First Reply Devil Moon

[Mauve]

Nar Shaddaa​

High above the sleepless streets of Nar Shaddaa, in a tower climbing so high as if to escape the rust and rot of the planet's surface below, an art gallery hummed with activity. Mauve attended. Why wouldn't she, her piece was on display after all. A painting laced with living metal so that it constantly moved and flowed from abstract to abstract in silvers and golds. She tapped a nail against the fluted glass she held in one hand full of some preposterously expensive alcohol and stared at her creation.

A plaque at the bottom of the painting said "Rebirth" in simple aurebesh letters.

Mauve's head tilted slightly to one side as she watched the flowing metals, curls of her wine dark hair shifting. Speaking of expensive. The stylist she'd hired was supposed to be the best. Mauve had certainly paid her like it. In the pre-event meeting, one or two other artists here had voiced their fears, or excitement, to Mauve about finding a buyer or becoming part of a permanent museum installation. A life changing amount of credits. They were new. They didn't understand how it worked. They would learn.

Sighing, she turned away from her piece, took a sip of the alcohol - which she had to admit was excellent - put a hand on her hip, and surveyed the crowd with a bored expression.

But this was Nar Shaddaa, after all, things could not stay boring for long . . .

 

[Kesh Hevro]

SHATTERLIGHT
Wayward Son - Chapter 1
———
OUTFIT: x
TAG: Mauve

SHUTTERS​

NAR SHADDAA

Somewhere in Nar Shaddaa, in an ivory tower soaring up the sky, thrusting clouds and smokes, safe from the acid rain and filthy poverty that corrupts the street of the Jewel of the Outer Rim, a Pyke royalty is wandering aimlessly through sea of arts, aspiring artists, and the predators of the galaxy.

He is not heavily armed, just a knife sheathed in his delicate boots, neither he is guarded. He is, beyond the second in-line of one of the seated family in the Pyke Syndicate, a decorated mercenary after all. Not that he would ever intentionally start a fight in such events. He chuckled, starring at one of the artwork; a painting of a young man burning a house, to be exact. Him ten years ago would try to rob such events, not for the money, but for the rush. How things has changed.

He walked from one artwork to another, his hands resting in the pockets of his pants. Rebirth, he saw on a plaque of the next artwork, engraved in aurebesh. Such a vague concept to accompany an interesting art.

The Pyke Prince shifted his gaze from the plaque to a person behind him, a woman, who he assumes to be the painter, or a gallery worker, or another visitor, doesn’t matter, they all look the same to him, they are not him. “Please, tell me more about this painting,” he nonchalantly asked, seemingly piqued by that specific artwork.​

 

[Mauve]

Kesh Hevro

A plum brow arched. No introductions, just demands. Not as surprising as it was grating. He was, after all, a Pyke. A very resplendent Pyke, clad in sumptuous, gilded clothing. A Pyke of some societal standing, or at the very least trying to look the part. Mauve supposed she should be tripping over herself to appease the Pyke's curiosity. That seemed bland.

She could feel the inquisitiveness around him, a subtle spike in an otherwise uninterested persona.

Mauve pressed her lips to the rim of the glass and took a slow, sip, then crossed one arm across her body, other elbow resting on the arm, and waved the glass in a slightly limp wrist in the direction of the painting.

"Such as?"

 

[Kesh Hevro]

SHATTERLIGHT
Wayward Son - Chapter 1
———
OUTFIT: x
TAG: Mauve

SHUTTERS​

NAR SHADDAA

It seems like Kesh have found the right person. He shifted his attention away. Zeltron lady, draped in fine fabrics and styled in a way a gallery worker wouldn’t.

Careful, his conscience whispered to him. Zeltrons, like Falleens, are almost always bad news, in one way or another. The smell of her drink assaulted his senses, her lethargic voice set the tone of the conversation’s mood.

Yet Kesh isn’t travelling the world to seek safety, nor false sense of security. Like always he ignores his gut feelings, he defies the dragging atmosphere, and let the absurdity of the galaxy engulf him with brand new experiences, every time.

“The story behind it, how can I bag it home, or just what constitutes as a Rebirth?” he answered her question with another question, the world-weariness up in the air with a prying exploration. What is he even trying to achieve, he doesn’t even know. Just something, anything to occupy him in-between his death-seeking ventures, perhaps.​