Igor
Posted on 31 Aug 2023 @ 12:49pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C. Station - Timeless Treasures Gallery
Timeline: M4 D1
1796 words - 3.6 OF Standard Post Measure
As far as he could tell, Brek had everything covered for the arrival of his grandmother and her special guest, artist Kreca. He had secured the most comfortable quarters he could get his hands on and he had placed several gifts in those rooms. It would be impossible to say that he had not made every effort to greet the two Ferengi women properly. But it would be possible to say that he had gone over the top, portraying himself as an abject lackey, too willing to please. A repellent flunkey; a toad. It didn’t matter, for there was no way that Ara would see him as a charming grandson.
“I’m not skilled enough to pass for one,” Brek mumbled to himself. He was presently observing a very dark scene. A new painting which represented a sea at night. At first glance there was little to observe, but, when you paid more attention to the canvas, more details emerged. It was a bit like meeting a person for the first time. Initially you can’t discern anything, but then, little by little, quirks and interesting traits will surface.
He heard a little cough, right behind him, and he turned round. Mrs Novikov was there, tall and imperious. Today she was wearing a white business suit that was too large for her. This gave her an odd ghostly quality, almost ethereal. “I didn’t hear you enter the gallery, Mrs Novikov.”
“It is highly unusual of you, Mr. Brek. What grabbed your attention so thoroughly?” Novikov asked. “I only see a large canvas, painted in black and grey.”
“Really? It might be a sign that you have next to no imagination, my dear Mrs Novikov. There is plenty to see, if you know where and how to look at this painting. Here for instance,” He pointed at a vague shape in a turbulent sea. “This is a raft, crammed with Romulan refugees. And here,” his finger, perfectly manicured, moved to the left. “There is the suggestion of a large maritime life form. Possibly a predator.”
“Hmm... It seems like the painter has put little effort in their work. What a lazy approach, if it’s up to the viewers to decide what they see on the canvas,” she objected. “I prefer paintings that are more like my business: straightforward. Life is far easier when you see right away where you stand.”
“It does indeed. This, I suspect, means that you are here for business, and not for leisure?”
“How insightful you are, Mr. Brek,” she gave him a grave expression, an indication that she would rather be 'dead' than caught seeking pleasure in a gallery owned by a Ferengi. Yet here she was, no doubt about to pester him with another one of her silly requests. “I figured that, since you know many artists, you may be able to help me. I’m willing to pay good money for the realisation of a special work of art. A portrait.”
“If the commission is generous, most artists will be happy to oblige you, Mrs. Novikov. Is it your portrait that you wish to see on a canvas?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one would be interested in seeing my features affixed to a wall in their living room. Not even my husband. No. I need to find an artist who will be able to give a flattering rendition of Igor. He is my mother's companion.”
“I see... You need an artist that can enhance the qualities of this Igor. It can certainly be arranged.” Brek, all business now, fetched a PaDD from the reception desk, where his holo-assistant stood, inert, as he had not fully activated her this afternoon. “Perhaps if you give me a list of Igor’s qualities, it will be easier for the artist to work on a flattering portrait.”
“Indeed, it is not a bad idea.” Yet she glanced at Brek, somehow disapprovingly. “But maybe, Mr. Brek, you could offer me some tea, before we proceed?”
“Why not,” Brek added, nonplussed. One of the attractions of ‘devolving’ to an art dealer was that he no longer had to bother about etiquette and being overly polite. On O.C. he could afford to work on regaining some of that Ferentitude he had lost over the years. “How do you like your tea? White, black, green?”
“A red blend would be excellent,” she replied.
Brek activated Nyasha, and asked her to bring them the tea. He then invited Novikov to sit on one of the armchairs which were now present in the middle of the gallery. Those were a recent addition, and they looked like giant black cushions stuck together. He had put them there so that his grandmother would be able to rest, in all comfort, during her visits to the gallery.
Mrs Novikov obliged and gave him a list of Igor’s stupendous qualities. He was intelligent (who is not?), loyal and patient, affectionate and courageous. In other words, he was a saint and everyone’s best friend. As he wrote all those traits down, Brek asked an obvious question: “Why didn’t you ask your son to paint this portrait? It would have been a good exercise for him.”
“I did, but Kyrill, as often is the case, proved to be useless. He turned poor Igor into a battle machine, with a bionic eye and weapons on his back. I have never seen anything so outrageous.” She sighed. “I sometimes wonder what I will do with him...”
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Mrs Novikov. Just let him grow up. He will turn up fine.”
“I’m afraid to ask what your definition of ‘fine’ is Mr. Brek.”
“You shouldn’t. By’ fine’, I mean happy.” The future of young Kyrill was a perilous topic though, so Brek promptly returned to the business of Igor’s portrait. “Will Igor be able to pose for the artist? This is often how the best portraits are executed.”
“I’m afraid that Igor’s patience doesn’t extend to that sort of thing.”
The tea arrived, and both the Terran and the Ferengi took a cup of a steaming beverage, its fragrance a perfect mix of vanilla and, oddly, tobacco.
“Busy schedule?” Brek inquired.
“It has never been referred to as such. I have a whole collection of pictures, which the artist will be able to use to paint Igor’s portrait. Here, let me send them to you.” She browsed her PaDD, and within minutes Brek had received a new folder, judiciously named Igor.
The absence, throughout the conversation, of a family name - something widely in usage among hewmons - should have alerted him that something was not quite right. In fact, everything was wrong. Although Igor was definitely from planet Earth, he was also unmistakably not hewmon. He was a freaking dog. And not a cute looking one, at that. The specimen appearing on dozens of images was small, with round back eyes, and wild curly hairs, mostly red and yellowish. Its only redeeming quality was the large size of its ears. They, at least, made the creature look healthy and alert.
“You could have told me that you were speaking of a canine, Mrs Novikov.” He said, not best pleased by the turn this conversation had taken. It was one thing to buy and sell art, at least there was a certain prestige in that. But pet portraits... At this rate, what would his next venture be? Sell street food on a remote colony?
“Does it make any difference? I’ll pay good money for this portrait.”
“It actually does,” Brek persisted. “None of my artists has ever painted an animal. This means that it will be more difficult to find someone willing to make a portrait of that.... That dog.”
“The fact that Igor is of unknown breeding doesn’t make him an ‘animal’, Mr Brek,” Novikov told him, looking dead serious. “Igor is a charming companion. If you knew him, you would soon change your mind. Besides...” She took a tiny sip of tea and then went on. “Are you telling me that none of your artists has ever painted the portrait of a politician?”
“Of course they have. Many politicians are historical figures in the making.” Brek explained. “To paint them is a great privilege.”
“I beg to differ. Most politicians are animals. There, I have said it. Now, will you accept this commission of mine or do I have to look elsewhere to find an artist that will do justice to Igor?”
Brek sampled his tea. It was sweet and curiously woody, no notes of tobacco whatsoever. Not his type at all. “Did I say that the task was impossible? I merely showed that your project possesses little to no appeal. If you want to hire one of my prestigious artists, you will have to make it worth their while, by paying a higher commission.”
“How high?”
Brek typed a rather indecent sum on his PaDD and he showed it to Novikov. High sums, in his opinion, ought to stay confidential. In a way, they were like the whispering of an insult. They were directed at one person only, not the sort of information you wanted to leak out.
“It is an ugly figure, Mr Brek.”
“I find it beautiful.”
“You would, obviously...” she sipped some more tea, giving the impression she was gaining strength from that foul beverage. “But this time, I'll ask you to be more reasonable, for the sake of our client/contractor relationship."
“Are you going to haggle with a Ferengi?” Brek couldn’t help grinning at this development. Playing with numbers, that was one of his favourite things.
“You force me to. Can we agree that 70% of your price is more reasonable?
“Reasonable... What an unpleasant word. What about 85% of my price and the full apprenticeship of Kyrill.”
She frowned at him. “Your interest in my son is...”
“Purely professional,” Brek interrupted her. “Do we have a deal?” At this point he wanted very much to grin once more. But he dare not, for fear of betraying his plan - which was to convince young Kyrill to paint Igor. This little trick would then allow him to pocket the full commission. A splendid scheme, since most hewmons like to work for free.
“Hmm... I’ll have to think about it, and maybe shop around too.”
She now looked suspicious, but it didn’t affect Brek. Her proposition was, after all, costly, since it might surface that he had debased himself further and was now selling pet portraits. “You take your time to think it over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other money making ideas to consider...”
