Artistic Expression
Posted on 03 Nov 2024 @ 4:08pm by Brek
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
1146 words - 2.3 OF Standard Post Measure
Beautiful... Abso-lut-ely beautiful!
Brek was admiring a unique specimen, delivered to him by express courier and wrapped inside a nice layer of gold velvet fabric. You know you’ve been treated with respect when even the packaging is a keeper. The item in question was the sculpture - in pure latinum, if you please - of an exotic weevil. A rare Ferengi species that only lived in the deep tropical forests of the planet.
The creature had long and slender legs, a bulbous body and a long snout. The mesothorax and metathorax were delicately coloured: a vibrant orange-red base marked with intricate black and turquoise spheres.
Who had been so thoughtful as to send such a singular and collectible item to him?
There was a little card inside the box. Brek took it, read the note inscribed on it, and stared at the intricate Ferengi calligraphy for a full minute.
Kreca was the sender. ‘A little beetle for you. With my warm regards’, she had written.
Brek sighed. Not with contentment (despite the fact it was always great to receive a freebie), but because for a moment there, he felt lost. He had not noticed it before, keeping himself busy pretty much 24/7, but he actually missed the annoying artist, with her frequent arguments and bad temper.
He sighed again. “Blast it. I don’t even like her.” He muttered as he put the weevil back into its magnificent black box. “Why would she do that to me... Sending me her warm regards? This is quite irritating... Females and their strange ideas...”
He would nonetheless keep the weevil of course. It was, after all, valuable.
“Is there trouble on the horizon, boss?”
Glutik, his bodyguard, had arrived. As was the norm since he had found himself a girlfriend, he wore a happy expression. Not the sort of thing you often see on a Tellarite. Not the sort of thing you even want to see on a stern private security guard. This level of happiness, on a Tellarite, looks incredible rather than credible.
Brek closed the box before Glutik could see its contents and make inappropriate comments on it. “Indeed there is. But it’s not on the horizon. It’s right in my face, staring at me with its bulging eyes.”
He had, for the past week, received a deluge of spam messages and menacing notes from a Ferengi catering business called ‘The Saucy Chefs’. Truly, why not call themselves the Saucy Sons, if they liked silly puns so much? As he made the adequate preparations for the display of Mr Wallace’s Mural, he had ignored this funny business in favour of a catering company run by humans. They went by the name ‘A Tasteful Touch’, and they cared about quality and dietary restrictions. In other words, they were normal. And normality, well, it was nice to have some of it in your life.
“Boss?” Glutik asked again. “I can tell the problem is serious. Just tell me who you want me to beat up. I’ll make them regret that they crossed your path.”
“Don’t forget our motto: Words first, my dear Glutik, and fists only as a last resort. So what you will do this morning is to go to the headquarters of ‘The Saucy Chefs’. It’s a puny little venture with just three employees, all Ferengi. Tell them, politely, to stop pestering me. If they don’t comply...”
“Don’t tell me, I know. I wreck their place. Reduce their furniture to small wood. And then...”
“Not quite. You tell them I’ll have their business closed by midnight if they don’t behave.”
“Is that all?” The Tellarite looked shocked. “You know boss, if you don’t force respect, sometimes they never give it to you.”
“I don’t need to use violence when I have good contacts within the FCA. All I need you to do is to look menacing. Surely you can do that?”
Glutic shrugged. “Sure.”
“Off you go then.”
A few minutes after the Tellarite had left, young Kyrill appeared, and he too looked quite pleased with himself. All this cheerfulness, it was getting on his nerves. Due to this, Brek tried to ignore the young Terran and he opened a file listing the recent paintings the gallery had sold.
The teenager, too selfish to pay note to his gloom, went on, yapping about Abrasha, (his grand dad apparently), who had given him a box of junk. Bits and bobs that made no sense to Brek, although he could see that some of those pieces might be assembled together.
“So what?” Brek finally said, very much meh-inclined. “Are you here because you want to sell that stuff? What is it anyway that you’ve got here? It looks like old trash to me.”
“How can you say that, Mister Brek? It’s a Zenit. An old film camera, from centuries ago! And the best part is, it still works.” The teen took several parts, which he named as lenses, body and batteries, and he put them together.
Brek observed the black and silver ‘camera’. An antiquity. An item that does in the most awkward and expensive manner what you can do now in one second. He refused to be impressed. “Why are you showing me that thing if you aren’t going to sell it?”
“Because it’s such a brilliant item. It will enhance my art. This cameracan produce nostalgic images, with a unique colour palette. It will provide me with a whole new experience. With this sort of camera you actually have to pay attention to the image you want to take. You have to be selective and careful. Everything has to be measured right.”
“Right,” Brek said. “Your sales spiel is excellent. But really, Kyrill, you need to make some friends. Youngsters who will understand how dedicated you are to your art. On my side I’m not overly interested. You see, this little conversation or ours, it’s not the most productive use of my precious time.”
The teenager stood, shouldrs slumped, a picture of dejection. “I thought you would be interested in this different form of artistic expression.”
“Tell me how to monetize that ancient thing, and then I’ll be all ears.”
Kyrill didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised his camera and took a picture of Brek.
Annoyed by this, the Ferengi left the reception desk. “Profit and loss! Don’t do that. There is no one less photographable than me. Make yourself useful and take a few interesting shots. With distinct grain and intention. Then perhaps we can discuss their value.”
Those words said, he conveniently disappeared into his office. There he would have peace at last, and he would also be able to place his new collectable weevil in the most judicious spot.
