Private Exhibitionism

[Mauve du Vain]

Fondor,
Fondorian Museum for the Arts

War memorials could be such somber things. Mauve examined one of the exhibits at the gallery, head tilted slightly. Someone had taken a ruined block of stone from the Jedi Temple on Coruscant and put it on a pedestal by itself. No doubt a half-dozen messages could be divined from such a display. Mauve took a sip of her wine and turned away, looking over the crowd. The Zeltron wore a simple, slitted red dress, while gold jewelry dripped from her ears, wrists, and neck. She wore a number of rings as well, though at least one was merely for her own protection. She hoped she would not need it, but the Alliance, until recently, stood on good terms with the High Republic, the same High Republic who happened to have a warrant for her arrest.

Hopefully a non-issue, considering she was here, after all, to raise money for charitable purposes as part of a refugee relief fund.

Her own contribution to the gallery stood some distance off, a piece she'd had in her own gallery on Nar Shaddaa: a shattered planet, done all in steelwork and encased in thick glass. The steel was still radioactive, remnants of Chiss. A Chiss refugee had crafted it. Every time Mauve looked at the piece she could feel the sorrow he'd poured into it, the grief. Mauve looked away.

A vain hope, perhaps, to wish for brighter emotions in this place. The Alliance were still in the middle of a war. Here and there she saw some of their politicians drifting. Some by choice, others because they likely felt they had to be here to show support. Mauve watched them closely.

Cressida Tolliver

 

[Cressida Tolliver]

Cressida Tolliver wore an evening gown that would have paid for a significant portion of the exhibit, because she had to look the part to be seen to be doing her part, which was to show up to these events and make large donations in the form of purchasing one of the objets d'art before turning around and donating the piece to some library or foundation who could sell it back to her -- or someone like her -- a year later.

It was almost criminal, except that the brokers were licensed and declared their fees and took their cuts in tidy white paper checks or official bank transfers rather than in used greenbacks being slipped underneath men's room doors in the dead of night.

The least said about that, the better, she thought as she fingered her necklace with her free hand.

It was almost absurd to be here, drinking champagne, dressed to the nines, while billions were under the yoke of the upstart Galactic Empire. In fact, Cressida thought it was quite absurd but her political affairs team had informed her it was important to be seen supporting the refugee effort, in addition to her work in the Senate, including having inherited Senator Fortan's seats on both the Defense Committee and SELCORE. And she couldn't show up in some pret-a-porter beige business suit.

She noticed a woman opposite the exhibit she was studying. Pink, and in a red dress. Clashes, she observed dryly as she sipped her champagne, her eyes going to the placard. A remnant of the cataclysm at Csilla. As any good former First Imperial would attest, reading the word Csilla -- hearing it, thinking it -- made a shiver race down her back. It had been the low point of the second First Order's existence, where it -- along with the rest of the civilized people in the galaxy -- had failed to stop the destruction of the Chiss homeworld. It was still too awful to contemplate, and yet confronted with this piece of it, this wreckage, this mausoleum, she couldn't refuse.

The woman opposite her looked away, as if it was too much. Cressida meandered around the display. "Terrible, isn't it?" she murmured. "Not -- as a piece of art. But its very existence. It feels like a condemnation of the living, in a way." Cressida could not look away, though a lump grew in her throat. It was a tribute to the failures of the galaxy to reckon with power-mad lunatics before it was too late. And here they stood on the precipice of making the same mistake again. "Sorry. This may well be the ravings of a madwoman, but -- I assure you -- I was invited. I'm Cressida. Tolliver."

Mauve du Vain​

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Cressida Tolliver, hmm. Mauve flicked through her memories. Oh right, the junior senator from the Renascent Heirate. New and, by all accounts, hungry. Lips stained the dark color of a winter plum curved upward in a smile.

"Give me a madwoman's ravings over a bore any day," she said, violet eyes focusing briefly on that point just above the woman's head where the colors of her emotions thronged out from the mind. The yellow of curiosity. The blue of genuine sorrow, or maybe fear. And a greener tinge of discomfort. Cressida did not want to be here.

"Pleasure, I'm Mauve. A bit dark, the Csilla exhibit, but the artist put his soul into the work before he sold it to my gallery. I don't think he had anything left really," Mauve sipped her wine and eyed the glass-sealed steelwork. The Chiss' grief coiled off it like a physical smell to her.

That or the residual radiation.

"A condemnation of those who survived, like you aptly put. Absurdly depressing and makes me want about three more glasses of this wine," Violet pools flicked back to the woman, "Incredible dress, by the way. Renascent style?"

Cressida Tolliver

 

[Cressida Tolliver]

"Renascent...?" Cressida echoed, equal parts tickled and surprised. Surprised that anyone would know the term, given the Renascent Heirate's minor league status in international politics. Tickled that there was such a thing as Renascent Style. She supposed it did make sense. The dress was sleek and stylish, giving the hint of sex appeal without being immodest, and incorporated art deco design elements and embellishments. "It is, actually," she said, smoothing the beading on the bodice self-consciously. "You have a good eye. It's -- a Maison Tenebray original."

She didn't gush; the woman either knew her fashion or she had done her research on Cressida or the Renascent Heirate or both. That Maison Tenebray was a royal warranted as tailors and seamstresses to the Princess Royal would likely not matter to this confection in front of her.

"Mauve. Didn't I read that name in my program? Surely there can't be that many Mauves." Cressida's eye wandered down the dress the Zeltros (which I totally knew the whole time thanks) was wearing. "Unfortunately I'm not a fashionista myself. I was briefed with the name of my designer because part of my job is to be an economic ambassador for the Heirate, so I can't identify the style of your dress, but -- I know what I like when I see it. Who are you wearing?"

Mauve du Vain​

 

[Mauve du Vain]

“Me?” Mauve toyed idly with the links of her golden necklace. “Takure Bloodstripe, New Corellian.”

Where Cressida’s dress spoke of modest refinement best suited to a cigar lounge, Mauve’s unabashedly spoke to baser instincts, the plunging front and slit thigh revealing swathes of lavender skin - right at home at a cocktail club. On Nar Shaddaa it would hardly cause a stir, but here - at an art gallery filled with rickety bureaucrats? Well, more than one head turned. And in some cases, twice.

“You’re right about the program. I own a gallery on New Vertica, but am exploring branching out. Even in these… interesting times.” She took a sip of her drink.

“So, Cressida the economist with the Tenebray dress, are you the only one on Fondor with original ideas? The rest of these people seem so, so…” Mauve gestured helplessly, letting Cressida fill in the blank.

Partly because it would be rude to call them boring outright, but mainly to see what word the woman sufficed, if any.

Cressida Tolliver

 

[Cressida Tolliver]

Cressida smirked at the suggestion that she was the only one on Fondor with original ideas. She certainly thought some of the ideas being proposed by her colleagues in the Senate -- abandoning the Core and half the Alliance to the tender mercies of the so-called Galactic Empire -- were original but that didn't make them smart or sound or good. So she didn't necessarily take that as a compliment. "Being an iconoclast can be dangerous in my line of business," she answered enigmatically. "So I can't say as I blame them for appearing more... conventional," Cressida finished diplomatically.

She wanted to say she shouldn't keep anything valuable on Fondor, not when the Alliance seemed ready to abandon it during the next stiff breeze, but that would be a bad look.

"At any rate, I suppose most are subdued because -- well." She gestured vaguely around her, as if to say: you know, everything. "Now -- I'm not familiar with New Vertica. Where would I find it?" she asked, genuinely interested.

Mauve du Vain​

 

[Mauve du Vain]

“Nar Shaddaa,” Mauve replied, words honeyed.

Mentally, however, she prepared for the backlash. The wash of confusion, disgust, or judgment that would color the other woman’s aura in sickly greens and yellows. How funny, when she had been a child she’d thought Nar Shaddaa so large that it must be the center of everything. Now she knew better its reputation. Little Coruscant, but with none of the niceties and ten times the violence and rapacious greed. Just a backwater moon ecumenopolis with galactic ambitions.

Mauve glanced away briefly, allowing the slightest touch of chagrin to slip into her smile. Let the woman think her a backwater rube, if that’s what it took to get closer.

She needed contacts in the Core. And she was willing to pay quite steeply for them.

“Smuggler’s Moon? Hutt Space. It’s really something. Do you live on Fondor?”

 

[Cressida Tolliver]

The only aura that Mauve would see was a -- well, Cressida had no idea what color auras were -- but it was surprise. Mauve did not present like the type of person the galaxy typically associated with the Smuggler's Moon. "Nar Shaddaa -- of course I know where that is," she said, for whatever reason compelled to make certain that the pink confection in front of her realized that she was not stupid. If there was an aura for it, Mauve would see that Cressida was, in fact, in possession of an open mind.

"I've never been, but I've heard it can be -- quite a good time," Cressida said mischievously over the rim of her drink before taking a sip.

"I live on Fondor, after a fashion," said Cressida. "I'm a Senator with the Alliance... at present," she added grimly. "So I've got a little flat in one of those sad little anodyne towers over in the Senate district, but I wouldn't call what I do there living. My home is in New Sterandle on Aegis, in the Renascent Heirate."

She swirled her drink casually. "And you? Do you spend a lot of time in the capital, or just for this exhibition?"

Mauve du Vain​

 

[Mauve du Vain]

“Oh no, rarely here. It’s always this or that, chasing down exotic and exquisite pieces across the galaxy.”

She meant art, of course.

But something in the coy curve to those lips, painted the color of winter plums, gave a double whisper.

“Used to visit Coruscant more, to be honest, but…” the coyness disappeared, replaced by a strained look. “The Core has become a very dangerous place. Or maybe it always was and I just couldn’t see.” Her head tilted.

She flagged down a passing waiter and plucked some sort of seafood-on-a-stick off the tray.

“Well, I’m glad we got you out of your flat for this. I don’t have any plans after this. Maybe endure some closing formalities. You know. Surely there’s a good place around here to have a good time?”

Mauve set her teeth on the stick and peeled the shellfish away, chewing slowly, violet eyes mirroring the woman’s former mischief. She swallowed, tapping the bare stick against her lips.

“Come to Nar Shaddaa and I’ll return the favor.”

Cressida Tolliver

 

[Cressida Tolliver]

"I can hardly blame you," the Senator responded. "I've only been on Fondor for a few weeks and I can say I find that it exhibits a certain lack of charm. It doesn't seem to know what it means to be a capital of a galactic superpower. Rather a self-fulfilling prophecy, as it turns out," she said bitterly. She swirled the contents of her glass, then took a sip. "Coruscant is more appropriate, but obviously that ship has sailed."

Cressida considered taking a seafood-on-a-stick, too, but there were press here, and a snap of a Senator eating something phallic wouldn't be a good look for her, so she resisted the impulse. She listened to the woman's questions in that vague sort of 'ah yes pleasantries of course' sort of way, but then it seemed to turn into a genuine invitation to continue the conversation.

"There is a place I know, but -- " She fell silent a moment. The truth was Cressida wasn't sure that she and Mauve du Vain would find the same types of place appealing. Still, the woman was intriguing, and Cressida was not only homesick but hopelessly bored. Another evening of reviewing defense committee reports -- none of them satisfactory -- seemed that appealing. So she pivoted. "Don't you need to count the money after an even like this? Speaking of, I ought to decide on what to buy. It wouldn't do if I wasn't seen to be doing my bit."

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Mauve covered her mouth and laughed through magenta fingers.

"Oh yes, duty calls," she dropped her hand and nodded with mock seriousness. "Please don't buy mine. Hopelessly depressing. And there's some old imperial type who placed a bid already. Said it reminded him of the good old days." She grimaced, then gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say credits are credits.

"Why don't you do a circuit and meet me after? We can compare notes and you can show me this place you know."

Another sip of her red wine, glass cool against her lips.

"Unless you were hoping for a tour," one deeply purple eyebrow arched.

Cressida Tolliver