Dustsceawung: "Contemplation of the dust;" reflection on former civilisations and peoples, and on the knowledge that all things will turn to dust.
"This is very strange art," Helblindi tells her in one of the galleries at New York's MoMA. "A child could do this." At this remark, art critics and hipsters alike turn to glare viciously in their direction, and Darcy quickly stuffs Henry back into her purse before the security guard can come over and tell her that no animals are allowed in the museum. She wasn't sure she would be able to convince him that Henry was a seeing-eye chicken, and also wasn't sure if Henry would take it upon himself to devour the guard before her very eyes.
She could see the headlines now.
Murderous Poultry Slays Innocent Art Guardian, Leaves No Survivors
She shakes her head at Henry, who is peeping out the zipper of her purse again, and he peeps obediently and goes to forage in the depths of her purse for corn chips. Or loose change. Or really, whatever isn't secured and is just rattling around the bottom of the bag.
They pass through into a different, Degas-themed gallery, and Helblindi looks around at the pale limbs, naked and on display for the whole world to see. He turns to give Darcy a smug smile.
"That's me, you know," he says, pointing towards a painting of a nude ballerina, washing her legs.
Darcy, against her better judgment, forces herself to look more closely at the painting, at the features that are so distinctly Helblindi emerge where before none were.
"My God, you're incorrigible," she mutters, rolling her eyes, and Helblindi looks inordinately pleased. "You and your brother both."
"No, Byleistr doesn't make a pretty girl, I can assure you," Helblindi says, smiling at the female portrayal of himself.
"No, I mean Loki." Darcy is seriously considering setting Henry on a corner of the Degas, wonders if the paint and acrylic would mess with his digestive system. Decides that it will not.
"Oh. Yes. I suppose," Helblindi says off-handedly. "He was an interesting man, Degas, I'll give him that. Actually, the 19th century was just an interesting time, over all. It's so odd to see how 'far' art has come," he says, making air quotes. "From beautiful subjects," he winces as Darcy elbows him in the ribs, "to lines and scribbles that make no sense at all."
Darcy scoffs. "So, Miss Ballerina," she says with a smirk, "are you in any other paintings that I should know about?"
"I've actually been featured quite a lot in the Lascaux cave paintings," Helblindi says nonchalantly, filing his nails against his jeans. "I've sporting a rather prominent piece of anatomy in many of them. That was an interesting time as well for your realm. Thankfully, you've modernised, I definitely am not a fan of the sticking things with spears until they die. It was a...much simpler time. And much more boring."
Darcy just rolls her eyes, takes him by the hand, and drags him to the Monet gallery, where Helblindi points out a woman with a parasol and tells her that that is also him. Darcy just has to wonder.