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Lothal wasn’t the biggest town, nor was it the prettiest, but Alexsandr Kallus’s work for Mit Thrawn paid the best. The older man had a vast collection of art from local (or near local) artists that he presented somewhat like a museum. Alex, however, worked directly with Thrawn, doing outreach to the artists that Thrawn liked, picking up commissioned pieces, curating Thrawn’s personal collection, and keeping track of purchases. He was basically an assistant mashed with public relations and curation, but he liked it.
Recently, Thrawn has taken to an artist duo, Garazeb Orrelios and Sabine Wren. They were local artists that produced painted statues and other wooden goods. They had a few solo pieces, with Orrelios creating custom furniture and Wren working on murals all around Lothal and nearby towns, but most of their works were collaborative pieces.
According to what Alex could find on their website, Orrelios had been Wren’s college professor. They met at the local college, where Orrelios mentored Wren. After her graduation, they purchased a studio space not too far from the campus where they produced and sold their art.
Alex had encountered only one problem so far: their commissions were currently closed. Or at least that’s what the disheveled teen, his name tag reads Ezra, working the front of the shop said.
“And when will they be opening up again?” Kallus asks calmly. He needs to stay calm. This just ruined his entire day, but Alex needs to stay calm.
“Well,” Ezra flips through the planner on the counter, a thick leather-bound journal with a bo-rifle and an owl embossed into the leather. He flips and flips, landing on a blank page marked February. Alex wants to scream; that’s five months from now! “Schedule says they open back up around February 4th, but if you’re lucky, we can squeeze you in for late January. Honestly, I'd have to run this by Zeb first; he’s the busiest most of the time.”
Kallus jots everything down on his phone.
“Okay, okay. How about you run this by Mr. Orrelios and I run it by my boss. Maybe we can work something out.”
Ezra hums, “No problem.” He slides a business card toward Alex, a color piece of glossy paper with both Orrelios and Wren’s numbers on it. “I’m guessing I’ll see you again soon.”
Alex nods, waving goodbye before walking out of the store.
Thrawn is not happy to hear that commissions are closed, but he’s respectful about it. He takes the business card from Alex and calls one of the numbers after dismissingAlex. The younger man can hear Thrawn on the phone with Wren now as he reviews the files for incoming pieces. Wren can't afford to squeeze them in, not with Orrelios teaching and all the commissions they have lined up, but Thrawn mentions still getting to know one another and even brings up a potential visit to drop in to watch one of Orrelios’s classes at the college.
“It would just be an associate of mine and myself… yes, Thursday works perfectly… thank you, Miss Wren. Will you be there as well… Okay, it is honestly my pleasure… Yes, thank you again. See you then; goodbye.”
Alex sits back, sighing. Thrawn’s phrasing made him nervous. Who would he choose to go with him? What class would they visit? Orrelios teaches lectures and studio classes, what if they ended up in a woodshop class? What would Alex wear? Would he even be chosen? Did he need special shoes?
“New prospects?” a voice asks, interrupting Alex’s storm of thoughts. He looks up to see Arihnda Pryce, the manager of Thrawn’s public collection.
“Yes. Garazeb Orrelios and Sabine Wren.”
Pryce screws up her face, making a disgusted noise. “I can’t stand those two,” she spits.
Alex raises his eyebrow, “what’s wrong with them?”
“They get way too much credit for the kind of work they do. It’s sloppy.”
Alex couldn’t agree. He’s seen a few of Sabine’s murals around town, his favorite was the one on the front of Lothal High School, and Chava, the woman who had basically adopted Alex, had a chest of drawers made by Zeb. He shrugged off Pruce’s words.
“I guess I’ll just have to see for myself.”
“See what for yourself?” They both look up to see Thrawn standing in the doorway. He looks upset, but the glare is turned at Pryce so Alex can only assume he heard what she said.
“The art Wren and Orrelios make. I haven’t seen any of their collaborations in person, but I've seen their solo work up close. I’m quite interested in seeing how Wren’s graffiti-style translates onto a 3d surface.”
“Ah, yes. I’m rather interested in that as well, Kallus. Your eye for detail is spectacular if I do say so myself; how would you feel about joining me on my visit?”
“Oh, I– my– yes! Absolutely, sir, I would,” Alex forces himself to take a breath, “I would enjoy that, sir.”
“Very well then. Thursday is one of Mr. Orrelios’s lectures on the art of the Lasat. I’m sure you’d find that interesting.”
Alex wanted to scream, jump with joy, something. He spoke frequently of his love for Lasat culture, traditions and practices that he has been obsessed with since he was a student at Imperial Prep. His anthropology classes there weren’t the most diverse, but they did cover Lasan and he’s been hooked ever since.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll be waiting for the details.”
Thrawn moves back into his office, and Alex's face starts to hurt from how much he’s smiling.
“Kiss ass much,” Pryce says, breaking Alex out of his reverie. He narrows his eyes at her.
“No. I do not need to kiss up to my boss. I’m just genuinely excited.” And confused if he’s quite honest. While he loves the idea of sitting in on a lecture about Lasan, Alex wonders why Orrelios is teaching it in the first place. Lasan wasn’t a big country, and neo-colonization has wrecked its population via illness. Much like their history, their art was something lost and forgotten; a niche topic among few people.
Alex guesses he’ll get his answer on Thursday.
Thrawn and Alex make it to Orrelios’s classroom about 15 minutes early. There's a tall student, even taller than Alex’s 6’4”, looking over some worksheets from where he’s perched on the sill of the room’s large windows. He’s cute, maybe a little older than the typical student, but Alex doesn’t really mind that. Alex assumes he’s waiting for Orrelios too, based on the Lasan insignia on his purple flannel and the striped tattoos that moved up his arms.
The sound of Thrawn taking a seat startles the man, and he looks up at them.
“Mr. Thrawn?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Yes? And you are?”
“Oh,” the man stands up, pulling his body to its full height, and stretches out a hand for Thrawn to shake. “I’m Garazeb, but you can call me Zeb. I wasn’t expecting ya’ to get here this early.”
This was Garazeb Orrelios? Alex had been expecting an older white man, you know, the stereotypical ones that are way too invested in other cultures and takes on a student of color as an apprentice to assuage his white guilt. But this man is nothing like that. Suddenly, Alex wishes that he had looked Orrelios up, seeing how there were no photos of the man on his website.
Orrelios, no Zeb, shakes Thrawn’s hand before turning to Alex. His hands are warm and rough as they wrap around Alex’s smaller ones, and holy shit, Alex has never met someone with bigger hands than him.
“I’m so glad you could make it. ‘Bine’s gonna be here in a coupla’ minutes but I’m happy to answer any questions you have.”
Thrawn hums in delight. “I was most interested in your subject material. The art history of Lasan is a very niche subject.”
Zeb smiles nervously, brown cheeks just hinting at a ruddy blush under his beard.
“I knew I wanted to teach it when I met another Lasat after moving here. My nan and I immigrated not too long after the government was overturned, and it was just us for a while. I went to school for art, reconnected with traditional Lasat wood carving, but I didn’t decide to teach this course until I met Chava. She’s older than my nan, but she’s full of fire. Told me if I had the chance to teach our cultures to others, show them my perspective, then I should. Now I’m here.”
Alex chokes when he hears Chava’s name. Does Zeb know her? How had they not met before now?
“Thank you for deciding to do so. I’ve learned a lot from just seeing your work; I can’t imagine what your students are learning,” Thrawn goes on.
“Oh, we learn a lot,” Wren says as she walks into the room. She gives Zeb a hug before presenting her hand to Alex. Alex isn’t shocked by how she looks, her photos are all over the website, but he is shocked to see her hair has gone from white to a deep purple that matches Zeb’s shirt.
Now that they’re all here, they make small talk as they wait for Zeb’s students to come in. The class isn’t small, but it isn’t big either. Only 30 students are there, including Ezra from the storefront. The kid waves enthusiastically at them, or maybe just Sabine, but Alex waves back nonetheless.
The class is amazing. Alex wishes this class existed when he was in college, wishes he could have had a professor like Zeb, one who was casual and relatable, but so knowledgeable about the subject at hand.
Alex literally gasps when Zeb pulls out an actual bo-rifle from behind his desk.
“Now this is a Lasat bo-rifle. This is my personal one that I made when I was training for the Honor Guard back in Lasan. While we’re not here to talk weapons, we need to note that the bo-rifle is depicted in Lasat art from every century, every decade, every region.”
The students stare in awe as Zeb activates the weapon, shifting it into its staff form and tossing it from hand to hand.
“And in addition to being put in art, bo-rifles were works of art in and of themselves.” Zeb steps up to the class, holding out his rifle to show off the intricate etching in the metal body of the weapon. When he pauses in front of Alex, the blond has to stop himself from reaching out. The detailing is beautiful, smooth lines and hard stripes that mimicked Zeb’s tattoos.
The student next to Alex tries to reach forward and touch the weapon, but Alex instinctually slaps the kid’s hand away. Touching a bo-rifle was prohibited by anyone who wasn’t the owner or their family and close friends. He tells the kid that much, and they have the decency to look embarrassed, apologizing to Zeb.
Zeb isn’t looking at the kid, though. Instead, he’s watching Alex with an impressed smile. He nods his thanks before continuing with his lesson.
After the lesson, Zeb, Thrawn, and Sabine discuss their potential project, scheduled for February of course, while Alex sits back with Ezra.
“How do you know so much about Lasan?” the kid asks.
Alex sighs, thinking back. He was there when Lasan was invaded, an exchange student at the time. His Chava and the rest of his host family had helped him escape, and in turn, he had filed for them to immigrate to Lothal with him. Alex explains that much, adding that Chava didn’t live with him, but was within walking distance.
“Wait, you’re Kal?” Zeb calls out from where he’s talking to Thrawn. Alex swallows, Chava calls him Kal.
“Um, yeah. Chava was my host mother when I was studying in Lasan.” Zeb’s smile stretches wide over his face.
“Oh, that’s amazing. She’s always talking about the witty Russian kid with a weird accent she took in; I never would have guessed that it was you.”
Alex flushes, face burning. “Well, I’m just about the only Russian with a weird accent in Lothal.”
Zeb barks out a laugh, accepting the truth of Alex’s statement. “You should come around the shop more often, then. A friend of Chava’s is a friend of mine.”
Alex smiles. “Sure, thing.”