Private A Day In The Museum

[Drane T'keen]

Spoiler: Music IC

No ecumenopolis, but Firrerre was home to a number of settlements amid the planet’s mountains and oceans. Situated in the Outer Rim, located within the Galactic Alliance, it yet flanked the border with the Sith Order only a throwing stone away. In one particular city, where the streets were busy and the denizens were bustling as they were that morning and would be that evening, it was midday in one certain establishment that attracted a number of citizens and visitors.

'First Collections' was its name. This museum boasted a wide variety of pieces, specializing in no category in particular, and perhaps lived up to its name in that respect alone. Different viewing rooms included paintings as an everyday observer might expect from art; sculptures from stone to glass to ice; science and technology; natural history; anthropology; and other types close or far.

Too many, some might say at first glance, yet this museum was as spacious as it was diverse, large enough for its collections to inhabit, and it had the right kind of staff and security to keep all of its precious pieces neat, tidy, safe and sound.

In one chamber, under the gentle notes of violin and piano from the ceiling’s speakers, a small crowd viewed sculptures crafted by hand from rock that was not quite granite, was not quite not, it was just…different. Some from one alien planet or the other; others from Firrerre itself. The same went just as well for the sculptors. To many, the material of which the figures were built with was more or less important than what was depicted.

In the center of the chamber, looming over the viewers, was the largest structure. It reminded one of volcanic rock, only white over black; more curved than twisted; more carved than jagged; with a solid formation at its base. It framed within the museum’s display foundation; a kind of hybrid, not a contradiction. Running through the statue’s center? Liquid currents, like frozen flame, or electrified magma.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” One man asked nobody in particular, gaze trained upward and taken to the current of golden orange that coursed through the sculpture’s form. “Lava.”

He thought out loud. In his outfit, a kind of off white dress suit minus the jacket and black pants, he might look like he was supposed to go to an establishment like this. Who knew? “If lava was lightning.” Sighing, hands in his pockets, Drane wanted to be alone at that moment, as much as he appreciated others in his presence who served as witness to this magnificence. Wasn’t it?

Alexandra Feanor