Log:The Twins, Part 1
The Twins, Part 1
Location: The Hotbox, Naboo
Participants: Rheisa Dirleel, Jehni'va Cihn
After a cargo run between Malastare and Lothal went South, Jehni'va Cihn was left with an empty hold, a dead Dug, and a strange piece of artwork. She took the exotic piece to the expert in such matters, Rheisa Dirleel, who suggested bringing it to a contact on Naboo...
The light freighter reflects the changes in its pilot's life in subtle ways. Nyla's absence is a quiet one, and though the ship is emptier, simpler, and cleaner than it's been in days past, not much seems out of the ordinary. The ship is devoid of alcohol, though the smell of other vices hangs heavy throughout, and Jehn's usual jizz favorites float from the holodeck. Crona lounges across one of the couches, her tail hanging off one side with the occasional flick, and beside one of the passenger seats sits a bucket, a small token for queasier passengers. The vessel hums softly, lights blinking to herald the power thrummed all through the Hotbox as it prepares for the brisk journey to Naboo. Resting on the desert landing pad, the entry ramp to the ship is open and inviting, her captain leaned casually against the entrance, idly jiggling her datapad with one hand, it's last message still blinking on its screen.
"SCULPTOR NABOO?" It reads
Here she comes...slowly. Rheisa's gimpy pace is composed of unhurried, gingerly placed steps. She was literally torn a new something by that grumpy myntor they all ate during its final death throes, and unsurprisingly her attempts to heal herself weren't so effective, which neccessitated Percy (cause no way she bending over for Valko to show a /ruined/ bum), which is why Jehn's having to meet her here, instead of her gallery.
"Sculptor, Naboo," Rheisa replies in person while snailing it up the ramp. "Aleksander Engelando," she gives sculptor a name and crests the top of the ramp to brush on by Jehn with bag in tow. Hopefully the little artifact is in there with the rest of her crap, who knows. "UMAK!" this named is belted unneccesarily loudly so close to her pilot friend, but the reason is made more clear when the shorty 'gruta comes galloping up the ramp. Where had be been? Hiding under it probably, but his fat little arms couldn't reach around the edge to grab at his mother's ankles or robed hems. While Rheisa's dressed the part, he is wearing a little skirt dealy and nothing else.
"NABOOOOO" howls Umak like he knows where that even is. It's fair warning to Crona that her little two-legged, groat-eating buddy has come aboard.
The anooba perks, wary of the arrival before Jehn notices her limping coworker dragging ass (what's left of it) their way, and lets out a soft whine that urges the pilot to glance up. "Aleksander Engelando - thassa name, innit?" She replies by way of greeting when Rheisa finally approaches, just as the large canine throws herself from the couch to charge down her favorite wrasslin partner. "Nabooooo!" The pilot echoes with the fond tone of baby-speak that she reserves for the resident wee-ones, giving Umak a finger wiggle. "You know what part'a Naboo this bloke holes up in?" She continues, slapping the ramp controls once everyone is aboard, and bustling around the small living area to quickly gather up anything that she doesn't want bumping around the ship while they make their way out of orbit. "Or, y'know. Wherever has th'best grub, either or, really." The captain flashes the sore Togruta a grin, but the expression twists into something of mild concern. She scoops a cushion from the couch and drops it wordlessly onto the passenger seat with the bucket in her trek foreward to the cockpit.
The ship begins to whirr to life in earnest before Jehn's voice crackles through the Hotbox's intercom. "Please keep hands, feet, tentacles, and other appendages inside th'vehicle at all times and /do/ please buckle your safety belts. We will be cruisin' at an altitude of abou'..." And on she goes, the sweet idiot.
"Theed," informs Rheisa with an inward hiss of breath when Umak bumps by her restitched derrier. NO MERCY, for momma or anooba. Umak dives headlong into Crona's charge like a proper little warrior man and monkeys his arms around that furry nape with baby fangs bared for battle. Aw.
Fourteen, fifteen years from now, those Akul won't stand a chance.
While he's kept busy by Crona and following HER lead for flight preparation, Rheisa is claiming that cushion and the rest of the couch. She doesn't sit, she curls up on side, awkwardly wrapped in flight restraints. Uncoincidentally, her head is positioned at the bucket-end.
To say that Crona is enthusiastic for the battle is an understatement. A torrent of yips and overexaggerated growls give this young pup the feel of a violent, bloody battle - she rolls, she bows, she parries - but to the anooba's credit, despite the massive tusk and otherwise sharp teeth, there is little more than gentle gumming provided in retaliation to Umak's viscous assault, when her jaws make contact at all. For a wild animal capable of astounding savagery, their Crona is gentle with the wee-ones, bless her heart. She is prepping him for the real fights that the red-pup will surely face once he leaves the den.
It's only the conditioning of a thousand flights that disengages the canine from her worthiest of adversaries and sends her scurrying towards the cockpit after Jehni'va when she takes her leave to do the actual flying - the Hotbox has had more use as of late, as she's had more luck transporting people than cargo, but the Maccrow still maneuvers like a charm.
The flight is easy, and brief, and Jehn's voice pings back through the speakers with a polite "Disengagin' hyper in five... Four... Three... Two -" and the ship lurches from its trajectory. "Naboo is below, we'll be landin' shortly. May be some upsies goin' into orbit, looks like rain, bu' I'll be gentle!" And they are moving again.
Noooo, upsies! Upsies oft lead to oopsies, and now that Rheisa's got daily antibiotics on board, her tummy is feeling especially surly. The bucket gets some attention before it's all over.
Umak gets thankfully recalled from his march to the cockpit and is trapped under one of Rheisa's arms for the duration of orbital/atmo flight.
"Crona, guard th'ship." The pilot orders as she steps out of the cockpit and back to the hold, not mentioning the addition to the bucket. She pauses to stoop and cup the canine's face in both hands, lasping into baby-talk. "They only let civilized folk in there, yes they do - yes they do! You just aren't fancy enough, noooo, nooooo!" A tongue to the face ends the 'conversation', and leaves Jehni'va scrubbing at her cheek as she straightens up and crosses to the entry ramp once more. "Washroom is there -" she points "if y'want t'get anything out of the way before we're out." She smiles and engages the ramp, allowing the outside light to flood the ship. At least the pilot made an attempt to dress for civilized conversation - her yellow tunic is clean and tucked into brown pants, which are mostly clean, and her hair falls in three braids down her back, the ends wrangled in colorful ties that dangle past the frayed ends of those black locks. "Hope it wasn't too bumpy for you." She offers, apologetically, hanging back at the entry ramp to allow Rheisa and Umak to pass first. She has no idea where she's going - this is a fancy planet.
Rheisa does, in fact, have something she needs to get out of the way. Naturally she can't go in there alone though, because Umak's trying to cram in with so he may also use the facilities. It's a process.
When the Togruta DO emerge, feeling a bit more clean, it's go time! The artsy one is happy to take the lead and make her exit down the ramp quickly as she can, eager for the fresh air. She breathes it in deeply, face upturned to the blue sky that is not smoggy OR whipping dust storms around. Also, the First Order fleet is nowhere in sight. Just some other big ships. "First is bridge," she directs, using her spear as an oversized cane (because I forgot that was in my inv whoops). I send message to him we are coming sometimes soon, but did not receive reply, so maybe we go to his home."
"Bridge first." The pilot parrots back with a nod. "Works for me." Jehni'va agrees easily, pausing once her boots are on solid planet to re-engage the entry ramp and seal the ship. As it raises, there is a last, mournful glimpse of Crona, beaming heart-shattering pathos through the slimming gap, before she is completely out of sight. The pilot tries not to feel too guilty as she obediently trots after Rheisa and Umak, ignoring the muffled, mournful wail of an anooba left behind.
--
"You have followed the trail to Lothal or Dug places, yet?" Rheisa makes constructive conversation as they stroll through the placid beauty that is Theed. Malastre - It's a name she hadn't remembered. Umak's hand is held loosely in her own where she can quickly derail any attempts of his to dive into a fountain. Mama ain't going in after!! "Or is this first step?"
"This is th'first step." Jehni'va answers. "Goin' after leads on Malastare and Lothal... Er. I'd like t'bring along some more... Muscle?" She flexes, to demonstrate her point. "Just in case. I dunno what this 'Bodwa' was involved in, or how art got tangled up in it." Idly, she plucks the flower from a decorative plant in passing and offers it out to Umak while she speaks. "But they near blew my cargo hold t'bits getting rid of 'im."
Umak accepts said flower and after giving it an obligatory sniff, starts peeling it apart one fibrous strand at a time. He'll eat it...he'll eat it not. He'll eat it....he'll eat it not.
He spits it all out.
"Mm," Rheisa hrms and eyes Umak's culinary curiosity. "More muscle yes, maybe is better idea. If Aleksander donot know. Or if he is no more alive." The fact that the old artist is pushing ninety-something hadn't come up in conversation, because she hadn't felt the need to worry over it. Either he is alive or he is not. The same applies to everyone any given day! And so onward they wander to seek the ancient one....and maybe some snacks.
There is a moment of blinking at Rheisa's matter-of-fact delivery on mortality, but she shrugs the cultural difference off. Also, Umak eats her beautiful flower. "I really should spend more time here." Jehni'va sighs, instead, eyes wide as they pass through streets and squares, all opulent and clean. "I was thinking of getting a place here, but..." Her frown is almost imperceptible before it vanishes. "Is this the place?"
"Is near," Rheisa nods and gestures one billowy sleeve to the sculpture park that they pass. "Many are his works, in there. Is where I first meet him, with Raim." A soft smile of almost nostalgia touches her grimly gray lips and she gracefully swish-hobbles on along the cobbled paths toward the equally gorgeous residential streets up ahead. She walks along a trail of memory, counting archways and staircases as they go until at last she stops in front of one without /neatly/ trimmed topiary. The topiary's taken on a wild form, growing as nature intended. The smaller flowers littering the ground are in full bloom painting a nevertheless pretty picture.
"Is here!" Rheisa chirps, eyes brightening and for the first time on this trip she seems a little excited. Words of warning are softly murmured alongside Umak's head, then she ascends the brief stint of steps and touches her finger to a little button. A chorus of bells is heard all the way out here, triggered by the push, and aftter what seems like forever....
"Hello there, my young friend." The voice of the bent white-hair peering out the door at them sounds as creaky as he looks. His lips tremble, but hard to say if it's palsy or emotion causing the quake. Foggy blue eyes regard the creature upon his step with warmth and joy and one gnarled hand goes up to lay upon her cheek.
"I shouldn't have thought to see you again. But it's ever so splendid I did. Please....come in--Oh!" He's spied Jehni'va and the smaller gruta. A few remaining teeth regard them with equal merriment. "You've brought friends! Come, come....." and he's hobbling off into the poorly lit interior.
Oh, Raim. Jehn's expression softens for a moment as her brow knits. "I never got to pay back my loan to him." She comments idly before following the course of the conversation into less painful and nostalgic waters, noting present company. She follows the togruta past the park, through the meticulously pruned wealth of the residential area, and to their apparent destination.
"I take it back. I could never live 'ere - y'know, maybe I'm just too used to Nar? Which isn't a good thing, but. I feel... Out of place." The human woman smooths her hands over her yellow tunic and aged brown pants self-consciously. "But... this one is nice." She adds, noting the unkept topiaries. She likes it more that way.
And then the bell is rung, and Jehn straightens nervously - how do you... Civilized? She is suddenly hyper-aware of how silly her arms look just hanging there, but crossing them doesn't seem right, either. She clasps her hands behind her back like a scolded child in an antique shop, and it's in this position that their host finds her. "Jehni'va Cihn." She greets, promptly. "Er. Is m'name." She blinks. "Sir." Gods, Jehni'va.
"Jehni'va Cihn...Jehni'va..." their elderly host moves at a decent pace despite the contrary joints and says Jehni's name a few times over as he goes with a pensive DENT in his already furrowed brow. Upon pausing in the little archway that leads to kitchen, he shuffles in a quarter circle to peer back at them. "Where does such a name originate from, Miss Cihn?" If Jehni's sticking out like a dingy old thumb, he doesn't seem to be passing judgement. Just legitimately curious!
As unkempt as the exterior seemed to be (compared to its immediate neighbors), the interior is equally ecclectic. No housekeeper here and by that same assumption, no wife or homekeeping significant other. The walls are plastered white, save for the many nooks and built-in shelves, which are the same torquois and teal as many of the domed roof features. Every single shelf space that they pass by is positively littered with busts, figurines, wax forms, and small models of what may have been larger finished works. Hiding in plain sight amid the hoard is a wooden figure that bears striking resemblance to Rheisa's signature style. Pottery, ceramics, artful glassware and crystal....he's got all mediums of fine art covered in here. The walls, by contrast, are host to only a few well-picked paintings.
There is a comfy looking couch, stylish were it not half covered in a stack of blankets and misfit socks. The ornately carved/painted wood table in front of it is muchly buried under sketchpads, a few dishes, empty wine bottles, and books. Light fixtures are inset for the most part, save for an overly dramatic chandelier dominating the kitchen/dining space. The floor is deep, redtoned wood and looks like it's long overdue a polishing.
Rheisa ignores much of what they pass by but keeps a sharp eye on Umak to ensure he doesn't manhandle all of it. Which means running interference every three seconds. Maybe she shouldn't have brought him? While Alexander voices an interest in Jehni's lineage, she is busy trying to root Umak in the blanket nest on that couch and pulling snacks from her robes to keep the youngster preoccupied.
"Er, my 'aunt', sir. Not blood-related; she was a Twi'lek. Saved my father's life once and joked that he should name his daughter after her." Jehn gives a wide smile and a shrug. "She didn't think he actually would." After giving her answer, her eyes go wide as she starts to take in the place around her. "You have a lovely home." She decides, turning to give a smile in Rheisa and Umak's direction - she has to adjust her line of sight a few times to keep the roaming tot and doting mum in it.
Once into the home proper, she pauses awkwardly near the couch, not sure if this is the kind of fancy where you need an invitation to sit down. The gangly human sways, uncomfortably, for a moment. "Rheisa says that you are the authority on... Ah..." She discretely shifts so that she can look down at her ungloved hand, where something is scribbled. "Pieces made with rock ivory?" Her hand is swiftly tucked back into a pocket.
"Oh!" A little laugh rasps out all high and pitchy from the aged artist before he clears his throat and it regains a little masculinity. "Surrogate lineage can be just as intriguing," he waves off the compliment to his abode and turns corner into the fancy-but-cluttered kitchen to put on a pot of tea. Strong, herbal fragrances are circulating in the air in no time. Half his craggy face peeks back out around the alabaster wall. His complexion might match, were it not for all the broken capillaries and stubble. "Rock Ivory, you say?" Bushy brows knit together. "Chammian Ivory I've worked with...and indeed a number of 'rocks' as the comman man may call them, but if I am not mistaken, the 'rock' ivory is a substance more coveted by repulsorlift engineers than any known sculptor." A soft, wheezy chuckle sees him disappearing again to monitor the tea.
Umak, in the meantime, is now king of blanket mountain. The four year old sits crosslegged atop it all with a strip of jerky in his teeth and a sock in his hands. Rheisa sits half her butt on the bit of couch arm protruding out from the pile. She shrugs at Alexander's reply and looks to Jehn with a squint. "Was not synthstone?"
"She breeds loth cats, now." The pilot gives a fond smile at the nostalgia. "And taught me everything I know about freighter engines." There is another small shrug, but on the subject of artistic matters, Jehni'va is far less knowledgeable. She checks her hand notes again.
"Synth... Yes, synthstone was in the... The..." She mimes holding something aloft, and then waves helplessly towards Rheisa. "The... Ball. Part." There is an apologetic wince at her verbal flailing - she doesn't know the proper way to discuss art or... Any of it.
The sound of tremoring dishware accompanies Alexander back into his living room, in form of a tea set rattling around atop its tray. "I trust your travel here was without incident?" He's wandering off topic, not yet realizing this is a business sort of social call. The man bends at the waist to lay the tray precariously atop a few sloughing stacks of papers and books etc on that coffee table, then goes about pouring the tea. Citrus, cloves, something floral...
"I will say the general atmosphere feels less stifling than when those disorderly First Order put this peaceful sovereignty in chains, but it'd seem we aren't quite free of the war machine's shadow." A disapproving frown creases his creases.
Rheisa watches him pour tea for two and takes up the little cup of cream for herself. He remembered. "No one shoot, if is what you mean." But for Rheisa, NO flight is without 'incident'. She bends to rummage one-handedly around the bag resting between her ankles and pulls out something solid wrapped in cloth. Her other hand delivers a sip of cream to mouth and leaves a milky moustaches on her upper lip which she doesn't bother to clean off yet. "Jehni'va find something ehm...not usual. In a cargos. Is long storrry, but was having hope maybe you know something about what was found." The sculpture is lain on her lap and unveiled neatly to reveal the pristinely white stone and the enigmatic gypryst.
Synthstone. Jehni'va gives another look at the notes smeared across her palm. It's mostly illegible, and she tucks it away again in shame, her hand moving inside her pocket to try and wipe away the final vestiges of her shoddy note-taking.
"It's a long story." She agrees. "The short version is... Ah..." She rubs at the back of her neck. "It was left in my possession by a stranger, and I don't think he came by it through..." Another awkward pause. "Honest means. We would like to see it returned to its proper home." She gestures hopefully towards the sculpture; a Bothan, feminine in appearance, holding a quarterstaff in one hand. The other is stretched upwards and outwards, clutching a small, glass orb. Inside of it, the ever moving gyprsyt swirls and roils about. Her robes, frozen in stone, whirl around her ankles, her mouth open in a wordless, eternal shout.
"Mm," Alexander reaches an arm blindly aside to shove another stack of junk off a hidden footstool and pulls it toward him for a bowlegged sit while gesturing for Jehni'va to occupy what space remains on the couch. A hand very much afflicted by rheumatism shakily offers a cup her way before sipping from his own. There's a nose hair inhabiting his knobby shnoz that's surpassed all others in extraordinary length and it /almost/ gets wet. Maybe next week, it silently aspires.
"Why that's bloodstone!" He marvels and points a crooked finger at the swirling red. A blend of awe and amusement curls his mouth askew and he poses a question between them "D'you know just how /rare/ that is to see? So obscure a...a mineral. Or lifeform, perspective pending." A pause as he noisily slurps. "Whoever had this piece commissioned must have had deep pockets or extensive connections in far-flung places." Carefully, he puts his cup to rest on the tray and motions for Rheisa to pass it over. "It's a noble cause that's brought you here, then. Returning a treasure to its home. Is like returning a piece of the artists soul, is it not?" A keen eye stares warmly across at the Togruta.
"Is this very same," Rheisa thrums, pleased that he remembered. Her gaze settles on the little wooden bird hanging around his neck. Kee'tch. "You know maybe who this would be?" After passing it over, she puts a hand up to ward off Umak's forward flop and grabby hand flail for her cream. One more sip, then she offers it up overhead, between montrals for the boy to steal.
It's a good thing that Tarion isn't here for this conversation. "Rare... Worth killing over, it makes sense." She winces, remembering the dead Dug in her hold, riddled with blaster holes and clutching his bag. "So it is bloodstone?" It gives them a place to start, at least. "It's a place to start." Jehn'iva nods, though her interest peaks at Rheisa's next question. Something tells her that he would have been more forthcoming with that kind of information, but at his age, getting to the point can be a slow process. She tries not to watch his single long nose hair as she accepts the cup, holding it with the overly-delicate grip of someone that is profoundly clumsy but aware of her affliction.
Where once was cup, now is sock. Rheisa looks at the wooly thing traded into her palm and tries to discreetly tuck it aside. She quietly and patiently waits for the gears in Alexander's head to turn. Maybe they're fueld by tea.
He gently traces the sweeping lines of 'her' cloak, the lines of her stance. "Bothan...perhaps a visit to Bothawui is in your future?" He winces, recalling rumors of the viscious web of deception that its politicians are known for fabricating. "Here.." he now hands 'her' back to Rheisa and creakily stands. "Let me see....mayhap this represents a known figure of their history or legend?" The old man's off, searching some nearby shelves for a particular 'book' which he finally pulls free. It's a datapad, but he's flipping through files like pages of a book, hunting through indices.....what are the odds there's an image akin to this 3d version?
Damn fine odds, that's what they are.
And enlightened "Ah.." breathes forth from the foggy-eyed man and he tips his head accordingly to see around a cataract in closer study.
Everything is fueled by tea, once you pass a certain age. Or so Jehn believes; she normally believes there to be something soothing in slowness. She is a bit of an elder herself in that regard - she likes soft music, quiet nights, and warming her feet beside real fires... But there is a question that needs answering, lives lost - perhaps more on the line? Either way, she finds herself consciously pressing a palm to her knee to keep her leg from jittering. "That sounds hopeful?" She presses at his noise of affirmation near the shelves.
"She's a 'Twin'," Alexander announces, as though that ought mean anything to either of the two women or the little man occupying his less than humble abode. He swivels the pad around to face them while shuffling his way back. There was considerable huffing and puffing that saw him standing in the first place though, so he isn't reclaiming use of that footstool anytime soon. "One of a pair, birthed from the talented hands of Trometh Hirc Bwu.." Give him a minute "Bwu-Ken." Lowering the screen to hang at his side, he juts his jaw askew in thought. Something's nagging him about the name but he can't quite put a reason to it. "Have you her sister, as well?"
"NNnnoo.." Rheisa was briefly hopeful but now a touch deflated again, eyeing Jehn sideways with A degree of uncertainty.
"Sister?" Jehni'va repeats, crestfallen. "No, it was only the one that Bodwa had on him... I don't know what could have been in the other crates, though. There - there /were/ crates. Minerals, he told me - it was all taken." Her frown deepens as she shifts her weight forward onto her knees to gaze at the sculpture. "What was it - she - doing on Malastare?" She notes present company and adjusts her verbage accordingly; it's difficult not to get caught up in the enthusiasm and near sentience awarded such fantastical pieces. "If Bodwa had the other Twin, it could still be on Lothal. Or... Malastare." Or Bothawui - or passed off to any number of buyers on any number of planets.
"A question best slept over, if you ask me," advises Mr Engelando. If his disheveled wisps of hair are any indicator, he was probably busy sleeping over a LOT of questions, before they rang his bell. "Come..." he instructs with freshly mustered vigor and lets the datapad rest alongside the tea try where it may or may not be spilled on later when that slowly shifting stack of papers suffers a fallout. "Let me show you the rest of the house and garden. I'll bet the boy would love a dash through the /fountain/ now wouldn't he?" A mischeivous twinkle puts life into those geriatric eyes and he lends Rheisa a hand to 'assist' her own rise from the couch.
"Maybe we need call for muscle anyways, mm?" Rheisa whispers aside to Jehn while hastily tucking the lost sister back into her shroud, bad, then accepts the elder human's hand. In turn, a hand is extended to Umak to sieze his upper arm to help guide his predicted leap down from blanket mountain. Her grip doesn't let up much as they embark on tour...just in case. The old man's had enough of his life's work destroyed (stolen) in recent years and she'd hate to be responsible for more disappointments.
