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Artistic Conspiracy

A Star Wars FanFiction

By Falcon's Hyperdrive

Begun 12-09-08

Finished _-_-_

-Chapter One-

The wind was blowing strong, testing the endurance of the trees on the broad, gentle hill, and it threatened to strip the petals from the flowers that had been arranged with care. Sheets of water drenched the earth, cleansing the landspeeder that slowed on its approach to the house at the hill's crest, a beacon of light that could be seen from the city several miles away. The yawning garage door – large and white – opened and closed for the speeder as it admitted its driver to the warmth and shelter that the building provided.

This was the home of the Tangier family, and the only daughter – the only child – was not happy as she came in. Her day had gone awfully, and little at all could cheer her up at this point.

The man in the room next to the entrance hall lifted his head from his studious purview of figures; a door closed, and heavy, shuffling footsteps passed the home office. Hearing a groan, Mr. Tangier stood and poked his head out the door.

"Tanya, are you okay?"

The seventeen-year-old gave a non-committal grunt, and spared her father her wrath by trooping off to her bedroom before any further inquiry could be made. It had been a bad day at the university, where Mr. Wilcox and her fellow students had once again made her life miserable. If it weren't for them, she would have loved her art classes. But these people insisted on listening to bogus rumors and inventing their own. Rumors which were all about her family and aimed at her.

Her door slid closed behind her, cutting off the light from the hallway and leaving her in the darkness of her room. Even though it was still late afternoon – four o' clock, thereabouts – the sun had decided to retire early, it seemed, aided by storm clouds as dark as her mood, pouring down rain that seemed to mimic the tears in her heart. She decided to leave the lights off, knowing her mood would not brighten as the room would. Her emotions didn't change with the flick of a switch, or a spoken command. Rather, right now, she desperately needed to vent on something, to prevent her from venting on someone. A pillow would suffice, she decided, dropping her bag and taking the fluffy object into her bathroom and walk-in-closet combo. As soon as the door slid closed, effectively blocking the noise from reaching the hallway, and her father, she slid to the floor and screamed into the overstuffed blue pillow in her hands. Her frustrations did leave her for the time being with that action, but she knew she had to find some way to get this out of her system by dinner time, or she would be in a bad mood all night. And she was only halfway into the semester, too . . .

She found solace in her studio, a glass-walled room down the hall. Two of its three walls, drywall and painted cream, were hung with paintings by her mother, a semi-famous artist. She was dead now, and had been since she was about four or five. While she had once had nightmares about her death, involving a bald man and a chase through an underground tunnel, she had been assured that they were just that. Nightmares. Her actual death had occurred by the hands of a fast-acting disease.

The third wall held her own paintings, while the fourth wall was some form of glass that could be turned opaque if she didn't want anyone watching her paint. The door was made of the same material, but turned slightly darker as one approached it so that it could be located, or more transparent if the wall was set to opaque. At the moment, they were, as Tanya had no wish to be intruded on as she speed-painted, as she often did when emotional. These were usually composed of dark colors, and occasionally angry, clashing ones. Understandably, no one ever saw these compilations.

Her father found her as she was painting the background of her canvas a stormy gray. He watched her for a moment, and her taut expression. "School again?" he asked, though he didn't really need to. She nodded anyway, brushing on a slightly darker color in brisk, downward strokes. "Mr. Wilcox," she clarified.

"Well, it's the last semester you'll have to deal with him."

That brought her head up, and she turned her somewhat startled gaze to the man who had raised her. "Really?" she prompted, hope in her gaze. Mr. Wilcox, leaving!

"He's retiring," her father confirmed. Tanya looked into her father's hazel eyes, whose color she shared, and smiled brightly. As she thought about that prospect, she added some white to the painting, like a ray of sunshine as a storm dissolves, then brushed gray back over it to make it more natural-looking. "Any word yet on the new teacher?"

"Yes, actually, but I'm not at liberty to say, yet. The details still need to be worked out, but he will be living here for the duration of his stay on Ceurel."

Her paintbrush faltered, the drab green's progress across the canvas coming to a halt. "Here?" she repeated in mild disbelief. She had never liked meeting new people, and was never keen on anyone's staying the night. Trust was something of an issue with her, as she found it hard to do so with some people. Something in her subconscious prevented her from feeling completely safe.

Her father nodded, worriedly. "I'm sorry," he apologized, knowing her issues with the arrangement, "but I've met the man, and he's completely trustworthy. My contacts have also repeatedly assured me of this."

The paintbrush continued its journey. "Are these contacts likewise trustworthy?"

"Of course. I've worked with them for years."

Tanya wasn't exactly sure what her father did for a living, but knew that it was important work, and for the Empire, as they occasionally had special guests over. The Tangier family was the most prominent name on Ceurel, associated with construction work, programming, designing, and more recently, art, as the artist Elizabeth Claudor married Gerald Tangier twenty-two years prior to the present day. Despite only being in her life for about five of her years, Mrs. Tangier had inspired a love of art in her daughter, who aspired to be a great artist like her mother. With her emotions constantly tossed about, however, and a very prejudiced teacher, she had barely a passing grade so far. But now that a teacher from offworld was coming, how would that affect her grades? Would he be more fair? He probably hadn't heard the ridiculous rumors about her family yet, so maybe . . . At least in the beginning, he might be somewhat unbiased.

"So you've met the man?" she asked.

"Yes. Pleasant fellow, always polite, well-mannered. You might like him."

"We'll see," she allowed, adding the finishing touch to her quick collaboration of colors by giving it a streak of red near the bottom of the gray area, signifying a sunset, before brushing the final streaks of gray over it all. "I'll wait to pass judgement until I meet him. When will he be arriving?"

"Sometime next month. Are you heading out again tonight?"

"It is Friday," she confirmed. "Arkir's picking me up at six-fifty." She smiled at the thought, cheering up a bit. Arkir, the one man her age who treated her well. The one man she loved.

"I'll go get dinner ready," her father decided. "Are you feeling better?"

Tanya eyed her painting, concluding that it was an accurate depiction of her emotions. At first she had been dark and stormy, raining on the inside. Then came the break in the clouds at the news of Mr. Wilcox's retirement and a new, offworld teacher. But the sunset came from the sinking feeling she got at the idea of a stranger living in the same home as her.

Or was that a sunrise, signifying a brighter future?

She sighed, deciding she could figure it out later. "Yeah, I am," she assured her father. "I'm going to go pull out my homework, okay?"

"Study hard," was his parting word as he left the room, his hand tossed up in a brief wave. She smiled at his back, love for him filling her as she thought of how he had braved a potentially cranky daughter to cheer her up. "Will do," she answered, and left the painting on the easel to dry.

...

Pronunciation key:

Ceurel - "Sir-rel"

Claudor - "Claw-door"

Tangier - "Taan-gee-air"

Arkir - "Are-keer"

Edited 10-21-11