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"Well, not the whole thing -- they usually tear it in half," Kyouya pointed out. He was still a touch damp -- the rain had managed to semi-soak his overcoat and the edges of his blazer were damp. At least the museum was pleasantly warm. "Thank you for purchasing the ticket; that wasn't necessary, especially given that I invited you. I appreciate it."

He glanced at the brochure, then around the museum, seeking the entrance for the exhibit.

"Mm." It was, perhaps, a touch of a concession, hidden under that deliberately noncommittal monosyllable -- that was subtly cut off as his eyes fell on the first sculpture.

To his eyes, it looked shockingly familiar, though it wouldn't to anyone else; perhaps just a representation of how art meant different things to different people. "Impressive," he said coolly, as he paced the length of it, closing in to examine the way it was crafted, as well as stepping back to take it at full length. "The motion in it is really very vibrant, especially as it's done without the assistance of color."

There was a pause, as the third son of the Ootori family had another sense of dejá vu, which was rather intimately tied to the previous one. That sensation promptly got boxed -- or would have been, if he could have found a box large enough.

"I'll admit that the idea of music hadn't occurred to me, though it makes sense now that you mention it." Kyouya very carefully readjusted his glasses. "It does resemble flowers, though, doesn't it?" A small gesture of his hand indicated the sweep that the imaginary brush would have taken. "Very expressive; I see why you were saying the art was good. I hope the other pieces are equally impressive."

Preferably more so; perhaps he could push that uncomfortable sensation of somehow being unwittingly read from his mind.

Well, Kyouya supposed at least one round of piles of trash was to be expected -- though at least these piles were more than just piles, and had actually been manipulated. Still, he had no regrets about being hurried along, although there was the usual mild surprise and slightly-uncomfortable feeling at the familiarity when she'd grabbed his hand.

That feeling evaporated as she brought him to the glass -- he was immediately absorbed by the multiple layers of textures, motion, and representation -- this piece evoked so many ideas at once, to him. "Fascinating," he murmured softly, taking it in from all angles. "What do you see?"

"Koi, yes -- though I'd been thinking upstream and downstream ... and the colored sections mind me of shrimp, as well, splashing in the water." He followed the lower contour line. "And they remind me of ... yes, dancing, but not a woman ..." He sought for the right word. "That American flute-god?" The name escaped him, though the symbol was iconic enough to have earned a spot in that steel-trap mind.

"And DNA." The last was said with a smile. "The structure," he gestured to the clear side, "and the variability," he pointed at the colored. "So much life expressed just in silicon and a few other chemicals."

"Yes, thank you, that's what I meant. Not one, though. Two." Kyouya tracked the line of the lower clear curve. "See, the head and the humpbacked body, and the colored glass is the flute. The other is inverted above."

He'd been absent for the spin-the-bottle moment, so the odd spaces in her knowledge weren't immediately obvious. Besides, she clearly liked things of beauty (he certainly had enough text messages to prove that), so it made sense she would know. "Really, this is a lovely piece." He noted the name of the artist for future reference ... and perhaps investment.

Not only did he have six pictures of eligible granddaughters, he had five new names to file away later that evening, and a reacquaintance with the mother of one of his father's business partners. Kyouya made a point of carefully and thoughtfully answering all of the Red Hat Society's questions, and inquiring after their own families and their art preferences as well, that cool Ootori charm turned up to its polite best. A very profitable and useful few minutes, he thought.

It was, therefore, only when the last of them had bid him farewell that he turned to look at the last sculpture. The Red Hats had already viewed it, some with some contempt for the nudity, others waxing elegant about the power it gave to the feminine role. Thus forewarned with their assumptions, he paused to view it from across the room, attempting to take it in whole and unbiased, before moving to join Shiny at one of the benches nearby it.

He was not sure he'd ever seen quite that contemplative a look on her face, so he said nothing, but simply waited. Perhaps he thought it would be undiplomatic to interrupt her thoughts, or perhaps it was a moment to read her expression further.