Our Reply To Violence

[Onley Xiangu]

Coruscant - Upper Levels​

Early Evening​

He had to admit, he cleaned up pretty good.

Onley wasn’t the type of guy to preen or spend too much time gelling his hair to perfection, but he could appreciate a nice suit. He didn’t get to wear them much due to career choice, but sometimes that very same profession meant he had to blend in. And blend he did. Impeccably tailored, he seemed almost at home among the rich and gullible filtering through one of many such regular art exhibitions on Coruscant. And maybe there was a part of him that could belong if some inkling of insanity ever captured him strongly enough to drive him to live among the top percentage. But for now he was content to simply know enough of art to scout the exhibition on behalf of his Mother. It wasn’t her request so much as his attempt to apologize. He’d sort of destroyed a priceless statue when he’d been practicing his dueling skills with Silas the other day…

It seemed however that he would find no legitimate replacement here. He had to stop his lip from curling as he stopped in front of yet another piece that was just ever...so slightly wrong. Reaching out casually, he plucked a drink off a busboy’s platter as he walked by and turned in contemplation to the massive painting on the wall.

He had to hand it to whomever had done it. The craftsmanship was impeccable. It made him wonder what such a talented artist was doing creating fakes - they could clearly produce some of their own masterful work. There was an eye for color and shape here that allowed for an almost perfect recreation. But there were subtleties - a limb twisting in the wrong direction, a shade of purple in the sunset just a half shade too dark - that made Onley look twice. He wasn’t even sure what he was looking at sometimes beyond a vague sense of ‘off’. Very good indeed.

Affecting his most accurate ‘interested for the right deal’ face, he filtered deeper in to the party.

[member="Arrik Parsa"]​

 

[Arrik Parsa]

Another night. Another venue. Another con.

A plastic smile equipped the proceedings were in full swing. The build to the sale. One needed at least a couple of hours to really absorb the artwork around them before making a purchase. Set the atmosphere, the mood, get people mingling before they were ready to spend their hard earned money on the finer things in life.

Part of the game.

Eyes barely grazed over sculptures and paintings, rather they were transfixed to trays of drinks, pompous champagnes, elderly whiskies and ridiculous liqueurs that only came in shades of amber and brown. With full glasses always placed in hands, those same eyes then turned to their peers, backhanded conversations driven by nothing more than competitive ego, that would eventually pitch prices higher and higher to deny the wants of each other. The real reason for the preamble.

They almost did all of the work for him. Yes, it was he who had set the scene, but when action was called Arrik Parsa became one with the background. A submissive, smiling face that observed, listened and occasionally fed an ego or two. He would even oblige the occasional question, usually from those who had spent fifteen minutes on the HoloNet before leaving, so they could seem as if they were in the know. Tragic. If they were real aficionados they wouldn't have been there. Strange how a Parsa event was always held on the same night as an actual artist exhibition, no? A purse was no use there. Not for sale.

Much like with the works of art themselves, if you looked closely enough and knew the subject matter at hand then you could see that something was off, just beneath the skin. A glimmer of complete loathing held within open and interested sapphires.

It's just business, after all.

---

[member="Onley Xiangu"]

 

[Onley Xiangu]

He was getting bored. Without any real business to attend to (imagine if he took one of these abominations to his mother, even as a joke) he was merely drifting through the crowd. Each of the self-important socialites drifting through the exhibition were far too boring to present any real opportunity for mischief. He was used to the underbelly where people spent their leisure time in more exciting ways. He hadn’t even seen anyone attractive to try and waste his time with.

At least, not until right that moment.

Drifting slowly through the room answering a few questions and looking completely benign was a man with a truly beautiful face. Graceful and somewhat feminine, he caught Onley’s eye immediately. Truly he wondered how he hadn’t seen him sooner. He couldn’t be sure if the man was a proprietor or simply a guest that found the exhibition rather as boring as Onley did, but either way he seemed more interesting than the rest of the crowd.

Moving over, slowly and indirectly, the half-Atrisian found himself at the stranger’s side. “So - how do you think they get away with it?” he asked by way of conversation, nodding his head towards the paintings closest to them. Leaning closer, tone conspiratorial and low: “The fakes, I mean.” His grin was small, devilish. He offered a hand to shake, the other in his pants pocket. “Onley Xiangu.” Once his mother had been Empress of Coruscant, and though the One Sith had dissolved his family still held sway over the city-planet in many circles. Whether or not this stranger knew the name mattered little to Onley. He made a habit of carving his own way in to the galaxy.

[member="Arrik Parsa"]​

 

[Arrik Parsa]

It wasn't very often that he was accused of forgery during these events.

The very purpose of hosting them on genuine exhibition nights was a measure taken to prevent this, but still it didn't completely rule the scenario out. From there it was a question of intent. Usually it was written upon their faces, intent to discredit when the price tag was too much, a mad form of haggling (but who would still pay for a fake) or just alcohol-soaked bullishness. Those were scenarios that Arrik could dance around with relative ease.

This one was different.

Head turned, counterfeit smile still equipped to face the man at his side. That same pleasant lie stayed affixed as that sly grin spoke of his forgeries. A hand. Then a name. Facade broke for a moment, a single eyebrow flexing curiosity given the connotations. Wouldn't have been impossible given the types that came here, but was it truth? Does it take one liar to know another?

“Very talented artists with very limited imaginations,” came the muted reply, an accompanying curve upon the edge of his lip giving way to an almost-smirk. He couldn't fathom this man by looking, not like the others. Sometimes pursuing the lie was absolute futility. The con artist's hand snaked forth, accepting the offer of a shake in admittance of the forgeries.

“Arrik Parsa, art dealer.”

---

[member="Onley Xiangu"]

 

[Onley Xiangu]

Onley wasn’t prone to foot-in-mouth syndrome, but if he was he might have been tempted to raise the limb right that moment. Of course that graceful creature would be the one orchestrating such dramatically bold rip-off’s. But Onley’s observation was just that - there was no hint of judgment in his statement, merely acknowledgement of a truth that he could respect considering his less than savory business endeavors thus far. The Atrisian turned his gaze back to the crowd milling about the masterful fakes as the handshake dropped, observing a show of faux expertise. Oh how he wished for the Underworld.

“If you were ever open to the idea, I know a particular set of morons who would pay even more than this particular set of morons for fine art,” he said, thinking of every crime boss looking to make their lair impressive to their rivals. He’d worked for a lot of those, though as his personal power grew he left more of them behind. He didn’t believe in burning bridges however, and if he could connect two people for his own personal gain he was more than willing.

“Speaking of which, do you have anything real?” He really did want to get his Mother something to replace that which he’d so boorishly broken.

[member="Arrik Parsa"]​

 

[Arrik Parsa]

It seemed like a good judgement call.

The grin grew further, no longer just a shadow at the edge of his lips as one Onley Xiangu offered opportunity to make superior gains. Why did Arrik even pay for contacts? Worthless. He was doing a better job by himself. Needless to say, the swindler was indeed interested to such an idea. Eyes bigger than his stomach, so to speak.

“Of course I would be open, Sir.”

The Sir slipped out naturally. For all intents and purposes, Parsa was still at work, still playing a character, even if the mask had slipped slightly in the moment.

A small exhale left his nose in place of what might have been a mild chuckle. Did he have anything real? Of course not. Would he lie about it? Probably not for the best, he'd outed himself as a fraud upon the first sentence with this man.

“Would you even believe me if I did?” Arrik asked, an eyebrow larking upwards as he spoke.

---

[member="Onley Xiangu"]

 

[Onley Xiangu]

Well, it had been worth a try.

The ‘sir’ didn’t necessarily throw him off even if he felt like a wolf in sheep’s clothing among the milling masses present. That was typically how he was addressed, an honorific atypical of Sith but one he found much to his liking considering he wasn’t reminiscent of his breed in most ways. He let out a low chuckle, shrugging as his gaze returned to the crowd.

“Too bad. My Mother would pay even more than the morons for something real,” he mused, knowing he’d have to leave this shindig if he had any hope of making amends for his earlier recklessness. “I’ll have to be on my way, but expect me to get in touch, Arrik Parsa.” He shook the man’s hand one more time before disappearing in the wave of idiots flashing credits.

______________________​

Two Weeks Later…

RECIPIENT: [member="Arrik Parsa"]
SENDER: Onley Xiangu

Mr. Parsa -

I’ve spoken with the rich morons and they’d like to take a look at whatever fine pieces of art you have available. I’ve set up a location in which to display them. I would dress as gaudy as possible. And don’t bring obvious protection.

Please find coordinates attached.

- Onley XIangu

 

[Arrik Parsa]

For a moment Arrik simply stood and imagined the scenario of him selling a forgery to the former Empress of Coruscant. It was a thought that stroked his own ego beyond any decent and sane measurement. Could you imagine? Thankfully Parsa somewhat existed within the realms of reality, and knew that any such scenarios would have likely ended in his own death.

A pity, really.

---

Although Onley Xiangu had said that he would get in touch he hadn't been particularly hopeful of such happening. Not that it was a fault against the man, but in his world one phrase ruled hard over all: If it seems to good to be true, it probably is.

Then came a message.

That phrase still rang true in his mind, even in the change of circumstance. Although now given that there was the introduction of profit, greed began to cloud Arrik's own vision. Still, there was an edge. He had always sold the forgeries at his own behest. He dictated where, when and to some extent who. Now the ball was in another court, and to some degree he did not like it.

And don't bring obvious protection?

That was a sentence that made him nervous.

However it seemed so far that Xiangu was good for his word. It stroked his ego in that his gut feeling about the other man had been correct. He was different.

But how?

---

Gaudy was the specific dress-code.

Parsa had mentally retched approximately fifteen times upon donning his chosen suit. It was the type of clothes that inexplicably made it onto the runway, but were rarely ever seen in public. The kind of garments that smashball players without personal stylists wore to award ceremonies, only to get destroyed by the tabloids in the morning.

The suit itself was fine, a little loud for his taste in a rich royal blue. The shirt beneath however was an art nouveau nightmare of colourful, floral mayhem, as if a herbivore had vomited upon him after the buffet. Rounded sunglasses without legs were perched upon his nose, the lack of ergonomic design defying gravity as the reflective golden lenses at least hid the embarrassment in his eyes. It was all finished off with a chrono, which was bedazzled to a point where each gemstone indicated a increasingly smaller manhood.

If this was a set up to make him look like a complete trifle, then it was going to be a success.

Nevertheless, half of his job was swallowing pride and playing kiss-arse with the marks. Arrik would survive this. Then he would organise a prompt burning of this outfit.

The latest batch of forgeries had been boxed up and shipped to the given location, packed with all the care that would have been granted to genuine works. All new and varied pieces, from paintings, to busts, and even strange geometrical messes. Parsa never sold the same item twice. Any works not sold at the end of an evening was promptly destroyed. It helped in haggling, letting those who came frequently know that if they didn't buy it then and there, they would never get the chance. Brutal practises, but it wasn't his own labour that went into the creations, so the scammer had little care about doing it.

All he cared about was his ridiculous appearance, a harsh grimace appearing upon his face as he arrived at the coordinates, his customer service illusion completely dispelled by a cloud of nervous cigarra smoke.

---

[member="Onley Xiangu"]

 

[Onley Xiangu]

This had the potential to be one of the biggest deals Onley had ever pulled off. Drugs and guns had their profit to be sure, but one crate wasn't worth 500,000 credits - and furthermore he had to pay for the guns and drugs before he resold them. Ostensibly, the forgeries cost must less up front than they sold for. Truly, he could understand entering the business. He simply didn't appear the part of the art broker.

But he did look like the man to set up the deal between two parties.

He was waiting when Arrik arrived, dressed in a suit of his own. He didn't look quite so...couture. His suit was the usual dark black, sleek and tailored so that for once he looked like he might have been respectful. However just to keep in line with the scene the shirt beneath his jacket was a garish paisley swirl of reds and blues. He hated it and it clashed with the dark tattoos curling up his neck. But the credits would be worth it. As far as the buyers were concerned, Onley simply knew a much more connected man than himself and had convinced him to meet with the Idiots.

They were never called that to their faces, or course.

When Arrik exited his transport, Onley walked over to him hands in pockets like the night they met a few weeks prior. The Idiots were already inside waiting for this celebrated broker they’d been told about, anxiously milling around the crates in which the art had been lovingly and carefully transported.

“You look...great,” Onley said, suppressing a laugh by biting the inside of his cheek. “You’ll still look demure compared to these people though. Art fanatics out of Empress Teta. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

Within the warehouse a motley assortment of four men and one woman were standing around the crates as if they were trying to perform some ritual to get them to open. Onley’s men stood along the wall prepared to do whatever Arrik needed in terms of displaying the pieces they would attempt to sell today. They turned the moment they heard the door slide open to reveal Onley and the mystical art dealer. They hurried over - well, most of them. A Hutt came slithering up behind them, bowling the rest of the ridiculously dressed clientele out of the way with his bulk. Leaning forward, one monocle shoved in to the folds of hideous fat that threatened to close his amphibian eyes, the alien licked his lips before extending both hands to capture one of Arrik’s and shake it vigorously. His face was much too close when he spoke.

“So ree tah meetu. Mee am Bakka. Mee am tah stuka choy bougtu.”
(So pleased to meet you. I am Bakka. Very excited to see what you brought with you.)

[member="Arrik Parsa"]​

 

[Arrik Parsa]

An unamused thin line emerged in the place of Arrik's mouth as he was granted a compliment of sorts upon his appearance. Great. Great? More like a Sithmas tree ornament found in a bargain basement corner store. Absolutely ridiculous.

Another inhale of the cigarra for good measure, as if it really dissuaded the nerves and soothed the soul. Not so much. Opaque smoke billowed from his nostrils, the pleasant flavour of the cigarra hitting the back of his throat while he appeared to resemble the gaudiest of dragons.

“I'm getting a tailor for the future,” Parsa sulked, before throwing the remnants of the cigarra onto the ground at his feet, “I feel ridiculous.”

Before making their entrance, Arrik was sure to douse himself in a sickening layer of cologne. It wasn't a particularly charming smell. In fact, it was so floral that the pungent scent even overpowered the brightness of his garments. In the scam artist's own mind it was just as horrendous as his own outfit, but it all worked together.

It builds a character.

When they entered the warehouse there was no trace left of reluctant disgust upon Arrik's face. Instead his features were pursed, giving way to a pompous pout and lofty brows. It all seemed like such caricature when compared to his usual clientele, but he believed Xiangu enough to risk looking like a complete fool.

Blissfully, the golden lenses of his sunglasses allowed for Arrik to give the customers a good once over with his eyes. Judgement abounds. By the Force, Onley was right, he was demure in comparison. What these people wore looked like doodles made by two year olds who had been asked to design clothing lines.

A sneer was successfully stifled as the Hutt came so close to his face that Parsa was concerned that the cologne would burn his eyes. The creature's tongue almost touched his face. Absolute disgust radiated inside of the man. Was this a test? A joke? A hand was grabbed by two of amphibians own. Somehow they were both leathery and clammy. Retch.

He responded in kind with his own dainty, and over-the-top feminine grasp. This was how he was playing it. There was no going back.

“Enchanté,” Arrik responded, offering a small curtsey to the overbearing Hutt and the others. By the Force, if they saw through this...

...didn't bear thinking about, not right now.

“I can only imagine the anticipation that has been building while you have been waiting, mes amours,” the scammer said with his peculiar affected accent, clasping his hands together as if in prayer, head tilted downwards to offer a glance of his eyes beneath bedazzled spectacles, "so we shall waste no more time, hm?"

If he attempted to sound any more pompous he might have imploded, but there was no signs that the man would break character and quite like his forgeries, it was so close to perfectly believable. Only the keenest of eyes would see through it. Hopefully they were idiots as were promised.

“We must start with the piece by Oxters, I insist upon this. One cannot begin a meal with dessert after all, and the entire composure of the evening would be lost if we did not!"

Although the Hutt probably ate all of his courses at once, Parsa imagined.

This was the cue for Xiangu's men to unbox the first piece. A painting to start with. Supposedly by the Duros, Oxters three hundred and seven years ago but in reality by the human, Clive last week. A landscape piece. The skyline of Nar Shaddaa done in the style of bright, gaudy cubism. If their style of clothing was anything to go by, this would have been right up their street. Arrik could never understand why anybody would pay such extravagant fees for something seemingly crafted with such little skill, but then again, he just sold the things, he didn't even care for them.

Would they see through it?

---

[member="Onley Xiangu"]