Plenty of Imagination
Posted on 21 Dec 2023 @ 6:58am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Edited on on 06 Feb 2024 @ 10:07pm
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C. Station - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Timeline: M4 D7 Late Afternoon
1247 words - 2.5 OF Standard Post Measure
Only three or four times, in his whole life, had Brek felt such a boundless happiness, motivated, he was proud to say, by a trance of greed. Late this afternoon he had received a large parcel containing three magnificent latinum beetles, said to have belonged to the first Grand Nagus. Gint, the most enlightened Ferengi ever born had possessed ten of those beauties and to get hold of three of them, all at once, well, it was a stroke of real genius!
He observed them, one by one, under the bright light of his gallery. They were quite large, heavy, and each one had a different shimmer: green, red and blue. These were the sort of items that made you feel warm and clever and proud of your achievements. Just looking at them, he was bathed in one unalterable truth: he was a better man than he had been the previous day.
He would put these beetles on display, in his office and on his desk. Only fools believed that modesty was an asset. When you are a son of Ferenginar, different rules apply. You had better shine, or live as a miserable soul crawling in the shadows: an under-achiever whom nobody wanted to know.
“Are those beetles from Ancient Egypt?”
Brek turned around, shocked. First because he had recognized the voice of young Kyrill, who had become persona non grata in this gallery, and secondly because this intimation that his recent acquisitions belonged to another culture galled him.
“Absolutely not!” Brek said, as he put the beetles, one by one, in their original ornamented box. “Those are Ferengi treasures. What are you doing here?”
“I brought the painting you wanted. The one about the dog. Igor.” The young Terran explained. There was pride in his voice, a nice change from his usual downtrodden tone. He was also wearing a t-shirt with the line ‘Absolute certainty does not exist.’ A somewhat positive message, compared to the likes of ‘Destroy all bio-forms’ or ‘Hope is a luxury the living can't afford ‘ that he usually preferred. “I made it from memory, in just two hours.”
There was, by his side, a large canvas, wrapped in white paper.
Brek’s lips twitched. He stood to make a lot of profit from this silly dog portrait, but he didn’t want to look like the painting was important to him. “Yeah, right, thanks. Leave it there, by the reception desk, and go back to your quarters. It’s quite late and I don’t want any more trouble from your kin.”
“I’m not in any hurry to go anywhere,” Kyrill grumbled. “My mum is in one of her moods. She misses her motherland as she calls it. The snow and blizzards and whatnots. So she’s spending the whole day making fruitcakes. I hate ‘em.”
Brek, who had never tasted a cake that he didn’t like, scowled. “Of course you would. There is nothing that you like.”
“I like being here, in this gallery. It is peaceful.”
“But you cannot be here anymore because you betrayed my trust. And it’s not as if I have a lot of expectations. Life taught me never to hope for much, but you still managed to deceive me.” Brek completed his rant with a sigh, and, sensing that he wouldn’t get rid of the teenager so easily, he ripped the paper that protected the new painting. He then examined the canvas minutely, searching for traces of blood, half eaten rats, or broken bones, Kryrill’s familiar trademarks. To his relief there were no signs of gore, only the image of a stupid-looking - but beloved apparently - canine. “Hmm. That will do. Off you go now.”
“I know I should, Mr Brek, but the... You see... I never imagined that, in the holodeck, you’d be so affected by the... the stimulant I gave you. It was such a small dose. It was just meant to lower your guard a little bit.”
“That is the point, exactly,” Brek pointed out, his voice a tad too loud. “I don’t need a friend who takes liberties with me. What you did, Kyrill, it’s called backstabbing. And I don’t thank you for it. Now, if you will excuse me...” He grabbed the painting with one hand and with the other one he took the box with the beetles inside. “Ferengis are always busy.”
He meant to go to his office, but Glutik, his bodyguard, made a grand entry, and with wide gestures that betrayed his excitement he talked of something wonderful and fantastic he had seen on the promenade: A Klingon Restaurant. They ought to go there this very evening and sample as many dishes as their stomachs would endure. This, for the Tellarite, meant eating absolutely everything, possibly even the napkins. He wouldn’t go alone though. Of course not. He wanted to go there with his Ferengi latinum. Has anyone ever heard something so ludicrous? Such a gross suggestion didn’t even deserve a reply.
“Please escort young Kyrill out of this gallery, and make sure he does not come back.” Brek ordered. This said, he marched to his office and locked the door behind him, proud as a Ferengi who’s had a very profitable day.
“What have you done to him?” Glutik whispered, in complete awe. With one arm, he indicated the gallery’s doors, and encouraged Kyrill to follow him to the Promenade. “I’ve never seen the boss like that.”
Kyrill shrugged. “I backstabbed him, he said, and now he won’t forgive me.”
Glutik opened the doors to let Kyrill out and they both stood there, right outside the gallery. “What weapon did you use?”
“Ayahuasca.”
“Sounds like a silly spell,” Glutik added, with a frown, which made him look quite menacing. A reminder that he had received orders, and would execute them swiftly. “What did you do to him, exactly?”
“Ayahuasca is a South American brew. What they call magic mushrooms, but it’s only therapeutic. I gave him some. I realise now, I shouldn’t have. I just wanted him to see ghosts and stuff like that in a holoprogram that I’ve created. You can’t do that if you don’t allow your imagination to roam free.”
“What a dumb thing to do. Brek’s already got plenty of imagination. That’s what kept him alive all those years.”
“I know so now. But I didn’t yesterday. How does one repay a Ferengi, Mr Glutik?”
“I don’t think you can. Maybe you should disappear for a little while. With time, he’s sure to forget.” The Tellarite then took a deep breath. “Sooooo... You’ve got access to magic mushrooms, hey? Now that’s what I call interesting. Are those your own or your mum’s stash? And how much for, say 2 grams?”
“I’m not a seller,” Kyrill mumbled, exasperated. Aware, too late, that he should have kept his mouth shut, he added: “Forget it, I’ll do as you said.”
He then walked away and soon started to sprint so as to disappear from the promenade as fast as he could.
“Mind how you go, young Terran!” Glutik, very much amused, shouted after Kyrill. “You’ll have a bad fall otherwise...” And then, to himself: “Makes me wish I was young again. I wouldn’t be a fool twice. Oh no, I wouldn’t!”
