Renz walked through the automatic doors and into the art dealership. After a look around, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. “All of the art here… it’s terrible… How has this place not gone bankrupt?”
“What are you talking about? This stuff is great, you’re just looking at it wrong.” Ardjia skipped over toward Renz. Normally, Conmer’s stubborn engineer would’ve just ended the conversation right then and there. He didn’t tolerate excuses. Ardjia was Conmer’s sister though, and a mix of the only two species that made decent art. Though Homgen were still the best by a long shot. “See, look here… The usage of red is clearly meant to symbolize violence, and the black shadows that spread around are the death that grows from it.”
“Well, a metaphor is nothing but smug self satisfaction unless the creator can -”
“I’m not done yet.” Ardjia cut off Renz, then proceeded to ramble on for a solid fifteen minutes. “…and so, in conclusion, Derenili is clearly a master of the medium, and if you’d just taken the time to look deeper you would have realized that.”
“Well, I definitely see the painting in a new light now.” Renz tilted his head. “Though, the meaning is a bit too obfuscated for my tastes, and its aesthetics are unpleasant.”
Ardjia and Conmer burst into laughter.
“Ha! Conny, Conny. Bro! Where did you – Hee! Where did you find this mark?” Ardjia quickly pulled a strange theater mask out from her jacket and held it over her face to hide a rapidly growing smile. Pure white and made out of wood, it had no features aside from its eye holes – not even a mouth. “I mean, really, you took that seriously? I just pulled the whole thing outta my ass, man!”
“Oh, sister of mine!” Despite laughing so hard he was left gasping for breath, Conmer’s face was almost completely emotionless. “Your jokes really are quite crude, aren’t they?”
“Oh please, Conny. Your sense of humor is even lower than -” Ardjia fell into a second round of laughter. “Oh sweet fate! I’d forgotten how much you love your back-stab jokes!”
“…You know what? You guys can take your stupid, incomprehensible, rosearn sense of humor and cram it.” Renz started to storm out of the room, but was stopped halfway by his curiosity. “…Screw it. I wasn’t gonna ask, but I just can’t take not knowing anymore, and I really don’t feel like being polite to you asses right now: What the hell is up with that freaky mask?”
Then, suddenly, the laughter stopped, and the two rosearn siblings went deathly quiet.
A note from the
authorninja:For those wondering, “mark” is rosearn slang – derived from ancient criminal slang. (Or from our perspective, modern criminal slang.) Rather than its original meaning of “target or victim,” rosearn use it as a mild insult meaning “someone untrained in the art of subtlety.” That being said, the insult is far less mild when used on someone who is actually trained in the art of subtlety. To call a rosearn a mark is an outright deceleration of war, and you can expect to find nasty rumors about your private life circulating through your workplace before the week is over.
Oh, and just for fun – here’s all three uses of the word mark. (As slang, literal definitions are not included.) One, target or victim. “Get ready for the ambush, the mark will be here in less than a minute.” Two, someone actually untrained in the art of subtlety. “Well, you know how marks get about their stupid ‘honesty and trust’ – so of course he threw a hissy fit.” Three, hyperbolic accusation of being untrained in the art of subtlety. “Ha! That’s your plan, really!? Stupid mark.”