"You're here late…" The droid remarked as it swept the marbled floor around her feet. It was a simple cleaning droid, dome shaped and about knee height, with a friendly blinking red light where one would expect a face.

"Yes, well not by choice, really." Nev frowned. She'd much rather be home this time of the evening. It was already dark out and she had other obligations she'd much rather be taking care of.

"Oh?"

"I received a last minute message a couple of hours ago… some off-worlder is swinging by. He asked me to stay open late to accommodate." She rolled her eyes. "He was so polite I felt bad saying no."

"That's kind of you. We don't see off-worlders often."

"Partially why I agreed to it. Tourism is good for Nivo, whether or not Nivitians are ready to acknowledge it. So I'll make the sacrifice and stay open late for one evening. With any luck he'll leave a donation for the museum."

"Hmm…" She couldn't quite tell if the droid vocalized the noise or if the sweeping gears made the noise as it scurried off to finish its duties.

At the far end of the long hallway, she heard the entrance push open. She'd left it unlocked so the visitor could see themselves in.

Inhaling deeply, she turned to greet the visitor.

She was caught off guard for a moment, unsure if it was the correct person. She'd been operating this museum for nearly seven years now, and in that time had seen a total of three tourists. One, a man with yellow hair and light blue eyes. The second a woman with light brown hair and green eyes. The third had been an old woman with beautiful dark skin and black hair. All three had stood out quite prominently on the planet – Nivitians, she'd learned, were a very homogenous population for humans. Everyone here had pale skin and grey eyes and black hair.

This new tourist was quite obviously not a local as well, though far more so than any of the others. His skin was blue, a striking shade that reminded her of the color found in the glaciers of the oceanic areas of Nivo. His hair was dark, much like hers, but caught in the light had a hint of blue as well. His eyes – they were bright red, appearing to almost glow in contrast with his blue skin.

"Oh… Hello. You must be the visitor that contacted me earlier?" She walked to him and held out a hand, "I'm Nev Sebai, the curator here."

He shook her hand, his shoulders pinched back proudly, "Yes, it is good to meet you Miss Sebai. My name is Thrawn. I appreciate your willingness to accommodate my schedule."

Schedule? Is this guy doing that's so important he thinks it's okay to keep me open this late? "Right, well let's get started. I assume you are unfamiliar with Nivitian art?" She started down the hallway, toward the room intended as the start point for viewing the museum's collection.

He strode after her quickly, catching up to her side easily. "Yes, entirely so. I attempted to do some research on my own, but there's a shocking lack of information available. The people here are quite private?"

He didn't seem even remotely offended by her lack of courtesy so far. It was slightly irritating.

"You could say that. We're a self-sufficient society. Most Nivitians see no need to open our borders."

"Admittedly, it was a little difficult for me to make my way onto this planet. Your border controls are very tight here."

"I've always seen it more as a preference toward our own people and practices rather than an aversion to others. There are good things and bad things about such a philosophy."

"It seems to have worked well for you. From the little I've seen since I arrived you have a very well mannered, clean society."

"Thank you." She turned into the first room, filled with the oldest pieces in the collection. "It is a little interesting to hear an outsider's impression. How long have you been here?"

"I only arrived about an hour ago, so my observations are from my short walk to your establishment."

"Well… I'll be interested to hear more." She motioned to the first art piece, "We'll start here. You'll find the collection is organized chronologically, with each room spanning a major time period. We start here with the most ancient pieces in our collection, from 600-800 years ago."

He was already examining a few of the abstracted, age-worn sculptures. He asked her a great deal of questions as they moved from one room to the next. The tour grew unexpectedly long – he had far more questions than she was expecting.

It took an hour for them to make it through the entirety of the first floor, and there were still two more to go. As they moved up the old wooden staircase to the second floor, she finally asked, "So, I am dreadfully curious – what brought you to Nivo? And why am I the first stop on your stay?"

"I have a short break from my obligations and am rather fond of planets with this sort of climate. When I saw how little was known of this planet, despite the fact that it is largely inhabited, I thought it may be interesting to visit. Personally, I've always had an interest in art. I think it speaks volumes to the history and psychology of a society…"

"Mmm… I see. So you're attempting to understand our people by analyzing the work of a few individuals who died a couple hundred years ago?"

He smiled, in a nearly condescending manner, "Hardly. But it does lend insights to historical imperatives, which do have an impact on modern attitudes."

"If you're going to judge us as a society, at least wait until we reach the modern section on the third floor."

"I honestly think the fact that I wasn't able to find any reference materials on the art of your society says more about who you are as a people than anything you've shown me yet."

"Not much makes it out of our borders."

"That may be the case, but for me to spend hours searching only to come up with a few poems and some architectural photographs… That's quite remarkable."

They moved into the first room of the second floor. The closer they got to the more modern pieces, the more questions he had.

"So, Thrawn… What do you do, professionally?" He was examining a calendar print from roughly 100 years prior when she asked.

"I work in defense."

"Ah… I should have guessed that from the way you carry yourself."

"Is that so?"

"Mm, I would have guessed either that or nobility of some sort."

"I find that assumption interesting."

"You have the posture of someone who always has to make a good impression, and the speaking mannerisms of someone who is listened to a little too closely."

He was looking curiously at a worn sculpture of a female figure.

"You're quite odd for a military official." She turned away from him, heading for the next room. "Let's move on."

"How long have you been caring for this museum?" He asked, following after her. He seemed entirely unfazed by her rudeness.

"About seven years."

His eyes narrowed at her answer, "Seven years? If I recall, this museum has only existed for seven years. You were one of the first employees, I take it?"

"I suppose you could say that." She smiled. "This is my collection."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised at the answer, "You seem young to have such a large art collection."

"My parents were collectors; I inherited most of the collection from them. It seemed a pity to me that all these things should sit in some back room collecting dust. There's a shocking lack of museums in this city... It seemed like a natural decision."

"It's an impressive collection."

"Thank you. I'm glad to share it. It has become a naturally growing life form, in an odd way. About half this collection was my parent's, and I've added another quarter of the collection on my own. And that last quarter has come from donations. It's a little remarkable, people visit and see what we're doing here, and they want to be a part of it. We've gotten so many donations of pieces passed down through a family for centuries. It's good, I think. It helps unify us."

"You're concerned with documenting the art of your people?"

"I'm actually far more concerned with the work of modern artists than old ones, if I can be blunt."

"Why is that?"

She clicked her teeth, sighing, "The old pieces tell you who we were, what we built our foundation on. New artists… they tell you where we want to be." She smiled at him, "But on that note, let's move to the third floor."

She turned into the first room at the top of the stairs. "Everything on this floor is from the past 50 years. In this room…" She came to a stop when she realized he wasn't following her.

She went back to the main hall and saw he'd made his way to the very end, where a large, colorful abstract piece hung. She went to his side.

He stood with his hands behind his back, looking up at it curiously. "This is beautiful."

"Ah… thank you. I tend to agree. Personally, it's my favorite piece in the collection."

"Is it a person?"

"Yes… It was an attempt to capture the organic movement of a figure with geometric shapes."

"It must be fairly recent."

"It was completed about three years ago." She crossed her arms, "You have a pretty keen eye when it comes to analyzing these things. What does this one say to you about our society?"

He tilted his head a little, "I don't think I could tell you much about a society from one piece. That would be an unfair analysis. But I could probably draw more accurate conclusions about the artist."

"Oh?" She smiled at him, "That might be even more interesting."

"There's a definite appreciation for aesthetics, and for form. Rendering a figure with that level of accuracy while maintaining such a unique stylistic approach tells me they're studious, highly focused on honing their skills and understanding their subject. There's energy to the work as well – not just in the colors, but in rendering of the form – a sort of bright, unstoppable, kinetic energy." He paused for a moment. "I usually see abstract works and think that the artist is either out of touch with reality or at the very least refuses to accept reality, but this one is quite different. I think that may be why I like it so much. It's abstracted, certainly, but it is still very much rooted in something real."

"That's an interesting take. I don't think I've heard that before."

"If I were to make a judgment call on the artist, I would say they must be relentless, passionate, pragmatic but not inflexible - and not without a healthy dose of narcissism."

"Narcissism? What part is giving you that impression?"

His red eyes squinted at the piece and he stepped a little closer, examining it with his nose inches from the surface. "I'm actually most confident in that assertion. The artist didn't even bother to sign the piece, and seemly didn't want their name even on the wall next to the piece."

"I believe most would say that indicates the exact opposite of narcissism."

"They would be wrong. I believe that the artist wants people asking whose work it is." He stepped back, "And then, of course, there is the fact that the artist chose to highlight it at the top of a grand staircase in their own museum."

She smirked, "You caught me. You're the first person to figure that out on your own."

"Hm. Tell me, Miss Sebai, how much would it cost me to get this off the wall of your museum and into my own collection?"

She looked at him, still smirking. "Some things cannot be bought."

"Hm." He was still looking at the piece. "That is a pity."

"However…" She wondered if she was out of line making the offer. "My studio is just a few blocks away. If you're really interested, and if you have time, you're welcome to see some of my more recent work."

He bowed his head slightly, "Thank you for offering. I am interested."

She waved a hand at him. "You have turned out to be much better conversation than I was expecting, I'd be happy to show you some of my other work that is for sale. Let me lock up really quickly and we can walk there. I'll meet you at the front door."

She closed everything down as quickly as possible, grabbing her coat from the back office and meeting him near the exit.

It was dark out, and the city streets were illuminated by streetlamps. It was snowing and quite windy looking. She wrapped up tightly and locked the door as they exited.

"Aren't you cold?" He wasn't wearing a jacket, just a black tailored tunic and pants.

He shook his head, "No, I'm very used to the cold. I actually prefer it. It has been some time since I've been to a colder planet like this one. It reminds me a little of my home."

"Oh? Where are you from?" She'd been wondering since she first saw him. Nivo rarely saw human visitors from off planet – to her memory, there had never been a non-human.

"Csilla… it's quite far from here, I doubt you've heard of it."

"I'm afraid I haven't. Unfortunately I haven't been off planet much. Nobody really does here."

"Is that by choice?"

"Mmm... I am quite happy here. I have everything I need. And I keep very busy. I visit a neighboring planet once every few years, but really not much."

They crunched through the snow in silence for a few moments. There were very few others on the streets, mostly small groups of people making their way from one social house to another. Most everyone did a double take when they saw him. She wondered if he noticed, or if he was just used to the looks.

"I have this theory," He broke the silence finally, "that this sort of weather brings out a certain set of traits in any society. Everything I've seen here tells me I'm right. There are a remarkable number of parallels between the way your people behave and the way mine do."

"Oh?" She nodded to the building they were next to, "This is it." She used her passcode to get them through the front entrance and they made their way up the staircase to her studio. "I'm curious now. What sort of parallels do you see?"

"It seems to give people a self-reliant streak. Much like the people here, the people where I am from keep their outside interactions to a minimum."

"It does make you…" She searched for the word. "Tough. This sort of weather - it gives you thick skin. This is it." They made it to the top floor – hers was one of the two doors on the floor. She opened the door to a dark, chilly room, and hurried inside, turning on the light and kicking off her shoes. He stepped in after her.

"Shoes off please," She called to him as she went to the fireplace to get some heat going for them. She had always been a bit in love with her studio – it was located on the top floor of the building, with one entire wall as a giant window facing out over the city, giving her a spectacular view. Unfortunately the windows meant the place tended to get a bit chilly, but she preferred it cold anyway. The lighting in the studio was low – she mostly relied on the natural light from the windows. At nighttime she used lamps and the fireplace, which gave the place a warm, yellow glow.

She had all kinds of art pieces hanging around, some half finished, some not even her own but more there as inspiration. Stacks of canvases were lined up against the walls, and there was a large wooden table in the middle of the room, littered with paint tubes. It occurred to her before that this space must look like utter madness to most outsiders. She ran her hand through her hair, "I'm sorry, I rarely bring clients here, and it's such a mess. This was sort of… last minute. I would have tried to clean a little otherwise…"

He shook his head, "No, no. It's exactly what I expected."

She wasn't sure if she should take that as a compliment or an insult. Turning back to the fireplace, she finished getting the fire started. "The landlord was surprised when I told him I wanted to keep this fireplace. He upgraded the place with more efficient heating, but I still prefer the heat from a fire. It's a different sort of warmth." She stretched in front of the newly made fire, letting the heat sink into her, and then went to the kitchen area and pulled a bottle of wine from one of the cabinets, along with two glasses. "I can't have a guest here without at least offering…" She nodded to him, wondering if he even could drink. He wasn't human. Maybe he had strange biology and couldn't consume alcohol.

"Yes, thank you Miss Sebai."

"Nev, please." She was relieved, pouring the two glasses quickly. "You're welcome to look around. The stacks against the wall are several deep, but they're all dry so you can move them as needed."

He started to look around and she followed him, carting the bottle with her. It was something of a habit.

"How long have you been painting?"

"Since I was a child, really. Professionally? About ten years now."

"Are you well known?"

She smiled when he looked at her, "Yes. One of the most well-known living artists on Nivo at the moment."

"And you've never bothered trying to sell your art off planet?"

"No. Border controls are so tight here; it's not worth the effort. I do well enough without the complication."

"No visitors from off-planet have purchased your art while here?"

She saw where he was going with his questions. "We don't get many visitors; I've only ever had 3 others. My work has never been made available to them. Granted, I've had a few offers on the piece in the museum. But like I said, some things are not for sale."

"And you choose to make your work available to me?"

"Well," She refilled her glass, "You are, by far, the most interesting person to have shown interest yet. I trust that whatever you choose will be in good hands."

"I'm honored. What piece do you think I should own?"

"Mmm… If I were you, I'd purchase several." She sat on the paint covered table, crossing her legs and winking at him.

A smile flickered across his lips. "I suppose you would be the wrong person to ask."

"It's that ego thing you mentioned earlier." She laughed.

"You may have misinterpreted me – I didn't mean that as a negative attribute. Confidence is a good thing, but only if you can follow through with it." He motioned to the paintings, "You are clearly very talented. You should have an ego about your work."

"Do you apply that philosophy to yourself as well?"

"Certainly." He pulled a colorful, energetic looking cityscape from the stack. "This is the view from your studio?"

She nodded, "Yes, I have a fantastic view here, particularly around sunrise. The colors are utterly fantastic. I don't usually paint landscapes, but it struck me as something I needed to document one morning."

She expected him to request the piece, but he didn't. Rather he set it to the side and kept looking. He was either planning on purchasing several, which she had only suggested as a joke, or he was considering all his options.

"You paint a lot of figures."

"I suppose people interest me. Bodies interest me. I like the way they look, the way they move."

"How do you choose your subjects?"

She shrugged, "It's usually people I meet who seem worth painting. A lot of dancers and athletes – like I said, I like the movement."

He pulled a figure painting from the stack – largely purples and reds, one of her favorite pieces.

"It's a singer?"

"Yes, one of my friends."

"They didn't want it for themselves?"

"She looked at me like I'd grown a second head when I asked her if she wanted it."

He added it to his special stack and moved on.

"Can I ask you something personal, Thrawn?"

"I cannot guarantee an answer, but you are welcome to ask whatever you please."

"Well, Thrawn, first you need more wine." She motioned him over and refilled his glass. She wasn't sure he wanted more, but she never really bothered asking her guests. It was more fun to just serve them and watch them deal with it. "What military do you work for?"

He didn't respond right away, seeming to carefully consider his answer over the glass of wine. "The Chiss Defense Fleet."

She hesitated. "I can't say I'm familiar. Is that… your people? The Chiss?"

"Yes." He turned his attention back to the stacks, which she assumed was his way of ending any further conversation on the subject. "What is your most recent work?"

She pointed to the far end of the line, "My most recent ones are on the end."

He went to it and flipped through a few pieces, pausing for a moment on a large one. She craned her neck and saw – it was a female figure, lying, back arched in bliss.

"A bit subversive?"

"Do you think so?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

"It is beautiful."

"Mm. Thank you." She smiled into her glass of wine, wondering what it would take to crack this well-mannered official. "It's a self portrait."

"Hm." He looked at the piece for a few moments. She couldn't read his expression.

He quietly moved the piece to his collection.

She laughed, deciding it was best to not comment on his interest in the piece.

There was a long silence while he flipped through more pieces, selecting a few and setting them to the side. "Do you have prices in mind for any of the pieces I'm interested in?"

She ran her finger over the edge of the pieces, sitting on the table next to the stack. "Which ones are you most interested in?"

It was a ploy, really. She was just hoping to get him to step closer to her. It was somewhat stupid, but she was fond of his ego and interest in art, and found him generally intriguing, and he really was rather handsome looking…

It worked, but not in the manner she intended. He stepped right in front of her, looming over her. "I think you're already aware of what I'm most interested in."

More than anything, it was his voice. An even, layered hum, nearly hypnotic sounding. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. She reached out, tracing up the center of his tunic with her fingers, hooking her fingers into his collar. She wanted to pull him closer, but something made her hesitate. He was so difficult to read. What if she was interpreting all this incorrectly?

"What are you afraid of?"

She slowly started to undo the closure, "My suspicion is that men like you – powerful, commanding, composed -" she grasped his collar and jerked him closer, trapping him between her knees, "prefer to not be in control, sometimes."

The smirk twitching at the edge of his lips confirmed her suspicions.

"You prefer I be bold?"

He nudged his mouth close to hers, but didn't kiss her. "I prefer that you behave in whatever manner pleases you most."

Between the soft hum of his voice and his breath against her lips, she felt a little dizzy and overconfident. "Oh. Then. Bold." She swung her leg around him and flipped him onto the table, pushing him back and crawling on top of him. He ran his hand up her spine to the back of her neck, pulling her face in close to his again. His fingers were cool against the back of her neck.

He held her there, a breath's distance between their lips, while she undid the rest of his tunic. He wore a black undershirt beneath, tucked into the waist of his pants. She fought the front closure of his pants, sliding her hand in and grasping his hard cock.

She had to stop herself from sighing with relief.

He laughed a low, knowing way. "You were afraid I might not have one, weren't you? What would you have done?"

She paused, and then used her spare hand to push his chest flat onto the table, "I don't have one and I do perfectly fine taking care of myself. I wouldn't expect any less of you."

Apparently he liked that answer.

She woke early, just before the sun, tangled up in her bed sheets and completely alone. Rolling onto her back, she inhaled deeply and tried to remind herself that yes, in fact, last night did happen.

From the main room, she heard a quiet, muffled noise.

She stood, shedding herself of the bed sheets, and walked to the main room.

He was standing before the door, pulling his black boots on. He paused when he saw her, an eyebrow quirking upward. Possibly because she wasn't wearing anything.

"You're leaving already? The sun isn't even up."

He gave a short nod, "Yes, I must return to my obligations." He made a peculiar humming noise, brushing his fingertips against her bare waist and trailing them up her side to her ribcage. "You are going to make me late…"

His expressions were so subtle and fleeting she felt like she usually missed them, but this one was easy to read. He gently pulled her toward him with his fingertips. He wanted her, again. Not quite enough to kiss her – it was like an odd little power play he seemed to enjoy doing with her. He never quite kissed her; rather he got just barely close enough and stopped. It was actually enjoyable, feeling his breath against her lips, teasing her to come a little closer, to close that small gap. She resisted as long as she could, but always ended up pressing her lips to his. Like now, but this time just gently, rubbing her lips across his.

"I certainly don't want to keep you from your duties," She gently kissed his lower lip. "But did you still want one of my paintings? I can wrap it up for you quickly."

His fingers played up her spine. "Yes. The cityscape, if you're willing to part with it."

She appreciated that the one he wanted was the very same view he saw from her quarters. This man had some kinks. He wanted a reminder of their evening. "Of course. It's yours." She waved a hand as she walked to the stack to find the one he wanted, "Don't worry about payment. It's a gift." She glanced back over her shoulder; he was watching her in such a flattering way. She smirked, "Something to remember me by."