Welcome to Gaia! ::

While in days of old it may have been Games of banners and heraldry and Thrones, and usually she enjoyed the challenge and panache of cajoling or offending the masses, this party was just.....dull.

Not awful, hateful, with bigots spewing sewage out their pie holes and flaunting their money like tails of peacocks. That at least would mean something was happening- offensive discourse was still something. This gala, full of people in this or that black tie bore or regular little black dress, was the definition of banality. The investors were just milling, not taking in the art or even looking to understand it, not talking about anything except generic pleasantries and flattery.

Being nothing was a worse insult that being bad. She shifted the collar of her Gareth Pugh, and crossed the granite inlay of the Hyeholde Manse ballroom to look at a found art installation that looked to have a vision in some of its angles and welding. She grabbed a glass of champagne brusquely off a tray as she passed- she needed something to dull her edges or someone was going to get it for this travesty. This was supposed to be about Art- art in physical and the art of converse.

She heard a snide remark from somewhere near, and looked around for the source- a put together little yachtman who she thought she'd seen here or there but never had attached specifically to any impressions. Following through the nearby corpses to find who was the offending party she gave a short snort of amuse.

Then decided it was time to make a point of acquaintance. If the kid was bold enough to just say something, even under his breath, then he was worth a salary of salt. It wasn't far, just one 'piece' between their respective bastions to make solidarity and she crossed it, "Use, don't marinade? We can't all be culinary masters of the flesh."

"You're being good," She tipped her own glass and tinked the edge off his water like a toast.

"So you're working off the angle that it matters what they do or do not know as opposed to what they would or would not accept? Parties like this are about privileges. Did you know two-thirds of states in the U.S. permit people under the age of twenty-one to drink alcohol within given guidelines? Such as under the supervision of guardians. If your parents are here, then you can get yourself a drink. Certainly takes the edge off from a lot of- " Stroud waved a had vaguely at the rest of the room.

"Some of it has glimmers of potential. The overall affair is bad managed and poor presentation. There's no theme and nothing bringing together the pieces - installation, sculpture found art, watercolours...too many media with the only thing being in common that their investors all know each other. "

"But to know art you have to develop an eye like Lorenzo de' Medici, probably one of the greatest patrons of all time. Something of a truffle-pig for talent. " She looked over the painting they were ostensibly looking at, motioning with broad gestures at the zones of colour, "If you squint your eyes to blur your vision, you can see layout of the colour and value design. Which is to say in this piece...none. But the rhythm of the darks against the lights? They've got a beginning grasp on that. Nothing I'd put up in a show. That installation over there has some nice arches of movement and negative spaces, That sculpture is trash...I can't find anything kind to say. "

"I guess for tonight, instead of pulling diamonds out of the rough, its more like pennies out of s**t."

"What stoic has the fortitude to live as though he were immortal every moment? If he's here, than what is preventing you? If you found something you 'liked'? You can't know if you don't even try, which means you aren't looking very hard. Trade me." She offered out her class to him with a nouveau flair to the line of her arm, eyes smiling over a Sphinx's lips.

"You're limiting yourself, there, in that stance that art can only be in terms of lessons of shapes and colour and learning provided by teachers or assuming I myself define it only by those means. Those are just the easiest means in the pigeonhole presented by museums."

" Art is life. It's breathing. Its taking any act and pushing the doing of it to a level so sublime, that others can feel the energy of the act....can taste the effort and the reward like the sense of coming rain. And they want it. They want to be it, do it, understand it. That is the real learning and the real teacher. The real art. Any craft can be elevated, and act intensified. Olympians are artists of their sports, Musicians of sound, Politicians of bullshit. These things are not separate and not mutually exclusive. "

"It is the level of expertise. "
"And...it lacks here. Everything. The words, the stances, the stuff around the room, the people the whole thing. Its poison. "

"Do you want to blow this joint? I have a thirty-four outside. Do you know how to drive stick?"

"It's supposedly a Champagne Krug Vintage Brut from 1988. But honestly....champagne all tastes a little bit like liquified Avon plastic with carbonation, to me. But certainly a taste experience. " She didn't bother drinking the water, just help out the glass and then turned it upside down so that the liquid plashed onto the floor. "Oops."

She widened eyes and smiled at the boy. "Marinus. You can call me Stroud. "

She took his offer hand firmly, "Lets see.....Evans.....Daaavid? I think I've chatted him up once or twice donkey's years ago when I was first clutching my degree. You're already miles ahead in interest. Your words will bring others to you, never abandon them."

Stroud started for the door, debating for a moment to keep his hand or not but finally gave it back to him as they went. "No time like the present. You can watch what I do on the way out and drive when I have to get you back here or home. Men are naturals at 'driving sticks', I promise. Ford made machines simple, efficient and to last back in 1934."

" I happen to know that since the summer sessions at the college are pretty much at mid term that there's an Art All Night sidewalk exhibition in Saundersville district a neighborhood away. Have you been to an Art All Night? Any artist, professional or amateur can bring a piece of work to show it at the event...register first of course. Its run by all-volunteer crews, so its a love-labour which automatically makes it less like practicing for a coma. There's live performance art and music, jungle punch and spiced cider refreshment, interactive art to play in, you name it. Covers both sidewalks of about four blocks, runs 4pm to 4am. There's also coffee shops with live music, or if you had some other suggestions for something stimulating I'm all ears. "

She brooked no arguments or surprise from the other gala goers, taking her key off the valet rack and walking out the front without missing a step. She pointed out her tan and olive coupe, ducked in, and unlocked the door from the inside for him to climb in. No power locks, GPS or power anything in the classic interior. There weren't even side mirrors-just the rearview. Thankfully it did have seatbelts, despite their not being a standard issue of the period. "Let's paint the town red."

"Art Conservation and Restoration, broad spectrum though I tend to specialize in furniture pieces. It's a wide enough field that it can keep me interested wherever I branch- metals, stone, ceramics, textiles, paintings, chemical sciences, archeological preservation, preventative care, cleaning and general history knowledge. You have to be able to identify what you're looking at, how its been damaged, how to repair it, how to prevent damage. It can branch into being able to spot fakes. "

"Hence the car, the furniture at my pad, the estate auctions- I'd rather own something that was built to last hundreds of years, that artisans poured their vision and craft into, than something from Walmart. It lets me work with a lot of different people as well. Down home bumpkins who inherited grandma's 1900s singer sewing machine and want it to work again and old money rich girls that want their boudoir stocked with a refinished vanity from Prussia. "

"Alright. That's the tachometer, it shows you how many revolutions per minute the engine’s crank shaft is going. Its is a good way to help you determine when you should shift up or down. Those pedals? Clutch, brake, gas. Left foot clutch and right foot brake and gas pedal. " She started up the engine, leaning back so that he could clearly see the sequence as she shifted and got them the couple blocks to their destination. The streets weren't teeming, but they were well represented with all walks, and everyone looked bustling and engaged and amiably ambling through the art. The music was homage swing floating- a live brass ensemble of guys who looked over 40s which meant they really knew how to improvise and play with their tunes- no sheet music, all mental and instinct. Stroud rolled down the window a moment, closing her eyes and letting it roll over her.

"We left the tomb to find the light, Alexandre. We might be overdressed, but we can make due. I should have brought a change. If they've got T-shirts, an XL could make something like one of those hoopyfrood dresses at urban outfitters. Are you wearing a belt?" She unabashedly checked out his pants, waist and lap.

"You're looking for a textbook answer, and like life...the truth is you just have to feel it. Guidelines are good though. Good questions. Shift gears up when the tachometer is around “3” or 3,000 RPMs; shift down when the tachometer is around “1″ or 1,000 RPMs. Each engine is different though, so there's give either way. The other important thing is not to 'ride' the clutch. Just leaving your foot on there, even though it isn't enough pressure to fully disengage, is enough to partially do it. And that causes premature wear on the clutch. " She took a moment and locked eyes, "But do not worry about that. I'm serious. I can repair this baby, and learning always means a few bumps and bruises for someone or something. I used to stall out at every damn stop sign. If you let fear get in the way, you increase your chances of not doing it right a lot instead of a little, statistical truth."

" This is all fun. Learning. Adventure. New things. Stagnation is death. Chaos, good news."

"There USED to be a screen printer who would bring his set up and do stuff onsight. Let's find out. I'll buy, if I can borrow your belt to keep the XL like a dress on my hips. Not that I'm going to die if people get an eyeful, but I'd rather not show off the fine china. "

She lightly tapped the pad of her pointer finger on the peak of ink, "Private places for private spaces? I'm jealous of whomever gets to see that one. Looooks like some clean lines, though. Local ?"

"I've some ink down my back and side to my haunch. Usually covered. Some things are private meditations or celebrations. Badges, scars to remind us of lessons. Points to mark the path for our own ley energy, " she paused a moment, thoughtful. "If I wax too new age, just hit me when it gets too deep for you. Or feel free to offer banter. Like if I were wearing jeans, I'd definitely be wearing a belt. I have a whole drawer full of buckles. Perfect accessory. "

She got up and out, not bothering with locking the doors. It as a distinctive vehicle, and there were better targets around that had money in electronics. And the whole standard versus automatic deterrent. She held out her hand back to him, ready to trot (heels or not) into the fray of sights and sounds.

"It's a V8, 4 gears plus reverse. does well over ninety if you need it to. And the parts are actually *very* easy to find. Not always antique parts but that's perfectly fine. They're poplar, so companies discovered they could sell the '34 as a kit-car for hobbyists to build in their own garages. "

"18...well, I guess at least you're legal, " but she winked so as to assure him that it was a joke. "The only thing saying travel or adventures of ye olde imperialism are impossible its you. There's still much of this planet very old -world. Try going to Romania sometime. " She happily accepted the belt. "Another time? This dress has a zipper, and I need to be out of it to make a dress of a t-shirt. That means you get to be my honorary unzipper. The ink will be fairly obvious. once the wrapping is removed for a moment. "

She didn't give an obvious, direct answer, but led on to the street. As they passed into the mini festival their senses were immediately treated- a giant sandbox had been built for sand sculpting where some were finishing their designs and other starting, aisles set up to display mixed media of all kinds on flat canvas and Masonite, set ups for mask making, shadow puppets being made and improv plays being given with new ones behind a shadowbox screen.

Sure enough, there was a dreadlocked, hipster looking fellow jamming to some dubsteb while he cut plastic lith patterns ready to make another batch of shirts. The previous 5 patterns were in their wooden frames and on display in case enough people wanted a run of something from before. Stroud pointed out a brilliant green, graphic lion eating a bleeding sun, "Look at THAT. Its from Alchemy I think. On a dark steel shirt it would have scintillation and pop. Which do you like?"