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Vurawn wandered into the kitchen, his eyes scanning his surroundings for his mother as he held the painting he made during his time at school behind his back. At six years old, it was a usual activity for the instructors of Vurawn’s school to let them express themselves using paint at the end of the day; if they managed to get everything done on time, that was. It was Vurawn’s favorite part of the day, one he found himself on the verge of a breakdown over whenever they did not manage the time for it. What often made him even more upset was when he could see exactly which of his classmates were the ones who were distracting class, and yet the teachers continued to ignore them anyway, slowing the lesson even more when said students acted out. Vurawn always had to resist the urge to correct the teachers, maybe tell them of all the much better ways the situation could have been handled so they could get to the end of class sooner. He had been good at resisting recently; his teachers seemed to like when he did that. The more he corrected the more they had to stop class, after all.
Back to the present, Vurawn wandered over to his mother anxiously. He had planned it out perfectly. His mother didn’t always like his paintings, she often reminded him that they made the house a bit cluttered. Despite this, he had made this one in her favorite color and of her favorite flower; so if Vurawn making it wasn’t good enough, maybe she would like it because it was of all her favorite things. He wondered if maybe she would be proud of this one, or happy he had made it just for her.
He gently tugged on her pant leg from where she was sitting at the table. He heard her sigh, signaling he had gotten her attention. “I made this for you,” Vurawn announced, hesitantly holding the painting of a bright red flower out to her. He watched carefully as she grabbed it, inspecting the piece he had worked nearly an hour on. He watched her eye movement, the tight pressing of her lips, the raised brow. Every movement was important, every movement would tell Vurawn if he had succeeded in getting her to accept his gift.
“Thank you,” she said, suddenly smiling in the exact way Vurawn had been hoping for.
Vurawn felt his eyes widen, this reaction being better than he had expected. He couldn’t help it when he began talking, trying to tell her everything he had been hoping he could tell her about the painting before he knew if she would like it. “It looks like the flowers in our yard, right? Did you know that they only bloom once every two years?” He rushed.
“I know,” came the simple response as she looked away.
Vurawn still couldn’t help himself, he wanted to share so badly about this new interest that it nearly hurt. “One of the teachers gave me a book about them. They can be more than red, you know. I like the purple ones. They can also be more than one color on a single flower. Did you know that a lot of the ruling families use them for dinner parties. I didn’t know. Did you know-”
“Vurawn,” his mother suddenly cut him off.
He looked at every feature, the frown, the narrowed eyebrows. He had done something wrong.
“You’re rambling again,” came the response he had heard too many times, the response he should have expected.
“Sorry,” Vurawn whispered, his guilt over rambling again making him want to cry. He did not let that happen, however. It would only lead to more shame. He needed to remain as expressionless as possible.
His mother turned to his father across the table, his father who had not been paying attention to either of them. That was something Vurawn could predict, at least. “He doesn’t talk until near three and now all he does is ramble,” she said with….amusement. She thought it was funny. Vurawn didn’t know if that was a bad or good thing. His father only hummed in return, not paying attention.
“Are you even listening!?” His mother yelled, Vurawn also being able to predict that this would happen.
Slowly, he backed away, leaving his painting there and hoping that she wouldn’t get rid of it all while scolding himself for talking too much about it to begin with. He had thought he had predicted everything right, but he knew now he had made some mistakes. It was just…so hard to know when he was and wasn't supposed to talk. He did not understand other people often, and knowing what they wanted and expected from him was a challenge. But he would do better, he would get better.
The only problem now was that he knew there was one thing he couldn’t change, that he couldn’t account for. He wasn’t ever going to be able to change the fact that something was wrong with him.
***
Thrawn walked slowly, taking a long moment to inspect every art piece in the exhibit. Ensign Vanto followed him closely, looking at the art pieces less intently but with some level of interest.
This was Eli and Thrawn’s first time on shore leave together and Eli found himself relieved over it. He had desperately needed a break. A break from the empire, from the Blood Crow, and quite honestly, from his parents. They would not leave him alone about getting off his current career path. Put simply, there was not much Eli could do about it, not unless he quit everything now, which he found himself completely unwilling to do. Besides, Thrawn really wasn’t all that bad, and it wasn’t like he hated the idea of an art museum. Thrawn made it entertaining enough.
Eli stopped before Thrawn this time, staring at a picture of a dying flower. It was very detailed, realistic with a few touches of maybe something a little more abstract in the petal designs. “What’s the meaning of this one?” he asked, knowing Thrawn would more than likely know the answer.
Thrawn hummed. “This one is interesting,” he said, eyeing the plaque next to said painting momentarily before glancing back. “I find the healthy flower next to the wilted one most interesting, of course.” Eli squinted, spotting this and nodding. Thrawn continued. “I believe the flower's death symbolizes something deeper. If we look at the much healthier flower behind it, I think it is rather obvious that the fully bloomed flower is somehow stealing all the resources away from the wilting one. This is evident when looking at the clear vase that shows there to be enough water for both of them to grow together, and yet, for some reason, the wilting flower was unable to grow with the other one present.”
Eli nodded, understanding. “So, you are saying the author was humanizing -if that's the right word- the flowers. He was trying to represent some relationship that was present in his life through the flowers.”
Thrawn nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “Exactly. Of course, I could be wrong, but the title of the artwork, ‘New Beginning’, seems to symbolize the hope for the wilting flower to be moved to another vase, somewhere it can flourish and grow as it was meant to.
Eli smiled slightly, staring off at the painting with a new appreciation. He found the smile didn't last, though, the meaning of the painting making him think a little too hard about his own life.
“Did I upset you?” Thrawn asked, staring at him with his usual intensity.
“Oh no, just a sad painting,” Eli commented, trying to offer Thrawn a reassuring smile that never reached his eyes.
Thrawn was silent for a while before speaking in a quiet tone. “If my…rambling…is bothering you, please let me know. I realize that my interest in art is rather intense.”
Eli quickly looked at Thrawn, the shocking honesty startling him a bit. He looked over Thrawn’s features, trying to figure out what he had done wrong only to, of course, be unable to move past Thrawn’s emotionless mask. “You didn’t bother me,” Eli reassured, second guessing himself again. “Did I seem annoyed with you, sir? I apologize if so.”
“No, I suppose you did not seem that way,” he said, his eyes never leaving Eli, studying him like Eli was a bomb that was about to go off.
“Alright,” Eli began hesitantly. “Why don't you tell me about the piece next to this one,” he suggested, motioning to it.
Eli could swear he saw Thrawn smile for just a moment. “You are certain you wish to hear more?” Thrawn asked with a slightly tilted head.
Eli smiled in return, resisting the urge to nudge the man with his arm reassuringly. “Sir, I like hearing you talk about your interests, you act like I can’t wait to leave. I never get to go to art museums and the times I have I never understood a thing. I like understanding for once. Besides, it’s kinda impressive you seem to know so much about these pieces. I wish I could ask the painters if you’re right.”
A quiet laugh slipped from the other man. “Perhaps we should find one of them here, this exhibit opened for the first time today, after all.”
Eli smirked. “Fine. By the end of the night I’m gonna have you analyze one of the artist's works in front of them.”
Thrawn nodded, accepting the challenge. “Of course. Shall we move onto the next painting?”
“Tell me all about it,” Eli said with a wide smile.