Les grands philanthropes Dranem, surnommé l'homme qui a fait rire le contribuable

The Great Philanthropists Dranem, nicknamed the man who made the taxpayer laugh     -- Barrére, Le Rire (The Laugh; French Comic)

She was one of the younger Asari, for certain. His glossy eyes absorbed every detail of her. Could he remember anything he had ever glanced at in his entire life? Absolutely. Was it technically necessary for him to stare in awe, his jaw slightly agape? Of course not.

But he was young for a Drell, himself. He was familiar enough with human culture to know they would call him a “young adult”, perhaps compare him to a human aged about twenty. He was rather familiar with their culture, actually. He had been selected to uphold his end of the Drell’s ancestral agreement with the Hanar by spreading a very particular message. It was quite early in his life that Dranem discovered his knack for the art form which a human society would identify as “Beat Poetry”. His flawless, vivid memory combined with a natural talent with words that so impressed everyone around him that he was lauded as a gift, and he considered it the highest honor that he had been selected to spread his gift as far and wide as possible. The Citadel seemed a good place to start, and the White Lily Cafe was highly recommended by his eldest brother. He had been told this would be a place to showcase his art, and indeed it seemed to be - Dranem had signed the sheet for the “open mic” performance a solid hour ago, and the fact he was still waiting his turn was a tribute to how packed and active this crowd was. He was pleased to see how many artists there were, and how many variations of performance were put on display - here, a Quarian performing some kind of marvel with an audio synthesizer; there, a Volus reciting a rousing speech from one of his people’s most famous plays. And now, on stage, an Asari, who was telling a story, a tale so passionate and vivid that Dranem had begun to fail in his mission of observing his surroundings. She had drawn him in to her tale, one so magnificent that it made the wait and the trip to the Citadel and every step he had taken worth it a thousand times over. Excitement welled inside him; this is what he had come for! This passion, this dedication, this art.

“Dranem!” The announcer called out. The Asari woman was already gone. Dranem knew her name: Ashah. It had been said once, and once was enough. He had wondered what his poetry would be about, and now he had found the answer. This was an opportunity he had to take advantage of; to do less would dishonor his mission. He sauntered to the stage with all the nonchalance of a Krogan approaching an eating contest, but twice the hunger. This was his moment.

This was his chance.

He pressed a button on his omnitool and a simple beat played on basic drums began to play.

“The Drell, as I am,” he began, casting his gaze across the crowd. He took note of hints of confusion here and there. “The Drell are a story.

Are a dream, as all things

Dream,

As all live and

Maintain, find life and growth

Find home, find safety, find

Existence.” He reached a toned arm out to Ashah, with wink. “It is my Place, my

Very reason

My very goal

Purpose

The fuel of my engine

The breath of my lungs

Dry, healthy,

Grateful.” The crowd was starting to warm up to him. He felt their moods swing, felt their attention focus. No one was checking their omnitools now; they all looked directly at him. A handful started to sway with the beat.

“The path we tread, the

Trail

The journey we walk

Is revolutionary

Is majestic, a creation

A sight to see

And always hold

As many are.” Another wink. Ashah didn’t seem unimpressed, that much was good. He folded his arms across his chest.

“We will live, of course

We must

We always shall

For nothing dries our

Ocean.

But for what?

There is more than

Food

Than work, than activity

Than war, than conflict, than tasks,

No.

It is...” He spread his arms wide, symbolically enveloping the crowd. “...Experience.” He could have sworn he heard a human in the crowd say something about there being a man around, but he wasn’t sure how that was relevant and ignored it.

“What is experience, if not

The flavor

The taste

What fixes foul to fair to fine to fain to fan-

tas-

tic?”

Ashah smiled.

There it is.

“If experience is the seasoning, the spice, the very

Core

Not the meat, but the heart

It is the drive

Then we must experience peace

We must experience

The tranquility

Of being truly one.

Of body, of mind, of soul - combined.” He could tell most of them were managing to follow him, so he continued: “This is the truth of Peace, this is

What I can show you

Should you follow.”

With a deft flick of his hand, the musical beat quickened, softened, halted.

“Will you follow?” Another wink to Ashah. But this one was returned in kind.

Dranem bowed to the audience and received comparable praise to Ashah, which was more than he had expected. As he stepped off the stage, the asari pulled him aside.

“So do you always talk like that, or is it just a thing you do?”

“The body obeys the mind, the mind

Obeys the soul, the soul

Has

Pledged

To uphold Art.”

“Oh,” Ashah said, frowning. “Nevermind, then.” She turned and melted back into the crowd. Dranem laughed.

“The blessing of memory

Will show

That forevermore, I know this path

Was closed

By Art, but that no path

No person