2010-06-16: Victorious Theft



Date: June 16, 2010


An unveiling of a never before seen Picasso results in the unveiling of a never to be seen Picasso.

"Victorious Theft"


It's a warm evening in New York City. Spring has brought with it that delicious evening feeling complete with a cool breeze, a lovely (late-ish) dusk, and the lights of New York City. The Museum of Modern Art couldn't have asked for better weather for their spring Gala. The Gala is a yearly affair devoted to the study of pain. Different pieces reflect the same emotion; some sculptures, some photographs, others paintings. And one piece serves as the centrepiece for the gala.

The centrepiece always changes. The museum aims to unveil a never-before-seen-piece every year; something different and exciting. This year's piece has been relegated to its own room until the dinner is over.

Red headed Molly Zartan appreciates the art displayed as she slowly sinks to the back of the room as visitors inch towards the room where the centrepiece is kept. Slowly, carefully, she's moving towards the door with a champagne glass in hand. The glass itself has a lipstick imprint, but remains relatively full. Her lower cut black dress has sleeves, but no one would describe it as little as it falls to her knees. She backs up again, bumping into a patron and issuing them an apologetic, dimpled smile, "Excuse me. Just finding my way to the ladies room~" The words are virtually sung; she can lay it on thick.

Crass, Vasha narrows her eyes at the woman who just bumped into her and freezes for a moment. There is something wrong with her gait, something in the way she moves, the way she's dressed. Turning, the brunette offers a smile to the woman and places a hand on her shoulder. "Of course," her South African accent is laid thick at the moment. Tossing her head back to the old man she is with, she stops smiling long enough to give him a small sneer and an upward nod. "Sol, I am giffing this woman a tour to the ladies.. I shall return."

Her hand moves to touch Molly's elbow and grip it (if possible). "Madame, is looking for the ladies, it is right over this way." Her dusty rose colored gown shimmers in the light, the color matching a the chain on a champagne diamond pendant around her neck. Lowering her voice, her smile only increases to the size of a Cheshire cat's as she moves to murmur into the other woman's ear. "There is something in your dress, Madame…"

With the sun along the horizon falling, Christoph is nothing more then dressed normally. Feet stepping one in front of the other as random people would pass by waving, stopping to greet him(to which they were waved off with a smile) or just blatantly ignored. Oddly enough, it seems most people anywhere near the boy tended to lack aggressive tendencies. There were no cruel faces or angered shouts when the boy was near; that's for sure. As the younger japanese boy came to a stop on the otherside of a crosswalk to stare at the horizon between the buildings of NY; his eyes fell upon the sharp attires entering and leaving a specific building. Curiosity peaks as it tends to with him and his feet carried him forward.

Upon entering was a greeting much like he's used to. Hello sir, bla bla bla. He took note of something about required attire but waved it off with a quick hand; to which he was nodded at respectfully. As he entered the museum though a new sensation may cross any and all inside; the lack of anger. Any and all forms of aggression seemed to… evaporate. If one were close enough, they may feel a slight draw or pull to at the very least stare or glance repeatedly at Christoph; to this he was used to. The japanese boy's eyes were more marveling over the artwork of pain and expressions that he considered to be borderline insane.

"This.. This is new." he speaks aloud moreso to himself.

Lips flickering into a polite smile Molly raises a hand. "An escort won't be necessary. Just the direction will be fine. And darling~ the only thing in my dress is me. Unfortunately, I bat for a more conventional team." The smile and tone themselves are, in essence, easy. She slides away from the touch (just barely) and inches back again, but not to the ladies room and not really towards the door. It's towards Christoph even though it's not where she's shooting for; regardless, he really is closer to the door than the featured exhibit.

"You are moving in the opposite direction, Madame." Vasha's tone seems rather insistant, as does the hand that reaches out to feel… something under the dress that just isn't a part of the woman's anatomy. "Perhaps whatever it is you have taken might be best left before something happens, hmm?"

The brunettes eyes narrow rather dangerously and she reaches to a slit in the thigh of her dress. Gripping the hilt of a small knife she mentally reviews her next few courses of action before her attention is caught by a black haired young Asian man. "Guards, this woman… has…" Her voice drifts off and she smiles toward the Asian boy for a moment.

Christoph smiles gently as his eyes overtake the people gathered about. They all seemed so interested in something so obsurd and bordline insane.. To be a victim of art is to be a victim of an alternate reality almost; It would only be a matter of time before someone takes what they see and applies it to what they know. "Fasci—"

Christoph cuts off as his eyes trail when a woman begans to get aggressive; interestingly she stopped, but for her to even begin was amazing to him. His eyes flowed to the victim or criminal, whichever the case may be, and smiles. "Excuse me ladies, would you two have a moment to talk?" he asks politely, eyeing what the aggressor was aiming for. "It seems there's a.. misunderstanding of sorts. I'm sure we can all just smile and talk peacefully about anything that seems.. amiss." the japanese's english was fluent and elegant in his own light accent. A hand moves to pull strands of hair away from the area around his eyes, "Surely you can't bring yourself to violence." this statement brings an entertained quirk of an eyebrow from the asian individual.

"I'm sorry, I can't talk right now, I have an appointment and I'm running late. But you can call me! Molly Zartan 555-HOTZ." It's a fake number. She's not new to this whole alias thing. She shoots him a soft smile and a three fingered wave before finally, purposefully, strutting towards the door, smiling sweetly. Once outside things begin to get a little easier, her head semi-clears (and all she thinks about is IVORY— is there another thought in her brain?).

Still clad in her red wig, she steps into a car that has only just been parked on the street before pulling her phone from the very tiny handbag. She smiles wickedly, "Tell your collector, I've got the package." Triumphant, the car (which doesn't belong to her either) is put into gear and trails away.

Turning to Christoph, Vasha gives him a rather polite smile and nods toward the opposite end of the room, the direction where the woman came from. "Shall we attend the unveiling?" She says in a smooth lilt, she turns her head and reaches for a glass of champagne from a passing tray and brings it to her lips.

After taking a soothing drink of the bubbly liquid, she takes a long breath and her eyes find the old man she's with again. "Perhaps I can introduce you to someone," Using her free hand, she waves to Sol who already has his eye on the man who is with 'his woman'. He saunters over, his corpulent stature clearing his own way through the room like Moses parting the Red Sea. "This is Sol, my… Benefactor."

Christoph gives off a light shrug and refuses a drink offered to him by a service man, "You don't want me intoxicated.. believe me." he smiles politely before turning to follow the woman now. A lack of fear? Perhaps developed from knowledge of his safety bubble. Upon reaching a said benefactor though, they boy's head cocks to the side in interest briefly; "Konichiwa" he states to the man, offering a handshake. "Friends call me Pacifist." odd name to give, but he does none the less. "If I could inquire, what are you unveiling? I was only passing by and had my curiousity tugged." inproper usage of words; perhaps not as fluent as he thought.

"Attention Ladies and gentleman, please make your way into the Gioni room for the unveiling of our never-before-seen-Picasso!" the director the gallery chimes into a microphone. The door is open to the room and the curtain is removed.

The room gasps.

The painting is gone.

All that remains is an elegant, yet not extraordinary, frame.

Wide eyed, the director gasps, turns pale and faints, onto the floor.

The Picasso has been stolen.

A solitary clap of hands comes from the back of the room. It's Vasha, applauding the show. There's no malice in it, really, she's giving that Mona Lisa smile that she's already known for in this social circle. "Wonderful.. it was stolen directly under your noses, and no one paused to stop the woman who escaped." She continues to applaud as the guards turn and look at each other. No one can seem to figure out who it was that took the painting, in a crowded room.

Christoph smiles lightly, almost chuckling as he see's the painting gone. The scenario from before left him with knowledge that something valuable was taken; but the main attraction? "Manufique!" the young japanese announces as Vasha finished, "Now /that/, my american friends, is art! Art in a form that people frown upon and yet must gasp when their sight is set upon it!" Christoph could not believe the reactions some got. It was clear to him that no one would be able to get angry with him around. Every person that would be angry was almost forced to choose a secondary reaction. The sight was beautiful and almost majestic; his eyes and head turning cooly to look at all around, including Vasha. A very delicate smile placant on Christoph's face.

While it had never been publicly shown, the painting was on loan from someone. Several someones. Several now-crying someones who had inherited said-painted from their grandmother, a holocaust survivor who had kept one thing. She'd passed away earlier this year and her dearest grandchildren— the youngest of which is thirteen (eldest is twenty)— had the painting appraised. Fortunately for them, it was at the appraisers during the tragic house fire that ate up the rest of her possessions.

This one family treasure represented a ninety year life— the life of their guardian who only recently passed away.

The thirteen year old girl, Bekah Restein hiccups uncontrollably in between her sobs. She is more than a little sad.

The curator's face has gone ashen and he rushes to the side of the owners of the painting. "I am so sorry, so so sorry, we will find the perpetrator. Someone, someone here must have seen something." Though no one in the room turns an eye to Christoph and his antics, there are a few people whose smiles wane.

Vasha's expression turns to one of cool disgust, not an aggressive action, more a curiously repulsed. Like the sensation one receives when stepping on a particularly fat slug in a garden. "It is interesting how you see things, sir. Though I am not well educated on the manners of polite society, would such an exclamation be considered … crass?" As for her own exclamation, it is left without comment.

"Crass?" Christoph replies, turning his eyes unto Vasha's with a polite smile, "What is crass? We live in a world where people cause disastrous storms and nuclear explosions through sheer will. This.. This sadness and pain, shock and awe.. It is art in another form. It may be considered wrong by a majority; but a minority consider it meaningful. I can't shun someone for this, I can only acknowledge they exist and appraise their accomplishments, learn from them. If you view it as art, you see the finess; the details." he pauses with a soft laugh; shaking his head and waving the expression from himself as he took a slightly larger inhale, "I have seen the woman so when she is seen again it will be another method of getting her attention. What you must do now is not morne the loss; but instead, learn of it… How was it managed? There is always a clue." it's possible it may just be his own hint of insanity. "Unless of course, they are one of the Evolved." his smile twitches into a smaller one as his gaze lifts to the curator.

"I know only the face; I don't see how it would help in such a large city though, mind you."

The curator and the mourning family members are forgotten for a time as Sol leans close to Vasha and whispers something in her ear. The woman takes a deel breath and nods to him and turns toward Christoph. "Your sentiments are perhaps the most callous I have observed in my many years. The loss was not managed at all, it was let go by some… unknown force. What should have happened did not. I am uncertain what you are eluding to with this notion of evolved though, until next time we meet." Then she is guided away by the old man, his hand (curiously enough) is left at the small of her back where once it would have been slapped away.

Christoph smiled lightly, "unknown force hmm?" he replies calmly; having looked back at Vasha and Sol. "Probably. Didn't expect you to let a thief go." was his cool reply; turning his head back upon the location of the missing painting. "She was here and had to move by foot to a car to get away; seems completely normal to me.. But there's so many possibilities; you can't know without looking closer." he queries. So cause of /his/ power, a woman was able to steal an object and remove themselves. Would he be the greatest of decoys or possibly have the ability to steal from right underneath someone elses nose without them harming him.. more and more questions with very few answers;

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