maskormenacelogs | Arts Amongst the Chaos

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Arts Amongst the Chaos

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.

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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.

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?

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."

"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.

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."

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."

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."

"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.

"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?"

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.

"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?"

"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."

"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.

"Indeed they are," Finn regarded the picture. "They were gone for a while, but they came back. That particular dragon is Odahviing, one of my allies."

He found it interesting that many worlds had dragons as part of their stories or came from worlds where dragons existed. Yet, his world was the only one where his particular species of elf existed.

"Do you have anything else? A city-scape, perhaps?"

He has her attention, at least. "I do like the style," she said, in addition.

"I have a few, yes," Finn waves her towards the back of the tent, and passes by a table where he's got his art book on display. He figured he might as well use the opportunity to get people interested in it. He grabs a copy of the book before he comes to a stop before a drawing.

This one shows a city-scape of a city comparable to that of medieval Earth. "This is Solitude, capitol of Skyrim and seat of the province's rulers, the High King and Queen. Lovely place, except for the creepy catacombs."

He opens his book to a city-scape of a more modern city. "And this is one that was inspired by a trip to New York about a year and a half ago."

An Imperial city? Well, that has her attention. She is silent just for a moment or two, then nods.

"I'll take it," she says, then gestures to the book, "and a copy of that book which you previously interested me in."

"Really?" Finn is super excited now. "You got it!"

He closes his book and sets it down, then gets out a notepad to write down the sale, just for his own personal record. He also pulls out his device. "Will that be cash or card?"

She nodded, her left hand slipping inside her blazer to remove her wallet, wincing somewhat - her right arm staying firmly in place.

"Cash," she said, with a note of irritability, trying to work the requisite amount out one-handed.

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."

"No problem," Finn wrote up a receipt, before taking the painting and the book in hand so he could exchange them for the payment. It wasn't easy, since he had to juggle a few items.

"A pleasure doing business with you, lady Isard."

"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?"

She nodded, prepared to move on - then, of course, came the business of actually holding everything.

"Ah," she said, more than a little frustrated. "You wouldn't happen to have a bag or something? I'm afraid I'm a bit...hampered, at the moment."

She indicates the currently quasi-useless arm.

"Oh, of course," Finn went over to another side of the tent and came back with a paper bag, putting the drawing and the book within. "Enjoy the artwork."

"I am very certain I will," she replied, with a nod.

"And, in future if you have enough material for a dedicated show...please, contact my office. I'd be glad to arrange some sort of event."

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Arts Amongst the Chaos

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