Tuesday, 29th of Harvestmere
You wake up with your alarm, stiff and a bit groggy, but somehow manage to roll out of bed. A glance at your phone proves you have two messages waiting for you, but not much time to get ready and get to work.
That takes priority.
Your morning shower works out most of the kinks from the night before, but a well-placed, fashionable scarf is necessary to hide some of the aftermath. Luckily it’s cold out, not the middle of summer, and you can get away with it. You look a little silly wearing a scarf inside the shop, but more hipster than hobo. Yep, you’re working morning again, Thursday and Friday are your evenings, and it goes much as it always does.
You’re in before Kitty, and when she arrives she retreats to the back room to count a drawer and watch the tiny television she has back there. Nursing a hangover, probably. You’re starting to get the hang of things here, and obviously the status quo equates to- make Miss Kitty do as little work as possible.
Fair. There are worse ways to earn a paycheck. You take some quiet time to check your messages at last, once the day is started. There really isn’t much else to do.
I’ll just let Bethany know that I’ll meet her at lunch, and then figure out what the heck Sera is going on about.
You quickly text Bethany that you’ll meet her at Valmont at two, and then switch back to chat with Sera. Feeling somewhat self conscious about just screwing around, you start straightening up shelves between texts.
Just because it’s ten on a Tuesday at the sex shop doesn’t mean you need to slack off. You fight the urge to find a better organization system for the porn DVDs. Miss Kitty probably wouldn’t appreciate it.
Oh.
Okay, well, you didn’t realize that’s what she was talking about. You’ve heard the stories, seen the pictures. Extreme guerrilla art was more of a thing fifteen, twenty years ago, and he was definitely at the forefront of the whole political side of it. They made a whole lot of noise, and made a whole lot of people angry. Not that you know it was him, or that he exists. Most people assume Fen’harel was just a blanket term for a group of people doing work together.
A lot of that sort of work was transient by design, but you know a few places where they literally demolished walls to preserve the artwork on them. Put it inside four walls, put a price tag on something that was never supposed to have one. Since no one could find him, or knew who he was, it was kind of a gray area…but no one ever stepped forward.
You have the feeling the irony of that was lost on some people.
Eventually Fen’harel just disappeared. You probably would, too, if people kept missing the damn point like that. Probably felt pretty futile. These days what was once a tool for shocking and engaging people, getting them to think and talk is mostly used by advertising agencies. Kinda sad. You didn’t realize Sera was a fan, but it makes a lot of sense. She’s a lot more political than people would assume from a casual glance.
Fen’harel doing a ritzy gallery show, fifteen years out of disappearing off the face of the earth? Throwing the name out there for a cash grab? Okay, yeah, you can see how that would make her furious. Make a lot of people furious.
Especially if there was a him all along, and it really is him.
So, you get the spray paint, I’ll get the bail money?
You’re starting to think you’re about to get sucked into a scheme.
Sounds easy enough. I’m in.
As far as schemes go, Sera’s is a fairly mild one. It’s really going to be rough if she finds out it really is Fen’harel selling out, though. If she even believes it. Well, you can help her take some pictures, at least, that’s what a good friend would do, right? You arrange to meet with her after work, and then get back to the exciting business of selling pornography and sex toys.
When lunch time comes, you’re ready to make a break for it across the street. You have a feeling Bethany feels much the same, because she’s waiting right at the entrance for you, a broad smile on her face.
“I didn’t even bother asking Carver to come this year.” She tells you, immediately tucking her arm through yours and heading towards the massive department store right nearby.
“He’d probably go along for your sake.” You say, wrinkling your nose at the sudden mix of overpriced perfumes as you head in through the door and pass through the cosmetics department.
“He’d complain the whole time.” Bethany says cheerfully.
The store is fully decked out in Satinalia displays and decorations now, and the music is going and everything. It’s a bit overwhelming, like you walked from reality into some sort of holiday parallel universe.
The mask display is a big deal, every year. All the huge designers that sell their stuff through Valmont design one, and they’re all ridiculously over the top and ornate. And expensive.
These are all reproductions for the store, of course, but they have a whole fashion show with the originals and everything. You heard that one of the designers covered theirs in enough gemstones that the whole thing was worth almost three million. Ridiculous, but very…very sparkly.
The display is in the middle of the store at the top of the escalator, coming into view as you ride up it, turning to crane your necks and watch as it slowly appears. A light up crescent moon is at the top of a massive glass-cased display, the masks arranged on tiers with small plaques, and lights and decorations between them.
It’s silly, fantastical, glittering and shimmering. Gold filigree and brocade, beading and inlay, there’s a few dozen of them, and every single one is overdone and designed to within an inch of their lives.
It’s also completely amazing.
“They’re so beautiful. Look, there’s the diamond and emerald one!” Bethany sighs as you both leave the escalator, turning to approach and get a better vantage point. “I’m just going to make my own again this year. What about you?”
I’m not sure yet, I was going to make one myself, too.
“We should do it together! My whole family makes masks, you should come over!” Bethany says enthusiastically, “It’s quite a bit of fun.”
“I mean, sure…” You say, giving a small smile as Bethany glances at you, “Sorry, it’s just my first holiday here.”
You move a bit closer to the huge display, admiring a filigree gold mask made to look like a bird, with green and blue inlaid feathers. Even just a reproduction of the original, it looks like it took a lot of work.
“Oh yes, that’s right. The mall does a huge party, you know. And then there’s the parades, of course, at the street festival.” Bethany says, wandering around the side of the huge glass case, “It will be a very busy week.”
A whole week? It wasn’t that big of a deal back home, but it seems like everyone goes all out here. Hopefully it’s not day and night. You aren’t afraid of being left out of things, by now. Everyone’s so friendly, and it really is starting to feel like you’re branching out, making new friends and meeting new people.
And new…other things.
“I hope I’ll be able to sleep,” You joke, “if the party’s going all the time.”
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Bethany says with a little smile, peeking around the case at you. “I always feel like I need a whole week of sleep afterwards.”
“Sounds like fun.” You decide.
“You haven’t eaten yet, have you?” Bethany asks, as you come around the corner to join her, “We should go downstairs to the cafe.”
That would be great, thanks. I keep forgetting to eat!
You are all too aware, as you and Bethany take one last look at the masks and then head for the escalator, that you really need to start working on your budgeting. Things are going to be tight until spring. With that in mind, you make a mental note to hit the grocery store tomorrow. If you’re lucky, you’ll have your car, so it won’t be such a problem.
Mentally, you add it to your list. Grocery shopping.
Still, peanut butter sandwiches or ramen for dinner are a small price to pay for the occasional treat, right? And you didn’t even end up paying for drinks last night…though you did have to pay for the cab.
With that in mind, you head back out of the busy department store, listening to Bethany talk about holiday plans. You really did underestimate how into things people were here. The holiday music starting so early makes sense now.
The cafe is connected to the store, but just outside of it, boasting Orlesian-style sandwiches and salads. There’s only a couple patrons, and an elven woman standing behind the counter with her wavy hair barely tamed by a thick bun. She’s speaking with a tall man, likewise elven, leaning against the counter with his arms folded, both of them low enough that you can’t even make out what they’re saying when you step into line.
The woman notices you, and sends the man away with a small flit of her hand. He pushes up, turning for the door and shoving his hands into the pockets of his worn-in jeans. You barely give him a glance, at least until you notice his eyes. They’re violet, really striking actually, a color you’re not sure if you’ve seen before.
He notices you looking, and grins wryly at you, moving past to head out the door.
“Hello. How can I help you?” The woman at the counter asks, just brisk enough to nearly be impatient.
You turn your attention back, gaze shifting up to the menu above her head.
Both of you make your orders and pay, and then settle in to eat. It’s nice to sit down and have lunch, though you’re not terribly long on time. The woman at the counter seems a bit fidgety, you notice out of the corner of your vision. She’s always watching the windows, and sends customers on their way as quickly as she can.
Must be waiting for someone.
You never find out who, because as soon as you finish it’s time to say goodbye and head back to work. You and Bethany part ways, with her reminding you again that you’re welcome to share in some of her family’s festivities. She’s awfully sweet. Funny how twins can be so different.
You’re back at work, and while there’s some things waiting for you to take care of them, there’s really not a ton to do. You can probably work and play around on your phone a bit more until the evening person gets in.
If we’re going to make our own mask, we should start getting ideas online. & Grocery shopping tomorrow. Let’s make a list and check the ads.
Feeling responsible (but not that responsible), between customers and bouts of cleaning and stocking, you poke around on your phone. You handle the grocery shopping first, trying to remember the few things you’ve actually bought for the apartment.
Luckily the online ads are helpful, and you manage to figure out the best store near your apartment to hit tomorrow. A quick list of sale stuff and necessities will hopefully keep you on track- and keep the prices down.
Once you’ve done at least one adult thing, you can poke around online at the craft sites and check out what seems to be in trend. This year everyone seems to be going less traditional, the solid, painted festival masks of last year replaced by lots of filigree and asymmetrical designs. More expensive, and harder to make by hand…which is probably why they’re trying to make them in fashion. Apparently leather is also a thing this year.
Well, at least if you can’t find anything else, work sells gimp masks?
In your poking around, though, you find there’s a pretty decent craft store about a fifteen minute bus ride from your house. So, if you end up wanting to go that route, that’ll be the place to go.
By five or so is when business actually starts happening on the weekdays, and you’re forced to put away your phone. The rest of your shift goes by with only a few annoying customers. Miss Kitty only reminds you about the bear mace once tonight.
You’re starting to think she’s hoping you use it on someone.
The end of your shift comes, and you pack up and get your jacket. When you head out, it’s cold. Next door is dark, Wynne must have already gone home. From the sign on the door, it looks like they only do evening classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
Grateful for your ‘fashionable’ scarf hiding the mark on your neck, you huddle into it and head back across the road again. It’s becoming a habit, and not just because the bus stop is there.
You need to go meet up with Sera at the gallery. Time to give her a hand. You really hope this helps.
Let’s hurry. We don’t want to make her wait, and we can get it over with quick.
As you head towards the entrance, your mind, as it has been for a large portion of the day, is conflicted. Not about helping Sera, you’re happy to do this, and you are sort of curious. You texted Isabela last night, just a ‘got home safe’, because that’s the polite thing to do, you’re pretty sure. And you’ve been thinking, all day, about texting her again. Would it seem kind of weird or pushy? It’s obvious she’s happy just being friends. She made that pretty clear last night. And then there’s the whole fact that you just keep ending up at Solas’ shop, and not just to hang out with Cole.
Probably better not to think about it too much, right?
You have, all of a sudden, a whole lot going on in your life. Or at least a lot of possibilities.
The warm air hits your cheeks as you head back into the glittering, silver-gilt world of the mall interior. It’s all Satinalia now, lights strung up in the wide, tiled corridor, the distant sound of the fountain swallowed by music. Above the entrance, hung from the vaulted ceiling in front of Valmont is a mobile of lighted silver and gold stars with the moon glowing in the center.
Honestly, you need to stop and gawk for a second, because it’s gorgeous.
Eventually you start walking again, pulling your gaze down so you don’t go smacking face-first into someone. Your feet, almost as if working independent of your brain, almost go past the gallery, until a hand catches your arm.
“Shh!” Sera orders as she yanks you back against the wall, partially hidden by a column that frames the entry into a shop.
Blinking, snapping back into focus, you realize you’re across from the gallery, which is much quieter tonight. You don’t even see anyone in there, at the moment.
“I didn’t say anything.” You point out with a smile, and get a little scowl, “Okay, so, what’s the plan?”
“The plan is I go in an’ take pictures, an’ you distract her.” Sera declares, voice firm. “Say smart stuff. Ask’er to explain the pictures, I don’t care, just keep movin’ so I can get as many as we can. Then we out this fucker as a fake Fen’harel, right?”
“Wait, I have to distract her?” You ask, glancing at the sparse, minimalist gallery, “And who’s her?”
Sera looks ready to answer, but abruptly she clams up, staring over your shoulder with a scowl. You’re ready to turn around, when an unknown male voice speaks up from behind you, amused and with a faint accent.
“This sounds like a good time. Here, here, just follow my lead.”
You find your arm abruptly being taken in a light grip, tugging you away from the wall. You step after it, but quickly free yourself, finding yourself face to face with the elven man you saw at the cafe. As you pull back, he offers his arm to you a bit more politely, and lifts a brow.
“We don’t have all night, they close in a half hour.” He asks, while you and Sera stare at him. A long finger taps his chin thoughtfully, and then he gives a faint ‘ah’. “You wanted to get our story straight?”
“No…” You say, tilting your head to the side, “What do you want?”
“To help.” He says simply, smile broadening to a cocksure grin, “It sounds like a worthy cause.”
Er, sure? A little backup might be nice.
You barely have time to say it before your arm gets swept up again. A glance over your shoulder as you’re led to the gallery meets Sera’s confused, squinted gaze. You manage a one-shouldered shrug before you’re over the threshold, blinking in the sudden glare of the bright gallery lights.
“Look, they have pamphlets.” The strange man declares, reaching for one from a small table inside the door, shaking it open. “Hmmh…hmmh…”
You’re curious, but the paintings have you drawn in, gaze pulled to the nearest one. They’re very striking, bold lines and saturated colors, very crisp and powerful. As near as you can tell, they look like the work you’re familiar with, albeit on canvas and not walls.
But then again, you’re no expert.
“Fascinating stuff…” Your apparent partner in crime declares, and then abruptly flings the unfolded pamphlet back on the table. “Complete and utter nonsense.”
Puzzled, you glance over again, but before you can manage to say anything, another voice speaks up.
“What an interesting statement.”
From the other side of a wall in the middle of the gallery, a woman comes into view, hands folded at her waist. She walks in a way that makes you awkwardly aware of the defects in your posture, regal and measured, a smile on her face.
“Oh, well, no offense meant, but it’s a bit of a fairy tale, not history.” The man declares, abruptly stepping forward, his arm in yours dragging you forward, “Fen’harel suddenly fashionable with the corners whittled off, everybody cheers. That whole scene was just a disaster. No holding hands singing songs of the people.”
“Sometimes history needs a bit of guidance. Do not underestimate the power of fashion. Sometimes the moral needs changing as time passes.” The woman says, and then stops his forward advance with an extended hand, “Vivienne. Welcome to my gallery.”
You are so in over your head.
A pleasure to meet you. Have you met the artist?
“Fen’harel is notoriously private.” Vivienne says, with a small smile for you, “His contact is through the Valmont family, who have chosen to patronize him for his return to the public eye.”
“I was always under the impression…” You say, remembering Sera’s injunction to ‘sound smart’, “That it was the name for a collective of people, not one individual.”
A small squeeze on your arm might be approval,or it might be a warning, because your still-nameless companion starts walking. You keep pace, feeling yourself actually falling into a rhythm of sorts. This is actually kind of…
Fun?
“A common misconception.” Vivienne says, joining you as you all come to a pause in front of a long painting on the rightmost wall, “In those days, it was a convenient ruse that kept the authorities from hunting for an individual to blame.”
“How exciting! Man on the run, hunting for justice in the seedy underbelly of the city.” The tall elven man says, playing it so earnest you can’t even find a hint of sarcasm in it, “Fighting the system. You know, this one would look excellent in the upstairs bathroom, darling.”
Somehow…somehow, you manage not to start laughing out loud. It’s almost a physical pain in the back of your sinuses as you swallow it.
Don’t be ridiculous, you just bought a new painting for the bathroom, dear.
“No, no, I meant one of the other bathrooms, dearest. Don’t be silly, who has only one bathroom?” He corrects you, the smile on his face turning slightly sly.
A little break in the mask, acknowledging the joke. Okay, good, you’re not actually supposed to act like an insufferable idiot. That’s good, you don’t watch nearly enough reality TV to pull that off.
“I am so sorry, he’s ridiculous.” You apologize to Vivienne, who is watching you with a completely unruffled expression, “I can’t take him anywhere.”
“You’re ruining it. I bet she thought I was almost serious.” He says, with a note of complaint, “Anyways, this one is entirely out of character. Look at the composition.”
You end up being tugged along again, which by now you realize is counter-clockwise around the room. Right. Probably giving Sera time to work on the other side of the wall.
“Out of character? I do understand what you mean, of course, but art does evolve over time.” Vivienne says, the sharp click of her heels following you, “I would be delighted to hear your reasoning.”
“Don’t mind me, I’m an eternal critic. The old guard’s a bit up in arms over this, thought I’d come take a look for myself.” Your companion declares, eyes narrowing as he pauses in front of another painting. “What do you think about all that noise about it being a forgery cash grab?”
Ouch. Blunt. You try not to wince too obviously.
“I place my trust in the Valmont family.” Vivienne says smoothly, with just a hint of cultured humor, “The doubt and disdain was wholly anticipated. Negative publicity has never been a concern of Fen’harel.”
“Now that, that is true!” He laughs, and then gestures to a painting on the south wall, wandering that way, “This is a near-perfect copy of the piece that was up at Fifth at that deli that got painted over. Place went out of business from the outrage.”
“You seem to know a great deal.” Vivienne says, “If you would like a proper press tour and interview, you should contact the office beforehand. The deception is wholly unnecessary.”
“Aaaah, she got me.” He sighs, glancing over at you and shaking his head, “Cover’s blown.”
“It was ‘blown’ the instant you arrived.” Vivienne says, and then gives a faint sigh and gestures around the corner, “If you are going to critique and dig for soundbites, you could at least take a glance at the pièce de résistance , my dear.”
“You’re too kind to a humble muckraker, Madame.” He says, with a little reassuring grin aside at you.
You glance over your shoulder as Vivienne turns the corner, and gesture quickly as you catch Sera peeking around the corner. How she’s going to get back out, you’re not sure, but hey…
Things are going…well?
Maybe?
We can at least try to keep talking. There’s got to be something we can ask her to help Sera out…
You take a minute to think, following along as Vivienne leads the way to a long canvas hanging on the far left wall. It’s pretty, you suppose. In the same style as everything else, spare and crisply striking in its use of angular lines and symbolism. And yet, like most of the other paintings…it’s really just not drawing you in.
There’s something about it that just seems…purposeless, captured on canvas and pinned to a wall.
“I just don’t understand what he’s trying to say.” You abruptly say, interrupting a conversation between the other two. They both glance at you, and you quickly add a flustered, “Sorry.”
“Yay, capitalism.” The elven man deadpans, and then smiles at the slight lift of Vivienne’s brows, “Well, the complete lack of artists’ statement, and the excess of available paintings…”
“He’s always had opinions. That was the entire driving force behind his art.” You agree, hoping you sound like you know what you’re talking about, “This just all seems…”
“Times change, as I said before.” Vivienne says as you trail off, as unreadable as ever.
Could it be she doesn’t really believe it either?
“An interview would clear things up, wouldn’t it? I mean, like you said, times change.” You say, fixing your gaze on the painting, feeling both sets of eyes on you as you bullshit merrily along, “Who is it that keeps in contact with him? Are they willing to pass on messages?”
“I run the gallery, my dear, I could hardly tell you any of that.” Vivienne says, hands folding at her waist.
A brief bit of movement out of the corner of your eye draws your gaze, and you glance over just in time to see Sera darting out of the gallery. You almost missed her yourself, but you feel the hand on your arm tighten in a subtle squeeze.
“If, however, you wished to find that out for yourself, you would want to contact Florianne de Chalons’ office, at the corporate headquarters.” Vivienne finally finishes, before giving a long sigh, “Well, may I consider your curiosity sufficiently satiated?”
Let’s get out of here, find Sera, and interrogate this guy. Who the heck is he, and what does he want?
Being pleasant and gracious and all, you say your goodbyes and leave the gallery with your still nameless fake boyfriend or whatever he was pretending to be. You still don’t know. The narrative changed a couple times in there, and you’re not even sure the journalist part was another lie.
But dammit, you’re about to find out.
Sera is standing down a little ways, waiting impatiently when you leave the gallery. The instant you do, she waves wildly at you, as if you weren’t already going to make a beeline for her. You feel the loosening of the man’s grip, but this time you hang on, and drag him after you. He gives a little laugh when you start hauling him along, not seeming at all flustered.
“Okay, I’m sorry, but just who the hell are you?” You demand, stopping in front of Sera.
She glowers, nodding her head as she squints up at him. You release his arm and turn to face him, arms crossing over your chest. He just grins, not looking at all worried or apologetic.
“Does it matter?” He asks, and then laughs at the glares that gets him, “What can I say, I always wanted to be part of a caper.”
“Right.” Sera says sarcastically, scowl deepening.
“My name…is Felassan. And…it’s been a pleasure.” He says, and then abruptly steps around you both, continuing down the corridor, “Call me! We’ll do it again some time!”
“Hey wait!” You say, scowling as he picks up his pace, “Sera!”
“Leave ‘im.” Sera says dismissively, shaking her head, “Weirdo. Listen, we got what we needed, and that’s what matters. Let’s get out of here and sort through it.”
Torn, you watch him disappear around a corner. You could go after him, or you could go with Sera…or you could go see Solas like you’d been thinking about earlier. Or someone else.
I’m sure you’ve got it handled, Sera. I was planning to go somewhere else after.
“Well, yeah I got it, but…” Sera starts, with a puzzled half smile that quickly fades. She rolls her shoulders back, the smile fading to a disinterested look, voice tense, “Right, whatever.”
“Are you mad at me?” You ask, uncertainly, “I mean, you’re just going to try and find someone to show the pictures to, right?”
“I’m not…” Sera says, stopping for a second and then sighing, “Maybe a little. Or something. I don’t know.”
“We see each other a lot, Sera. I know I’ve been kind of…”
“It’s stupid. Ignore it. Me. Okay?” Sera interrupts, giving you a smile that seems genuine, “I’m a little jealous, but it’s stupid. Forget you’re a person, I been pushin’ you around so much.”
“I let you.” You remind her, relieved that she’s relaxed.
It’s true, you have been for a while. But you were completely new, and didn’t know anyone at all. It was just easy to follow along behind Sera, do whatever she wanted to do.
“Okay, go away.” She orders you, giving you a small push on the arm, “Do your…thing. I’ll email you anything that looks weird. Don’t forget that Florianne whatsit. Smart move, that.”
“Thanks. Okay. I’ll see you later.” You promise, taking a step back.
She returns your smile, and then abruptly turns on her heel and plods off rapidly, leaving you alone. You aren’t sure if you stepped in it or not, but she doesn’t seem angry. You’ll talk to her tomorrow, everything will be fine.
Sure. Everything’s fine.
Turning around, you head off as well, in the opposite direction. As always, you’re a little bit torn about where to go, but your feet seem to be taking you back to where they have over and over again. You turn the corner, and start up the wide main throughfare, the roar of the fountain filling your ears as you head past it.
It’s been long enough, hasn’t it?
On the way, you pull out your cellphone and shoot a quick text to Isabela, asking if she’s gotten into any bar fights tonight. Casual, joking, just enough to be…
“Don’t look now, but I think I’m being followed!” A suspiciously familiar voice abruptly says off to your left, dragging you from your watching and second-guessing of the text message.
You stop, glancing up, and realize that you’re standing in front of Solas’ shop. Gaze shifting down from the sign, you lock eyes with a slightly-puzzled Solas. Slowly, your gaze pans to the left.
Felassan.
“Well, I think that’s my cue to leave, Solas!” He declares, only to stall as the other man reaches out, catching the sleeve of his jacket.
Much to your surprise, Felassan actually seems nervous, giving a faint laugh and stopping immediately. You squint at him, and he avoids your stare.
“Or not.” He finishes, clearing his throat and reaching up to adjust his collar. “So, we…apparently…all know each other. How fun!”
“Suddenly, your story has gotten slightly more interesting.” Solas informs him, and then shifts his gaze back to you, “Is everything all right?”
Oh, there’s my fake husband. I was wondering where he went.
You watch as Solas sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with two fingers, setting his glasses askew. Felassan clears his throat again, and then fixes his jacket as his sleeve is released.
“So…I’ll call you tomorrow about that business, huh?” Felassan asks, stepping to the side and then heading towards you, for the front of the shop.
He seems to like his rapid getaways, doesn’t he?
“Goodbye, Felassan.” Solas replies flatly, removing his glasses and cleaning them on the corner of his shirt, shaking his head.
“Bye sweetheart, I’ll see you at home.” Felassan says to you dryly as he steps out past you, the humor in his voice gone.
You would reply, but the flat, almost dry words make you pause long enough that the moment passes.
Something about it sits oddly with you, but when you turn to watch him all you see is his retreating back. Well. At least he didn’t try to kiss your cheek or something?
“This night just keeps getting weirder, and weirder.” You say, glancing back over at Solas, “Hi. So. How was your day?”
He laughs, tiredly, pulling his glasses back on and giving another small shake of his head.
“Less exciting than yours, it seems. Espionage?” He asks, turning for the counter.
“I’m helping Sera with something. She’s really upset, the artist…” You start, but pause when he starts nodding, “Not something I need to catch you up on?”
“I am aware of the situation. Felassan enjoyed telling me the story.” Solas says, lifting a hand, “Or at least…part of it. Sera does not strike me as someone particularly interested in such things.”
Right, they know each other. And…don’t like each other. Or at least she doesn’t like him, you can’t really read Solas on it.
“The artist means a lot to her. Fen’harel? I know you mostly deal with old stuff, but…”
You trail off, awkwardly, into the silence, and then wait. It’s only a couple seconds, but there’s so rarely pauses when you two speak that it stretches on longer than you’re expecting.
“I have heard the name.” Solas says quietly.
You seem tired. Is everything okay?
“I expect I seem tired because I am, in fact, tired.” Solas says, a hint of humor in his wry voice, “Nothing you need concern yourself over.”
“I did ask.” You say, wandering a little further into the shop.
“And I am appreciative of that,” Solas says, picking up a book off of the desk and turning it over in his hands, “but unless you can travel backwards in time and undo a restless night’s sleep, I fear there is little that can be done.”
You’re getting the feeling he’s freezing you out a little again. Of course, you could go with the method you went with before, but maybe that isn’t necessary this time. Still, you wander over to one of the bookshelves, as much for your own enjoyment as to give you an excuse to stay.
Before you manage to think up something to say, he changes the subject.
“What do you plan to do with the acquired photographs, I wonder?”
“Sera’s going to find someone who can verify the signatures. She thinks they’re fake.” You explain, and he gives a faint ‘ah’ under his breath, “I was really just helping her. It’s not really my fight, but she is my friend.”
“And if they are not proven to be forgeries, what will she do then?”
You turn to glance at him, pulling your gaze away from a series of Nevarran philosophy texts. He meets your stare, blandly curious and expectant.
“Probably be really let down and disappointed in him, I’d think.” You say, lifting your shoulders in a shrug.
“Do you share her idealistic hopes?” He asks, expression so bland that you find yourself hunting for something hiding under the surface.
You really can’t read him. You wonder if he does that on purpose, or if it’s just habit.
“I think people need money to live?” You say, turning your attention back to stamped leather spines, gathering your thoughts as you breathe in the scent of old books, “The curator just kept saying that times change. And that’s true, and people change, but…”
I’m just really disappointed.
“Disappointed?” Solas asks, sounding just a hint scornful for a second, “The situation is so black and white, then, that you can judge it so simply?”
“My high horse is in the shop.” You reply deadpan, and then smile as he glances at you with a raised eyebrow, “It’s just a name, I know, but they…he or she or whoever…if they’re real, they have to know how much it means.”
When he does nothing but give a faint ‘hm’, you start to feel a little uneasy. The sudden lack of conversation pulls your mind back to the gallery again, hunting for a way to untangle this weirdly complicated situation.
“It’s the silence, I guess. How can you have a discussion with nothing?” You finally say as you remember those paintings, and the weird impression of nothingness they gave you. Just pretty pictures. “Let’s say there is a Fen’harel, the same guy. He’s not saying anything, and the art isn’t either. I could tell even the curator thought so.”
“And you think if he said anything, people would listen?”
“I think the people that care, would. People obviously care.” You say, and then shake your head, “It doesn’t work, it doesn’t fit. Something just feels off about all of it.“
“You are correct. If there is indeed a person behind the name, that puts a different complexion on their interaction with the world…or lack thereof, in this case.” Solas says, sounding more relaxed, “But it also makes them fallible, and not simply a symbol. A person capable of making mistakes, or missteps.”
You turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest as he leans against the counter. Sometimes talking to him sounds like a test, which you’re not totally sure if you like or not. It’s nice being challenged, you suppose, but at times it’s like he’s looking for something.
You take a second, and gather your thoughts again.
“Then why stay silent?” You ask, eyes still locked on his, “When the art was doing the talking, the silence meant something, right? Now, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“I suspect you would have to ask him.” Solas says simply.
You’re beginning to realize he just sucked you right in with that whole devil’s advocate thing, didn’t he? This was just about helping Sera, and now you’re having philosophical discussions about…what? Artistic integrity?
Then maybe I will. Why not? It’s worth a try.
“You are an interesting woman.” Solas says, a sardonic hint of humor to the smile that suddenly breaks through the bland facade.
“And I’m starting to think you just like wriggling into people’s brains and turning them inside out.” You accuse.
He laughs at that, and you feel whatever tension you were holding from the sort of intense conversation melt away. After a couple seconds you’re forced to laugh a little yourself, shaking your head.
“You may be correct.” He finally acknowledges with one last chuckle, “Thank you for indulging me.”
“I still want to know what the heck is up with that guy.” You say, wandering towards the counter as he turns to step around it.
“Felassan? He acquires things for me from time to time, and has a very strange sense of humor.” Solas says, leafing through a pile of papers.
“So he’s not a reporter. Of course he’s not.” You say, claiming his earlier spot, leaning against the edge of the counter. “Why did he seem to know so much about Fen’harel?”
“He has an interest in art, I believe.” Solas replies absent-mindedly, “ I am going to be closing up in a moment.”
It’s a bit abrupt, but when you glance at the clock you realize it’s getting a little late. Not late late, like late night, but mall late, past eight.
That’s too bad, I’ve got a few arguments left in me. Want to get a drink?
“Thank you for the offer,” Solas says, with a faint smile, “but I fear I am a bit too tired for any excursions this evening.”
Disappointing, but completely understandable. It doesn’t feel like an excuse, at least. Hopefully he’d be up front with you. Hey, at least he knows you’re interested now in spending more time with him, right?
“Of course. Not a problem.” You say, taking a step back, “I’ll let you close up. Have a good night, and I hope you manage to get some sleep.”
“Good night.” He says, giving a small nod that you offer right back before turning to leave.
The mall’s still surprisingly busy, you realize as you head for the entrance to the quiet, comfortable shop, but people seem to be getting ready to leave or on their way out. Next week starts the later holiday hours. You’re in the middle of fishing out your phone, when you hear him speak up from behind you again.
“Friday?” He asks simply.
Back to him, you smile to yourself, slipping your phone out of your pocket. You’re about to respond when you remember your schedule. Right. Thursday and Friday you’re stuck with the evening shift.
“I work until ten.” You say, apologetically.
“I am not that old.” He retorts with a sardonic half-smile.
After a moment’s silence, biting on the inside of your lip to try and fight back the grin, you extend your phone to him expectantly.
You don’t have time to do much, unless you wanted to go to the bar again. Buses only run until midnight, and you have your budget on your mind, especially with having to grocery shop and pick up your car tomorrow.
Still, you have the day off tomorrow, and can sleep in.
Crap, wasn’t I going to take picture of my floor for the guy at the hardware store? Let’s go home and do that.
The bus ride is quiet tonight, and it gives you a brief moment to send some texts. Isabela hasn’t responded to you, but it hasn’t been that long since you texted her. You shoot off a quick text to Sera, and while you’re waiting for a response, text Solas just to make sure he has your number.
He responds a bit quicker. Probably finishing closing up.
When you get off the bus, still no other responses, but you’re a woman on a mission. There’s just some junk mail waiting for you in the lobby, and you grab it on your way up. It goes right in the trash when you get into your apartment. Now’s probably not the time to be getting credit cards.
The floor under the cabinets is your goal, and you brush away the few crumbs tucked under the edge before getting in to take pictures. First you just snap the damage, then you pull up the edges as best you can to get pictures of the floor underneath. It’s kind of hard, and you damage the linoleum a bit more in the process, but you’re not bothered. It’s junk anyways. Weird yellow-orange with giant tacky flowers. Yuck.
Once you’ve gotten a few shots you think are decent, you dig the card out of your purse and head over to your computer to send off the email. It’s late, but maybe he’ll look at it tomorrow before you’re done picking up your car. That way you can save yourself a trip.
While you’re working on attaching the pictures, your phone buzzes noisily. Sera’s texted you back.
Feeling a bit better about ditching Sera, you spend the evening studying up on the mysterious artist- if they even actually exist. Between bouts of laundry and some cleaning up the kitchen and remaking your bed, you manage to at least feel like you’re on the same page with everyone else in regards to this guy.
You still can’t find any of his work that looks as if it were copied directly from the work that Felassan pointed out. Fen’harel has a very distinctive style, very clean and bold, angular lines and lots of symbolism. People have spent papers dissecting what pieces there are actually photos of, and the few preserved pieces.
It’s like night and day, really. The paintings in the gallery were beautiful, of course they were, but they weren’t meant for canvasses. They were meant to be across walls, towering over people, taking up space. They’re murals, meant to be walked along, seen piece by piece. They make more sense in the large scale, even only captured in photographs.
But they look right to you. They look like they were made by the same person. Then again, you’re not studying art. That’s why Sera has ‘people’.
The person themselves, again, if he exists, is interesting. The stories sound more like myth than truth. Stories about a ‘safe house’ covered inside and out with the artwork of a hundred angry protesters. Stories about him breaking into sites and destroying his own artwork when he heard they were going to try and preserve it.
Stories about him being jailed and then disappearing in the morning, leaving the cops baffled.
Those you’re pretty sure are fake.
At least there’d be a mugshot, and no one has ever claimed to have seen his face, or even spoken to him. Weird.
More confused than ever, but with a better idea of the scope of it all, you finish tidying up and head to bed.
Tomorrow’s another day.
Before you drift off, you take a minute to decide what you’ll do first thing tomorrow.