OssumBunz
Rabbit of Caerbannog
WC:1100
“I can’t let this piece go for less than five hundred exa. That’s an amazing deal considering that this is an original Amandeus.”
A steel digit pointed to the bottom left corner of a large square canvas, to where a neatly scrawled signature was positioned. The painting itself was dimly lit, but finely detailed; like in most of Amandeus’ work, the source of light came from above. Depicted was a young enlil boy in striking realism, holding out a spear in one hand while musical instruments lay scattered around him.
The meaning behind this particular painting eluded the demvir that held it up with one hand. Never the less, it was a piece that anyone would have been proud to hang in their home. Yet the laicar woman that initially shown interest in this painting, by a well known artist, was now getting cold feet.
“F-five hundred exa? That’s still a tad more than I was looking to spend...more than Mr. Amandeus’ work has gone for in the past even.” Confusion and suspicion hung in her voice as her eyes glanced off the painting for a moment to meet two illuminated gold orbs. “What makes this one so special?”
Two gleaming fingers came up to rub the front of a helmet like face plate out of exaggerated frustration as false eyelids clicked shut. “You mean you haven’t heard about what happened to Amandeus? I’ll save you the gory details, but its very safe to say that this was his last creation.” Seneca’s tinny voice reflected a somber tone, one put on only in hopes of making a large sale. The mechinae felt no remorse for those of higher houses, even this artist by trade had come from a wealthy family. It wasn’t so much the wealth that bugged her as much as it was the attitude of those that built their homes on a hill, looking down on the rest of the populous both figuratively and literally.
“Art always increases in value after it’s creators death, and it will only continue to rise from here. Trust me, there is no better investment than a fine art collection. I almost kept this one for myself, but I fear I have run out of room in my own collection for even such a fine piece.”
There was a pause that hung in the air, a moment of silence and staring that made Seneca wonder if maybe she hadn’t chosen her words as carefully as she had intended. Perhaps the woman before her had spotted a flaw in the painting technique that gave away the truth behind this canvas. That was near impossible, the replica was flawless. The demvir would have been fooled by it herself if she hadn't been the one to commission it in the first place.
Seneca’s synthesized voice caught the woman’s attention once more, “If you’d like, I can toss in something to make this transaction more appealing to you.” She added as a dextrus steel hand reached into an ornate indigo cloak worn by its owner. What was pulled out with the hand was a folded and yellowed piece of parchment, the edges torn and tattered. Nimble digits unfolded the paper with a few flicks then held it up to be seen clearly.
“These are highly detailed sketches of The Idols of Senes. Despite my long life I have yet to actually see them in person. The few I have shown this drawing to, the ones that actually have laid eyes on them...they say this drawing is the closest you can get to the real thing.” Gold eyes had narrowed to slits, watching the laicar woman’s features intently, waiting for her to seal the deal so to speak.
Another pause, any demvir less experienced than Seneca herself would have felt the heat in their chassis rise, anyone other than an automaton would have been sweating buckets by now. This situation had become not unusual for her however. Rarely did customers, potential or otherwise, pick up on the machinae’s deceit. Rarely was the key word there though, there had been a few times when Seneca had to address the matter of fakes having ‘slipped’ into her stock by mistake. She always handled that by displaying as much shock as the officials and customers did, not to mention plenty of apology for the incident.
This woman she doubt she’d have any problems with, she had already proven herself not to be on the up and up when it came to the art scene. She even had the audacity to reach for the sketch to which Seneca added, “Of course I don’t let them hold the drawing. Oils in the skin and all, they tarnish, corrode, break things down if you will. It’s really just a piece of information, I can’t make you follow that rule once these are your items.”
“No matter,” the laicar woman started, “that drawing does seem to more than make up for the five hundred exa price tag, it looks so old. The coloring that the paper has taken up is just so amazing.” Her eyes were aglow at the piece, had Seneca known how much the customer would have drooled over it she might have slapped on a price tag.
“It’s nearly three hundred years old by now, I spent sometime on a ship with a scholar who was quite good with ink. If I could recall his name I would speak it, but I do not.” The answer sounded a tad disinterested as the demvir exchanged the yellowed parchment for a full sack of coins. That piece of paper was most likely the only thing of true value she had sold in a while, She had never been sure if that scholar had made anything of himself after that trip, but he had had some true talent. It was almost a shame to let the sketch go, but exa was exa and any bit of it she could make would help her make her journey.
The customers cart was quickly loaded with the painting and off rolling down the road which meant Seneca was done for the day, she had more than enough now for passage by airship over the sea, which in turn meant enough to move her to her next job after paying Terminus a visit. It was well known that bounties were larger in that city, missions gave up more exa for skilled help. The real trick would be getting lucky enough to land a high paying job the first time, one that could easily fund her small business.
“I can’t let this piece go for less than five hundred exa. That’s an amazing deal considering that this is an original Amandeus.”
A steel digit pointed to the bottom left corner of a large square canvas, to where a neatly scrawled signature was positioned. The painting itself was dimly lit, but finely detailed; like in most of Amandeus’ work, the source of light came from above. Depicted was a young enlil boy in striking realism, holding out a spear in one hand while musical instruments lay scattered around him.
The meaning behind this particular painting eluded the demvir that held it up with one hand. Never the less, it was a piece that anyone would have been proud to hang in their home. Yet the laicar woman that initially shown interest in this painting, by a well known artist, was now getting cold feet.
“F-five hundred exa? That’s still a tad more than I was looking to spend...more than Mr. Amandeus’ work has gone for in the past even.” Confusion and suspicion hung in her voice as her eyes glanced off the painting for a moment to meet two illuminated gold orbs. “What makes this one so special?”
Two gleaming fingers came up to rub the front of a helmet like face plate out of exaggerated frustration as false eyelids clicked shut. “You mean you haven’t heard about what happened to Amandeus? I’ll save you the gory details, but its very safe to say that this was his last creation.” Seneca’s tinny voice reflected a somber tone, one put on only in hopes of making a large sale. The mechinae felt no remorse for those of higher houses, even this artist by trade had come from a wealthy family. It wasn’t so much the wealth that bugged her as much as it was the attitude of those that built their homes on a hill, looking down on the rest of the populous both figuratively and literally.
“Art always increases in value after it’s creators death, and it will only continue to rise from here. Trust me, there is no better investment than a fine art collection. I almost kept this one for myself, but I fear I have run out of room in my own collection for even such a fine piece.”
There was a pause that hung in the air, a moment of silence and staring that made Seneca wonder if maybe she hadn’t chosen her words as carefully as she had intended. Perhaps the woman before her had spotted a flaw in the painting technique that gave away the truth behind this canvas. That was near impossible, the replica was flawless. The demvir would have been fooled by it herself if she hadn't been the one to commission it in the first place.
Seneca’s synthesized voice caught the woman’s attention once more, “If you’d like, I can toss in something to make this transaction more appealing to you.” She added as a dextrus steel hand reached into an ornate indigo cloak worn by its owner. What was pulled out with the hand was a folded and yellowed piece of parchment, the edges torn and tattered. Nimble digits unfolded the paper with a few flicks then held it up to be seen clearly.
“These are highly detailed sketches of The Idols of Senes. Despite my long life I have yet to actually see them in person. The few I have shown this drawing to, the ones that actually have laid eyes on them...they say this drawing is the closest you can get to the real thing.” Gold eyes had narrowed to slits, watching the laicar woman’s features intently, waiting for her to seal the deal so to speak.
Another pause, any demvir less experienced than Seneca herself would have felt the heat in their chassis rise, anyone other than an automaton would have been sweating buckets by now. This situation had become not unusual for her however. Rarely did customers, potential or otherwise, pick up on the machinae’s deceit. Rarely was the key word there though, there had been a few times when Seneca had to address the matter of fakes having ‘slipped’ into her stock by mistake. She always handled that by displaying as much shock as the officials and customers did, not to mention plenty of apology for the incident.
This woman she doubt she’d have any problems with, she had already proven herself not to be on the up and up when it came to the art scene. She even had the audacity to reach for the sketch to which Seneca added, “Of course I don’t let them hold the drawing. Oils in the skin and all, they tarnish, corrode, break things down if you will. It’s really just a piece of information, I can’t make you follow that rule once these are your items.”
“No matter,” the laicar woman started, “that drawing does seem to more than make up for the five hundred exa price tag, it looks so old. The coloring that the paper has taken up is just so amazing.” Her eyes were aglow at the piece, had Seneca known how much the customer would have drooled over it she might have slapped on a price tag.
“It’s nearly three hundred years old by now, I spent sometime on a ship with a scholar who was quite good with ink. If I could recall his name I would speak it, but I do not.” The answer sounded a tad disinterested as the demvir exchanged the yellowed parchment for a full sack of coins. That piece of paper was most likely the only thing of true value she had sold in a while, She had never been sure if that scholar had made anything of himself after that trip, but he had had some true talent. It was almost a shame to let the sketch go, but exa was exa and any bit of it she could make would help her make her journey.
The customers cart was quickly loaded with the painting and off rolling down the road which meant Seneca was done for the day, she had more than enough now for passage by airship over the sea, which in turn meant enough to move her to her next job after paying Terminus a visit. It was well known that bounties were larger in that city, missions gave up more exa for skilled help. The real trick would be getting lucky enough to land a high paying job the first time, one that could easily fund her small business.