So, this got nominated for 'Most emotionally touching story' over on the kink meme. As I said before, supper warm fuzzies for me getting a story nominated for anything. No beta.
"You have to understand that mom and dad were very private people, and after the war they didn't want reporters and hateful people to control their lives. Dad did sell a few of his works, but there are a lot more. If you want the human term, she was his muse."
The door to the old studio was opened and the scent of chemicals, wood, and actual canvas filled the air. Large drop cloths covered several tall rectangular pieces of furniture. The room had several tall windows to let in natural light, an old overstuffed arm chair, a wooden easel with little speckles and splatters of paint here and there. There were jars littered around on most surfaces with remnants of paint from holding cleaning water. A well-organized shelf of paint tubes and little jars that held hand mixed colours along with jars of brushes organized by size and shape.
We walked through the organized mess and I flushed slightly at a two pairs of partial hand prints against one wall, the larger turian hands framing the smaller human. Then their son pulled the sheet off one of the large rectangular masses. It was a drying rack with more than a dozen paintings on it.
"A lot of people claimed that my parents bonding was just political maneuvering to make sure the peace held after the war. I think this should prove that false." He slid the top painting off the rack and there she was.
It was a nude of Commander Shepard, and she was very pregnant. She was older than most images I had seen of her, a touch of grey to her vibrant red hair. Scars covered most of her body, some burns, some bullet wounds, but she didn't look like the other paintings of soldiers from the war I had seen. The focus was the fact that she was pregnant and going to be a mother. The scars on her skin were just part of the woman who cradled her belly as lovingly as any other mother in the same place.
The next painting to come off the rack was this same scarred woman with a pair of turian hands framing her large belly from his position behind her.
"Dad had to get one of their friends to come play photographer so he could get the references for this one. He wouldn't trust anyone else not to sell the pictures."
There were several more in the set, and two other sets for their two other children. The other racks held other paintings, almost all of them her. There was one of the day she became a spectre, one of her in the old council chambers from the citadel with fire and Sovereign raining down from above. There were more that must have been from various missions to various planets. There was even one that showed the wreck and monument to the first Normandy on Alchera with her in the foreground clutching a handful of dog tags.
There were even a few in more intimate moments. One of which being painted in that overstuffed chair with hair tousled and bedroom eyes, flecks of blood on the hip that was visible from a three clawed grasp. A few of her in a four poster bed with the sheet just barely covering. One of her looking out a window with a steaming mug in her hands and only a tiny little house coat that hardly covered anything. They continued on, even as the red from her hair turned to grey, then white. Even old age had not killed the fire between artist and muse.
There were also several that were her with each of her children as they grew, from target practice to finger painting, to baking in a kitchen. Little views of personal life.
There was one rack filled with other people, I recognized several, a quarian admiral, the krogan ruler, the second human spectre, many alliance soldiers and many humans that wore the black and white of Cerberus. These were her crew over the years. They were good, but didn't carry quite the same intimacy of the paintings of her.
The last set was different, it was a number of planets, each the home world of a different species. These were the home worlds before the war. Untouched, unscarred.
All of the paintings needed to be in a gallery. People needed to see these not just because they were of a prominent historical figure, but because they were someone's life. We were going to need more space than we planned for.
An anonymous benefactor had made a huge donation for the unveiling and it seemed that everyone was going to be there, including both of the asari and both the krogan who were portrayed. The darling starlet who was going to play Shepard in the new historical vid was here including her entourage of asari and human followers, the actor who was going to play Vakarian was also in attendance, and also diplomats from every race.
The starlet was moved to delicate tears, and her followers followed suit. A whole flock of weeping girls, all cooing over how touching and loving the images were. Even the batarian diplomat seemed pleased with the inclusion of not only Khar'shan before the war, but also one of the entire system of Bahak. The only race to receive more than one planet painted.
There had been some worry over that. Was it tasteless to show a painting of what she destroyed alongside the paintings of her life? Or was that exactly where such a painting belonged?
The night was a success. Only one table broken by the younger krogan, and he actually apologized. The silent auction went incredibly well, each diplomat feeling obliged to buy their home worlds painting, even if there had been some playful bidding between them to raise the prices. Other pieces were sold as well, though some would stay in sets going to various museums. The chosen charity was going to be well off after this night, and the movie that was coming out was certainly going to benefit from the publicity. Some people had worried that a war from a hundred years before might not hold as much draw, no matter how big or historically important. But it seemed like it was going to be well received with the reaction to the art.
And the family was satisfied, no one could argue that their parents had not been in love.