2010-02-09: FB: Good As New



Date Set: June 2nd, 2009


The thief comes to scope, the reporter comes to write. Are both true?

Nine Months Ago…

"Good As New"

The Frick Collection, NY

There's an excitable air outside the Oval Room at the The Frick Collection this morning as it prepares to open its door for the first time on the newly set-up Whistler display. It's been twenty years since these pieces were all brought together and, while a few other prints scatter the adjourning walls, it's really those waiting inside the other room that feel most spectacular. For that reason, a vague crowd has begun to form around the door as people are gradually allowed into the building for opening hours and they try to make their way towards the inner room as subtlety as possible. By a few minutes past, there's quite a group mingling, starting up light conversations with each other as they fan themselves with copies of the museum program.

All alone in a crowd that averages somewhat older than her, the short blonde already stands out with her bright blonde hair and her loose black cargo pants. She looks a bit more like she got lost on a band bus tour and turned up here instead. But, no, Daphne's exactly where she wants to be. Scoping out one of her favorite new haunts to see if anything just so happens to catch her eye. Not that… you know, she's into stealing anymore. Or anything.

In said mingling room, dressed in bright red dress and carrying a small purse over her shoulder, is Sierra Leblanc. While she's dressed for such an occasion, she is much younger than most of the crowd as well. Perhaps it is for this reason, as she mills around the room, she finds herself drawn toward one who is more closer to her age, if not just a tad bit older. She smiles at blonde haired woman as she approaches. "Bonjour. Are you here to see the new exhibit as well?" If that's not usually obvious in places and at times like this.

Daphne's been working at trying to get a glimpse at the oval room door because, come on, they're taking forever — and someone thought to place two towering men in front of her. So the fact that she's being addressed goes briefly unnoticed. Then she pauses in her antics, glances over her shoulder, and then rounds the look back at the woman in the red dress. "Bonjour, huh?" She returns, a bit rhetorically. After a second of tilting her head, she summons enough common courtesy to tack on, "Oh, yeah. The exhibit. I didn't wander in off the streets, if that's what you're thinking." Well, she is in that nice dress.

Sierra chuckles softly, shaking her head. "Oui, Bonjour. It's how people say hello in French." She says, cheekily with a little wink. "I didn't think you just wandered off the street. I just thought…you know…you seem closer to my age than some of these old hogeys who come to these events, so I thought maybe I should strike up a conversation or two. Besides, all those older men seem to like to look a little south of my face, if you know what I mean. It gets a bit disconcerting after a while."

"I know that much French," Daphne defends, irritation bringing her eyebrows together until the use of the word 'hogeys' forces them apart and up. After that, the thief's expression only lightens further. "Yeah, well, the world's full of creepers," she informs the other woman helpfully, "You just gotta show 'em who's boss." Between their two ways of speech, it's hard to tell that the short blonde is really the older. She wrinkles her nose a bit at the other's outfit, "Of course, you wear something shiny, you invite the drool. What are you, a representative of something?"

Sierra smiles widely. "Oh, mon cherie, if only the world weren't full of creepers. Beautiful young women like us wouldn't have to worry as much, would we?" She says, grinning widely. "Well, I try and show them who's boss, as you say, but it's hard sometimes." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She grins and looks down at her dress. "Yes, well…if I'm gonna look good, I might as well be sparkly. After all…it does occasionally have it's benefits." She shrugs. "I'm a writer for a small newspaper."

Daphne's gaze dips skeptically to her own t-shirt and cargos when she's lumped in as a 'beautiful woman' but she doesn't press the issue. "Yeah," she agrees idly of the benefits, "I guess you can get them to beg…" The matter is briefly interrupted when a hard-pressed but dignified museum worker nudges his way through the crowd to the door. Those in the front stir, causing a ripple effect along the crowd until everyone's waiting to hear that turn of the key. As soon as it clicks, the doors are open and everyone files inside at a faux-polite pace. The Oval Room is expansive, plenty of room for all, and with healthy breathing room between each of its displayed, floor-length Whistler portraits. On the directly opposite side, between two grand wooden pillars, is a smaller but no less evocative seascape.

Abandoning conversation for worldly interest, Daphne ducks her way past everyone else until she's near a bench at the center of the oval. Here she can speculate over the collection in its entirety… the portraits are rather big… the seascape maybe not her style… Absently, she glances back to see if the reporter in the red dress has followed her.

Sierra smiles a little. "If you can get a man to beg, mon cherie, you can get him to do just about anything, oui?" She chuckles and looks up as the doors fling open and the crowd files in through the doors. For a short little bit, she follows Daphne in through the doors. Soon, however, she breaks off to look at all the different pieces of art by themselves, taking out a pad and pen. She starts to take notes on the artworks and on the various people she sees here. She talks with a few people, getting to know who they are and what brought them here, getting so she can put names in her article. Finally she makes her way back to where she sees Daphne sitting. "Do you not want to walk around to see it all?"

At the point where Sierra arrives, Daphne's gotten herself a brochure — someone else's brochure, but we don't need to go into that. Skimming the titles, she spares a lifted gaze to the reporter before going back to her reading. "Oh, I saw it all," she dismisses easily, thumbing a section of the writing, "A piece of maiolica in September… this place never gets maiolica…" The observation is clearly to herself, though out loud. It's not until she raises her head after this that she clearly is addressing Sierra; she's also giving her the eye. "So what'd all the creepers have to say for themselves?"

Sierra tilts her head a little. "You have? Well, you must've been walking around while I was talking to someone." She smiles a little. "I'm Sierra, by the way. Sierra LeBlanc." She says happily. "Oh, you know…they said things like if I was a fan of art I should come to their places because they've got plenty of art on their walls and so on and so forth and blah blah blah. All that drab stuff." She says with a non-chalant shrug. "Might I have a seat?" She asks, pointing next to Daphne on the bench.

"Yuuup," Daphne chirps readily, crossing one leg high over the other and regarding the milling, boring conversing patrons. There's a brief, slightly narrow-eyed examination of this 'Sierra LeBlanc' before the other woman supplies, "Daphne." Which is good enough for first and last name— some people would do a lot to get this name. Or get it back. "It's not mine," she shrugs in offering as to Sierra sitting down, then she rocks her upper leg idly. "Really? That's what they said? Did they know you were reporting and not trying to pick up a quickie?"

Sierra smiles a little. "Daphne. What a magnifique name!" She says, kindly. Sitting down beside Daphne, she tilts her head. "Well, mon cherie, they didn't seem to care what I was doing. In fact, some tried the excuse that I could write about the art they have at their places." She rolls her eyes. "I swear…my boss tells me to dress nice, so I do. But really, some of these guys are overkill!" She chuckles softly.

Daphne's eyebrows dart up at the compliment and chuckles lightly, relaxing out her shoulders as she sits back. "Yeah, I do kinda like it…" Tilting her head to the side for full effect, she pins Sierra with her driest look. "Dude. Is your boss a guy. Cause… that'd explain it really fast. Also, wow, you are, like, really French, mon cherie."

"Well…I'll say this for moi boss…he treats me nicely." Sierra says with a sly grin. "But no, it's his boss that told me to dress nice. A woman. Wanted to give a 'good impression of the Queens Gazette'." She shrugs. "I chose out the dress, though." A quiet chuckle emits from her lips. "I am French Canadian. Just…un petite peu bit different from France French."

"Yeah, well, you're still speaking half a language I still haven't bothered to pick up after… you know, so many years." A fading point in Daphne's smirk causes her to glance the other way. She slaps the brochure in her hand idly against her leg. "So, what's the opinion, then, huh? What's 'The Queen's Gazette' gonna say about a twenty year Whistler reunion?"

Sierra shrugs. "Force of habit, mon cherie. I can be a lot worse. Especially after having spoken to friends or family back home. Then I often flow fluidly between the two languages, speak much more French than I am now, with a few scattered words here and there." She smiles. "Well, besides all the works of art seemingly flawless after all this time? You'll have to pick up the paper to find out."

"Oh, slick!" Daphne lets out another chuckle at the salespitch answer. Another boisterous bounce of her leg actually gets her right to her feet. "Yeah, art's pretty incredible, sticking around… only one of its kind after all this time… guess you can see why it'd be so valuable." She sweeps the gallery with another contemplative gaze, an almost possessive air. Then back to Sierra. "Buuut seen this. Onto the next. That's the life, right?"

Sierra grins widely. "Gotta be paid some how, don't I?" She chuckles, looking up at Daphne as she stands. "Oui, I suppose you have a point." She says softly. "We must always move onto the next thing, for there is always something new to see, oui?" She nods. "But, unfortunately, sometimes what we think is new is really something we've seen before, but in disguise."

Daphne considers this one for a while — or, at least, a while in her terms — shifting her weight to let a hand rest under her chin. Thought over, she shakes her head, "Better that than sit in the same place. And, anyway, if it's in a disguise you've never seen before, sounds to me like you're still getting your money's worth of new." Ha! Her eyebrows jump for a quick triumphant expression then, swift hand-wave of goodbye delivered, she strolls her way at a vaguely skipping pace towards the door. As it turns out, the pace is preemptive — as soon as she gets beyond the gallery, she shoots off at her usual speed.

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