!
"Ax, you're looking rather sharp," Mae notes before she reaches out and hugs Kadi, "and you're looking lovely as always," she says with a smile before she steps back and shares a nod in general aimed at those who have gathered around in an impromptu intervention knot. She shifts her focus back to Fuze and makes a quiet, "Ah" of sound. "That's a rather clever call sign, then. My alternatives were only amusing, but clever is by far a much better approach to something that becomes part of your official moniker." She sips from the glass that she's holding, glancing toward Bishop then back again. "You should clearly define those terms, though, Fuze. Meet him in the air could lead to being shot out of a cannon, in full gear of some sort, with a helmet and a sword and have to fight your way down, mid air, who ever survives the landing and can walk away wins. It's all about the parameters."
Jax takes a long drink of whatever it is in glass. It's bubbly. He swirls it around and finishes it. Then sits it on a serving tray going past. Then snags another glass. "If you want though they are talking to the First Order Lieutant." hHe shrugs, "I would suggest dancing instead? Let the scene cool off a bit."
A halfhearted thrum lifts from Rheisa's chest in show of 'thanks' for Eebua's offer to hold down the fort. Hopefully he won't squash it. Ick. Before she disappears back into the crowd though, her montrals are abuzz with a /word/. Two actually. Sharp pupils bring 'Fuze' back into focus as she stares through twirling clusters of headress. The painted whorls upon her face start to wrinkle, betraying real from fake as some of those white marking crackle. Nostrils flare and flatten for just one sloshy heartbeat, then she's off, almost knocking into Quentin on her march for the ramp.
"I've seen the attrocities of the First Order first hand," Ax says. "But I've seen the devastation caused by some idiots in the Resistance as well," he adds. "Of course, the Republic isn't exactly doing their job well either, so in the current state of things, the real losers are the people caught in the middle. It's noble what this benefit is for, as long as the proceeds go to where it needs to go." The Echani sighs. Ax looks towards his wife, "A dance is sounding better and better." His gaze goes to Mae, and he gives her a nod. "Why thank you, doc. Good to see you."
Russ himself seems to react ever so slightly to the hutts voice about the whole no weapons allowed thing, his eyes widening slightly before it is once again hidden. He looks down at himself, at least he doesn't have his hand cannons or anything of the like strapped to him. But Mandalorians are rarely if ever completely unarmed. He shakes his head slightly at Fuzes words, they are not bad words. But he is no air headed farmboy with no idea of what truly goes on in the galaxy. But as long as there war stays away from him and what is his? Well it is not his problem. He takes another flute of champagne as a droid comes past and takes a sip. Best thing to fortify himself against the rigours of high society. He chuckles again as he thinks over Fuze's words "I feel a little self conscious for giving myself my title now. It seems to be very arrogant and self absorbed doesn't it."
Retrieving a champaign for FZ-4792, Bishop returns with his heaping plate of food and hands a second one (also one he prepared for himself) to the Fuze. "Wait...in the air?" His eyes narrow, "You are pilot? Zoom zoom, through air in terrible TIE fighters?" Straightening up imperiously, Bishop stares at the woman with daggers, "Then yes, you will face the BLACK LANCE in combat, or you may acquiesce to mere swords. Or perhaps batons. Will spank. Or will swat out of air. Is choice." He nods.
Kadi nods back to Fuze, but moves to give Mae a big hug in return. "Thank you. You look smashing yourself, Mae. It is always good to see you." And then there's delight on her face, at Ax's comment. "Oh, now that's a treat I don't get every day. If you will excuse me, I think I have to go step on my husband's toes in an attempt to dance." She reaches for Ax's hand, intending to tug him to wherever there might be dancing.
Narsai's eyes flick to the artworks again before they come to rest on the sniper rifle donated for the auction. She'd wanted one of those a while ago... Truely, even with all the beautiful sculptures and other pieces, it's the weapon that seems to have the attention of the redhead in the matching dress. How almost typically Mandalorian of her, right? Even so, she turns her gaze back to the violet Twi'lek beside her. "Bid on anything?" Her eyes turn towards Kadi and Ax as they move towards the dance floor, humor in her eyes at some far-off memory.
Meep yawns a little, rubbing his eyes as he wiggles to his feet. He turns and begins wandering towards the exit, weaving through the crowd right up until he bumps into Kadi's leg. He stumbles back a few steps and falls flat on his rump, rubbing his forehead and peering up at kadi, no doubt blushing at his momentary lack of attention.
Fuze laughs out loud, accepting the plate and the champaign after depositing her empty glass on the tray of a passing empty-glass-carrying-thing. "My TIE fighter can knock any other fighter out of the sky, including your Black Lance," she boasts. The words are barely out of her mouth when her smile flickers and fades uncertainly, and unconsciously her left hand slides towards her left pocket before pulling away. Her smile is just picking up again when...
...Fuze's expression freezes. Her gaze, washing past Bishop to the others in the little group and beyond (lest there be someone else more important that needs to be schmoozed), alights on the wall. No. On an artwork on the wall. The piece admired by Jax, the Stormtrooper helmet with the bird. It's like she's seen a ghost. She swallows, and again her left hand moves unconsciously, but this time to her chest. She takes an unsteady breath and forces herself to focus on the crazy man before her. "What?"
Ax was not a good dancer, but even a bad dancer would be an improvement over whatever it was he was trying to do on the dancefloor. No wonder Kadi couldn't keep step, as it was difficult to determine whether the Echani was trying to tango or was having a seizure. Then again, this was an art studio, maybe it was interpretive dance he was trying with his wife. It didn't matter though, he had a smile and not a care in the world. If he had any shame, it wasn't apparent. "You've gotten better," he says with a smile to his wife. Hopefully, Naelyn won't spot them, as he/she/whatever might have to hang his head in shame as the married couple had taken lessons from him.
Bishop gestures with both glass and plate toward Fuze, "You were staring creepily over my shoulder for about 4.5 seconds. Before that." He looks between his glass, his plate, his glass again, and quickly sets down the glass to pick up some finger food, "You touched yourself awkwardly, as though you had something important hidden in your left pocket." He nods, completely serious. Helpful, that. He shrugs, "Before that, I threatened to spank you."
Mae angles her head slightly as she watches the odd reaction on Fuze's face to what ever it is that the Lieutenant has spotted, though she does glance in the general direction that Fuze appears to be looking, but turns back as the Lieutenant is more of an interesting study - and up close - than something in the distance. Bishop, for all his idiosyncrasies, is rather observant. Until he gets to the last lines which draw a sputtering laugh from the doctor, "You did, didn't you? You are an odd one, have you had to much to drink?" she wonders even as she's drawing yet another glass and handing a spare to Fuze. "Trust me, you want to keep up a constant level, it'll help."
Like chapped lips you can't stop licking, Fuze can't stop glancing over Bishop's shoulder at the painting, and so she's a little distracted when she ends up with two flutes of bubbly. Well, waste not, want not, and she takes a healthy 'sip' of the one in the left hand. "I think he has a thing about spanking females in uniform," she tells Maeve dryly, recovering her senses. Picture. Bad Fuze.
Lord Eebua gazes down on Quentin with an expression that reveals he does not know quite what the doctor under his employ is getting at, but what can it hurt to discuss it? Glancing around at the gathered crowd, Lord Eebua approaches it from a thoughtful angle, "Well... I do not know many of these females. Qadira is the wife of Ax, and I would think he has the credits to insure her health. Similarly, that one was introduced as a doctor," he says, gesturing with one of his chins toward Maeve. His eyes fall on Fuze and he says, "The First Order submits its personnel to rigorous health testing, so I would say that she is safe..."
"Not yet!" Bishop answers cheerfully, "But perhaps. Depends on how good first time is, no?" To Maeve, Bishop shrugs, "Have not had a drink yet. Should remedy that." And then he just downs the glass. All of it. He shudders a bit, nods, and turns on his heel back toward the refreshments table, eating bits of food as he goes.
OH LOOK. The droid's back. As chipper and polite as ever, Kee'tch'ka reappears from the art room, having to fight some crowd to escape it. His vocoder amplifies a little as he shuffles around through the lobby crowd. "Attention! Attention! The auction will be closed to bidding shortly. If you have not already done so, I advise you to review your desired items and make a final offer." And it's repeated in at least five other languages.
"No." Sienn says to Narsai. "I don't have much to bid with." she mentions. "You should take a look, though. There are lots of interesting things." She looks back to Fuze and Bishop. "I'm this close to punching that sentient in the face. Please stop me if I do, will you?" she asks the Mandalorian.
Flicking a rather calmly assessing glance over Bishop, Mae gives a mild hum of sound. "He is a male of our species," she remarks, "and of an appropriate age for such a thing to be a constant factor. It's said that the human male thinks of copulation every six seconds, which allows five seconds to be allocated to other things. Perhaps he is speaking to you, initially, in that one sixth of his focus?" she allows before observing the red haired man walking away, eating as he goes. She chuckles then and turns back to Fuze, "Well. You don't suppose he was part of the evenings entertainment, do you?"
"I thought ... " Sesti trails off when she notes that Kadi has indeed gone with Ax over to Fuze, so she agrees to the dancing offer. "We could use the practice. We are supposed to be learning how to be high society, are we not?" As she makes her decision, she finishes her glass, sets it on another serving droid, then takes his arm. "Do you remember the new steps we were learning?" Hopefully he does so that they don't run into Ax and Kadi.
"Hm." It was process of elimination. "The Mandalorians are likely in the same boat as the First Order. That leaves the host," Quentin ruled, following the train of events to the logical conclusion. Said host had almost bumped into him, but besides a little thwack of montrails across glasses he'd barely registered it. "Tell me, where did you find her? She seems to be the outlier amongst us." Pause. "Except for the nobleman over there, but I think he's gotten his courtship and honour wires crossed."
"You just asked a Mandalorian to -stop- you from hitting someone," Narsai says with a raised eyebrow and a smile behind the rim of her glass. Shaking her head in amusement, she listens to the droid's announcement and shifts a litle where she leans against the table, watching the couples dancing (or at least attempting to do so!) with a little smile.
It seems most everyone has plit off into their own little groups after the ruccous of the young Bishop and the FO officer of some sort. Now they were talking as if they were kinky co pilots. That isn't something Gr'vesh can wrap his visor around, nor did he really care to, in any regard, most assuredly not with any First Pfficer lackey no matter how good they looked. Instead the Defel hears the last call from the droid and nods, indeed things were going quite wel enough for him without the thought of Bishop spanking Fuze. This has him taking anohter drink, possibly his fourth, then he may have lost count and depositing the empty cup in the new ones place on the tray of the servitor.
Dismissing Bishop from her gaze, Fuze turns so she's talking directly to Mae, deliberately putting the artwork on the wall behind her. Not helping, Fuze. Her shoulderblades twitch. "He is certainly entertaining. Perhaps if he was recruited to the First Order, he would have other things to occupy his mind than base desires." Two seconds. Then Fuze's ears redden slightly.
Kadi's not the best dancer at all, but truthfully, with Ax's - whatever he's doing, she does manage to come off looking better, by default. In any event, as horrible a dancer as she is, she does have fun. Enthusiastic. And certainly healthy, by any standards. (Sorry, Quentin.) Then the droid is back and Kadi pauses midstep, making a check on the bidding, and maybe even bidding once more herself. Her eyes are dancing, as she returns to the dance steps, trying to keep up with Ax. Whoops, she nearly stepped on her own foot that time.
Jax was no kinky co-pilot, thank you very much. This Corellian was a kinky pilot. He takes his wife by the hand, " Darling, Some times I don't have a clue what your talking about. But dancing sounds good." He though watches Ax and Kadi, "But we don't know those two. Wow, that really had to hurt. I hope Ax paid up Kadi's medical deductable. Her poor feet. That looked unhealthy." Then Jax goes dancing with Sesti, in a simple dance.
Sitting at a table near the food, Bishop is eating like a man starved. And, for the first time in a while, being silent.
Pausing with the glass of champagne half lifted, Mae arches one eyebrow at the gray clad lieutenant then tips her head back to let a laugh roll out. She shakes her head, slowly, and shares a grin with the pilot. "Well, he does have five out of six seconds to focus with. Perhaps all he needs is proper motivation."
It is time. Time, time time. Rheisa ascends the last leg of the ramp with a huff, cheeks puffing from the rigor of it all. Its a lot of work, disguising a limp in a gown of this nature that betrays all leg and almost all scars. She flashes a tired smile of appreciation to Skrotch the Jizz Wail troupe as the band winds down, quieting the bass respectfully as she with the sensitive everything comes into their midst.” Many thanks”, she bows lowly to the squat Dug for whom the band is named then goes to slip behind the privacy screen in the corner. There’s a great deal of rustling and a few flimsy articles come floating up into the air to settle and drape over the screen.
The curator is metamorphosing into storyteller. Into her own surrogate Y’grritii.
Out of the woodwork then comes a delightfully old gentleman, decked out in Nabooian robes and bent over his own glass of wine cupped between knobby knuckles. The aged artist navigates the crowd with a distracted smile, unable to pick one face or thing to look at for long. His shuffling gait does bring him to the buffet eventually. His wispy head bows to the armored - and unarmored Mandos and friends in passing. “Lovely evening,” he wheezes with a soft chuckle.
Lord Eebua marks Quentin's reasoning and nods his agreement when it comes to the Mandalorians. "Let us not forget the Twi'lek. Though she keeps company with the Mandalorians, she is not one of their lot to my knowledge." The massive Hutt turns his attention toward the departing Rheisa, lifting to his fullest height to peer through the railing in the floor above as the Togruta passes the band and nods her thanks. Purple eyes shift back toward the doctor far below and he says, "I attempted to poach Rheisa from this very gallery before she owned it. I wished for her to tend to pieces far more valuable than that statue that I delivered here this evening. Sadly, she had quite the sense of loyalty with regard to her former employers."
Russ nods towards the old man in passing "Good evening to you as well." He has drifted out of the crowd of people again, he really does not to terribly well with being surrounded with so many people that he hardly knows. He leans against a wall again and takes another sip of his drink, it is a good thing his armour is climate controlled or he might actually be sweating in here. And that would just not do. Mandalore the Reviver bought low by small talk and socialising.
"Dancing?" Narsai repeats, eyebrows raised again. "Really?" A chuckle, the woman places her drink down at that and laughs. "Well, I suppose there's worse things one could be doing. I always was one for a little competition." How much had she had to drink again? Either way she moves no, clearly expecting the Twi'lek to follow. "Like I said, I wouldn't sell you. I can always use a gunner on the Thunderheart more than I can use the credits." Her eyes glance over towards Eebua as she catches his comment, her lips pulling into the slightest of frowns before she goes to join in her own attempt at the dance floor.
As they begin to dance, Sesti gives her husband a stern look. "You have not already forgotten my Ambassador Father has required his delinquent daughter and his son-in-law to make their appearance at the Banquet of Clans?" She lets out a breath. "Was that another of your 'yes dear' answers when you were not really listening?" Her eyes flash a little, and she seems about to have a go on him, but then she seems to remember the earlier 'time and place' lectures to others, and instead smiles, her hand gripping his a little tighter as they step around the Waywards couple.
Fuze smiles at Mae, warming to the woman. "So what do you do, Mae? Here, I mean, in Nar Shaddaa?" She manages to empty and dispose of one of the flutes, reclaim her plate loaded courtesy of Bishop, and nibbles politely from it as she awaits an answer. The First Order come with etiqette lessons, it seems.
"I used to be in charge of a trauma facility on Corellia," Mae answers as she manages to stop laughing, snagging a napkin from a passing tray and using it to blot the laughter-tears from her eyes, then drops it into the next tray that circulates past. "I decided that being boxed in to one location for 27 out of 24 hours of every day was rapidly killing me with stress and an absolute hatred of hypochondriacs and junkies. So I resigned. Now I free lance on a case by case consultation basis."
From above, the music fades into a low, barely audible-over-the-din quality and a … dear god, it’s the droid again. The droid’s on the mic. “Gentlebeings, guests of the Muse, patrons of charity...our entertainment for the evening shall resume its mainstream pleasures momentarily. Our hostess, Miss Dirleel, has planned a small tribute as part of this eve’s schedule, dedicated to Kee’tch” himself!?!? No, almost. “For in this time of great loss and suffering, it is the Kee’tch which may guide those lost souls to their final peace. Or, it is the kee’tch which may spare those who lie at death’s door.” And so his introduction rambles, stalling, giving the Togruta time to finish changing. “After this solemn tribute, we will announce the winners of tonight’s auction.”
Kadi and Ax finish up dancing, and then as the music fades, Ax moves off to get drinks. Kadi's steps move her to the side of the dancing area, so she can watch Jax and Sesti for the moment. Maybe she'll pick up some pointers! And then there's the announcement, and Kadi's brow furrows, as she tilts her head, trying to figure out what the droid is talking about.
The First Order officer quietens at the droid's words, turning politely to face where the droid is speaking from in the hope of catching sight of the dancing. It's got to be better than staring at that damn painting, right? She says cheerfully to Mae, "Aw. If you hadn't have said you didn't like the 27 hour days, I would've asked if you wanted to work for us."
Gr'vesh Von Greowl says, "stops his own ply of drink and food to listen to the annoucement. So there was to be more entertainment, the last erhaps being far more what he wants to know though. The Defel listens, ears perked or so one might see or think they see of the shadowed alien ears perk, but indeed they do to wait for the entertianment to begin. The visor does play down to the dance floor, watching those at what they call dancing or more moving in strange ways hat may resemble such.
"My dear, I do not look good in gray, as a starting point. And those boots," she eyes Fuze's boots, "which look like they hold up a mirror polish very well, would looks just atrocious on me. That," and she shakes her head, "I don't like being shouted at. It tends to make me unreasonable, bitchy and prone to say insulting things in response," Mae explains with a calm, even gallic, shrug. "My bedside manner is entirely depleted, apparently, it will take some time to create a reserve, again, to draw upon."
When that dressing screen gets accordioned aside, it’s a whole new creature that steps out. Or so she feels. The plum silks and shimmery, metallic bling is gone, replaced by twin, fanned tufts of feathers that sprout from her montrals’ base, beaded leather cords to attach rattling beads to her headtails, arms, ankles, and a costume that looks as though it’s not long away from its original...source. A white, fluffy panel of animal skin is tethered to her chest, forming a brilliant blaze of pretend plumage that skirts between breasts, which are otherwise shielded from glance by a heavy mantle of long, brilliant green and black feathers. Shorter bunches of feathers are gathered among the beads on her legs and arms - downy soft, while longer flight feathers anchor to her elbows, folded together on flimsy backing, for now. A girdled piece of embroidered hide keeps her lower half modest and also serves as a mounting place for a few long, plumed ‘tail feathers’.
“Alo,” her voice comes softly over the mic. “Det kee’tch bhat’si, kee ki khuk ta dau ghe d’mehkt mehkt huhk kee ke anak d’Marukki eh grre och’sa”
Kee’tch’ka translates into Basic: “This is the song of the spirit bird, she who takes from the fire of the dead and guides the dead ones to the place of their ancestors in the stars.”
Finishing the most recent glass of champagne that she's holding, Mae sets it neatly on the tray of the droid server trundling past and gives a tip of her head towards Fuze. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant. If you're going to duel with the red headed gent, do make sure you get the rules outlined clearly in advance," she advises before she ambles toward the buffet table and selects a plate to start adding samples too.
Lord Eebua is far too large to make the journey up the ramp to attain a closer view, fortunately for him he is large enough to simply peer into the upper floor. His expression is one of attentiveness, and maintaining an air of respect for the hostess and owner of the Muse.
FZ-4792 is very quiet indeed as she watches the dancing, Mae having taken her leave. Her expression is, it might be said, fixed, and she doesn't eat. Only the most occasional sip is taken from her drink, and she's unsmiling. Perhaps it's the feathers.
Munching quietly on some appetizers on the other side of Fuze, Bishop watches the dance taking place.
Wait a moment, when did he get there? How long has he been sitting there?!
Nodding a bit, Bishop gestures to the dance, "Is interesting. Strange sort of alien. Like twi'lick, but not." He shrugs, "Not seen one before now. Graceful." Nodding to himself, he offers her a tiny miniaturized version of some common vegetable. "Want?"
Gr'vesh Von Greowl does indeed take a step up to the upper floors, following or passing with ease some of the other patrons of that night's festivities. The shadowman, or so he was called earlier by someone else, finds a comfortable seat, making himself at ease with another drink in his hand. The visor very attentive to the woman that speaks, to the entertainment now as it begins.
And it begins. A solid, deep drum beat kicks it off as Rheisa strikes a pose, weight kept on her left foot while the right points out delicately, and opposite 'wing' snaps out dramatically for balance. The kee'tch takes flight, hopping nimbly forward to 'balance' poorly on that foot before the left toe touches down behind to rescue the maneuver and sends her into a graceful half kneel. The other wing snaps out while her right heel begins to drum on the ground, rattling the tiny percussive instrument there rhythmically.
The whole display is over in just over a minute. What initially are slow, swooping arcs and measured turns build into frenetic twirls and shimmying of arms independently of legs, of trembling head...every instrumented appendage operating independently to take the part of many. Her voice also changes from a gentle, keening overtone of warbling throat singing to loudly belted wails of syllables. As foreign and weird as the whole thing may seem, or sound, she can do more than carry /a/ tune. There' overtones and undertones there, throat bobbing and pulsing with the occasional trill of the kee'tch thrown into the mix.
Finally, the storyteller/vocalist/rattle-shaker goes silent, frozen in a bow over the floor, wings splayed backward and brow kissing the rug.
-(OOC)- Rheisa Dirleel grins. "Sort of this [1] meets this [2]" Sort of.
It's no wonder that Bishop has managed to sneak up on Fuze. She was staring at the dancing so, her face unsmiling, her lips compressed to a bloodless line. Still, at the end of the piece she sets down her glass and applauds lightly. Even alien dancers deserve some respect, especially if they're connected in convoluted ways to the First Order's sponsor on this planet, the slug-like Hutt over there. Eventually she looks down, distracted. "Oh, it's you," she says stiffly. She looks at the vegetables, she looks at Bishop, and she looks back at Rheisa. "Thank you." A miniature...some sort of root veg...is selected, and tasted cautiously.
Kee'tch'ka waits until his mistress is finished with his performance, then scurries back down the ramp as nimbly as an inflexible office-assistant can. The droid disappears for a moment into the west art room, circumvents the fountain, and claims a space behind the auction tables in the workroom to consult with the datapads. Numbers are tallied. Names are taken. When the droid re emerges, he makes a beeline for the Hutt. "Mighty Eebua....it is time to announce. Would you be so kind as to direct our guests' attentions to the other room if they wish to hear their winnings?"
"You are welcome." Carefully pronouncing the whole phrase, Bishop claps politely for the performance on the stage. To Fuze, however, Bishop asks without looking away, "So, what is story with Stormtrooper helmet and bird? Affected powerfully." He glances over at her, eyebrows high. Meanwhile, he pops another of those tiny root things into his mouth.
Gr'vesh Von Greowl hands come to gether, the shadowed limbs moving so that the sound of clapping can be heard when the dance is done. He stands, giving the hostess a slightly tilted nod of appreciation for such a wonderful sight, perhaps it is the natural hunter in Gr'vesh that the whole performance responds to and in that there is something he likes on many levels.
Lord Eebua watches through the entirety of the dance that Rheisa performs, his eyes not wavering nor does he show any disrespect toward the Togruta ritual performance. Once it is complete and the droid heads his way, the hutt lord looks down on the puny protocol droid and offers a chuckle before he calls out in his booming voice, "If you have placed bids during the auction and wish to know of your winnings, please proceed to the western art room for the announcements."
Fuze's eyes flicker at Bishop, her mouth compressing into a thinner unsmiling line. "Old history on Felucia," she mutters, and lifts her glass to her lips to drain it. She seems in pain, although perhaps it's just remembered pain. "You don't need to know."
"Thank," Rheisa breathes breathlessly, slow to come up from her orchestrated collapse. And then she double-takes. Eyes lock on the /living/ shadow sitting there across from her. Now it's the Togruta who seems to have seen a ghost. Spirit, rather. One of the "Sa'daar..." she whispers, scarsely able to believe her eyes. Her headtails are contracted a smidge, contritely held close against her frame while the fading color of her cheeks dulls to pale apricot. That may also just be hypoxia, while her heart works overtime to catch up and not drown her lungs in backed up fluids. She turns her face back to the ground out of respect, body engaged in a full tremble as she rises and backs up from the shadow child, child of the sun and moon, born of Shili's first heavenly union.
Bishop's only response is a quiet "Hmmm..." He does not pry, does not make a silly quip. He simply nods, takes a drink, and lifts his eyebrows when the prize announcements are announced. "Come, let us see what we have won, darling serpent." He nods Fuze aside, toward the West Wing where the announcements will be made.
Gr'vesh Von Greowl stands as he was quite sure he was going to be rewarded with what he had wanted, the reaction of the hostess herself gets a quizzical look if one could see past the visor, but no one can. he shall leave that for later and especially perhaps the look on her face when the auctions are annouced and who are the winners. Moving down the ramp once more and towards the archway to the west room as the giant Hutt had suggested should. The shadow that moves finds itself waiting and quite happy with how things had turned out that night for him.
"It has been truly a bountiful evening. The Mandalorian Revivers, Lord Eebua, and the Muse thanks you greatly for your contributions - and gives thanks to all who sponsored the evening by donating their goods and services. Payments may be made via funds transfer or hard credits." With that preamble out of the way, Kee'tch'ka shuffles over to the first item: "Zura Icona's 'REBIRTH'. One Russ Ordo, for a pledge of 2,000 credits." While waiting for Russ or any Reviver to claim it on his behalf, he moves on. "Veela Pritik's matched jewelry set, handcrafted here on Nar Shaddaa. Axilon Bjin'ax, for 10,000 credits."
Kee'tch'ka continues on with a little flourish to the dumpy-by-comparison tumbler/flask set by "Qo. Part of his 'It's a Man's Moon' collection. Sesti Gath, 300 credits. Tigri K'anis miniscule masterpiece, "Before Dawn" awarded to Quentin Haslett for his pledged 900 credits." And the list goes on with pauses between to make the needed transactions. "Our very special guest this evening - Alexander Michelando, who is hailed for his works in the beautiful city of Theed, Naboo, and beyond. His piece, "Coexistence" goes to Ms Qadira, for 2,000 credits."
A mirthful 'hoohoo,' chimes from the rear of the room, where the old man is waiting for his equally feeble-in-the-moment, feathered friend, Rheisa. No way he was scaling that ramp earlier. He raises an arthritic hand to wave at the little woman who's bid on his cherished art. One more piece of himself, bequeathed to younger generations. His spirit will be well traveled and dispersed, if what the Togruta has told him is true. Might be, he believes it a bit, reaching into his vestments to procure the small, wooden bird strung 'round his neck by a leather cord. Hazy, blue eyes turn to meet those of fiercer quality then, catching sight of the stiffly treading hostess before she can completely sneak up on him. Too much rustling and rattling, probably, maybe a little extra feather-fluffing as she stalks by the self-proclaimed First Order woman. It’s not the most hospitable look she offers, but could just be the fatigue.
"Alek-zanderrrr," she thrums happily and drops her head to butt gently against his own, resting temple to temple for a moment. Carefully. Really carefully.
Gr'vesh Von Greowl's visored covered eyes watch the whole proceedings. What he was looking for was more towards the end of the list, something that for what he figured was worth far more than he put down. As future time would tell.
Bishop is watching and waiting quietly, his third plate of food finally demolished. Tilting his head at the head-butt, Bishop is clearly uncertain if this is part of the show.
"...Our sponsor, Russ Ordo, will also be taking home "Unity"," the droid indicates the pottery piece, "by our very own Miss Dirleel, for 2,000 credits. And our other Reviver benefactor, his sister Narsai, has staked claim to the Sorosuub, E-Z Snap for 3,000 credits. Ms Qadira - before you go, too far, I am pleased to announce that you have also outbid," the droid cuts a look left toward the archway where presumably Eebua is lurking, "shown a great kindness with your generosity for a bid of 25,000 credits in exchange for Moe's Ship Repair's service package of engine modification and free installation."
FZ-4792's reverie is broken with the end of the dance, and for the rest of the evening she claps politely at the auction results, smiles where needed and appropriate, and generally schmoozes. And her player needs to crash!
Kee'tch'ka pauses for a moment to stare down at the data screen. "Come now, now is not the time for contrary behavior," he chastises the inferior machine and delivers a little thump of his partial fist. Karate chop! "Ah! How delightful!" Kee'tch'ka looks up to gesture an arm toward their literally biggest sponsor and says "Lord Eebua's contribution of 1,000 credits will honor the makers of this unusual piece," he references the cystal hookah, which will produce a haunting tone when moved, in resemblance to the Shownar crystals. "A beautiful song to serenade one's partaking of its delicacy." yes, yes, flatter away there droid. "Gr'vesh," the droid lapses briefly into a gruff, growly accent of Defel, "has won six months' membership to the Muse's VIP status, for 750 credits. And lastly, the..." this time it's his boss lady that he's watching, "First Order's offered tour of their resident base is awarded to Bishop, who has most narrowly skirted over the next highest bidder, with a pledge of 2,001 Galactic Standard Credits."
"Ha HA!" Bishop suddenly hops up from his seat and fist-pumps the air. "Is mine! I won it!"
Gr'vesh Von Greowl nods as he is announced as the winner of the VIP for six months. The shadow stands once more and walks to where the items are being carefully paid for and handed out to their prospective winners. The measly 750 creds is handed over with a hint of a smile, the tips of white fanged teeth to be seen. The visor turns back, and it finds the hostess for a brief moment, something reeling in the depths of that light absorbing figure smiles even more, happy to have won what he did.
The smallish Twi'lek has been enjoying the hospitality of the house. Now sated she heads for the door. Surely noone will notice her going, not with the other happenings.
And lo, the evening of merriment and monies began to calm into a lull while thoughts turned away from merchandise and back gluttonous pleasures of the food and drink. When the last guest has departed, the night sky is brightening with a sickly haze of dawn. It finds the gallery in mild disarray, but the janitorial droids are ON it, scurrying to and fro to clean while the hostess retreats to the seclusion of her screened corner. She sinks down, face still bearing the trace of a smile left by the old man's kind company, but the rest of her made heavy by the knowing that she can't hide here forever. Raim is probably already waking. Or will be soon. He will have to get himself out of bed this time, for she's in no shape to run. Even a taxi at this hour won't spirit her back to the tower quickly enough, she suspects.
A clumsy dig through the folds of her loin cloths finds the small stash of credits she'd allocated away from the rest of the fortune entrusted to the new spaceport authority/Mandalorian crew. There are others who deserve some of the spoils from tonight's pocket milking. The doctors that slowly work themselves to death on this moon, stitching back together what violence and bigotry rend apart. But its delivery will have to wait. Conscious thoughts are fading and there, curled up in a donned nest of feathers and furs, the Togruta closes her eyes.
