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Art Gallery, Saturday

While she was no closer to understanding the draw of imperfect representations of yet more imperfect objects, Myria studying the paintings. It was like a word on the tip of her tongue, a sensation that was confusing and distressing.

Glands again, no doubt.

Being human, she surmised, was something like slowly losing your sense of self. When you'd never really had one to begin with.

The gallery was open for business, of course.

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Who was indeed there. And confused.

Cable had been... mildly surprised to see the art gallery restored. Certainly, the sudden appearance of new businesses was not particularly new - the, ah, recent adjustments to what had once been Luke's Diner attested to that.

But this had happened quietly, with no flair, no Fandom drama-- it was interesting.

And, in recent times, a cause of... not concern, but certainly worth his curiosity.

So it was that Cable came walking in on Saturday morning, and strayed towards the paintings first. He'd address the proprietress in a moment.

One did have to have one's dramatic timing right, after all.

Ah, he was here for the art then. That was perfectly fine with Myria. Her talents at conversing with the mostly carbon based humans that ran around were less than spectacular.

"You have some... interesting pieces," Cable said eventually, as he lingered by 'Those Buggers Just Stole My Horse'.

It was from his plaid period, they say.

"Art is meant to provoke a sort interest in the viewer." It had been a book somewhere. Which meant they believed that, right?

"One way or another," Cable agreed. He looked away from the painting to meet her eyes. "I take it these are creatures from your homeland?"

"Yes." No offer of exposition on the matter, it seemed. When the silence dragged for a moment, she offered another one of those vague smiles that had put Zayne at ease.

Humans were as easily swayed by twitches of muscles as they were glands.

Cable was slightly less easily swayed by muscle-twitches than the average human, though. She seemed... reticent. Or shy. He hadn't made his mind up which way yet.

"What are they?" he prompted.

It was possibly a mixture of them both. With a good measure of not having the faintest clue what she was doing.

"The call themselves Pictsies, residing primarily in the Ramtops." Again, possibly from a book.

"Right."

He had this feeling she might have memorised a few encyclopedias.

"Who's the artist?"

They could be here all day.

Well, books had facts in them. Humans were messy, squishy balls of muscle, bones, and confusion.

"Randall Groat. During his plaid period."

"I see," said Cable. He didn't, but he didn't see where that came into it. "Are you enjoying your stay on the island?"

"The weather is lovely." No, she didn't know if it really was or not.

"I'm glad to hear that."

Cable's answering smile was very... polite.

"I'm Mayor Summers," he said. "I like to know who's on my island."

"Myria LeJean," she replied with the polite smile that mimicked his. "Your island?"

"I am the mayor of it, and have been for some time," Cable said, dropping the smile. He was somewhat curious to see if she'd do the same. "I'm afraid I get a little possessive."

Indeed she did just one a beat after he did. "I'll keep that in mind during my time here."

"Do come contact me if you need any help settling in," Cable added, smoothly. "I know it can be hard to adjust to the island's idiosyncracies."

"Idiosyncrasies?" Auditor in human form, Cable.

Well he didn't know that!

"Whimsy, some of us call it," Cable noted. "Invasions, turning into the opposing gender, candy raining from the sky..."

Well. They were certainly long over do to organize this place.

"I will be sure to contact you if anything of that sort happens."

"If you need me," Cable said, a little dryly. "I'll be at town hall most of the time. Enjoy your stay."

She smiled again. Because that tended to work when people left.

Neal regarded the art. Then the proprietress. He was also confused, Mylia.

"Huh," he said. Not judgingly at all.

Okay, he was judging. He was judging pretty hard, actually.

Myria glanced over at him, running through the possible subjects of that confusion. "Hello," she settled on.

It seemed to be a safe choice.

"Hey."

Yeah, he'd liked it better when the island had been docked in Victorian England. Then at least there were, uh. Good museums.

Neal was a bit of a snob.

"So -- all this," he said, indicating the paintings. "You, uh. You a fan?"

Hey now. The Mona Ogg was considered a masterpiece. While many paintings were known to have the eyes follow you around the room, the Mona Ogg was known for the smile to follow you on the carriage ride home.

"No, I am human." Tsk. Even she knew that answer.

That earned her an odd look.

It was followed by a smile, though. So there was that.

"I... assumed," Neal laughed. He held out a hand. "Neal Caffrey. Also human."

She smiled back, mostly just to mimic him. Then, after a moment, put her hand out as well.

Because it appeared to be the thing to do.

"Myria LeJean."

Not of the handshaking culture, then. Got it. Undeterred, Neal retracted his hand without his friendly smile faltering at all.

"New around here, I assume?"

Such a detective, this one.

"You assume correctly," she replied, wondering when they would stop smiling. The muscles in her face were objecting.

This was another reason why bodies weren't practical. They talked back. "My business partners and I were interested in the island."

"The whole island?" Seemed a bit ambitious, Myria, no?

"Among other things."

"Oh?"

Neal, that wasn't a come-on.

Well. They had chosen to make her female a reason.

"What do you do, Neal?"

Edited 2011-11-27 03:45 (UTC)

"I teach," he said, shrugging a little. "Up at the school. Tricks, Cons and Bamboozles class."

"A thief." There was a Guild for that in Ankh Morpork. It wasn't that out of the ordinary.

"If you want to put it crassly."

Keep up that flirtatious posture, Neal. See if it worked for you.

"Subtly," she replied after a moment. "I will keep that in mind for next time."

Or mention it to the others.

And look upon such classics as:

Battle of Koom Valley (http://www.jonsullivanart.com/images/the-battle-of-koom_03.jpg) (recreation) | Mona Ogg (http://chromy.jelen.sweb.cz/pics/mona_ogg.jpg) | Those Buggers Just Stole My Horse (http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sa9wocysdV8/TcKMHF9ZD5I/AAAAAAAAAJY/J1eotjeRkMM/s1600/4a08f7b359a127.jpg) | A Study of Ankh-Morpork: Night (http://kairosis.deviantart.com/art/City-Watch-122776847?q=boost%3Apopular%20discworld&qo=413) | A Study of Ankh-Morpork: Dawn (http://fc03.deviantart.net/fs15/f/2007/107/3/f/ankh_morpork_concept_by_Narcot.jpg) | Portait #41 (http://fc02.deviantart.net/fs32/f/2008/200/d/0/Lord_Vetinari_by_jdillon82.jpg)

Warren had been... kind of locked away in his own room since Thursday, alternating between moping and breaking down and even, very rarely, shutting his emotions down just long enough to try to be productive, opening his laptop and sorting out what assets he still had to his name (nothing beyond what he'd invested in Kaeleer and had deposited at the bank here in Fandom), or trying to research what in the world could make entire realities just blip off the map.

But the walls of his room had been closing in and smothering him, and he didn't particularly want to be anywhere that anyone would think to look for him, so he'd wandered to one of the more quiet places in town, and was hell-bent on losing himself in the scenes from somebody else's world. Anything that wouldn't drag his mind back to his own.

... He was mostly coming to the conclusion that the Mona Ogg was kind of terrifying.

Edited 2011-11-26 22:10 (UTC)

The world can't end just yet.

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Art Gallery, Saturday

Speak with the Proprietress

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Tour the Gallery

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OOC