Log:Touching Trinkets

Touching Trinkets

OOC Date: March 23, 2017
Location: Art Gallery
Participants: Rheisa Dirleel, Tarion Tavers, Sapphira Tavers

It is done. Emerging from the workroom with a small box in hand, Rheisa slips quietly to a tall, narrow display case set apart from the others, between sconces. In this case is a collection of numerous wooden figurines. One look identifies them as Togruta. A more detailed look will show that no two are alike, mostly in the tiny lines etched into their faces. There are 'tall' ones, short ones, shorter ones without montrals, male and female, some bent, some standing straight and strong. There are seventy-three of them, if anyone cares to count. She props the box on a hip and keys in the access code.

"Yes, I'm looking for the proprietess," comes a familiar voice, chiding in its tone as Tarion talks down to Kee'tch'ka or however it's spelled, he can't be bothered to know or remember. "Who else would I be looking for?" And then he comes strolling in, dressed in his grey armor, with the droid tottering behind. "Hello, vector control? Wherefore art thou, horn-ed one?" he asks, peering around the room and spotting the colorful lady. "There you are."

Kee'tch'ka is relentless, as a droid designed for diplomatic purposes must be in so hostile a city. It totters on right around Tarion when they've reached his mistress and stands as a proper herald should between them. "Mistress Dirleel, Mr Tavers is here to see you." Rheisa doesn't bother to turn around. She'd recognize that voice anywhere. It and its grating quality on the soul...

"Here I is," she confirms as the case unlocks with a tiny 'click'. She reaches inside to select a couple pregnant looking figurines and tucks them into the box. Also unhooks a 'baby' figurine from another woman and places it inside.

"I used to have action figures like those when I was a kid," Tarion points out, wandering over to look over her shoulder at the figurines she's carefully removing and transferring, ignoring Kee'tch'ka pointedly. He's never been one for droids, and the silver protocol model and the gray-armored man have a long history of repeated diplomacy and repeated assholery. "Are these your little friends to keep you company?"

It's not long after Tarion that another Tavers comes in. This one is dressed in a simple purple sheath dress with a taupe blouse underneath, brown leggings, and brown boots. She has a gun strapped to the belt that cinches the outfit at her waist. It's both figure-flaturing and deadly! And she has a small bag in her hand. "Good morning," She says pleasantly to the protocol droid. It's only a few steps further in that she sees her husband and the gallery owner. "Oh, I'm sorry," she says, equally pleasant. "I didn't think I'd be interrupting. I just stopped by the drop off a little gift."

"Some," Rheisa answers Tarion in a careful, even tone and might bore a hole right through her tiny masterpieces with the unblinking stare she's locked onto them. Those that have just been removed are now replaced. The two fat-bellied women are now flat-bellied women and over each one's shoulders, she hooks a little grabby lump of a faceless infant. In place of the removed infant, she stands a little 'gruta, maybe Umak-sized in proportion to their figures. "Ilak will be standing now and eating the foods that his father brings."

Before Kee'tch'ka can fret over choosing between leaving her in Tarion's company and going to greet this new entry, she raises a hand and beckons the woman. "Come. This is public place. You are free to look inside."

"Do you always keep the company of little toy figures when you're not out carousing with the rats?" Tarion asks Rheisa as Sapphira appears, offering gifts, of all things. "I think Ilak is what they give you to make you throw up," the hunter points out helpfully as she names one of them. "But it's impressive that you're aging your little fictional collection." He glances over his shoulder at his wife, giving her a smirking grin.

"Oh, thank you," Sapphira says, still a touch apologetically, as she steps a bit closer. She glances to Tarion and back to Rheisa and then to Tarion once more. "Not causing trouble, I hope?" she says in a gentle, fond, and even amused tone. But then her attention is back to Rheisa. "I'm so sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to thank you again for the lovely sculpture. It's really quite wondrous, by far the nicest thing I own." Hooray for spending Tarion's money. "I was making everyone that works for Hex a little gift, and I finished Kasia's shawl so I thought perhaps you might like one too." From the bag she withdraws a black, grey, and blue shawl with a knitted lace pattern. It's over sized, can easily be draped or wrapped around a person. It's offered over. "It's not much, but at least we'll all be in a color theme."

"On the contrary, Mr Tavers," Kee'tch'ka chimes in, helpful to a fault, and shuffles around so he may go eye-to-nose with the man. "Each one of these effigies stands in representation of a living, breathing - presumably still - member of her tribe. Or as more technologically advanced civilizations are apt to name them - her 'pack'." Good job, Kee. "By carving each with the likeness of a unique face of her people, she is, according to some stretch of belief, channeling a piece of their spirits inside, which makes them quite real. Or at least, in possession of a real connection with the flesh and blood they represent. The newly born may possess more elements of fiction, of course, since it is unknown whether they or their mothers have survived their birth."

Rheisa, meanwhile, is paused midway through removing another set of pregger females - my god, they must breed like rabbits - from the collection in favor of turning to look at what it is Sapphira's presenting to her. After a long minute of staring at it and the woman behind the offering, she bends stiffly at the knees to put the box down and accepts with hesitant hands and gracious bow of her head. "It is a beautiful thing," she murmurs admirably and strokes the lacy yarn with her thumbs. "/You/ make this?"

Here comes Sapphira, trying to make Tarion lovable by association, or... something. Self-centered as he is, that's what he assumes she's up to, and he raises an eyebrow at her suspiciously. "It's nice," he allows, skimming his eyes over the garment. Kee'tch'ka gets ignored. "So is there one of me in there?"

"Oh, yes. Just a hobby of mine. I was never good at sitting still. It keeps my hands buys." She steps back, then, allowing Rheisa to accept the gift and return to her work and for Tarion to continue his conversation. For her own part, Sapphira lifts the empty bag again, slinging it over her shoulder in preparation to go.

A little, monosyllable 'gruta giggle (a high-pitched thrum) of amusement escapes from Rheisa's throat through closed lips and she averts her eyes while folding the shawl thrice over her shoulder. "I was much the same." Rheisa Dirleel, master woodcarver, storyteller, and chronic fidgeter. Which maybe is part of the reason there's now a horde of Togruta action figures encamping this nook of the art gallery. To Tarion, she offers a quiet little scoff.

"Not in this one." And finishes the baby belly swaps. On the very bottom shelf of this familial gathering there IS one figurine that does not seem to belong. No montrals, no lekku. But a beard and a robe.

"Well, I don't usually have a beard but that one doesn't have the stupid horns," he points out, leaning down and spying the little guy down there without montrals or lekku. "It's not as good as the thing I bought Sapphira." The carving, the sculpture, the statue, the /thing./ Something Sapphira said earlier finally sinks into his brain, though. "Wait, /everyone./ What are you making for me?"

"It's a condusive way to be for hobbies," Sapphira agrees with Rhesia. Then, it seems, she prepares to turn to go, but Tarion's question makes her pause and she looks back to him after a moment. "Hmm? Oh I hadn't decided yet. The men are so much harder. Well, you and Yan are so much harder," she admits with a soft smirk. "Hex is getting a tailor made hat for his lekku. Naelyn is also getting a shawl. But for you and Yan I'm not sure yet. Is there something in particular you'd like? Fingerless gloves, or a hat perhaps?"

Not as good?? It is carved in a similar, stylistic fashion as the 'thing' he bought Sapphira and the more traditional (not so much realistic) carvings around the room. Limbs are merely etched onto the oval-ish figure rather than carved apart into shapes. The face could belong to most humanoid men, no posessing many detailed features. But there IS detail. Tiny, geometric patterns are hidden here and there. Tick marks on feet, shape of inverted A-wings on back, teensie, curled porcine animal on belly, and a boxy shape could be datapad or medpack on hip. There's something else clutched between his hands, peeping out from the belled sleeves of the robe. A stick? A club? A knife? A spoon to have eaten that piggy with? Only the artist knows.

Rheisa just glares silently at the insulting idiot.

"None of those sound particularly appealing," Tarion admits, revealing that knitted yarn isn't exactly his speed in fashion. He's more of a gray synth-leather man, judging by the fact that that's literally all he's ever seen wearing, really. "Buttt maybe a hat for when we go to cold planets," he muses, tapping his chin thoughtfully with a finger, glancing over at the painted lady glaring at him. "...what?"

"Maybe a gag," Sapphira decides, giving the man another smirk. She tucks the bag a little more firmly under her arm. "I'll be at home if you need me," she tells Tarion, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure as always. And thank you again for your beautiful work." She smiles to the pair once more and starts to take a step back away before turning. You know, in case they start straight out fighting.

"Thank you, for yours," Rheisa replies courteously in turn, despite the little curl of disapproval forming on her lip as she watches the husband/wife exchange. Like an open book, this one. She folds up the box lid on the floor, then uses a corner of her tunic to polish a tiny smear off the case glass.

Tarion appears oblivious to Rheisa's disapproval, accepting the peck with a smirk, his perennial expression, and giving Sapphira a little swat on the hip. "Don't spend too much money on your way home." It's not like they have one big pot of shared funds, but still... /money./ While the Togruta is busy polishing that case, he's starting to wonder over to another one so that he can point at something inside, failing the hover-point totally and leaving a fingerprint/smudge plain as day on the otherwise spotless glass. "What's this thing?" It's a scrap metal sculpture of some sort, by the look of it.

"I'll spend whatever I want," Sapphira counters back with a wider grin. And then she's turning to head for the door, ducking her head slightly in preperation for the damp, dirty air of Nar.

"Is by Qo," sighs the curator when at last she does follow in his tracks after locking up and spies his greasy paw mark. Tunic buffing to the rescue! Not a perfect fix, but it'll do until Kee'tch'ka can deal with it later. "I do not know /what/ it is meant to be." Paperweight? Prickly thing to put on your copilot's seat?

"Is it a bomb, or... some kind of weapon?" Tarion wonders aloud, with the explanation of 'evoking emotion' obviously too far beyond him, too great a reach to reach, as it were. "It looks vaguely painful, like a vomit of metal."

"I do not put weapons in gallery," Rheisa informs a little haughtily, as if violence is really so far beneath her. "Is dangerous." Then one of her fingers threatens to leave a print with a poke to the shoulder of his armor. "Which remembers me the question: why do you come in here, dressed to fight?"

"Just paintings of them," Tarion points out, remembering the huge display the gallery did 'paint' certain white-armored folks in a negative light. Her poke draws a frown from him, a flash of the hidden bad-temper constantly broiling under the smirks and jokes and insults, but he replaces it quickly with an easy grin. "I go /everywhere/ dressed to fight. The slug still has a bounty out on me, after all."

"Does he?" Rheisa raises both hairless brows. "I thought Hex make him a deal. Or maybe the journey has not yet been made." It was awhile ago, that interesting encounter in the Emerald Palace, when she and Eebua agreed upon terms regarding the charity event and Hex more or less stumbled in to present Eebua with a wager of his own, once recovered from the momentary shock and displeasure of witnessing his good-doing Togruta making her own dealings with the devil. She doesn't sound concerned OR surprised, though, and takes a fingernail to a little dab of sticky inside that fingerprint. C'mon, Tar. What did you eat??

Probably something saucy and fried. "We /did/ make a deal, but we're still waiting on... something. I don't know, slugs move slow, I guess." The hunter shrugs blithely, not willing to spend much time considering the possibilities. The lack of introspection is alarming, to anyone who knows much about abnormal psychology. "How's-" he starts to say, but then apparently thinks better of the question and diverts his attention elsewhere. "-what does a painting in here usually sell for?"

"All are different," Rheisa answers, not troubling her brain with looking too far into his unfinished query. "Read the little signs." Aka pricetags. Her left eye twitches twice while the other glances at the nearest painting, then both eyes close. It's headache-worthy, this dysynchronous feed. With box on hip, she limps as easily along toward the workroom door as any sighted person would. Just a little more slowly.

"Ah, the pricetags." Tarion stares down at one as Rheisa starts to hobble away, too concerned with studying this new asset-language to notice the fact that her eyes are all wonky and she's probably running on echolocation alone. "-How do you decide which ones are worth what, what makes them worth more?" he calls over to her, noticing immediately some large price disparities.

"I ask what the artists want to receive as payment and I notice what peoples is willing to pay." Because even Rheisa isn't so awesome as to have made /everything/ in this gallery. Hell no. As the name placards will show, beside each piece. "You are not thinking of stealing from /me/, I am sure?" She pauses at the smooth, glass divider between here and the workshop, one hand lifting to place upon the door before one eye opens and she finds the touch pad.

"Of course not," Tarion answers immediately, though he's been goaded into doing so before and resisted the urge. He even had the decency not to pull his gun on Asiir in the basement that one time out of deference for the curator! He's not all bad. Always all the time, at least. Just like, 90%. "I'm just thinking, this seems like a lot of credits to get for a quick painting."

"Value is decided not only by time, Tarion," The door slides open and the Togruta steps through the nearly invisible barrier to the other side to stow the box beside the kiln. At last, the troublesome eye blinks open and she makes a solid effort to keep facial muscles lax. It's an uncannily calm expression. Vacant, even. Or she's just that bored? Rheisa pit pats back into the public side of things. "You do not know if it was quick time, or not, anyway. Maybe they change the color many times? Maybe they spill food and must start over?" Because that definitely happens in her workspace. Umak.

"I'm just- you know, I could probably make something like this," Tarion replies, pointing down at the mass of twisted metal in the display case and leaving another smudge. "For that amount of credits, it'd be worth trying, anyway." Bounty hunter, pilot, and /artist?/ Why not?!

"It is about finding the balance of shapes and colors in a way that is pleasing to someone's eye. You could try, yes." Gray lips pout downward into a frown of punctuation as yet another smudge appears. "But I do not think you have the patience it need." She makes a 'shoo' motion at his offending hand and wipes away that smudge.

"Maybe I'd get lucky," Tarion retorts, with a smirk that's neither charming nor flirty in this instance; it's just arrogant. Earlier in their knowledge of each other's existence, there was definitely more flirtatiousness under his insults and bragging, but these days it's pretty egotistical. "I have a wide and varied skill-set, after all." He pokes the glass lower down since she seems like she doesn't want him touching the glass. "I could make that one."

"Stop," Rheisa growls quietly underbreath, "making mess." Her cheeks twitch and color deepens just a /little/ while she laser-eye-glares into the side of his head. If only. "If you want to touch, I will take from case for you." One finger points - without touching - at a nearby sign. It invites guests to ask for assistance if they require a closer look at something. "See? No hands on glass." It's not what it /says/, but it is what it infers and to one with limited verbal vocabulary, inference is a part of daily life.

"Oh, sorry," Tarion replies as she points out the sign, wandering away from the display case toward one of the horizontal ones with jewelry and the like inside, peering down into it for a moment before turning back towards the woman and casually leaning a hand directly on the glass. An entire hand. Is it on purpose, or is he that thoughtless? "So what do you do in here all day, anyway?"

!!!!

Something on her wrist chirps, indicating a sudden hike in heart rate. Yup. He's got her groat. "I make things. And I keep. Place. Clean." Her glare shifts from his face pointedly to that HAND. Moments before she's /there/ and publicly risking a scene by swatting that armored arm. "Why are you like a child?!" *Swat* "Always without thinking? Or does it make you happy, to see anger in others?" It's Tarion. She's going to assume the HAND was placed on purpose. Also, Nar sucks and it's made her mean. In an annoyed animal sort of way.

The swat falls on Tarion rather harmlessly, and he recoils from her, a pleasant laugh escaping his mouth. Maybe it /does/ make him happy to see anger in others! "Well, my mother always said she hoped I'd never lose my childlike wonder," he tells her, brushing off the sleeve where she hit him just in case it was dirty. "At least I can do that much for her." Smiling eyes consider the Togruta playfully, as if she's just engaged him in a game. "Don't get your tentacles tied." Lekku. Whatever.

"..." Playful Tarion has thrown angry gruta off track with a phrase she doesn't exactly understand the meaning of. Her lekku ARE tied, sort of, wrapped in /finery/, dammit. Rheisa's spine stiffens that much more and she flattens her nostrils while one hand roboticly lifts a billowy hem of her khaftan to Wipe. Wipe. Wipe. "It is more beautiful, this way," she defends with a gesture from her free hand. "And shows skill, as hunter. Shows I can feed, and prrrotect my people." In addition to the original Akul teeth, there are a few other little, grisly trophies woven in amid the actually pretty beads and such. Including some gold/silver-capped human teeth.

That is totally not what Tarion meant, and he's thrown off track in turn by her response, which is... to start ranting about showing skill as a hunter. "Well, I guess there's a sort of natural hunting instinct in children," he agrees reluctantly, trying to interpret her statement in light of his original explanation of his behavior. "I've never seen them sent on a serious expedition, though, I think that would be frowned on by the wider society."

Now Rheisa's confused again. "Everyone who eats must contribute," is the best she can come up with right now and quits her fussing with the glass. Why does she bother? She should simply wait until the day's end, like any sensible proprietor. "Why is it you are here?" her rush of fire has deflated into simple exasperration and she turns away to snatch a piece of trash off the floor. Probably tracked in on the bottom of a shoe.

Rheisa acts like the sunshine of Tarion's face isn't reason enough for him to drop by for a visit. "I just thought I'd poke my head in and see how things are going since you took over running the place," he demurs politely, with a small shrug. "It's a lot of work, handling a business. Lucrative, potentially, but a lot of work."

Rheisa looks up from janitorial duties to narrow her eyes at Tarion skeptically. Well. One eye, anyway. The other's not made up its mind about what it's doing. So winks shut. "And you have concern, for this? Maybe you are sad that your last business 'partner' was not success." Then, just to be clear as she stands on one steady leg and sets the other gingerly down "I am not looking for one," she points meaningfully at him.

"Of course, I want you to be successful," Tarion replies, with a broad smile. Maybe he's there to pitch himself as a potential partner, maybe not! Maybe he's just planting the seed, so that he can water it for the next five years and eventually win her over. Who can know the mind of a Tavers? "It's smart to keep the business in your control that way you know nothing shady is going on behind your back," he teases, since that definitely never happened to the poor Gruta.

Rheisa curls her upper lip and replies with a disgruntled noise and flash of fang. "You are the ex-pert," she credits him where it's due.

"I do have a knack for gathering ex's," Tarion agrees, nodding and smiling back at her, apparently taking no offense at her statement. Maybe today he's beyond feeling as though she's capable of condescending to him due to how low she is in the state of the world, with the limp and the janky eye and the teeth in her 'hair'. "But, if you're handling things just fine on your own, I'll leave you to it," he replies, turning to go.

RRheisa doesn't lift a toe to stand in way of his departure. Good riddance to sticky fingers! "I am sure there are other more important things for you to do," she bobs her head farewell and gestures broadly to the path towards freedom. "Please do not touch, on your way out?"

"Sure," Tarion replies, glancing over his shoulder as he heads out, making sure to leave his fingerprints on at least one more object before he heads out the front door.