New Friends, New Beginnings: The Dinner Party, Part III
Posted on 01 Feb 2024 @ 7:49pm by Sylvie Hardt - Surrat Gallery & Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery & Moon-Young Chung
Edited on on 15 Feb 2024 @ 8:19am
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: O.C Station - Rubens' Quarters
Timeline: M4 - D6 Evening
3110 words - 6.2 OF Standard Post Measure
Mercifully, dinner was finished.
It had been as stilted and awkward as Moon had feared. Her mother treated their Ferengi and Cardassian guests with bare politeness that cooled any conversation the group managed to strike up. They’d start talking about art and then her mother would interject dryly, “I suppose even in the fringes of civilization there must be a place for people to attempt to appreciate art.” Then the table would fall silent.
Each time, Brek or Rice managed to swing into a new topic of conversation. As the dinner wore on Moon could see Rice’s mind working behind his smiling eyes, preparing and revising words that might parry Bong-Cha’s more pointed comments. She, on the other hand, was petrified every time her mother opened her mouth.
As everyone received a digestif and retired to the more comfortable couches, Moon extracted Sylvie, Brek, and herself from the disapproving stares of her mother and pulled them back to the table. As the pair sat, she quickly flicked away the last evidence of Larish pie. It had been one of Rice’s only contributions to her meal planning. Any Cardassian dish adopted by Bajorans, he said, tended to have universal appeal. The empty plates had testified to his statement’s veracity.
Grasping her glass with her fingertips over the lip, Sylvie drew her chair closer to the table and resettled. She’d been a little more self aware of her limited wardrobe, and although she was essentially going to see her new stylist to address the problem, the self awareness had led to her searching her closets for something a little less drab. Uncertain how formal the event was to be, she’d split it down the middle between official and casual, avoiding the stern tailored looks of any suitings, and chosen a more draped blouse with abstract leaf patterns that appeared to her to be something like cast shadows through a screen. It was still entirely in grays and blacks, but she’d done her full palate of Cardassian make up which brought a lot to her own ashen tone, and worn an amber pendant. Her hair she had pinned up. And, knowing she would find most anywhere on the station outside of her quarters to be a little chilly, Sylvie had donned a rusty-toned sweater to make up the difference. Setting down the glass, she hugged the sweater to herself now.
“The Larish pie was quite good.” Sylvie complimented. “Where did you have it prepared?”
“Rice made it,” Moon proudly said. “When he was stationed on Cardassia Prime, he became friendly with a local café owner. They taught him.”
Brek, who had never left his seat, listened to Moon’s answer. He had eaten a lot tonight, with no concern for the origin of the dishes. “Well, Moon, this was a delicious meal, and an eye opener too,” he added in a whisper. For the occasion he had resurrected a black suit, worn with a black shirt - the epitome of gravity. A nice contrast, in his opinion, against the overly bright colors favored by Ara and Kreca. “Your mother has a closed mind when it comes to art. It makes me wonder, is it that she likes to antagonize all and sundry, or is it that she has what might be labeled as a lazy mind?”
Sylvie raised an eyebrow and then lifted the wine to her lips to prevent herself from remarking. It was quite brash of Brek to go so immediately to his unfiltered opinion of Moon’s mother right in the same room as her, even if she was out of immediate earshot. The woman must have really struck a nerve with the Ferengi art dealer. Sylvie found it curious that he was so personal about it. It suggested that he was in business for more than just profit and a name. Only something approaching love for the artworks he dealt in could raise hackles like that over the verbal brushing off that Moon’s mother had given. Sylvie glanced at the young hostess to see if she would apologize for or defend her mother.
Moon frowned slightly, “She’s…” Protective? Selfish? Cruel? Loving? “...not staying much longer. Only here for a visit.”
At that Sylvie smirked.
“Hmm, my grandmother is also not staying very long here...” Brek said, thoughtful. “I’m annoyed though, Moon. I was looking forward to selling a painting or two to your mother. Now it looks like I won’t even be able to sell her a postcard of Obsidian Command...”
“Well, maybe I can sell you on something? Both of you have offered to assist me in opening a shop, but I don’t know much about running a business, so how would this work?”
“You’ll need to get a business license, pay the fee, and create a business plan too.” Brek suggested. “This will help you to have a clear vision of your goals: market, financial projection, this sort of thing. I’m willing to assist you with the administrative aspect of your venture, but I understood you had accepted to help me with my... my dysfunctional wardrobe....”
Sylvie also raised an eyebrow for the same reason. Brek arriving donning black on black had been something of a shock. That was her own dressing strategy, whereas she was she had grown accustomed to seeing her fellow art dealer in his bold palette. Now, what she had thought would be a dinner followed by a fashion consultation was turning out to be a potential investment scheme. She leaned back in her chair. “I can recommend you an accountant and a legal advisor.” Sylvie knew it took money to make money, but start up was something she had never been shy on, having come from money. There was that at least. “As well as extend the starting costs for the retainers and fees.”
Brek grinned at Ms Hardt. She was, tonight as ever, looking very dignified, although a little more coloured than usual. Also, her propensity to help financially was enthralling. He wished he had thought of tapping into that on his visits to her gallery. Of course, he too was more than happy to help Moon - after all he enjoyed writing sales plans, business financial analysis and the whole gizmo, just for fun. What he couldn’t stomach on the other hand, was the parting of his own money. Still, because he didn’t want to be left out in the area of proposing solutions, Brek added:
“As far as raising funds is concerned, I cannot overemphasize the importance of a solid business plan. You absolutely need to make financial projections, Moon. This will open many doors to you. Besides, with your talent, which, let’s not qualm, is immense, you will have no problem attracting loads of customers, which you will have to charge adequately. Merely selling your beautiful designs will not be enough. You will have to make your clients pay dearly for the privilege of wearing your unique designs. Believe me, they will love it and will even feel grateful. That’s what the spending of money does. It makes people feel superior. In any case, if the prospect doesn’t scare you, I’d be happy to be your accountant.”
“Oh, boy. Business plan. I barely understand the concept of money.” Moon picked at the tablecloth and rubbing a couple of crumbs together. “I could just practice what the rest of the Federation does and not really charge anything but credits. Everyone has enough of those and if they don’t, they’ll just have more given to them in a month or so. What about that?”
Brek scratched his forehead. “This is the weirdest thing I have heard in a long while. How you cannot see the beauty of money, whether it’s credits, latinum or even casino chips, I cannot fathom. True enough, within the Fleet, money flows freely, but there should always be the thrill of amassing more wealth. The more one has, the more one can achieve. Don’t you agree, Ms Hardt?”
For a moment Sylvie considered that. It was a simplistic view, though not an untrue one. “It is a useful resource. However, if you wanted to denominate your services in credits, those who want to work with you will simply have to exchange currency. While it might make the relative value of your prices fluctuate, as compared to latinum or cloud-rate or the commodities KDQ, it certainly simplifies your own accounting. It’s fine enough for starting out a small business within the Federation. And as you establish yourself, a good accountant will recommend automatic adjusted currency daily rates built into your billing system. In the end you should hardly have to think about it.”
Brek nodded his head. It was a beautiful summary of what cooking books also implied. So many recipes were possible, though. One could easily feel dizzy at all the adjustments, refinements, obfuscations, that could be used to twist reality. A good bookkeeper was a genuine artist, apt at reinventing figures. and hence. facts.
This may as well be theoretical physics, Moon thought. She was shocked that prices fluctuate and had no idea what to make of commodities KDQ? “One question: what’s an accountant?”
“An accountant maintains accurate financial records,” Brek said, sounding like he was mentioning something in which he didn’t believe. The word ‘accurate’ was seldom used by Ferengi and so it felt like he was speaking in an alien language. “Accountants are financial advisors. They help you with budgeting and monitoring your cash flow on a steady basis. They can also give you strategic advice so that your money will always fructify.”
“Someone does that for a job?” Moon frowned and scrunched up her nose and frowned as if someone had had a bad case of gas. “I can see there are aspects to this that I have absolutely no interest in. I just want people to like what they leave wearing, not whether it has some sort of made-up value to other people.”
“I worked as an accountant for several years,” Brek pointed out, once more baffled to see that Moon was someone who had truly no interest in numbers. Not even those numbers that could make her a wealthier woman. “It is an important job.” He insisted. “Think of it as employing someone who’ll take care of the tedious financial statements, budgeting, deductions - and I’m keeping it simple - so that you can focus on the creative side of your business. Besides, with profits, you can enlarge your business, you can also impress those around you. It might even curb your mother’s intrusive nature, who knows?”
“Okay, then you do it,” Moon said. “You both can run the business side. Set the price. All that stuff. All I ask is that I get to choose some clients who don’t pay. Two clients a month.”
“I’m afraid I’m not running a consultancy…” Sylvie said hesitantly.
“I’m not looking for a consultant. I’m looking for investors!” Moon added. “Or, I don’t know, what’s that word? Partners. People who like doing all the business stuff.”
Sylvie smirked and looked to Brek. The young lady might have been naive, but what shrewder move could one make than to have others invest in and set up your company for you? The prospect of it being a money making venture was uncertain, but Sylvie considered it would be entertaining if nothing else. “We would have to draw up the investment specifics.” That she and Brek would be more in business together than even with their art exchange amused her even further. While Sylvie could afford another loss in the arts, she wasn’t certain Brek had as much play in his finances. She looked forward to dickering over percentages with him. “I suppose I’m game for it if you are, Mister Brek.”
It took Brek a few seconds to respond. So lost had he been in his thoughts. Moon wanted two clients a month who wouldn’t pay?! This was so ridiculously stupid, it made no sense. Surely, by that she meant that they wouldn’t pay with money, but with something else. Information (he had played this game once, and had regretted it bitterly), kindness, invitations to prestigious events... One cannot have something for nothing. Maybe those two freeloaders a month would be friends. Friends who had helped her in the past. That was good, as this meant that, one way or another, they had already paid. But what if Moon was to engage in charity work? Largesses and handouts! Philanthropy!
Thankfully, as he focused on Ms Hardt’s words, he was able to put aside the notion of non-paying customers. “I’d be delighted to work with you, Ms Hardt. We are bound to have a different approach to running a business, as I can be a little reckless at times, but I look forward to it. Who knows, I may even learn a few things during our collaboration.”
“Oh, right!" Moon exclaimed, glad the discussion of economics was over and more excited to get into her area of expertise. "You haven’t seen what I can do yet. Here.” She swiped her fingers along the glass of the table and brought up a menu. Selecting several options, a miniature version of the suit and dress appeared floating several inches above the tabletop.
“Brek’s first,” Moon said waving her hand through the form and making it grow until it was nearly three feet tall. She stood and began discussing the why she made various choices: what she noted about Brek’s style from the time they met until now, how it reflected what she noted of his personality - kind, but looking for an edge; thrifty but looking for a good quality. “All the material is readily available. I haven’t had a lot of time to understand ‘economics,’ but it seems like the more of something there is the cheaper it is.”
Brek found the suit that Moon had made for him looked sumptuous, but he didn’t quite like being called ‘thrifty’ in front of Ms Hardt, and so he shook his head. “I believe that the terms ‘discernment and sound judgment’ apply better to me. Other than that, you are right, Moon. A surplus of goods tends to lead to discounts. Although markets can easily be manipulated. You enter the notion of scarcity, for instance, and even the most basic items will reach ridiculous prices. But this is besides the point here. You have, then, a list of suppliers you wish to use for your designs?”
“Not really,” she shrugged, “I’ve scouted out a few, but I want to use people on the station or down on the planet.” She pushed the small hologram of the suit to the side of the table and moved the dress to the center, giving another rundown on it. “It’s a fusion, you see. The design on the bodice was influenced by 12th-century Cardassian painter, Epol Bur. But the rest of the design is more similar to the Cardassian colonists who settled her home planet.”
“I do see.” Sylvie had been studying it since the hologram was switched on. The skirting design was an old colonist favorite. They had sewn worn out jumpsuits together at the most thrift driven period of settlement days, and later when such measures became unnecessary, there remained a fashion of two-toned skirts, with seams echoing the opened leg material that had been used. Somehow the old lines of the folk design became almost futuristic under the subtle treatment of the designer. And the flair of the collar was nearly blossom like, but with the clean lines of a lily. She was also relieved to see the tones were varied but not vibrant. Sylvie wasn’t quite feeling that adventurous with color as her Ferengi competitor often demonstrated.
“I do like this proof of concept. Oh!” Sylvie sat up a little straighter and then turned, having brought something with her, but left it in a satchel. She pulled out a small sample case. “These are some hermetically sealed textile samples from my remaining collection of the Surrat heritage museum. I shouldn’t expect that any of the fibers can be recreated, but perhaps they would further spark your fine intuitions.”
“Oh! I would love that. I used to peruse the Met’s collection for inspiration all the time.”
Moon waited a few seconds letting the pair examine their clothes, taking a moment to look at her mother. The woman and Brek’s grandmother were speaking in conspiratorial voices, heads bowed closer to one another. Moon stopped herself from sighing. “Do we have a deal then?
“I am willing to help draw up and sign some contracts.” Sylvie said, enjoying the evening, the style, and the company. “What say you, Mr. Brek?”
“Absolutely,” Brek said, barely removing his eyes from the suit that Moon had created for him. At first he had not been convinced by certain quirky touches: a mismatched button, a tie that winked with polka dots. Yet, the more he observed those details, the more he could see that they fit his personality. The suit was a playful defiance of convention, but unlike those jumpers and jackets he had worn before, everything in Moon's creation spoke of style. The fabric seemed to absorb light, conferring an air of mystery to its owner. As for the lines, they were sharp, and yet not tedious. They conveyed, at least to his imagination, an air of confidence and authority. He felt sure that with this suit he would be taken more seriously, which in turn would increase his profits. “For a splendid suit like this one, I’m prepared to spend a good many hours in your company, Ms Hardt, so that we set up an artisan couture outlet that will be the envy of everyone. Count me in as your accountant, Moon. You never said, though, what will be the name of your store?”
“Yes, do tell,” Sylvie recrossed her legs. “What will be on the placard?”
Moon smiled, “‘Saeloun Sijag.’ It means ‘new beginnings.’”
“Very fitting,” intoned the Cardassian, with intention for her play on words. She lifted her glass loosely in the air. “To this New Beginning, may we prosper in it together.”
“New Beginnings,” Brek echoed. “It’s a good name. Indeed, let’s make sure we all profit from it!”
