From: Hannibal O'Patterson (hannibal.opatterson_at_gmail.com)
Date: Sat Apr 28 2007 - 08:40:08 PDT
"The Devil's In the Details" (Continued from "Jeff's Shopping Jaunt, Part
II")
Location: GS-2
Stardate: 2.70428.1012
Scene: Promenade, Store called 'Reflections'
The man who sat across from the easel was huge, easily the size
of a Klingon, but pure and naturally human. He was built for football, and
in fact, played Left Offensive Linebacker for his four years of High School.
The paintbrush in his hand seemed so tiny, but the gentle way he let is
glide across the canvas left no doubt that he not only had size, but
patience and finesse.
Across from him was the rest of one of his businesses, an art
gallery. Not a very big one, it was probably one of the smaller storefronts
on the Promenade, but the back area held a considerable amount of room,
which he used for building custom frames for his paintings, and the
occasional random sculpture he did.
There weren't any customers at the moment, but that suited him
fine. He'd inherited this business from an El'Aurian who he'd never actually
met, but owed his life to. It was a very long story, but long story short,
he was still learning the ins and outs of managing his own business.
On the canvas in front of him were the beginnings of a
landscape; open plains with only a few terrain features, and in the sky ran
a herd of beastly looking cows, and cowboys chasing them. The painter
admitted to himself that maybe 'Ghost Riders In The Sky' wasn't the finest
choice in inspirational music, but the act of painting something like this
was both oddly soothing and extremely cathartic. He was a man with little to
him that one might call dark, brooding, or otherwise negative, and the
thought of performing an evil act was well beyond him.
The quiet chime, which rang the opening bits of 'Home on the
Range', alerted him that someone had walked into his gallery. He immediately
set his palette and brush down, and stood up to see who had come into his
store.
The man was smaller, older, but dressed rather nicely, and with
an exceptionally dignified air. "C'n I hep yeh?" The rather large painter
asked of the smaller man, his words drawling out slowly and pleasantly in a
low baritone.
"Oh, quite possibly Mr. Turner, quite possibly," The customer
asked. "You see, I'm in the market for having my portrait painted. Nothing
so arrogant as to simply see myself every day, mind you, but it's something
you might call a bit of a family tradition, and I've been quite remiss in
seeing to my responsibility."
The large man shrugged. "I c'n pain'cher pitcher, I jus' need
t'know how big y'wan it and what kin'a frame y'wan with it. M'prices are
'bout as fair as y'gonna find on this station. I ain't in this f'th'money,
so I ain't gonna gouge yeh or nothin. If y'ain't satisfied, no charge, but I
hang it in the gallery t'sell." The painter said patiently and with a wide,
genuine smile.
"You're quite the negotiator Jesse Turner," The customer said.
"I'm convinced, and we've not even haggled. I find your explanation both
informative, as well as financially comforting, but I've seen your work, and
I believe you're perfect for the job."
To Jesse, who's worst fault was probably not having a good idea
of the value of himself or his work, he believed that it was probably that
he didn't paint for the money. It was enough to pay the bills, everything
else was superfluous. "We'll hammer out th'details then, Mr…?"
"Tee, Maury Tee." The customer said, offering his hand. "I
believe we have a deal?"
"Yessir," Jesse said simply, and shook the man's hand.
=/\= Quite a few hours later =/\=
"Mr. Turner," Tee said, examining the portrait "I believe this
is the finest piece I've seen in some time. Thank you."
Jesse blushed from praise and shrugged. "Jus' a paintin' sir,
but I'm glad y'like it. It'll be three slips and five strips of Latinum."
Maury grinned a devil's grin and opened his attaché case,
putting three bricks before Jesse Turner. "When I receive the best, Mr.
Turner, I most certainly pay for it." His face shifted to one of genuine
amusement when the Texan.
"Sir, I cain't accept this much," Jesse said, genuinely shocked.
"That's way too much money fer a pitcher."
"Don't insult me Mr. Turner," Tee claimed. "Or my money. Or, for
that matter, your talent. The rest of the hacks on this station, they don't
care about anything but putting pigment on canvas. There's plenty of
non-professionals here, but it's impossible talking to them, you were the
perfect choice, and I'm willing to pay for it. Besides, it's only money Mr.
Turner, and in the end, it all goes away, and what doesn't, well… you know
full well that you can't take it with you. Good day Mr. Turner, and thank
you." He said, pleasant enough, with the most polite browbeating Jesse had
ever received.
It wasn't until an hour later, over his dinner, that he realized
what Tee had insinuated when mentioning Jesse's death.
=/\= Impulse Drives =/\=
=/\= Midnight =/\=
Tee hung the portrait, for that was properly the only thing it
could be called, prominently on the wall. He took a step back and admired
it, and was more than pleased by the work. He'd been gushing with his
praise, but of course, he wasn't totally sincere. The work was good, but
he'd most certainly not paid a visit to this century's Da Vinci. No Turner
didn't have the stomach for Da Vinci's type of operations and research.
He grinned though, eyed the portrait once more, and snapped his
fingers. He really did enjoy the things he did, and the continuum be damned
now. "Dead man's hand scroll 'cross the page, the devil himself then cease
to age. A cadaver's fingers paint the eyes, God himself be made to cry." Tee
quoted quietly to himself, lines from one of his books. He, of course, read
them all.
He walked away, grinning at his own clever wit at where he'd
hung his portrait. It occurred to him then that Dorian might need fed. Some
things were just best left to midnight, after all.
<<NRPG>>
Forgive me, I've been reading Hellblazer comics lately. That's Constantine
(Keanu Reeves Movie) for non comic buffs. Maury R. Tee amuses me Ken, I
should mention that. I think he's not a Q, but maybe he envies their
omnipotence, or maybe, what we've always seen as Demons and Devils were in
fact Q, cutting deals… It's all about business. Whatever Tee is, I like him.
Such a bastard. Also, this is my way of introducing Jesse Turner's art
gallery "Reflections". He obviously does custom work, for a fair price.
--
Chance Deveraux
Ensign Hannibal O'Patterson
Cheif of Security/Tactical
Gateway Station GS-2
Book: What are we up to, sweetheart?
River: Fixing your Bible.
Book: I, um... what?
River: Bible's broken. Contradictions, false logics. Doesn't make sense.
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