[ you kneel down to scoop up some of the pieces, and—
again, it's like a scene, playing out in front of you.
The older woman is lovely, with deep bronze skin and long, black hair that falls to her waist and is tied there with what looks like sparkling wire. She holds a painted glass orb in her hand, and looks at it appraisingly. Someone’s painted it in swirling lines of color, in a style that resembles the glass work scattered around the rest of the studio, though those are done in only metallics, and the lines are far more precise.
“It’s very you,” the woman says, turning to her younger companion, a girl with somewhat lighter skin and silver hair down to her mid-back, her scarf pulled down to sit around her shoulders. “Always the rule-breaker, my Lochaana. You’ll get proper training, of course, but this will be a lovely memento in the years to come.”
The younger girl clearly doesn’t find it to be the praise she was hoping for, but smiles, regardless. “I’ll work hard, I promise—I couldn’t hope to reach your level, Jaaya, but your work is so beautiful, I at least want to try.”
“Not that you’ll have to work at all, love,” says Jaaya, in a doting tone of voice. “But you’ll have everything you could possibly want.”
The scene changes, slightly; time seems to have passed. The works in the room are slightly different, and benches have been moved. Jaaya is there, alone, working, painting delicate swirls onto a large glass orb hanging from a wire.
Then the door slams open; Lochaana is there, rage on her face, her hair messily cut off above shoulder-length. A smudge of soot is streaked across one of her cheeks, and in one of her hands she holds the orb she’d painted herself. “So you’re just going to do nothing,” she says, bile in her voice.
“What is there to do?” asks Jaaya, not breaking from her work. “Business will continue. Perhaps better; the Aakbar was a fool, not to see the opportunities, after all. It’s probably for the best. After all, what will change about your life?”
Lochaana recoils as if stung, and then grits her teeth, scowling. “That’s it, then,” she says. “That’s it. I want a divorce,” she says, and then hurls her own orb against Jaaya’s work.
It’s all very delicate; both explode in a shower of glittering shards, and Jaaya has to shield her face with her apron.
“So that’s what it takes to get you to react,” says Lochaana, and then turns on the ball of her foot and storms out.
—and then the scene fades, and you're alone with the dust and the broken pieces. ]
[ you bring the pieces over to the bin, in the back—though, most of the artworks shoved back here are whole, just... a bit amateurish. like someone was a bit embarrassed of them. ]
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Re: THE STUDIO
but actually, it does work to calm him down, having to be careful.
...
kneeling down to scoop up the broken pieces]
Re: THE STUDIO
again, it's like a scene, playing out in front of you.—and then the scene fades, and you're alone with the dust and the broken pieces. ]
Re: THE STUDIO
over... what, exactly? the whole Martian thing?
bringing the pieces over to the bin where the rest of them are, anyway.]
Re: THE STUDIO
Re: THE STUDIO
time to dig those ones out.
clearly the only rubbish is the ones that are broken. Duh, Paloma.]
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Re: THE STUDIO
there.
that definitely helps the bad feels]
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Re: THE STUDIO
... the hell is "pruugaa".
time to find an NPC to ask--time to go all the way back to the ballroom]
Re: THE STUDIO