Log:The Twins, Part 5: The Unveiling
The Twins, Part 5:The Unveiling
OOC Date: November 8, 2019
Location: Art Gallery Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Rheisa Dirleel, Jehni'va Cihn, Aryn Cole, Mandl
Art Room - Corellian District, Nar Shaddaa
This room showcases mostly work by local artists, but there are usually a few pieces acquired from off world. Right now, it's filled by a diverse blend of paintings, some works of scrap metal sculpture - priced moderately low to quadruple digits - and more primitive things.
The walls are a lighter shade of grey than the dark, slate floor in this chamber. The overhead lighting is lower than in the foyer, maintaining an ambience of calm, and soft woodwind music plays in the background. A large, colorfully woven grass mat serves as a rug in the center of the floor, probably to catch the droplets cast off by a little, three-tiered bronzium fountain burbling there. A few green, leather stools are scattered around the room for guests use to sit and contemplate wherever they will.
Amber glass sconces warmly illuminate alcoves in three walls, creating cozy nests for a few rustic pots or figurines. One wooden sculpture resting there is 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 narrow case of clay pottery stands tall, just to the right of the doorway, and features muted tones of grey, white, terracotta, and geometric designs. Two more cases - sleek, black cabinets with an armored glass top -run the length of the wall beside the pottery case and contain hand-crafted jewelry and small boxes/figurines worked from wood, bone, and stone mediums.
The back third of the room is cordoned off by a window-wall with door, allowing visitors to watch attending artists labor away at their craft. The transparisteel is vented in one section, and can be opened from the workers side to allow for conversation between the public and selves. 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 an archway in the front leading back to the foyer.
Welcome to the Muse].
If the words hadn't already poured repetatively from the busied protocol droid (in at least nine languages so far) and from the mouth of the curator, herself, the sentiment should certainly be /felt/ in the atmosphere awaiting tonight's attendees.
The stone floors have been polished to a reflective sheen and all rugs (leather and furred alike) have been dusted out and refreshed for a new round of pummeling underfoot. The air in this pleasantly cool, earthy space is one of the most purified offerings of recirculated atmo that lungs can inhale on this moon. Light, airy music currently broadcast from a small, live band of musicians upstairs adds to the soothing aesthetic.
The grand foyer is set with slender tables of punch and hors d'voeuvres. Meaty bites - some raw, some roasted - marinate in their own platters of juice, surrounded by veggies and fruits, impaled upon pint-sized pikes. All small bites in here, but the food vendors lining the street outside offer heartier portions. There are less conventional small bites, too, naturally. A wriggling bowl of drutash grubs protests their forced emergence from cocoons alongside a four-tiered balancing act of speckled bird eggs on trays. A tiny placard labels them as 'fresh'.
There's BB-unit is zooming about underfoot, balancing a small tray mounted to its little head, ready to receive empty glasses and ferry them up the ramp to the bar staff above. Likewise, sentient service is gracefully parading /full/ snifters of brandy and glasses of wine around the main floor.
Mandl mingles, casually-yet-immaculately dressed and with the necessary addition of a straw to their brandy-snifter. The size of the hors d'ouvres is a pleasant surprise to one whose mouthparts have limited dimensions! Even the exotic nibbles are... at least... tried, if not relished. "It feels like a lifetime since Mandl has seen the Curator hale and hearty!"
It would seem that all of the effort taken to wrangle her hair into a pair of neat buns has paid off! Jehni'va Cihn looks... Pleasant. It's a surprise. A soft, black tunic is tucked into black pants, in turn tucked into black boots - but it is all given color by the bright purple cape clasped diagonally across one shoulder. Dashing, for once! However, her compatriot seems to have put even more exhaustive effort into their appearance... It just takes more work for a dug to 'clean up', as it were.
Yorto'ja has oiled himself from head to finger-toe, wears a brown vest free of any bloodstains, and has lashed a small, silken hat to the top of his head. It is tied beneath the blubbery, stretchy skin of his chin. The former gang-member's part in the securing of these pieces has come to be a matter of pride for him, while his job prospects elsewhere still remain... Grim. "We are here!" He greets the droid, first, and then the curator. "Da Cihn woman took time getting ready, I was fearing she would make me late to gaze on all dis beauty." It's unclear whether he is speaking about the art or Rheisa. How cultured are the gangs on Malastare, really? "It wouldn't have taken me so long to get ready if /someone/ hadn't trashed my ship and used the sonic shower to grow some weird fungus."
"You tell Yorto'ja 'use ship as home' while you are away." Jehn only groans. She needs to find this dug a job. "Place looks great." She offers instead, offering a polite dip of her head to Mandl. Does she know them?
Stepping through the main entrance accompanied by a second, is the immaculately dressed Lady Aryn Cole of New Alderaan. Her accompaniment is a woman of equal height and similar dress, but much darker hair and tanned skin. Naturally opposite of each other, Aryn stands as the brighter, wearing a stylish collection of white and grey with fine boots and even a cape with an emerald brooch. Aryn's hair is bright blonde, and her eyes a light blue caught easily by the light. Lady Kiko Alde, Aryn's plus-one has long dark hair freed from a hooded cape, once inside, and a similar tunic albeit dark with navy blue. The pair pause in the foyer to wave an additional pair ahead of them. It seems the Alderaanians have brought a surprise shipment of Alderaanian Wine and Brandy.
"IS a lifetime," Rheisa answers Mandl with a downward sweep of bedazzled montrals, her nod serving to both confirm and greet. "Was died and born again, with new heart." At least, that's her understanding of the procedure and she's sticking to it. Because what happens when your heart gets cut out? You dead. Behm shhk ahway, yeh svah. Ku?
"Am so happy you come back." And there's nothing more need be elaborated upon there. Her partners in art-crime-for-good-causes are turned to with a bit more grandiose posturing. /Probably/ moreso for Yorto'ja benefit than Jehn's, but ya never know. Crowned by glittering chains and trophies of her finest kills, beasile or sentient, Rheisa feels like a g'damn /queen/. The revealing silks and lacy wraps are just icing on the cake. "Is no matter, the times. Is good to look nice..." A wink while she listens to Jehn groan about the reason, then a light bark of a laugh. "Nice to hear is some use for the terrible pain box." The sonic shower, to one who is uber sensitive to airwaves and vibration. "Please - help selves to food and drrrinks. Will make announcement in short while. But do not go far!" A dual point to Jehn and dug buddy.
"Yes, yes, single layer /only/!" Kee'tch'ka admonishes the ornery BB unit bumping into 'his' chrome legs. "I don't care if it requires more trips. The crystal is fragile!" Blip-twiddling something naughty, the robo-ball circles away and purposefully veers to and fro up into the foyer and precariously up the ramp with a /single/ layer of empty glasses. "I do not know why it is here," the protocol droid laments to self while toddling off to his next victim. "Good evening!" It's Aryn + 1. And their entourage. "I---Upstairs!" An arm points stiffly ramp-ward to direct the path of wine, not knowing who/what it is. "Welcome, to the Muse," Kee'tch'ka resumes to the feminine pair and mimics a small bow. "I am Kee'tch'ka, guest relations and personal assistant to Mistress Dirleel. If you have need of any information pertaining to our VIP services or current exhibitions, I am /more/ than satisfied to assist you."
"Is no point to th'showers. How do dey expect us to get clean with fake water? Would rather take dust baths any day. Jgha! Are better for growing snacks." The dead-eyed look in Jehn's eyes speaks on the amount of work that will go into fixing the Hotbox back to usability once Yorto'ja finds a new home of his own. This is why we just /kill/ the NPCs, y'all.
"I'm excited to see all this stuff in a proper place." Jehn admits instead, glancing down at the dug accompanying her. Not the plus-one she would be expected to bring, but he did get shot freeing the artwork of Trometh Hirk Bwu'ken - it's only to be expected. "Not some dingy vault." She isn't an art buff, but she can still appreciate the meaning behind it all - they went through enough trouble liberating it, to be sure. "Yes, is only proper." Yorto clears his throat, setting his whole neck to wobbling. He seems distracted - likely by all the ornaments on the savage warrior queen that foot-wrestled her way into his blackened little heart - poor guy.
The pilot's attention is momentarily swayed by the new entrants; a dazzling pair of proper fancies. The dizzying sense of 'otherness' that hits Jehn has her snatching a fistful of fancy cheeses (or what looks like cheeses) from a passing tray and busying herself with snacks. She's never fit in well with high society - but at least her hair smells nice.
"Enchanted, Kee'tch'ka," Kiko says, taking the lead for the presently silent blonde who stands behind her. "You've the pleasure of meeting Lady Aryn Cole. I'm Lady Kiko Alde. We've brought refreshments for the curator; a collection of aged Alderaanian wine and brandy to help celebrate this wonderous occasion. Please, direct us to where we should go." Kiko glances back at Aryn who silently nods and smiles. It only becomes apparent that Aryn bears a scar over her left eye and respective cheek when she gently sweeps strands of blonde back behind her ear.
"May I say, Lady Kiko, Lady Cole," Kee'tch'ka adopts a more high-society crispness to his standard Basic accent, "That it is an inhalation of purified air to encounter such civilized patrons as yourselves." The head swivels pointedly to the right to blink a monotone note of imagined dismay at some raggedy looking street folk who have wandered in to enjoy the free fare and free roof. A few muscles around the room are also watching them, ensuring they don't attempt to free merchandise.
"My Mistress will be pleased to share your priceless offerings with her guests. As Togruta, her gastro-intestinal tract is not very forgiving of some things, but her palate is even more..." how to put this politely? "Particular. Please, do follow me and I shall introduce you!" And off he goes, through the archway to the main gallery space.
"Dust bath is best, many cases." Rheisa approves, her sentiment having more commonality with the riffraff in her foyer than the generous nobleladies. "Never get Kasia to agree." Le sigh. A thrummmm of amusement rolls around her chest and she turns to circle around the sheet-draped, roped-off section in the center-ish of the floor. Not very high tech, up in here. Slim, orange fingers fumble for a moment to free a little device from a sliver of chain about her waist.
"SssCUSE," her voice sloppily booms from overhead speakers for a moment, tapping into the intercom. *Tap*PUff*Breeeeath* She's got this. "If I have all eyes to me, one moment?" She waits for a few beats for the murmurs and surrounding convos to die down enough. "I want thank all for coming to see. I want to thank more my frrriend - not all is here -" one hand reaches out with grabbygrabby motion at snack-munching Jehn and google-eyed foot boy. "Jehni'va Ciiin. And. Yorto-JA. Is Jehn who firrrst find a missing piece to this collection, who brrring to me with questions. Is how the search began. Yorrto is how we track down many more. Trometh Hirk Bwu'ken - famous in his day - is smiling in spirit, I like to think, to know that his rival did not silence his spirit and his creation for all of times. Because I give to you now to see...."
- Tug* *Tuuuuug* Rustlerustle*Cuss*YANK*
There's a struggle, but Rheisa does manage to flutter-flap the sheets free to make the GRAND REVEAL!!
Synthstone - a beautiful, white mineral that is (a bit like the brandy and wine) a nod to Alderaan. Sculpted by a Bothan. Figures large and small are set in a variety of poses. What makes these forms more unique is the seemingly alive bloodstone (aka gypryst) incorporated into many of them, pulsating and catching light in all the right ways. Front and center is the beautiful, enigmatic 'twin'. The 'twin' stands alone, without her sister, but she cuts a striking profile nevertheless. The foot tall, sculpted Bothan is feminine in appearance and holds 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.
Jehni'va has a mouthful of free food when Rheisa snags her for the speech, and the human's cheeks bulge as she raises a single hand in an awkward little wave to the crowd. Yorto'ja handles it with more aplomb, giving a little bow. Neither are accustomed to the limelight, but the dug revels in it more than his human escort - Jehn is scrambling back towards those snacks the moment she senses freedom, nearly bumping into the ladies Kiko and Cole with a hasty: "kriff, sorry! Y'look lovely - seen the art? Great, uh. Art, innit?". The dug is happy to remain at Rheisa's side, flexing nonexistant artistic chops.
But, another arrives, quietly and without fanfare, with a pair of well-matched human men. They are just in time for the unveiling, which the trio spend in rapt, reverent attention - especially the woman. While the men appear almost identical, stern expressions nigh indistinguishable from one another, it's the woman in front of them that really catches the eye. She is bothan, dressed in trailing finery and traditional jewlery, and stares at the unveiled pieces, swiveling about as if unsure where to settle her gaze. The rise and fall of her chest is indicitive of rising emotions.
Aryn seems instinctive when Jehni'va steps close by adjusting her stance to avoid being hit by her without looking. Kiko wasn't close enough, but the woman's voice earns both ladies' attention and earns Aryn's smile and amused laugh. "Yes. There's no.. 'art' to liking art. It's all about how it makes you feel." Then Kiko adds gently, "which is hungry, I presume?" The two laugh, though not at Jehn's expense. Just the situation seemed funny.
The 'art' in question does earn their attention though and Aryn grows silent while she tries to catch the beauty the light has on the displays. This silent revery is interrupted when Aryn detects the presence of strong emotions. It seemed apropos of what she had just shared with that one young lady. This leads Aryn to look away from the art though, and her eyes rest upon the Bothan, then one of the larger men with her, who has a heavy bag.
Kiko has followed Aryn's gaze and thinks the worst. She reaches below her cape but Aryn steadies her hand quietly. A brief look is exchanged between the two nobles and Aryn shakes her head no.
There's another body edging inside, by way of the punch table. A frame bent by age, teetered by time, but bright baby blue eyes that defy the years' gone by with a perpetually youthful twinkle. It's Aleksander Engelando, reknown 'retired' artist of Naboo. Many of his sculptures still reside in the parks there - testaments to a career spanning many decades. He is another co-conspirator in the plot which led to the recovery of lost art. His contribution: recognizing the signature style of Trometh and identifying the separated Twin. Also, serving Jehn and Rheisa and her horrid offspring tea. He's listening to Rheisa's introduction well enough, but seemed more immediately occupied with piling some exotic fruit and sweet buns on a plate. Palsied fingers quake a pink berry aaaall the way to his mouth, then he turns around with as careful a step as Kee'tch'ka likely takes when trevassing a slick floor.
And he sees her. The Bothan woman. It takes a moment, but the geriatric gears in his brain churn away and produce a conclusion that sees him hastening in her direction. A harmless, elderly gent in robes, laden with decadent snacks and booze.
Kee'tch'ka is ignorant of who the quiet dignitary-looking Bothan lady might be, mostly because his back is turned to her entry because he is trying to direct Rheisa's attention to the two human women in his charge. At last he says something in her gutteral, native speak and /that/ jerks her head around, followed by the rest of her. "Alo..." the Shili-born artist pit-pats on bare toes to place herself in front of Aryn and Kiko. Verily in front. Like, toeing over the line of personal bubble in-front. Pearly fangs sparkle nastily behind her pale, gray smile. "Is your first time to the Muse?" she inquires with a vague gesture of arm to the surrounding sights.
If the laughter is at Jehn's expense or not, she doesn't seem to catch on. "A - right. Yeah - this sort of thing isn't my usual, uh... Thing." The pilot offers, a hand rubbing anxiously at the back of her neck; she can feel some curls springing free of the uptight hairstyle, and curses her unmanageable mane silently. This is why she can't have nice things. Any nerves go unnoticed. "But th'food is wonderful - oh, sorry, mate." She's nearly backed into the droid now - face reddening. Is there nowhere that she's not in the way?! "I'm going to go art, now. Look at art. Now." The pilot dismisses herself, giving a hasty bow to the pair of women, Rheisa, and the droid, and moving back towards the snacks. Snacks are art, right?
The Bothan woman has made her way to one of the sculptures, finally settling. It's a winged beast, talons made of the swirling red gyprst. She does look over at Aleksander as he toddles her way, though, waving off the concern of the two men accompanying her. "Marvelous, aren't they?" She greets, her voice unsteady.
Both Aryn and Kiko step back a bit from Rheisa, but this time it's Aryn who has the pleasure of speaking. She dips her head in the affirmative type nod and smiles. "Yes, it is. What a lovely collection; and are these your trophies? The ones you wear I mean?" The young doctor gestures with a gloved hand to indicate the intricate necklaces and things Rheisa wore.
Kiko on the other hand is watching the Bothan and her entourage. She has not spotted Aleksander Engelando yet; her gaze is honed toward the possible threat. She seems to calm though as nothing transpires.
Aryn returns the bow Jehni'va has given with her parting the conversation. "Be well, madam." Aryn offers. Kiko waves, turning her gaze from the men to watch the curious pilot. Her lips tip to a crooked smile.
"Some frrrom home," Rheisa nods solemnly to the smaller, blonde-headed woman. "Some, from years here. Four years," she flashes four fingers demonstratively. "To be counting. Bad mens. We Togruta do not hunt mens to eat," she whispers with a slight, forward lean and crook of upper lip. "So ignore lies about the 'venom'. But my arrow do not miss." It's not becoming of one so deeply rooted in the traditions of the ancient ones to be boastful, but...Rheisa's prowess with the bow IS a source of pride, for her. "So! Kee'tch'ka tells me you have brrrought special drink as gift. My many thanks," she touches a hand to breast and bows her head, canting the heavy rack aside so as to not put out eyes of her guests. "Where it is you are frrrom?" Judging from her thick accent, even after all these years, it's safe to say /she/ isn't indigenous to here. (Voice-ish https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqnMkUcTmys)
"Aye," Aleksander sighs in response to the Bothan woman. Presumably: Trometh's widow? "Never before have my eyes seen such a creative composition...so exquisitely put together. And ne'er again they shall. Except, mayhap, here. And now." The kindly old man reaches hesitantly with his left hand, like to aim for her shoulder, but it halts for two reasons - 1)it's already tasked with holding a glass and 2) muscly men. Feeling a mite awkward, he redirects the tremoring appendage to guide glass to lips. *Siip* "I am -- eh -- it was unexpected, seeing you again. Here. But a very welcomed sighting, nonetheless." The forever-young eighty-something year old shuffles a couple steps closer, if he's permitted to stand alongside the lovely Bothan lady. "As unexpected and delightful as what these youngsters have pulled from oblivyn."
Are these jellies? No, no, definitely eggs - and those ones are moving. No, no... Definitely not. Any event hosted by a Dirleel is sure to be a minefield for a vegetarian such as Jehni'va, but she has known Rheisa long enough to know that caution is necessary, and has shared a living space with her and Umak long enough to catalogue the 'eats' from the 'don't eats' by sight, effectively. The pilot makes her way, quickly, through the snack table, delicately plucking a series of fruits (she hopes they're fruits) onto a plate. But where did the cheeses go? That is the important question. Jehni'va may not prove to be the most interesting study for Aryn's companion.
The Bothan, however, might. Elegant in the simplicity of her garb, she continues to stare up at the scupltures with wide eyes; her hands clasped in front of her, are shaking. "It was like he died twice. And then a thousand times, as the galaxy forgot him, little by little. Every day. And now he's back, in a way - he poured himself into this work. But you know how it is." She turns a small, soft smile on the wizened old man, the fur beneath her eyes streaked just a bit darker. "I wasn't sure that any place could do them true justice, but here..." She shakes her head, steadying herself again. "It is good to see you here, I wasn't expecting it."
Near another piece, Yorto'ja has begun a dramatic re-telling of the storm of Dexlan Devigera's estate, though it would seem that the guards in this story have gained about two dozen in their ranks, automatic blaster rifles, and attack nexus. A harrowing rescue, to be sure.
Kiko was a soldier at heart and simplicity spoke to her more truly than the elegant complicated mannerisms that often accompanied nobility. Her dark gaze lingers a moment or two longer and she finally looks away to finally look to Rheisa, who has just thanked Aryn for the impossibly expensive wine and brandy.
Aryn dips her head. "Yes, Alderaanian wine and brandy. A rarity within the galaxy. In trade for a rare treat such as this. Thank you." Aryn replied, her own voice accented (think Scottish.)
Kiko speaks then. "We're from New Alderaan, madam. This is Lady Aryn, I'm Lady Kiko." Aryn snipes a flute of lightly toned amber liquor from a passing tray and looks back up to Rheisa. "Tell me; how often do you put on events like this?"
"Ah," A sorrowful note. "Yes, ehm." Aleksander clears his throat, balancing punch flute dangerously on a bed of fruit juices on plate, and touches freed fingers to his white wisps of slicked-back man bun. "Where are my manners? Madame..." he pivots a few degrees to snag a passing glass of wine on a server's tray. The stem is held delicately between gnarled forefinger and thumb and offered (with a bow) to Ms. Bwu'ken. "To you. To Trometh." Moisture glosses over the aged fog in his left eye and spills a single drop from his right. He does indeed 'know how it is'. Having suffered a theft of his own work, his own spirit (cough*RAIM*cough) and no longer of physical ability to hammer shapes from unyielding medium.
Thank heavens the little Togruta woman was an apt student and pledged to let his spirit live through her hands. Somewhere under those robes, a little wooden kee'tch(bird) is still hanging on a string against his chest, awaiting the day its magical power will serve its one true, one final purpose. But not today. Today the old man is feeling very much alive.
"Lady Arrryn, Lady Kiko," Rheisa greets each more formally in turn, then touches a couple fingers to her left temple. "Am pleased to meet. Am Rrreesa," the upward trill of a name is barely discernable as a name, "Dirleel. When Yume brothers disappear, the Muse become mine to own...not curate only. Has been much time since I do 'event', in Muse. Much business in life outside these walls, of late. But. Have held two," again, with the fingers, "auction for char-i-tee before. Three and two year, ago. Last was for Jakku - humanarian (almost got it right) supply drop, purchased with auction monies. Am thinking to do again, but I do not spend as many days here, on moon, as on ship. Kee'tch'ka watch over things, when I am gone." A gesture to the droid who's long since moved on. "Before ship, I spend most my days here. Umak, too, before hims have to go to the schools. I give class, sometimes, here. Mostly for the leetle wans. Sometime, for the grrrown." Her flattened palm indicates heights of persons 'yea' high at knee, then at adult-ish level. "You have interest?"
"No need for formalities, you may call me Lenal." The Bothan woman gives a soft, sad smile to Aleksander. "We've met before." It's not a question, but an acknowledgment. She holds out her hand. "You'll have to forgive me, I thought that my days... Making appearances were through. But it would seem that my husband's spirit has not left us." She lifts the glass graciously. "To Trometh." She takes a small sip, pausing to dab at her eyes. "And to the spirit that lives on in what is created."
A few more free re-fills in, the dug has found a small audience. "So, da ting has me in its jaws, and I am holding the sculpture to my chest, praying dat it could escape unscathed, even if it meant dat Yorto'ja is ripped to pieces to make it so!" Jehni'va seems ready to correct him, but the criticism dies in her throat. She'll let him have this, even if he has been growing mushrooms in her shower...
"It's wonderful to meet you, Miss Dirleel." Aryn says gently, smiling. For now, both of the young women listen, following Rheisa's gestures with youthful eyes and occasionally smiling at the pronunciation of her words. It was not at her expense, they were only amused. When inquired about their interest in the glass, Aryn lowers her drink from her lips to nod, then speaks. "Of course. Tell us your schedule and we'll attend." Kiko glances at Aryn, then to Rheisa to smile. Both of the nobles had very pretty smiles which seemed rehearsed, practiced, but genuine.
"To spirits," Aleksander tips his glass with a grave little bow of head, then tosses back some punch. Most goes down the hatch but a tiny dribble escapes over his chin. The whole manuever is costly to what's happening in his other hand. A lil piece of melon goes slip-sliding off the edge of plate to 'splat' upon the floor. It isn't the first party foul of the night and probably won't be the last! Fortunately, he's oblivious to the happening, even more so when his steps shift enough to disappear the fallen fruit under hem of robe. Out of sight, never existed.
A smile given is a smile got, everytime. When next Rheisa's lips peel back, it's a little more revealing of the dentition that is most certainly /not/ human. Also, is that...aw. It's fur, guys. It's fur. Just a few tiny hairs really but there they are, caught behind her left upper fang tooth. Whether that was from breakfast, midday snack, or a more recent trip out back for 'supplies', there's no telling.
"Is no forever schedule. Not anymore. When I see I will have time, I put out words and people come. Is easy. But..." A sickle-sharp thumbnail strokes under her chin thoughtfully in search of solution. You can almost see the proverbial reactor core powering up in brain when the genius strikes. "Can use holonets. I have message account. Know how to use, datapad or elsewise." She's so proud of that. You can see it shining the dayglow of a thousand, simpleton suns across her sunset-colored face. "You have message mails? Wait here, I get!" The pad. She's going to get the pad. And she's off on a mission to find it, because no way is it hiding in that gown. Her search brings her past her beloved old Mr. Engelando and his sad looking Bothan lady friend.
It's safe to say Rheisa doesn't know who she is. Aleksander's reason enough for her to pause there and embrace the old man's shoulders in both hands whilst touching her bony skull /gently/ to his fuzzy one and pressing her smooth cheek against his stubble. A thin trill sounds highly in her chest under the spoken syllables of "My frrriend." Lenal gets a more reserved form of greeting - the dip of her chin and reverent downcasting of eyes.
Meanwhile, the BB unit is back on the prowl for empty glassware.
Jehni'va hasn't been floating in and out of the more sophisticated conversations around the gallery, so she is sufficiently out of touch when she finds herself beside Aryn and Kiko once more. "None of that actually happened." She sighs, waving at the Dug. He is telling the harrowing tale of how he, singlehandedly, whilst two nexu played tug of war with his body, managed to hack into Devigera's vault to free the lost artwork. "We had t'shoot some guards, but Devigera folded an' allowed us access. Weren't any nexu." She rolls her eyes, but there is a fondness hidden there. "Suppose it's better he's here than dealin' drugs, though. Or... Whatever it is he was doing with the gangs. Have you tried the cheeses? They're very smelly, which I think means that they are expensive."
If the lost melon is noticed, Lenal doesn't comment on it. She is approaching that age herself, though she looks more spritely for it, so whether she avoids the subject of dropped fruits or simply doesn't notice isn't clear. But what /is/ clear, is that the approach of Rheisa brings a change to her demeanor - she straightens, and places a large, furry hand against Aleksander's arm. "Excuse me." She turns to the Togruta. "You are the curator, yes?" She waves a hand for the men behind her to step forward. One of them steps forward with a datapad while the other carefully pulls something from a bag at his side. The item he withdraws is wrapped in red, silken cloth; it is apparent, just from looking at it, that there is a weight to it. He hands it, carefully, to the Bothan woman, and she in turn offers it out towards the curator, allowing the wrappings to fall away.
It is the missing Twin.
"They belong together, and his work belongs on display." Lenal smiles again before she nods to the other man, the one with the datapad. "I have officially signed over ownership of my husband's works to you and the Muse, for as long as they will remain on display. On the condition that, should they be taken down, they be returned to the Hirk Bwu'ken estate." Her professional, more business like demeanor breaks, for a moment. "Thank you... For bringing my husband back to me."
All thoughts of business networking fade away the moment things take a serious turn, as Lenal addresses Rheisa directly and big muscles are moving and a...a thing so prettily, lovingly wrapped emerges. The Togruta's intuitive side wakes up, does the math, and her heartbeat kicks up a few notches before her own palms bear the weight of this emotional connection. It's like a buzzing in her veins, a lightness of head and heaviness of heart.
Trometh /is/ here. And now a new energy, a new aura might encompass the lonely twin. No longer is her open mouth mournfully calling for what was lost. For it is found. Now, they might call out in joy of reunion.
Those ever-silent stones.
Lovingly, Rheisa cups the missing piece to her bosom. "Du behm bhat'si yeh," she murmurs, looks to Aleksander for confirmation, then to where Jehn's circled around to the fancy ladies. "It..." the Togruta presses her lips together, rolled inward, then pops them once. "It puts a song, in my heart. To bring them together. To know now they rest." Teeth and beads tinkle together like chimes as lowly as she bows her head in acknowledgement of the deal. "To know you also now may do the same. Please." She rises and absently reaches a few fingers toward the Bothan's fine sleeve. Touch. Want to touch. "You are welcome here, to come. Any times. VIP." Because this is hallowed ground now. A well-groomed graveyard of shapely stones.
"When we heard the news that Trometh's works had re-surfaced on /Nar Shaddaa/, of all places, my lawyers were ready to have this collection seized, but it..." Lenal laughs, her own hand reaching out to meet Rheisa's. "There is /life/ in this place. Not just art. Never /just/ art - those you surround yourself with, they... Seem to understand this as well." A fond smile to Aleksander. "There can be no death in art, and there is nowhere I would rather my husband's spirit live then here... I -" Another break, and she pauses, withdrawing to dab gently at the streaks beneath her eyes. "I can feel him. He always told me that the red stone was the very soul of creation itself. I don't think I believed him until now." She dips her head to the togruta. "He'll be happy, here. And I will visit often. You've done my family a service." She steps away with a smile. "I will visit often." She repeats, waving the men away, though they continue to follow her. Lenal is content to walk with her husband's spirit, tonight.
