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Another day, another hunt for some obscure and elusive piece of art Thrawn wished to look at.
When the words ‘Coruscant’ and ‘shore leave’ came to Eli’s mind, spending an hour - let alone the better part of a whole day stuck in one gallery after another, surrounded by stuck-up politicians, socialites and other elites with more money than sense – was not something that immediately jumped to mind. If he had it his way, the naval officer would have taken the time to simply lounge around or pick up a souvenir or two to send back home to Lysatra with a note saying he was fine and healthy.
Perhaps, if Eli was extremely lucky, he would even catch Faro and the rest of their group of senior officers for a round of drinks outside a strictly professional environment; the brown-haired woman had enthusiastically informed the others about a new bar opening on one of Coruscant’s more trendy levels. It had quickly become a favourite haunt of senior officers who had no problems leaving naval hierarchy at the door, Faro had said, and there had been no reports of those not from the Core Worlds being turned away at the door.
Something Eli saw as a plus: back during his days at Royal Imperial, he had saved up credits once to visit a nearby place all students swore by. The moment the person behind the bar had caught sight of him, a frown formed on the bartender’s brow. The lines only deepened once he had heard Eli’s accent, scoring deep grooves in his skin. Summarily, he was refused service on the grounds of the bar being too busy, though the Lysatran native swore the pair of giggling students behind him with distinct Coruscanti accents had no such issues.
He had tried other places after than only to be met with similar results. One failure turned into two which turned into three and before long, it was too late to continue. With the final exams looming, the smart decision to make was to return back to his room and prepare for an early start the next morning. So, with his pockets full of his saved credits, Eli made his way back, conjuring up some excuse he could give the Chiss for his absence.
Suffice to say, from that point onwards, he abandoned any and all plans of exploring Coruscant beyond getting the bare necessities from the nearby convenience store.
Eli would have liked, therefore, to experience the night life Coruscant had to offer now an opportunity had presented itself. That, coupled with both Hammerly’s and Pyrondi’s insistence that one could outdrink the other, he had been looking forward to an evening of carefree fun.
Unfortunately, the idea once again proved simply too good to be true: instead of doing absolutely anything else, Eli had been conscripted into a mad dash around the ecumenopolis to what seemed to be every single art gallery and antiques shop of some repute housed on Coruscant’s surface.
Alongside his commanding officer of all people.
“Good morning,” came the warm greeting of the woman standing inside the gallery as the pair entered, a smile on her face.
Her brown eyes flickered over the two naval officers, focusing briefly on Eli before resting on the Chiss. Not that he was surprised – most who saw Thrawn for the first time watched him with a clear fascination before the awe morphed and mutated into something resembling fear and disgust. Eli studied the woman, waiting for the politeness to gain a tinge of revulsion, his jaw muscles tightening in preparation for the veiled insults that accompanied his commanding officer wherever he went.
Not that Thrawn seemed to notice – or if he did, he never made it obvious.
But the shift never came; the smile on the woman’s lips never faltered and her brown eyes remained as welcoming as they had when the pair of naval officers first stepped through the art gallery’s entrance. There was a sharp intelligence to her gaze, Eli noted as she looked at them, bowing her head while observing their every move.
“Welcome to ‘Galactic Antiquities and Objects of Interest’,” the woman said, her tone light and pleasant, “We are honoured by your visit.”
“Thank you,” Thrawn inclined his head in response, his voice even as always.
The gesture was brief but graceful; Eli attempted to emulate it yet his own fell short of a true duplicate. His neck muscles were stiffer, causing the action to come out as less elegant, like a child attempting to copy their parent. It was clunky and clumsy – a far cry from the Chiss’ fluid and posed way of moving… or simply existing.
“Ah, new friends!”
A voice rang out from the back of the gallery. Brown eyes flicking away from the woman by the door, Eli looked in the direction it had come from, feeling the edges of his lips droop at the sight before him.
Staring back at him, sat on hexagonal pillars, were at least a dozen artefacts and other curiosities plucked straight from galactic history. Even more lined the edges of the room, not cluttering the space but positioned so to tastefully imply more antiquities were hidden in the back. If one wanted to indulge their curiosity or was looking for something specific, of course, this must have seemed like paradise.
Eli snuck a brief glance at his commanding officer: given the subtle glint in those burning rubies, Thrawn was more than interested in doing just that.
Biting back a sigh, he resigned himself to at least another few hours of looking at one object and then another, all while the Chiss conjured meaning from pieces of history and analysed whole populations with an accuracy bordering on divine.
Not that the display was unimpressive; on the contrary, it was mesmerising and something Eli could not tear his eyes away from. Even after years of knowing Thrawn and being by his side, he had come no closer to understanding how he did it. To Eli, the artworks, statuettes, sculptures and other forms of creative expression were simply pretty things he looked at for a few seconds and then continued on with his day.
To Thrawn, however, they were the building blocks of strategy; a way to uncover the very soul of his enemies. He dissected their history and cultural beliefs, planning his attacks and defences around the spiritual makeup of a people. All of which the Chiss got simply by studying the art of said people or species – even if the only thing available to him was a single holoprojection of one art piece.
It was a terrifying skill - one almost akin to a superpower – but it was too fascinating to not be impressed by.
A figure appeared out of the backroom, a light-skinned human man in dark blue robes. He moved with the same swagger Eli had seen in all the other art dealers they had visited earlier in the day. Light strands of hair adorned the top of his head, swept back so the top of his hair formed waves like those on the ocean’s surface.
With a wide smile, one almost impossibly large, the man reached them, the lines around his light eyes stretching at his display of joy.
“Welcome to ‘Galactic Antiquities and Objects of Interest’,” he greeted again before gesturing to the woman, “I see you’ve met my associate, Kleya.”
The outstretched hand curled inward, settling on the man’s shadow, “I am Luthen Rael, the owner of this humble gallery. It is a pleasure to meet you both.”
Eli straightened up a little as the man’s gaze turned to him for a brief moment before returning to the Chiss. There was that same sharpness in his eyes too, the cool and unfeeling searching. It must have served the gallery owner well when it came to auctions and smelling out potential buyers.
Still: Eli didn’t enjoy being studied like one of the antiques surrounding them.
“Likewise,” Thrawn said, the glowing red stare already focused on the items scattered strategically around the room to pull in people like him and tempt them into a purchase.
He certainly had the credits now, what with his newest promotion.
“It has been a while since we’ve had a naval officer here,” Luthen joked, a chuckle leaving him as he glanced at his associate.
Kleya nodded, her voice soft and eyes downcast, “Admiral Savit was last here for a Sankara Stone some months ago.”
“Ah yes!” Luthen clasped his hands together, his smile widening, “Sankara Stones! That was a rather difficult find – they’re frightfully rare. But I digress.”
He paused, for a brief moment, eyes flickering to the Chiss’ rank insignia, “How may we be of service, Admiral Thrawn? Are you looking for a gift?”
There was no surprise on Thrawn’s face, not even a flash of shock at having been recognised by a civilian. Then again, Luthen Rael and his gallery was frequented by the elite so word of a blue-skinned, red-eyed alien rapidly climbing through naval ranks was bound to reach the light-haired man eventually. And men like Luthen surely thrived on gossip, their bank accounts fed by the intrinsic need of the rich to upstage one another.
And what better way to do so – when credits were nothing but numbers in accounts – than to buy pieces of galactic history and paraded them before others to feast their eyes upon as they drew surface-level conclusions and picked apart the artworks like vultures.
All while history sat locked away in penthouses and upscale apartments.
Thrawn gave the man a polite smile, “I wasn’t aware my name was worthy such renown.”
“You’d be surprised of the things people say in passing,” Luthen chuckled again, the sound light and warm but lacking genuine amusement.
“Perhaps,” the Chiss replied, the corners of his lips twitching wryly, “All good things, I hope.”
“Of course!”
Eli pushed down the scoff bubbling up his throat: all good things?
Yeah, right.
Whatever gossip the gallery owner and his associate had heard, the naval officer doubted any of it was good or even flattering. Regardless of whether the elite of Coruscant had been behind it or officers within High Command, Eli would confidently bet an entire year’s worth of his salary the words had been anything but kind praise.
“This is my aide, Commander Vanto.”
The words yanked the commander out of his thoughts as he shifted on his feet, the tips of his ears tinged with embarrassment. He had wandered off into his mind, sure the pair before them would remain focused on the Chiss and the obvious prestige the presence of an admiral brought their gallery.
Instead, Thrawn had thrust him into the spotlight right alongside him, robbing Eli of the peace that came with standing on the sidelines.
“Pleasure to meet you,” the commander added, supressing the red flush from reaching further down his face, his shoulders tense.
Luthen gave another one of his smiles – something that was becoming a signature move from the man, Eli noted – but this time it was directed his way, “Charmed.”
“Is there something you are looking for in particular?” the gallery owner continued turning back to the Chiss.
Silently, Eli breathed out a sigh of relief, the muscles in his shoulder and upper back relaxing. He scolded himself for not paying attention to his surroundings – that was not something a leader did.
Thrawn certainly wouldn’t have made such a mistake; that glowing red abyss always watching, comparing, analysing. Never staying still or growing complacent.
Eli watched him as the conversation continued, studying the neutral expression stapled over his features. An expression that was so common on the Chiss’ face Eli could count the number of times he had seen emotion flicker over it instead on a single hand. He remembered the anger when the pair had been aboard the Sempreand a trooper refused them access to the cabins. There, too, was the subtle disgust at the spice dealers on Cyphar at their blatant disrespect for the land they had taken as their own.
The infrequency of such moments only made them vastly more intriguing when some emotion managed to break through the surface and chip away at the mask Thrawn wore so religiously.
Despite himself, Eli had begun to crave those moments, eagerly observing as the bursts of emotion played across blue skin, igniting the red of his gaze like the flickering sparks of a pyre. He coveted the brief flashes of something below the surface his superior officer projected to the galaxy, growing giddy at the opportunity as if a child uncovering a mystery on a treasure hunt.
The sounds of conversation drifted back towards him, reaching his ears as Luthen beamed, “What a wonderful choice; you are a true connoisseur, Admiral. Come, I believe we have one or two on display.”
“Kleya,” he added, gesturing to his associate and giving her a pointed look, one softened by that ever-present smile, “Keep our dear Commander company while I show the Admiral here the item in question.”
Great: now he had been given a babysitter.
So much for attempting to blend in with the background.
Kleya smiled in turn, the upturn of her lips brightening her features. It caused a gleam of something elusive to ignite in her eyes, the dark brown so close to the shade of his own skin. The easy smile persisting, she gestured for Eli to follow her.
“This way, Commander,” Kleya said, the words leaving her strangely melodic.
Begrudgingly, Eli followed, staying a step behind her and keeping an eye on the pair of men conversing a little way’s away, “I don’t know much about this stuff.”
“That only offers me the opportunity to teach you - for no one is incapable of learning. All a person needs to be is to be open-minded and willing to learn,” the woman replied, the syllables quiet and tinged with just a hint of soothing.
Leaning in an inch closer, she added, “And I promise, Commander, I’m a good teacher.”
Once again, Eli was thrown into a desperate fight against his own body in order to stomp down the flush crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks. Judging by the mischievous twitch of her lips, Kleya had noticed and he lost the battle, the red climbing up his cheeks like an unwelcome decoration upon the dark skin.
Inwardly, the man cringed; the flash of triumph in her brown eyes enough to make it clear he might as well have stood under a neon sign saying, ‘the human incarnation of embarrassment’ and even that might have been more subtle than the red dusting his skin.
On some level, Eli knew the well-placed smiles and shy compliments were a ruse used to charm the customers into making an outlandish purchase. Everyone enjoyed being complimented and the elite were particularly susceptible to falling for flattery, parting even more eagerly with their credits.
Eli knew the flirtatious edge to her voice meant nothing; that didn’t mean it couldn’t leave him flustered.
“What is it you enjoy, Commander?” Kleya asked, her eyes ever so briefly darting to her employer and the Chiss before settling back on him, “I’m sure there is something here that you would enjoy.”
“Numbers,” the words catapulted itself out of his mouth.
Seeing her eyes widening in surprise, eyebrows raising high up on her brow, Eli cleared his throat, steadying his voice, “I like numbers. Data.”
The surprise was gone within seconds as Kleya regained her bearings, nodding, “Numbers? A unique interest to be sure.”
“But I do believe we have something you might like,” she continued with a conspiratorial tone, beckoning him forward, “This way, please.”
Without waiting, the brown-haired woman made her way deeper into the gallery, passing by the antiques that most of the galaxy’s wealth combined would not be enough to pay for. Dutifully, Eli followed her, repeating in his head over and over again that an accidentally tripping and falling was not an option and would be most certainly a death sentence.
One he quite literally couldn’t afford – he didn’t have credits to even cover a small percentage of the antiques’ worth.
Kleya stepped before a rock of sorts, its pale green surface glimmering in the bright, white lights overhead. A scene had been carved into the jade, a peaceful and serene vista of a mountainside backdrop with a stream, trees and signs of civilization tucked in-between nature. There were even humanoid figures, meticulously added into the scene, conversing with others, climbing the steps tucked away in a corner of the sculpture or relegated to be part of the background as they stood in the pavilion. The jade had been carefully cut away, grinded and polished to perfection to give the surface a smoothness that seemed almost soft to the touch.
Not that he dared touched it, however.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Kleya said, standing by his side.
Slowly, Eli nodded, his eyes glued to the artwork, “It is.”
“What is it, exactly?” he turned to the woman, each syllable leaving his lips coated with curiosity.
“A jade sculpture showing a gathering of poets,” Kleya answered without hesitation, her eyes gleaming with something akin to pride as she looked at the piece before them, “The artist is unknown; their name lost to history. However, the particular style and care with which the jade was processed points to Lan T’ing people. They were particularly skilled in carving jade, using quartz dust to grind and then polish it, subtracting area from the original large stone to create figures and landscapes,” she continued, before turning to him with a knowing smile, “Something that required an intimate knowledge of mathematics or simply said… numbers.”
The corners of his lips twitched upwards, admitting with a hint of bashfulness, “I’ve never heard of them – these Lan Ting.”
“Lan T’ing,” the woman corrected gently, adding, “And not many have – they were a budding civilisation in the Mid Rim over a millennia ago. A cradle of innovation and culture.”
Her tone had gone sombre and the light in her eyes dimmed, darkening the brown to an almost black hue. Wisps of grief and loss settled over her features, making a home for themselves in the lines of her face. The emotions clung to her like ghosts of history, haunting the small remains of their culture which had survived the relentless onward march of time.
Eli knew that tone – had heard it several times during his naval career when overhearing news of one atrocity or another. Whatever had happened to the Lan T’ing was most likely not a pleasant story.
He didn’t push her with further questions, simply nodding sombrely as his eyes traced over the sculpture. The skill taken to tame such a large chunk of rock must have been immense; the skill to then refine it into the scene sitting before them must have been even greater. It was as if the artist had captured a moment in time: the water in the stream forced to stop for a second; the breeze playing amongst the trees halting; the conversations between the figures paused.
“I’m sorry,” the commander turned to Kleya, his gaze gentle and words an attempt at comfort.
Shaking her head, the action erasing the loss on her face, she answered, “There’s no need. They’re long gone now. All we have of them are pieces like this and they are rare and far between.”
“But this might not be the best example of your interest’s influence on art,” Kleya continued, her warm smile returning, stapled forcefully onto her lips, “There might be something more… overt. This way, if you please.”
For a moment, he hesitated, keeping his eyes on the jade sculpture, trying over and over to see more than what was before him. To see something hiding beneath the surface, something that spoke of a deeper meaning, of their culture and history and customs and beliefs.
To see what Thrawn saw.
Alas, Eli saw nothing more than a serene landscape carved out of jade.
Turning away, he found Kleya staring expectantly at him, already several metres away, following some unseen route to another piece of antiquity she thought he would enjoy. With one last look at the jade, Eli followed her, reaching her within a few strides.
“Sorry,” the commander said with a slight upturn of his lips, his brown eyes drooping with genuine apology, “I got distracted.”
“No need,” Kleya brushed away his apology, her smile widening a little, “I prefer customers who are intrigued and drawn to the pieces on display to those who are simply here with the desire to upstage their friends with a new, flashy purchase.”
Eyes flickering over to the Chiss, she added, leaning an inch closer to Eli, “I don’t think either of you are such customers, in all honesty. How long have you served as the Admiral’s aide?”
The question took him by surprise, his ease shattered at the words. Instantly, his defences clamped into position, expecting a snide remark about working for an alien and having to follow the Chiss around like some sort of pet. His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing in anticipation.
Bristling ever so slightly at the sudden turn in conversation, Eli turned his head sharply in his direction, “Long enough.”
Kleya huffed softly at his reaction, brown eyes glazed with amusement, “I apologise for any disrespect, Commander Vanto. It was not my intention. I merely wished to understand you better so as to not show you something you won’t like.”
His burst of anger faded, washing over him like a wave as the emotion deflated, replaced by shame, Eli shook his head with a sigh, “No, it is I who should be apologising. My reaction wasn’t polite. I am sorry for that.”
“None needed,” Kleya answered, “I was prying into military secrets.”
That coaxed a smile out of him, “It’s hardly a military secret.”
“Oh?” the woman said, the corners of her lips twitching upwards.
“I have been his aide for a long while – we joined the Navy together,” Eli said simply.
That was as much as Eli was willing to say. He had no issues with indulging her curiosity, but the commander wasn’t stupid enough to divulge everything.
Kleya must have noticed for she didn’t push further, keeping any other questions – if she even had any – to herself. A small silence fell over the pair as they walked, and Eli allowed his gaze to flicker to his commanding officer.
Thrawn and the gallery owner were standing around a totem of sorts, as far as Eli could tell. Luthen was all smiles, laughing at something the Chiss had said, the sound wafting through the air and reaching them as they came to stand before a series of tiles. He watched the two men as Luthen pointed to a wooden totem sat atop one of the hexagonal columns while Thrawn stood as still as the statues at the back of the gallery, his hands clasped behind his back. He nodded every once in a while at something the other man said, the rubies focused on the object before him.
Before Kleya could introduce the tiles, Eli cut in, gesturing to the wooden totem, “What is that?”
She followed his gaze before answering, “It is a Kalikori. A traditional Twi’lek artifact which passes from generation to generation, with each family member adding a symbol to it. Think of it like a visual record of a family’s lineage.”
Nodding, he craned his neck a little to catch a glimpse of the totem, eager to see the item which had captured his commanding officer’s attention. Brown eyes traced the symbols inscribed on its surface; its beads, splashes of colour and stylised characters all weaved a story spanning generations of familial history.
A living piece of art: living and breathing as it passed from one generation to the next, exchanging hands as the old died and the young were born. It was pretty without a shadow of a doubt, Eli mused to himself, even if he saw little more than the colours and symbols printed onto its surface.
“It’s pretty.”
Kleya hummed in agreement, “It is. Though I’d argue it is its meaning that gives the Kalikori beauty, not its visual appearance.”
“The tradition of family history being something each generation physically contributes to by leaving their mark on the totem,” she continued, “It’s a unique approach, no? Most human culture preserve family history by separating past generations with those from the future, while the Twi’leks blend the two.”
Eli didn’t answer, brown eyes drifting over to the artifact and tracing its shape. He followed the two descending segments of bead-shaped connection pieces, studying each inscribed pattern carefully as they framed the central stand, resembling a pair of ears or hair or-
A lekku.
“It looks like a lekku,” he said abruptly.
Her smile gaining a hint of sharp amusement, she agreed, “It does. A stylistic choice and wholly understandable. After all, why would a people model their artifacts in a way not resembling themselves?”
Forcing down another flush of embarrassment, Eli nodded, realising how silly his observation must have sounded. Of course the Kalikori would resemble the Twi’leks – it was one of their cultural artifacts. The words had left him in such a hurry, as if he had discovered some grand revelation no one else had thought of before.
Shoulders briefly slumping in defeat, he watched the neutral expression on Thrawn’s face as he and the gallery owner conversed. Their voices were too soft to be heard across the gallery, though the occasional word from Luthen made its way to him and Kleya.
Not that Eli made it a habit to eavesdrop on his superior but there was a part of him – a small part growing ever larger with the years the pair spent together – that enjoyed listening to the Chiss dissect art for its meaning with ease and unparalleled skill.
Even if the commander seldom saw what he spoke of.
Eli forced his dejection under layers of his composure. He was a commander in the Imperial Navy, the aide to an admiral – he couldn’t afford to be seen as sulking because of saying the wrong thing like a child answering a question incorrectly during class.
Carefully, he purged any traces of disappointment from his expression, straightening his back and looking away from the Chiss. Kleya was staring at him, that sharp glint in her eyes glimmering brightly under the white lights overhead, causing the dark brown gaze to resemble the edge of a knife more than the welcoming warmth of a shop assistant. Eli almost jerked backward at the sight, eyes widening at the sudden change.
If she noticed his surprised reaction, the woman didn’t comment on it, merely gesturing to the row of tiles before them.
“These are wall tiles found on Jeddha during the High Republic. Given their symmetrical design, I thought you might prefer these to the jade sculpture,” Kleya said, the glint lessening to an extent by her soft voice.
“While many forms of symmetry were used throughout galactic history and can be found in the artwork of a multitude of species, this one,” she pointed to a white and dark blue tile, “Seems to be a favourite of Jeddha’s citizens during the time period.”
“This particular tile has both translation and reflection symmetry,” Kleya continued, pointing to the tile and drawing an imaginary line with her finger that cut tile into mirror-image halves.
It sat amongst several others in a cluster, their hexagonal shape allowing for easy placement and manipulation. All depicted vines, flowers and other plants, twisting together to forms reoccurring patterns. Eli could imagine how the tiles, once slotted together in a pattern, could be used for decoration, brightening up entire spaces and introducing colours to both exterior and interior.
Strangely, he noted, there were no faces of people on the tiles, their surfaces decorated only with flora he didn’t recognise. Perhaps, the artists simply found drawing flowers and the like easier? Or for cultural reasons, those images were the only ones allowed?
But if that was the case, why? Were such displays of individuality frowned upon? For each face, no matter the species of the individual, was unique and different from the next. Compared to flowers, vines and other plants, they held an individuality that no amount of conformity could were break and truly remove.
Perhaps, the artists and their culture preferred unity in multiplicity, looking at beauty through the lens of nature?
Eli didn’t know and he doubted he could think of the answer.
“Commander,” a familiar and even voice rang through the air.
Eli glanced up, his eyes flickering away from the tile to find Thrawn had abandoned his study of the Kalikori. He and the gallery owner stood a small distance away, their eyes fixed on the pair. Correcting his posture, the commander stood to attention, his back as rigid as aboard as he inclined his head to his commanding officer.
There were no indications on Thrawn’s face that he had noticed his surprise. Instead, the red eyes moved to the tiles, rubies tracing their shape with unmatched care. Each tile was carefully scrutinised under his eye, his gaze moving over them methodically to study each colourful pattern and drawing which sat upon their surface.
While the Chiss studied the tiles, Eli’s own brown eyes watched him, with just as much attention as Thrawn devoted to art. Carefully, the commander let his gaze trace over the blue features; his focus drawn on the slight furrowing of his eyebrows and their scrunch as the Chiss Admiral fell into a contemplative state.
“Ah, the tiles!” Luthen grinned, moving past Thrawn and to Eli’s side, “You have a good eye, Commander.”
Before he could answer, the Chiss nodded in agreement, “Indeed. A most excellent piece of galactic history.”
“You are acquainted with this period of time?” the gallery owner asked, his pale eyes shining with intrigue.
“Only in passing,” Thrawn bowed his head in modesty, “Nowhere near enough to be seen as having anything more than a basic knowledge on the topic.”
“Oh, I doubt that,” the other countered with a chuckle, “You knew more than I on the Kalikori and Togruta Meditation Pots. Far more, in fact.”
“Please,” he gestured to the tiles, “Share with us your insight.”
The words were kind as they left the man but there was just a hint of something, something deeper and elusive that slithered beneath their surface. Something the gallery owner was hiding well but not quite completely. It was the same feeling Eli had felt when faced suddenly with the deadly sharpness in Kleya’s eyes – that indecipherable feeling that caused the hairs on the back of one’s neck to stand to attention like hundreds of small soldiers.
Thrawn accepted with a grateful nod, his chin dipping ever so slightly before his eyes focused on the hexagonal tiles before them. He didn’t move, remaining still with his hands tucked behind his back; the only sign of life the way the rubies studied the colourful hexagons and the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
“The repeating symmetry of this tile,” the Chiss pointed to a white tile with blue vines, before indicating to a red one with gold accents, “And that one show the artist’s skill in painting without overpowering the rest of his art piece for the sake of small details. The tiles are detailed, yes, but never to an extent that takes away from the symmetry. This implies a strong tendency to look at the larger situation without being held hostage by small, perhaps insignificant elements.”
Thrawn continued, his voice remaining as even as when he commanded his Star Destroyer, “The lack of distinct depictions of people or humanoids is also significant, implying either a cultural tendency not to display such art in public spaces – the care with which the tiles were made makes it clear they were mounted on walls in buildings of significance – or an aversion towards such individuality.”
Eli felt his heart skip a beat at his words – had he been right all along? That the cultural traditions behind the tiles frowned upon the individuality that was represented in the differences between each individual, scored in every line of their faces?
“Any thoughts, Commander Vanto?”
The commander’s muscles stiffened at the sudden calling of his name, the name falling off the Chiss’ lips in an even but soft tone. Instantly, Eli froze, his dark brown eyes snapping to his commanding officer, finding himself to be the focus of the other’s attention. Brown met red as the pair stared at one another, time slowing to a crawl.
What was he supposed to say? Or, more importantly, did Eli even have anything to say?
His knowledge on the topic was nowhere near as in depth as the one the Chiss possessed; the moment he opened his mouth, everyone around him would see how hopelessly out of depth Eli was. What was the reason Thrawn was dragging him into this conversation anyways? The Admiral knew he was not as equipped as him when it came to deciphering meaning from art, so why was he so determined to keep putting Eli in these situations?
“Sir?” the commander uttered, keeping his voice as stable as possible, though the edges of the word were jagged with apprehension.
“You’ve studied these tiles longer than I have,” Thrawn answered simply, “I merely asked if you have gleamed some other meaning or interpretation than mine own.”
The words were gentle and reassuring, soothing almost. And they would have comforted him had a hurricane of anxiety not been swirling within the younger man. The weight of Thrawn’s gaze on him was a physical pressure settling upon his shoulders, pushing him down towards the floor beneath his feet.
A floor Eli hoped would swallowing him up and spit him out on the other side of the planet – as far from this room and the three pairs of eyes on him as possible.
Still, he couldn’t keep his mouth tightly sealed forever.
Clearing his throat, Eli began, stilling his beating heart, “As you remarked, Sir, there are no faces of people on the tiles, just flowers and such thing. Maybe for some cultural reason, those images are the only ones the artist was allowed to paint.”
Thrawn nodded in contemplation, one hand coming up to his chin, “Why?”
Why?
Eli suppressed the burning need to glare at the Chiss: this was another one of his games he so enjoyed playing.
Thrawn saw lessons and opportunities to teach in every small interaction and situation. Lessons he simply itched to impart on the commander. He had grown to recognise that tone in the Admiral’s voice, that hint of patient expectation as the Chiss waited for others around him to catch up to his observation.
It was difficult to hate him for it, however – never once did Thrawn boast about his skills or demeaned those serving under his command. If anything, he encouraged the professional growth of all those who served under him, making it clear that while mistakes were to be avoided, they served as opportunities to learn and improve and were most certainly not a death sentence aboard his flagship.
Forcing his flash of anger back down his throat, Eli answered, “Maybe the flowers, vines and other plants are meant to represent unity in multiplicity or looking at beauty through the lens of nature?”
“Excellent,” the Chiss said, a hint of pride in the red staring back the commander, a wave of some warm emotion crashing over the commander.
“Fascinating,” Luthen clasped his hand together, beaming at the Chiss as he glanced at his associate, “I have rarely had the privilege come across an expert such as yourself.”
“I am hardly an expert, Mr. Rael.”
There was a hint of wry amusement in his words, one buried so far beneath the cool neutrality he wore on his features that Eli was sure the pair of gallery workers didn’t recognise it. And he would bet a good number of credits they didn’t notice the ghost of a knowing smile pulling on the edges of Thrawn’s lips.
“Nonsense!” the other man argued, barking out a laugh.
Thrawn inclined his head in modest gratitude, “You are too kind.”
“The truth is neither kind nor cruel, Admiral – it simply is,” Luthen shook his head with that smile of his, “And you are most certainly an expert.”
“It would be a great honour of ours if there is something here today we can offer you – and you needn’t worry about payment. Think of it as a loan, and if it doesn’t please you, you can always return it. Kleya and I are always available for a consultation,” the gallery owner continued, the lines around his eyes stretching with his smile.
“Perhaps another time, Mr. Rael,” Thrawn said politely, his eyes flickering to Eli, who swore a flicker of mirth ignited in the rubies, “I am in search of a more… permanent solution to my growing collection. Until then, I am afraid I must pause any purchases.”
Luthen chuckled, the sound polite but practiced, lacking genuine amusement, “Ah, now that is a struggle I understand well.”
The Chiss nodded, turning ever so slight towards the exit, “It was an honour to meet you both.”
“The honour is all ours, Admiral,” came the rehearsed response, “Please, let me show you the way out.”
The pair began to walk down the length of the gallery; Eli lagged behind a little, giving the two men privacy as they continued their conversation about some item they had previously discussed. Kleya matched her pace with his, falling in step with him, her appearance unruffled and poised.
“It was truly a pleasure to make you acquittance, Commander Vanto,” she said, her words accompanied with that subtle upturn of her lips the woman wore like clothing.
“You, too,” Eli stumbled over the words, clearing his throat before repeating, “It was a pleasure to meet you, too.”
Kleya let out a small hum, inclining her head as they reached the doors. She stopped by Luthen’s side, a silent shadow by the man’s side – the distance of a few feet between her and Eli now seeming more like a chasm.
With one last round of farewells over, the pair of naval officers were out of the door within a few seconds, moving through the glass panels as they rotated with a hiss. Buzzing overhead like insects, the hum of airspeeder traffic clung to the air around them, a variety of vehicles zooming through the air above the ecumenopolis.
“Where to next?” Eli asked, silently dreading they weren’t even half-way through the long list of other galleries the Chiss wished to visit before the day was done.
Thrawn half-turned to him, “Colonel Yularen’s office.”
An immediate frowned formed on the commander’s brow: Colonel Yularen’s office? Whatever for?
“There is something I wish to see - a curiosity I want to satisfy,” came the answer to his unspoken question.
The brown-skinned man tensed as the way he had read his thoughts so easily from his expression. It was another one of Thrawn’s skills and one he wasn’t entirely fond of; at times, it was as if the Chiss could read his mind without any effort, all his thoughts laid bare for him with a simple cursory glance at Eli’s features. It could be annoying and in the first few years of them knowing one another, it was.
Nowadays, Eli simply accepted it as part of his life.
“So, no more art galleries?” he asked tentatively, a hint of hesitation in the question as he dared to give his hopes a voice.
The corners of Thrawn’s lips twitched upwards into something resembling a genuine smile, “Indeed, Commander Vanto – no more art galleries.”
He paused, looking down at the man as Eli fell into step next to him, his cool voice taking on a shade of mischief, “For today, at least.”
Desperately, Eli wrestled the urge to groan out loud in frustration.