entrancelogs | [open] Space is Cold

Entry tags:

[open] Space is Cold

Who: Leonard and YOU
Where: The Citadel
When: all through the event
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Len does all right in space, mostly by doing wrong
The Story:

1. Space Bar

A bar is a bar is a bar. Leonard doesn't find anything drastically different about this place, except for the aliens and the ice seemingly not melting, which has his attention more than the actual drink. He stands a bit apart from most of what's going on, leaning against the wall by a table and watching no one in particular.

Although, if someone comes in at the right - or wrong - time, they may find him sending cold looks edging on outright glares in the direction of his partner, who's probably having a bit too good a time, at least in Leonard's opinion.

2. Space Museum

What came first, the stealing or the art appreciation? In Leonard's case - having been born into a criminal family - it was the stealing. These days, however? It's genuine appreciating for its own sake too. He looks at the building from the outside first, appreciating the architecture but, of course, also casing the joint. Force of habit or actually leading up to something, it's anyone's guess.

Later he can be found inside, both appreciating the exhibition and inspecting the alarm system and other safety measures, a connoisseur of both art and art theft. He's subtle enough about the latter, but someone in a similar business or otherwise experienced may be able to pick up on it.

Space Wild Card

[Come at me with whatever you want! Contact via PM or at

reineke, in case you want to plot.

NOTE: I'll be on hiatus from the 5th to the 20th of April, so tags will be slow to non-existent during that time.]

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[Of course he meant the pun.]

Yeah, they do. But I know Mick. That's supposed to be my part in this.

Knowing things. Anticipating.

[But of course that's a downward spiral and as much as he's tied up with his own issues, he doesn't want to make their's worse. Ideally, he'd want to help. He just doubts he can.]

Things happen. Sometimes it's no one's fault.

[It's harder, when it's no one's fault. Harder for someone with a SOUL yellow-bright, who needs something or someone to take the fall, to be blamed, to be culpable. What happens when there isn't? The world keeps turning, and no one learns from it.

That's the theory, anyway.]

You can't see that far ahead. You're not an anomaly.

[You can leave the seeing things ahead of time to Frisk. That's what they're good at.]

I ain't normal either, kid. [Yet he smiles a little, slight shake of his head. Of course that'd be taken more literally than intended. But he supposes that goes to show how deep his double-standard from himself runs here.]

You ever tried to do anything like this? [With a move of his hand, he indicates the museum around them.] Art.

[No one around here is normal. That might just be part of the charm of Wonderland - drawing in people who fall outside the parameters of what might be considered ordinary, and dropping them all into one contained space. It's commentary that feels superfluous in its obviousness.

Instead, they glance at the various pieces on display.]

I can draw, [they venture dubiously.] But I don't think anyone would put it in a museum.

Yeah? That's where you're wrong. I'm anyone.

[He also now pats himself down until he finds a receipt he's pocketed before. Crouching down he puts it on the ground, runs his hand over it a couple of times, then gets a pen out of his pocket and holds it out to Frisk.]

Come be creative. Let's see what we can do.

[This museum has a lot of stuff, he's sure they can make that work for them.]

[He's anyone. He gives them a receipt and a pen and simply says that they could be creative. It prompts the furtive glance around and behind them, as though expecting someone to intervene, roughly, and inform them that this must be outside the museum's regulations.

It never comes, so they simply drop to the ground, cross-legged, smoothing out the corners of the paper with the press of edges into alignment, and start to draw.

It's not especially remarkable; they default to what they know best. It's a simple flower, sprouting from the white void of the paper with a scribbled tuft of grass spritzed out at its base.

But they seem proud of it, sitting back on their heels after something like ten minutes of hard work. Ten minutes isn't the best possible window to crank out a masterpiece, but it's all they could scrape together on short notice, they think.]

[He stands less guard and more just stands there and acts as if nothing out of the ordinary is going on. They're a small kid, all in all, even anyone taking notice doesn't think much of it.

Once they appear to be done, he looks down at their work, letting out a low whistle.]

Now this? If that ain't museum worthy, I don't know what is.

[That said he holds his hand out.]

May I?

[They offer it out with only a moment's hesitation. He can't be...he can't really mean it, can he? He's being nice. It's so small, and simple, and it's a quintessential child's picture, and nothing more.

But he sounds happy to say it, so they hand it to him, and smile.]

...really?

Really.

[He smiles back at them and it's a genuine smile, softer than the usual smirks and the twitching of lips. He can't really help it, in face of their smile.

But there's other things to focus on. He gestures for them to walk along, hanging back just a step or two. One of the sculptures they pass by is barely recognisable as anything and it's there that Leonard sticks their wonderful picture, on the wall behind it, bypassing any security measures. Walking a few more steps he catches on to them and turns, looking back over his shoulder.]

Look, your work's in a museum.

[Not only that, but only seconds later an elderly couple stops in front of the sculpture, but ends up mostly gesturing to the picture Frisk has drawn, throwing around words like "simplicity", "duality" and other things to come across as fancy.

Leonard keeps his voice down, whispering now that they're conspiring.]

How does it feel, being an artist?

[Their work's in a museum.

It doesn't seem appropriate - a hastily-drawn flower on the back of a receipt, scribbled there in pen and hung up on the wall behind a mishmashed looking sculpture whose meaning they can't really define.

It's nice of him, but they don't expect people to actually stop and look at it. One of them says something like "minimalist," and that means...simple but cool, maybe?

They consider it for a moment, almost nervously.]

Should it...have a name?

Do you want it to have a name?

[Because at this point, he does't think that's a stretch.]

Seems like it should have one, to be proper art. You got one?

[He's already looking for another piece of paper so he can figure out how to best add that to the arrangement.]

Um...

[They hadn't thought it needed one. But if people are going to stop and look at it, maybe it'd be best if it did. To complete the...look. The minimalist look.

Yeah.

It doesn't take long to think of something. Maybe a little too abstract, but rife with a personal meaning, and even a small, sad smile.]

"Little Goodbye."

[Leonard nods and starts writing, doing his best to make it look intentional and professional, even though he's scribbling on the back of a receipt he's holding in his hand. Still, he manages and shows the sign off to them.

"Little Goodbye"
by Frisk

Simple, partly because he doesn't know what year it is.]

Approved?

[They consider it for a moment, a simple title and a name that could very easily be an artist's pseudonym. It doesn't take long for their smile to crack into something genuine, and they nod.]

Thank you.

No need to thank me. You're the artist.

[That said he walks back over to the now proudly displayed piece of art and sticks the sign next to it, hands casually in his pockets as he returns to their side.]

Now we just gotta hope that in space, bubble gum is just as difficult to get off walls.

[Since that is what he used to stick the papers there. With a smirk he offers her a stick of gum.]

So, how does it feel, having your art up in a museum?

[They never would have put it up there without his encouragement. The mechanism by which he stuck the impromptu art to the wall is abruptly clear, and they have to bite back a smile to match his.]

Like I can...draw a crowd.

[Ba dum tsh.]

[He starts chewing another stick of gum, just in case they come across something else they want to stick up on the wall.

Their joke nets them a smile and he even chuckles.]

Oh, definitely. We should do something with that back in the mansion some time.

With your art, not your puns. Although there's an art to that too.

[Hey, he appreciates their talent.]

[Of course there's an art to their puns. Wordplay is a very complicated and profound thing to master, and they learned from the very best.]

Frame them in the Second Gallery, you mean?

[This world is a fleeting recreation of one that doesn't really...matter in the end at all, does it? It's like he's stealing out of habit. But the Second Gallery is part of Wonderland. Of home.]

After this is over, when we both got a free moment, I'll hit you up and we'll give that gallery something worth stealing.

[It's a plan. He doesn't yet know that he'll be gone from Wonderland for three weeks and that soon after things will go very awry, but eventually, after all that, he'll remember that promise.]

[It's a bit counter-intuitive, framing it like that. Framing it like it's something worth stealing, rather than something worth just keeping there. But they find they don't mind it so much, really. It's funny, in a way.

It's not a promise, but they smile anyway.]

Okay.

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[open] Space is Cold

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