A Portrait of the Hoo-mon as a Young Man

Posted on Sat 28th May, 2022 @ 8:42pm by Purulence Addams & Criswell Sandbags
Edited on on Sat 28th May, 2022 @ 8:44pm

1,751 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: The Hunted
Location: Brown Sector
Timeline: MD-2, 0900 hours

ON

Criswell didn't consider himself a lurker. Nor did he consider himself attracted to other hoo-mons... no, "hyoo-mans," he corrected himself. He'd been trying to get the proper saying right for a while now. His lone session with Commander Graves a number of months ago had caused him to observe hyoo-mans more. With his "genetic disadvantage," as his adopted father called it, Criswell could never mix with the opposite sex. Certainly not a female Ferengi. But until he'd arrived here, he'd never been around people of his own race. So he'd observed several different humans from afar. He found himself observing more women than men. They were different.

For one thing, they wore clothes, unlike Ferengi women. They also appeared to do things independently, without assistance or permission from the men. This was exactly the type of thing that made humans a disgusting race, Criswell thought. Humans were unpredictable. Sometimes he'd see women actually argue with men. How weak was the human man, that they couldn't keep their women under control? He'd also seen men with other men, and women with other women. Criswell understood that more. If a man or woman couldn't keep their opposite sex in line, it made perfect sense that they would find someone of the same. Such a thing never happened on Ferenginar because the Ferengi, all Ferengi, knew better. Humans were strange. Uncivilized.

Except "the painter." She was different. Kind. Soft even. Of all the humans he'd observed the past few months, he was most fascinated by her. While he tried not to lurk, he had observed her while she painted portraits for people in Brown Sector. She was very good, he thought. He thought it might be fun to ask her to paint a portrait of him, but he never had any means to pay her.

This all changed with his promotion to Executive Assistant to Qaraq, the new owner of Brown Sector's currently nameless casino. Criswell had plenty of money now. He could spare the change and treat himself if he wanted to. There were two things he immediately thought of, and the first he'd already done. He'd always wanted to know what "cotton candy" tasted like. The next thing would probably be more expensive, and he knew it was for a different reason. He wanted to get a portrait, but really he wanted to talk to a human woman. Until now, he'd never had an excuse.

He'd waited until her latest customer left, satisfied as usual, and approached.

"Excuse me," he said, hands nervously together in fists. "I'm very sorry to trouble you, but I was wondering if... if you could paint my portrait."

Once a week, on the day she had given herself to not devote to schoolwork, Purulence Addams spent the mornings in Brown Sector, painting portraits. It had amazed her at first how many people wanted a painted portrait of themselves when they could just as easily snap their own images. Neone had never asked for one and had only ever allowed Purulence to paint images of her hands. Once word had gotten out that she could paint, Purulence had acquired a steady stream of Brown Sector customers wanting portraits. If most of those slips of gold-pressed latinum they paid her went into the Community Center's donation box and the remainder to Vargas Tacos y Mas, that was neither here nor there. The practice was excellent. She was meeting an unending stream of interesting, different people, all with their own stories to tell through art. Her technique was improving, even though she had to devote so much of her time to school.

Besides, it was a good way to meet potential artist models. Sometimes, she hired people because they interested her; other times she hired them because of clear need. Mother Moksha had given her a year's lease on the room she used as a studio, and Purulence put the space to good use.

The charmingly shy fellow who had just walked up to her--no, he didn't need the income. But what really intrigued her was--he was like Vix, despite being her exact opposite--she could see it. He both was and was not what he appeared to be. Something not-human shrouded him like a veil, just as something not-human had surrounded Vix, as well. And, just as with Vix, she itched to paint it. Vix, however, had disappeared as silently as she had come. So had Neone, alas. Purulence was not about to let this fellow get away, too.

"I'd be delighted to paint your portrait," Purulence said. "My name is Purulence Addams. I usually paint portraits with a final size of 20 x 25 centimeters for a close-up of the face, but I can also do slightly larger ones if you would prefer something that shows you from the chest up or full-length. Which would you like?"

Criswell's eyes widened with surprise when she spoke. She would be delighted? To paint his portrait? Why would anyone be delighted by anything about him?

"Oh, I'm very sorry," he said. "I didn't know there was a choice. I really don't know what I'd prefer. I don't know very much about art. I just..." he stammered. This wasn't going well, he thought, looking down at the floor. "I just really like your paintings."

"That's very kind of you," Purulence said and smiled. "Why don't I do three quick charcoal sketches of you, and then you can choose which one you like best. Would that help?"

Criswell eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Okay!" he said, taking the chair opposite Purulence. "My name is Criswell, by the way."

"It's good to meet you, Criswell," Purulence said. She took out a block of sketch paper and a charcoal pencil and began drawing Criswell where he sat. She decided to begin with the full-length image first; from that she could progress to the smaller ones and give them more detail. She began with the overall lines of his body and clothing, how he sat, how he regarded her. The shyness came through clearly, but there was also an excitement to him, an eagerness, a curiosity that gave him a spark that a man who was only shy and unassuming wouldn't have. Truly, he was a lovely man, Purulence thought.

Suddenly she blinked, and her eyes widened as she took in what she'd drawn. It was more detailed than she'd expected. She continued on to the chest-length portrait, concentrating more on details of his clothing, the placement of his arms and shoulders. Why had she drawn him in a Ferengi business suit? That was weird, though it looked good on him. Last of all came his face. He had a wry yet self-deprecating expression, and still with the eagerness and curiosity in his eyes.

At last, Purulence lifted her pencil and handed her sketchpad to Criswell. "Here you are. One of these should work quite well for you."

"Oh wow!" Criswell exclaimed, oodles of excitement in his voice. He pointed to the one with him in the Ferengi suit. "I really like this one! I look so... distinguished!"

"You are distinguished," Purulence said, beaming. "There's a saying on my homeworld: 'Clothes make the man.' Surely there's someone around here who could make that style of suit for you."

Criswell's expression suddenly dropped. "Actually, no... no, that wouldn't be appropriate. Being a mere human, I would not belong in a traditional Ferengi suit. Father wouldn't approve."

His father was Ferengi? That was different. "Humans wear business suits, too," Purulence said. "If you have replicator access, you can look up styles and find something that wouldn't be Ferengi but would look just as good on you."

Criswell's eyebrows furrowed. "You mean like a Starfleet uniform?" he asked, given that it was the nicest article of clothing he'd seen any human wear. "I don't think the hoo-mons... I mean hyoo-mans... would approve. I'm not really bright enough."

"You're bright enough to know good art when you see it," Purulence pointed out and hoped she didn't sound too conceited. "But no, you couldn't wear a Starfleet uniform because you aren't a member of Starfleet. Any human can wear a business suit, though. Hold on a minute, and I'll sketch you in one." She quickly drew in the main lines as if he were sitting in front of her in a human man's business suit. It didn't feel as right as the Ferengi one to her, but that could come later.

Criswell chuckled when he saw the picture. "It looks rather silly on me," he said. "But it does look more human! You make very good portraits, Purulence. How much for this one and the one in the Ferengi suit? I think my father would like that one, and if he knew I had enough money for such a beautiful portrait, he'd be very proud!"

"Thank you! I'm so glad you like them. Now cost--For sketches? Nothing, Criswell," Purulence told him with a dismissive gesture. "Those are included in the price." She looked back at him. "For paintings I don't charge anyone in Brown Sector more than five slips GPL for the smallest size, going up by five more slips each for the two larger sizes. So five slips, 10 slips, and 15 slips. For you, the cost would be 10 slips for a face and chest portrait and no charge for the sketch."

Criswell reached into his pocket, pulled out ten slips and handed them to Purulence. "Do you think you could paint my portrait? I want to send it to father for his birthday next week. I can't go to Ferenginar because father would be very angry if I left my source of profit just to visit him."

"I can't promise the portrait will get to him in a week, because we're far away from Ferenginar, and paint needs time to dry before you ship the canvas," Purulence said. "You're sure you don't want one of you in a Ferengi suit? Their fabric always has the most interesting textures."

"Father told me I could never wear traditional Ferengi garments, but I'm sure he'd be proud to see me in a fancy human suit. Could you paint me wearing one?" Criswell could barely contain the excitement in his voice.

"Absolutely," Purulence said. "I will paint a portrait of you that any self-respecting father would be glad to have of his son." She grinned at him. "Shall we get started?"

Criswell sat up straight. "Yes please!"

 

RSS Feed