Arts Amongst the Chaos

[iceheart_imperial]

WHO: Ysanne Isard, Artists of all varieties, and the people who love them/their art? (In short, everyone is invited)
WHERE: A Park in Heropa.
WHEN: Afternoon/Evening
WHAT: In defiance of current events, a planned arts fair is held. If you need help with a robot double, there's some convenient Stormtroopers...err, trainees...nearby to assist...
WARNINGS: Added as needed



The park sparkled, the open tents surrounded by strings of fairy lights. She'd gotten someone in for this one, as such aesthetics were beyond her. But it fit well, all things said and done. As the evening drew on, she knew, the place would take on a lovely sparkle. All the better, given events.

Her Stormtroopers were on hand, of course, though neither she nor they would ever call themselves that. Officially, they were 'on loan' as a 'courtesy' for additional security. They would identify by their American names and ranks, not by an Imperial number. And, at her insistence, they only carried non-lethals. Stun batons, firmly holstered at their sides. It was the best possible balance between security and openness she could manage.

The tents were arrayed by themes, based on those who had come. One for potteries and housewares, another for paintings and prints, still another for musicians on small stages, hawking their sounds. There was room for a miscellany, too, she had seen to it. Each one carefully chosen, come the end.

The large center tent had refreshments and food - freely offered, in both cases. This night was a considerable cost, but every credit...sorry, dollar...was worth it. Given circumstances, alcohol was not on offer beyond a few ales and other lighter choices. But there was also a larger stage and a potential dance floor, catering to all tastes tonight. Throughout the afternoon and evening, different acts would take the stage, covering a wide array of talent.

It was a defiance of chaos, and yet another symbol of her dedication to her cause. But it was designed to put her aside, to place others in the spotlight. And so it continued, well into the night.

Comments

[iceheart_imperial]

Option A

She wore a true suit today. In general, she looked entirely herself, though anybody observant would notice that her right arm mostly rested in a jacket pocket, and that she moved it with some difficulty.

That could not be helped. And rather than being visible as usual and schmoozing as it were, she was curiously sedentary. When seen at all, she would mostly be around the used book sellers whom had, in the end, been the first people she'd invited.

Option B

Later, a piano performance drew her back to the main tent. The young woman playing had a sort of deftness and precision that drew her. She sat on a folding chair, just listening. She had returned in time for the beginning of Chopin's 'Raindrop' Prelude.

She listened, and for a moment, forgot where she was. The music fit her mood and her mind of late. So much so that, when it came to an end, she passed word up that, as a favor, she would like to hear it a second time.

[verunandesu]

Sypha had taken the 'Porter to Heropa; it was a gentler city than Jeopardy, soft blues and greens and soaring glass architecture contrasting with the hard yellows, large signs, and ostentatious buildings of her home. This event had been the subject of her library coworkers' talk for weeks, and Sypha had purchased a ticket out of curiosity and anticipation.

She had travelled there alone, preferring to spend her time observing her surroundings carefully as she went, without the distraction of conversation. She was still memorizing the routes and familiarizing herself with new areas. She noticed, on entering the park, that there were groups of men standing about with the posture that gave them away as hired guards, though they had no obvious weapons.

Option A - art tent

After taking in the gallery offerings at the Swear-In, Sypha remembered Ruka's words and made it a point to try to look at all different varieties of art that she could. She admired the portraits, smiled at caricatures, and oohed over interesting ceramic vessels and abstract shapes.

At one booth, she spent a while gazing at a landscape painting hung on the back "wall" of the tent. Presently she felt movement around her, and attempts to move to make room in the small space; unfortunately, she moved the wrong way, instead bumping directly in to whomever was behind her.

"I beg your pardon," she says, flustered.

Option B - Foooooood

The food is free and the central tent is packed. Sypha fills up her plate and manages to grab a seat at one of the far tables, collapsing in to her seat with a huff. It had taken far too long to navigate that minefield while balancing a plate full of food and a drink.

Will you join her?

B

[batgirl_babs]

She'd bought too many books. She hadn't meant to. But they were there, and they were nice. And there hadn't been any bags that she'd found, at least not yet.

And she'd stacked the pile wrong, in that way that a few absently-made choices can create. Before the pile toppled, she set it down on a table with a huff, exhaling between pursed lips after. It was only after that when she noticed Sypha.

"Oh," she said, and just in time remembered they were 'strangers.' "Hello! Sorry, I just...the stack was wonky."

[verunandesu]

"Not a problem," Sypha responds, not looking up right away as she quickly stabilized her drink, which was about to go over the side of the table.

"There is -" on looking up, she realizes she is face to face with someone she does not recognize, and falters. She could have sworn...

Sypha clears her throat. "There is not very much space in here right now." She eyes the stack of books. "I nearly dropped my plate on the way over as well. Do you need a bag?"

Sypha does not have one. This conversational alley will go nowhere, but she had been ready to greet a friend, and was busy righting herself from being thrown off-kilter.

[batgirl_babs]

She gives her an apologetic look, starting to reshuffle books into a better order.

"Yeah, it was like dodging icebergs in a small boat," she said, by way of agreement. "And I will, if I can find one." She sighs, looking at the book pile, hands going to her hips.

"I promised myself I wouldn't do this. And yet."

[verunandesu]

The simile is lost on Sypha, who has never had the experience (in reality or through media), so she does not comment, instead taking a sip of her drink and looking amused at the fumbling girl in front of her.

"I recall seeing that the tent near the entrance had cloth bags. I am not sure if they are for sale, or given freely as a souvenir of this event." Sypha gives the tower of books an appraising look. "You may want to pick up more than one, when you do."

"Resolve often wavers in the face of temptation," Sypha says solemnly, eyes dancing. "Even the most sincere of promises can crumble."

[batgirl_babs]

"Yep, and it turns out medieval and renaissance poetry broke my resolve pretty quickly," she responded, breaking the pile into two, less problematic, stacks. "And then there were the Neruda volumes..." she sighed.

"I know we've just met, but can I ask you a huge favor? To watch the books while I go to get some bags?"

[verunandesu]

Sypha isn't quite sure how to respond - she's not a huge poetry buff - but smiles warmly at the girl.

"Yes, of course I will watch them... and if they decide to leave, I will talk some sense in to them. What is your name?"

[batgirl_babs]

"Oh, thank you, you're the best!"

She offered a hand to shake.

"And I'm Barbara. Barbara Gordon."

[fireandhoney]

A
Finn likes an opportunity to display his art, so of course he has a tent all set up after Isard sent him an invitation. He thought about bringing his lute for some singing, but ultimately he chose to leave it at home. Finn brought some prints to display, including drawings of Nord ruins, a dragon, a more abstract piece, a monster he saw in a movie, and other drawings. He's more than glad to answer questions about any of his pieces.

He's also regaling the crowds with tales of his adventures as the Dragonborn. "The killer was just about to plunge his knife into another victim, when I ran up and kicked the knife out of his hand! Oh, he ran, but I was able to get him to trip with a Shout and then he tried to stab me! But he was no match for a little more dragon shouting. And that's how I saved Windhelm from a serial killer."

B
A Dunmer tends to get hungry, so Finn leaves his tent to get some food. He grabs some fruit and a sandwich, along with an iced tea to drink.

He watches the various performers display their talents while he eats. "I would go sing a few songs, but I left my lute at home."

[iceheart_imperial]

She waited until the story-telling was done for the moment before approaching his art, lingering between the abstract and a piece on Nord ruins, clearly considering.

"A good story," she says, staring at the abstract. "Though I've never seen a man shouted to defeat before."

[fireandhoney]

"Well, these are special Shouts," Finn explains, taking a sip from a water bottle. "They're also known as the Thu'um. Basically, I shout something in the dragon language, and things happen. Usually magical things. Fire or ice breath, slowing down time, or in the case of that story, a light Unrelenting Force, which just shoved him slightly forward so he lost his balance."

The abstract is a watercolor he did, which is mostly just a mix of color and shape with no real idea of what he was doing at the time. He considers it an experimental piece.

[iceheart_imperial]

"Thu'um," she repeats, getting the pronunciation just right. "Fascinating."

And it was. Everything here was, in its way. It was strange, she was surrounded by more immediate power than she'd ever seen in her life - beings of immense ability - and yet she operated more freely than she ever had, without any of the systems that once had backed her up. It was an irony she wasn't apt to forget.

She liked trying to impart meaning to abstracts, too. A mostly futile effort, she knew, but it exercised the brain. But then her attention turned to the ruin.

"And this?"

[fireandhoney]

Finn eyes the painting she's looking at. "That is a Nordic ruin. The Nords are the people of Skyrim, and there was a time when they worshiped dragons. Thus, their ruins may have signs of dragon worship, amid the draugr."

He pulls his device out and brings up a drawing of a draugr. Just so Isard can have a visual reference.

[iceheart_imperial]

"What a lovely individual," she replies, dryly. "And something about the pose does not suggest friendly, either."

"What structure does this represent? Or was its purpose forgotten by the time you sketched it?"

[fireandhoney]

"You should see them when they're charging at you with an axe or sword," He replies, just as dryly.

"That particular ruin are the High Gate Ruins. It was the stronghold of the dragon priest Vokun. It was one of the bigger ruins, with general living spaces, a crypt for his underlings, and the priest's throne room."

[iceheart_imperial]

"Nothing in that description suggests you came to make a friendly call," she said, moving on to the print of the dragon.

"So in your universe they're real - the creatures of myth to mine." Of course, her universe had things that might give these a run for their money - but dragons such as this were a staple of fantasies in, she suspected, nearly every universe.

[adamantlyardent]

Oh, gods.

Shortly after arrival, Cecelia begins to notice the array of security, and her already on-edge nerves got more...on-edge?

This better not be like those godsawful swear-ins...

Her ears buzzed a bit with the array of music being performed, and because of that, she steered well clear of those particular spots, preferring to maneuver outside the tents and cautiously peer around at the ones with their arrays of photography or painted works.

To its credit, this affair is far less oppressive than the street fairs Heropa is more keen on in the high noon heat, something which boggles the mind. Does dehydration make a human more keen on the arts and purchasing lawn ornaments...?

"Um, pardon me--" She approaches someone who seems official enough, hugging her notebook to herself. "I was told to make myself known? Cecelia Ardenbury..."

[iceheart_imperial]

The attendant smiles and gestures to a small side tent. "Ah, yes, Miss Ardenbury. The Director is eager to meet you. Please, just head on in. If you'd like any food or refreshment, let me know and I'll have it brought to you."

There is a polite inclining of the head after Cecilia's response, and then she is left to her own devices again. Inside the tent, Ysanne is already waiting, perusing a book she'd purchased at the fair. There is not much in the tent itself, a table, and a chair for both of them. She looks up as the woman approaches, smiling and offering a nod.

"Ah, welcome. Please, make yourself comfortable." She gestures, calmly, clearly avoiding using her one arm. A result of the unfortunate incident with the double.

[adamantlyardent]

Cecelia remains at the threshold of the tent for a few seconds, taking in the surroundings and, more importantly, the woman called Ysanne. First impressions count for a lot, and while technically the Network ought to take care of that, there's really no replacement for a face-to-face encounter.

"Thank you," she replies, nodding in turn, mindfully straightening up out of her wary hunched shoulders as she moves over to sit. After smoothing out her skirt and shawl, she lifts her head to regard the woman who would be her patron once more. She was so to-the-point and well-written on the Network -- in a way, Cecelia got a whiff of elf off of her, but who sits across from her is no elf.

Still...there's a sense in the room that Cecelia ought to act as she would in the presence of one.

"It was kind of you to invite me," she says, resting her journal on her lap, hands folding atop it. "To say nothing of your offer to pay commission..."

[iceheart_imperial]

If there was anything to her that simply radiated, it would be confidence. She was used to command, and more to the point knew the importance of being seen as used to it. She folded her book, putting it aside.

"Please, think nothing of it," she says, straightening with only the slightest grimace. Her shoulder is healing well, but it is still...unpleasant. "You struck me as intelligent, and I like intelligent women. This planet can use more of them, quite frankly, and they should be encouraged wherever found."

She paused, gesturing to the way Cecilia had come.

"I've some tea coming, I do hope you'll join me. I've been told my tastes in tea are a bit strong, but I am truly enjoying the Assam black teas here."

Tellingly, the money comes up last,, as she fishes a check out of her jacket pocket, smoothing it out before sliding it over to Cecilia.

"But as promised. And please, take your time on things. Consideration will only help."

[adamantlyardent]

Cecelia is no trained rogue, but there is something she has in common with the sort: Checking for traps. As Ysanne speaks, the half-elf is taking stock of everything she can -- her posture, that arm, the way she sits, speaks, and gestures, the words she chooses...even now, Cecelia fears some kind of ruse, some game being played at her expense that she can't quite see right away. It's fatal flaw, this arrogance to assume everyone is out to get her, but even knowing she has that tendency doesn't stop her from being wary.

After all, this woman can't possibly know of her published works here -- that'd mean she knew her ghostwriter name! And if she knew her ghostwriter name...who else does? And why haven't they said they know?!

All of this fuss and to-do plays behind a face that tries to be neutral, but Cecelia can't help but look a little ill-at-ease, given all these unknowns. At mention of tea, there is a slight release of tension in her neck and shoulders, the briefest twitch of a smile on the corner of her mouth regarding the flavor...and a stiffening of all features and form when the check is slid across the table.

Where are the strings? The catch? There has to be more.

Cecelia blinks a couple times, the sight of money this suddenly putting a dent in her composure; her fingers lace tighter together.

"Up front?" She clears her throat to snuff out that faint waver in her tone. "You're...that confident in this venture?"

[iceheart_imperial]

Were she privileged enough to know her internal monologue, she'd call her a natural for intelligence work. That sort of thing saves your life. It's perhaps the one field in life in which paranoia is a positive job skill. As it happens, she is a skilled former operative, and a lot of that emotion is fairly obvious to her. Not all of it, mind, but some.

And give her time, and ghostwriting could become a possible known fact - she hadn't bothered to look, after all, since it was at present superfluous information.

"Please," she says, with a graceful smile, "relax. I know money can worry people. Either having too little of it or suddenly being faced with too much. I was rather hoping to make it a lesser issue by handing it over straight away."

A smiling woman then appeared with tea. "Ah, we'll continue our discussion in a moment." When the tray is set down, she'll see two cups, as well as the pot. Ysanne stood, taking the handle in her left hand.

"I apologize for some stiffness. I'm sure you've been hearing about the incidents lately. I was an unfortunate recipient of a visit, shall we say." She carefully pours out a cup for Cecilia, then one for herself. The pot is placed back on the tray, spout facing back to where Ysanne sat. Because of course tea etiquette caught her interest. She resumed her seat, gesturing at the tray's other occupant - a number of chocolate-covered biscuits.

"Please, feel free," she said, lifting her cup and nodding at Cecilia in silent acknowledgement before taking a first sip with every sign of enjoyment.

"But to begin," she says, gently - after Cecilia has had time to relax into the tea somewhat - "yes, up front and in its entirety. But yes, I am indeed quite confident. You have the gifts I'm looking for, I'm certain of that."

The implication, of course, being that she's already been assessed to some degree - and been found more than adequate.

[adamantlyardent]

Cecelia watches as Ysanne pours tea for the both of them, not daring to so much as twitch to offer aid. From her experience and breeding, doing so would be grossly rude of her, even if her host was struggling with the burden of injury. With the way this woman carries herself, she can only hope Ysanne has that similar kind of pride that stays Cecelia's hands and tongue.

It's only with spoken permission that she moves to take her cup, giving it a cursory swirl and sniff -- bitter, very bitter. Not her particular favorite, but...somehow, it seems weakness to give in and resort to sugar.

Mid-sip, an ear faintly twitches at Ysanne's words, and some of the color that had receded briefly in her calm returns to her cheeks. She's certain? How certain? Gods, did she comb through her network history, see all the blunders and arguments? What a dreadful impression that'd be...!

"I see..." The cup clinks quietly as she sets it down. "Did you have examples of length and form to set the expectations more clearly? I've not done work without at least some framing of the canvas prior-to."

[iceheart_imperial]

Pride, most definitely. She is not one for bending, not unless she has to. Where and how she had risen, in her previous life, made it a natural feature. Her lack of explanation, too, is part and parcel of this habit - never give away ho much you know, and let them think their life is an open book.

This is, of course, a leftover of intelligence work - but strangely works well for job interviews as well.

"Certainly. I would like you to begin with some form of historical overview. I don't expect too much, but a general guide as to how we got to here. I suspect the answer has much to do with clever tax evasion and snobbery attaching to a font of money like a parasite - but my supposition would require proof, and I am open to other facts. Following that, a clear identification of the problem as it exists today, with specific examples. And following that, your programmatic recommendations to respond, with specific artisans worth immediate sponsorship."

She paused for a moment, enjoying her own tea. The scent, especially.

"As for length, anything under, say, two hundred pages should suffice. I would expect far less than that, but you may be particularly thorough - so let's just call it a possibility? Oh, and please remember - this is a planning document. As such, precise language is to be given a premium."