(no subject)
Leni still wasn't quite sure how she felt about this place.
On the one hand, she still didn't appreciate being brought here against her will, pretty much everything here was well outside her comfort zone, getting bitten by a goddamn vampire had not been the best possible introduction to things, and she could really use a drink to help her cope with everything.
On the other hand, the rest of the people on board seemed decent enough, by and large, there was no Confederation around to hassle her (she assumed), and everything was... new. She'd lived for so long within her struggle that being plucked bodily from that context was forcing her to revise her mindset; her conversation with the Doctor had made that abundantly clear to her early on.
And then, too, sometimes she'd find places like this: places of unearthly beauty and grotesquerie. There was art that, while clearly the product of some foreign sense of aesthetics, was still unmistakably art. There was art that originated from a more human-like mindset, but that was defamiliarized, made strange by its new context. The art hall she stood in now was yet another instance of both, with its chilling murals and shifting statues, all bathed in a light like nothing she'd seen before. It made her shiver, but that didn't keep her from appreciating it.
The statues, she had to admit, puzzled her. They were interesting to look at, but what was their point? It wasn't as if they'd been created by an artist with something to communicate, like normal art was; were they simply meant to be commemorative? Were they computer-controlled, or was there some kind of intelligence guiding them--perhaps Stacy? Was it really art if there were no motives, or even an artist behind it, to examine?
She sighed and rubbed her temples. She was starting to feel like she was back in college again--the last time she'd come up with something that pretentious, she'd been writing her thesis. She'd wanted to clear her mind, not clutter it further, and so she contented herself for now with watching the statues change.
On the one hand, she still didn't appreciate being brought here against her will, pretty much everything here was well outside her comfort zone, getting bitten by a goddamn vampire had not been the best possible introduction to things, and she could really use a drink to help her cope with everything.
On the other hand, the rest of the people on board seemed decent enough, by and large, there was no Confederation around to hassle her (she assumed), and everything was... new. She'd lived for so long within her struggle that being plucked bodily from that context was forcing her to revise her mindset; her conversation with the Doctor had made that abundantly clear to her early on.
And then, too, sometimes she'd find places like this: places of unearthly beauty and grotesquerie. There was art that, while clearly the product of some foreign sense of aesthetics, was still unmistakably art. There was art that originated from a more human-like mindset, but that was defamiliarized, made strange by its new context. The art hall she stood in now was yet another instance of both, with its chilling murals and shifting statues, all bathed in a light like nothing she'd seen before. It made her shiver, but that didn't keep her from appreciating it.
The statues, she had to admit, puzzled her. They were interesting to look at, but what was their point? It wasn't as if they'd been created by an artist with something to communicate, like normal art was; were they simply meant to be commemorative? Were they computer-controlled, or was there some kind of intelligence guiding them--perhaps Stacy? Was it really art if there were no motives, or even an artist behind it, to examine?
She sighed and rubbed her temples. She was starting to feel like she was back in college again--the last time she'd come up with something that pretentious, she'd been writing her thesis. She'd wanted to clear her mind, not clutter it further, and so she contented herself for now with watching the statues change.