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Sybarite [Open Club Thread]

- - - - - The Technicolor Beat

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#1
The Slave

The Slave

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-X-

-Theme Music-

 

In the midst of the Outer Rim, the void shook with violent enthusiasm; bass rupturing the utter silence with vacuum bursting vibrations of unwithheld beauty. Nebulas created a vibrant sky for those who could witness it, while distance stars found themselves speckled across the black abyss with quiet regard for the other colors. Contrasting either however, was the lively embrace of a ship that floated through space with a slow roll.

 

Aboard The Technicolor Beat was a raging party that hadn’t ceased in weeks. Since the grand voyage of the massive vessel, only those who were either heavily dedicated or well endowed with influence were able to find it, board it, and participate in it. Floors on floors of Zeltrons dancing about, drugs that flowed plenty and endless, and alcohol that met the lips of every purveyor. With the molecular furnace in full tilt, there was no chance of them running out anytime soon; and while those who went too far were put in the brig or trash compactor, those who handled themselves well kept to the main partying area.

 

Within this, was a single massive opening surrounded by a number of floors. Circling the main floor were layers of balconies and private rooms, each rented out to various subjects of various political entities and otherwise. With nearly seventy floors of entertainment and housing, there was endless opportunities for those who sought them; all surrounding a zero gravity dance floor that ran the entirety of the massive club. Towards the bottom was the main bar, and the top the VIP areas, all between them were various outcroppings and otherwise that offered this activity or that. There was nearly everything the random hedonist could enjoy, and just as many things to take to far.

 

Today however, there was something special to be had. An invitation had been sent out to hundreds in the galaxy, unknown members of power players allowed a singular chance to participate in one of the most exclusive space faring nightclubs to ever exist. With it constantly hiding between Otherspace and forgotten nebulas, and it's extremely potent stealth capabilities, the ship known as The Technicolor Beat was nearly impossible to find; and so too the club within it.

 

-X-

 

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-X-

 

Inside however, as the music blared and the alcohol ran free, a man known simply as The Slave sat propped in a folding chair on the ceiling of the bar. With a drink in his hand, a dark pair of sunglasses hiding his corrupted eyes, and a half unbuttoned shirt, he watched as the ship's inhabitants floated about to and fro to the beat of the music, lights strobing and lasers flashing. A small couple necking floated past his position, which drew his attention for a moment, but faintly passed as he waited for his guests to arrive.

 

A finger moved to his ear, pressing down the communications device he had as he spoke; uttering words with a careless tone to the AI attendant to the vessel.

 

Are they arriving? I’m getting bored.

 

Indeed they are. Multiple gravitational afflictions have been detected in the local nebula, and arrival is estimated in a few minutes for the first guest.

 

Good.


A grin broke his otherwise pale lips, bringing the colorful neon straw from his drink to his lips with a gleeful squee. Finally, someone interesting would arrive aboard his prized possession.

 

 

Kass ValeMarcus Itera │ Miko Hearth │ Jorga the HuttWinrel RurkVaela SaboeChevu ViszIMD-2BCJoza PerlIrajah VenDarth ImperiaAria Vale


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#2
Causstik Rahn

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Deep within the roiling reaches of space a battered vessel reared its ugly head. Covered from head to toe in dents, scrapes and scratches the vessel was not appealing to the eye. Three of its five engines refused to fire up at all and those that did simply spat the occasional spark as the ship floated listlessly through the endless void. The vessel had been a recent victim of a pirate attack.

 

It had found dozens of escape pods and as an act of faith thought to save those aboard, but it had been a cunning trap. As the pods were embraced to the ships bosoms hundreds of Trandoshans spilled out. The warrior pirates had spared no one. For this considerable prize they wanted no witnesses left alive.

 

They slaughtered the crew, wrecked the vessel and destroyed all data they could find that might incriminate them. Now they simply waited as the ship drifted ever closer to the rendezvous point at which they would meet with their mother ship….

 

Caustik sat boredly atop the bridge, gently drumming his claws across the arm rest. He was watching a pair of Trandoshans fight over a rather eviscerated corpse.

 

“I shot ‘im first. Is my hide!” One of the pair growled as he tugged vehemently on the corpse's legs.

 

“But it was me knife that killed ‘im!” Cried the other as he yanked on the arms.

 

The bickering was a distraction at most, for Causstik’s attention was drawn by the unseen. Sweet whispers that sang to him in the most lovely tone. Promised him plunder, power, and a place eternal at the Scorekeeper’s side. You’ve done well. The goddess is pleased. Very pleased. She will shower you in the finest hides, and adorn your head with a crown of ebony… She will-

 

Causstik snapped out of his trance as a shower of red sprayed over him. He shook his head angrily. The two Trandoshan lackeys had completely ripped the corpse in half. Entrails and other solids lay scattered all over the deck. Causstik's tongue flicked outward and the taste of copper graced his palette.

 

“Gragh... ,” He stared at the two who now looked innocently to their chieftain attempting to hide the pieces of the corpse behind their backs. Causstik stood from his seat and prepared to raise his shotgun, but was caught amiss as he stared out the viewport. A large vessel sat at the rendezvous point and it obviously was not his own. The Trandoshan’s comms began ringing. Every single one of them. The band of Trandoshans withdrew their communication devices.

 

“Greetings. It appears your vessel is damaged. We offer repairs and refreshments, please prepare your airlock and be ready to board.”

 

“Boss?” One of the Trandoshans said curiously. “How did she get my number?”

 

Causstik merely shook his head. The ship was to big and doubtless had too many guns to fight.

 

“Nevermind that. Hide the corpses in the cargo hold. Seal the door tight. Keep the prize locked in there as well. Crossk and a few volunteers will stay to guard. As for the rest of us, prepare to board that ship,” Causstik growled and the pair dropped the corpse and hefted their guns up. Patting and caressing the weapons lovingly. Wicked grins splayed across their face.

 

“Don't fire a single shot. The story is we were hired to guard this merchant ship. We got attacked and barely fought off the pirates,” Causstik said, his patience obviously wearing thin.

 

“So we be merchants now?” One of the Trandoshans asked while he scratched his head, miffed as to what Causstik was talking about. Causstik raised his shot gun and fired both barrels. The Trandoshan’s torso exploded in a mess of giblets and fluids. He coughed up blood and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His still smoking corpse fell to the ground with a thud.

 

“No questions, just do as you're told and. Stick. To. The. Story,” Causstik growled. Their was no need for anymore blood to be shed today. They just had to play it cool..


Edited by Causstik Rahn, 19 May 2017 - 02:20 AM.


#3
Marcus Itera

Marcus Itera

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To be frank, the last thing he expected to be invited to was a party.

 

Unsurprisingly enough, his HoloNet terminal was typically rife with encrypted messages from various clients across the greater galaxy. There were always meetings to attend, briefings to deal with, and then those random stops along the way to let the rest of his boys and girls stretch their legs a little bit. Being stuck in the void for too long was never fun. However, that was exactly what this "Slave" wanted him to do. The coordinates had been relayed and Miranda searched 'em up along with the transponder codes to this fabled Technicolor Beat.

 

It was one of those big ol' boys Cedric's mooks in the Dominion had come up with. Truth be told, the mercenary was far more interested in how this man came to acquire such a vessel. The mentions of Zeltron dancers, zero-G dance floors, and fountains of alcohol also enticed him greatly. 

 

The rest of the crew was in favor of it as well. Especially Zamba and Gherran. Two new swabbies eager to partake in the drunken rituals of the Disfavored Elite.

 

Maybe they'd drop by for a while.

 

-------------------

 

"Exiting hyperspace, prepare for sublight speeds." Miranda reported. 

 

The streaks of cobalt and white eased their velocity, swirling together as the Better Off returned to realspace. Marcus shivered, clutching his leather jacket tighter to his frame. The feeling of hyperspace always gave him chills. Blasting across entire sectors in parsecs was technology readily available, but it still thrilled him each and every time.

 

"Right on, chica. Let's roll." The man rose from his cushioned chair at the bridge, dropping a hand on a young deck hand's shoulder. "Ready to enjoy yourself, kid?"

 

A bright smile and equally bright eyes flashed before him. "Yessir, sure am. I've never really been to any parties before," he replied hesitantly. "Just the ones we have here."

 

Marcus returned the smile, raising his chin in mock arrogance. "Ours ain't up to your standards?"

 

"O-oh, that's not what I meant, sir." Flabbergasted, the young man attempted to recover. "I just mea-"

 

Marcus silenced him with the wave of a hand. "I know whatcha mean, kiddo. Just enjoy yourself on this trip. If you feel a little weird or need some help, grab a battle brother and we'll steer ya clear of danger."

 

"Yes, sir."

 

Marcus slid a cigarra between his lips, grinning. "That's what I like to hear."

 

And with that, he spun about and set off for the docking bay. 

 

The Slave



#4
Alyson Halle

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Alyson had been reading up on the holocron that had eluded her grasp when her datapad beeped with an invitation. Some man named "The Slave" had invited her to some party on his starship. She had heard vaguely of the man known as The Slave, most of it was unsubstantiated rumors, but he had been making waves, nobody actually knew who he was, some said he was a soldier during the wars, who came home and began building an empire, other said he was an old slave who started an uprising, escaping. Nobody knew the true story, all they knew was that he was a hedonist with a lot of power, beyond that he was an enigma.

 

She arrived at the designated location in her shuttle, she decided that bringing a battlecruiser to a party would be a bit overkill, but was suprised to see that this nightclub was a Mephirium-Class Battlecruiser. How did he get a hold on one of these. This man, whoever he was, surely was more connected than she initially thought if he managed to get a hold of a full battlecruiser, it was heavily modified too.

 

Alyson wore a long black dress, but she was not defenseless, she had a vibroknife and a .45 pistol hidden in a secret pocket, she refused to go anywhere without some sort of weapon unless she had too, she was an Empress after all. Going against the wishes of her security adviser, she went in with only a minimal retinue, two lightly armed security guards who were to blend in with the crowds, they didn't want to appear threatening to the other guests, which she assumed there were many.

 

The shuttle requested docking, and were guided to an exterior docking port on the side of the ship. She and her guards walked through the airlock before making their way towards the nightclub, that was probably where the party was. From what she could tell she was one of the first to arrive, as when she showed up to the nightclub part it was rather empty, only a few crewmembers. From what she could tell the club was built in what used to house the solar ionization reactor which placed this near the engine rooms.

 

She did not see this slave character anywhere in the club, she wondered where this mystery man resided, or even if he would bother to show himself.

 

Causstik RahnThe Slave


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#5
The Slave

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Marcus Itera has arrived, Master.

 

The AI’s voice was cybernetic, yet beautiful in its own way. It’d of brought a tear to the young man’s eye if he was a tad bit more drunk, but he wasn’t so it simply brought a smile instead. A grin that wasn’t directed so much as the musical notes that was her vocal synthesization but the words she spoke.

 

Marcus Itera. A mercenary The Slave had been meaning to make contact with, and what better way to entice someone than with as much hedonistic pleasures as one could possible have? Between the dancers, the drugs, and the outer rim lady boys, there was something almost everyone could enjoy; no matter the itch you’re trying to scratch.

 

And so he responded, his voice a collected excitement that held little more than a quiet regard for the AI herself, and leagues more for the topic at hand.

 

Intercept him. I want to meet him.

 

---

 

As Marcus Itera and crew boarded, they were met with a small parlay of security droids. Each a police bot form some foreign company, but each well armed enough to be somewhat imposing. With a soft whirr of their motors and cybernetics, only the front one spoke; the same feminine AI voice offering them all a greeting with the same beautiful disposition as she did The Slave, minus a few sentient love interest codings involved.

 

A pleasure, Marcus Itera and crew. My name is Cybele, the AI aboard this vessel.

 

A short pause for any response they had, but whatever they said didn’t matter to her. Her second sentence came in quick succession, each word crafted like the notes of a well strung harp;

 

My master wishes to see you.

 

Alone.

 

-X-

 

Welcome aboard The Technicolor Beat.

 

Cybele began through one of the many intercoms in the hangar near their ragtag ship. To say Causstik Rahn’s vessel was out of place, or even an eyesore, would be an understatement; as nearly every other vessel there was beautifully crafted or an otherwise luxury vessel for unknown members of various political assemblies. All around them even, rich men and women walked with a stooper of their drug induced state, guided by this police droid or that.

 

I’m Cybele. I am this vessel.”, she began.

 

“For you and your guests, we have anything your heart desires. We are luxury incarnate, and given the chance we’d love to serve you; for the proper amount of credits. My Master gives a greeting and outstretched hand to you, and all those able to find this craft.”

 

A single police droid meanders over to them, weapon in hand but eyes a cold and calculated display of hive mind mentality, all of them obviously controlled by this voice.


Do you have any questions?”, she asked finally.


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#6
Dorsca Waverunner

Dorsca Waverunner

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In the battlecruiser's primary hangar, a supply transport disgorged three thousand premium kegs, a comparable weight in spirits, and one accidental stowaway.

Since his introduction to the galaxy's wonders and follies, Dorsca had stood in a dozen hangar bays. This one could have fit all of them and the starships to which they'd belonged. A world could have fit in here, he felt. People, aliens, and metal beings bustled everywhere on what felt like crucial business. Odd scents lingered on the breeze of air recirculation. Someone spoke to him in the garbled language called Basic: Dorsca recognized the sound of it, but not the meaning. He glowered at the speaker and hurried on without a destination, fish-spear tapping a rhythm on the deck.

#7
Fiore de Noir

Fiore de Noir

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Lights flickered in the cargo hold of one of the more luxurious ships. They caused an odd sensation against a pair of closed eyes, that sensation of course was the reason the would-be assassin to wake up. Her job was simple, kill one of the workers on the ship that was a known Sith who had renounced the Sith Order, etc. He was a force user that had been in ties with Trask at one point and would have had information on the man. Though, Fiore seemed to have been involved too deeply in her own personal problems to realize she had slayed her flask of Corellian Whiskey and passed out.

 

Fiore sat up and shook the flask in frustration, as if to somehow manage to punish the object. She cursed a few times and then stood up. The loud thumping of music echoed and she poked her head out of one the small windows and realized where she had gotten herself stuck on. The girl took a few steps back and stamped her feet in a small temper tantrum. Her mission was screwed up and now she was at some club. The girl paced back and forth trying to think of a way out of this mess, then the idea popped into her head that maybe she could go and meet other people in a social setting.

 

Pondering this she raised an eyebrow and figured, why not. She climbed out of the cargo hold and found that the ship had mostly been abandoned. Shrugging she decided that her outfit would do just fine and the lightsabers would be securely hidden for the most part. If things got nasty she would at least be able to defend herself. Quickly leaving the ship, the just enough Eldorai to have ears, stood in the middle of the hanger. There was an odd tapping nearby and she decided to make her way over. Dorsca Waverunner The Slave


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#8
Dorsca Waverunner

Dorsca Waverunner

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Fiore de Noir

He'd learned quickly that the people of distant worlds called these huge, starfaring buildings 'ships', as if this place held any similarity to a proper vessel. No graceful hand-carved wood, no arcing keel, no proud mast, no sails and no free wind. Just noise and dead air.

Through the oppressive murk, two interwoven scents caught his attention: spiced alcohol, and the hair of a woman.

Ignoring passers-by and metal men, Dorsca paused in the middle of the hangar and looked around. One young woman stood out like a pearl on a dull beach. Her ears carried a hint of an alien point. Young but not too young; slim but not too skinny. If he'd have seen her at a bonfire, he'd have climbed a tree and brought her something fresh. In this bizarre place, a pretty woman offered some kind of anchor.

Knowing she wouldn't understand his dialect, he met her eyes and raised an eyebrow, half-smiling.

#9
Fiore de Noir

Fiore de Noir

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Everything was so loud and she could feel the beats pounding in her chest. The tapping of the spear seemed more familiar in a sense. The wookies would sometimes do this during their own rituals and such, Fiore remembered watching them from a distance, usually behind a bush or two. So she continued to hunt for the sound of the spear, which didn’t take long. Where she had been sneaking around behind some boxes and such, she was now in full view.

 

Standing straight up, she blinked and looked around seeing only one person in the hanger with her. He stared at her and she stared back. There was an awkward familiar feeling, maybe he was part wookie or something. Either way, he didn’t seem like he would bite too hard, though she wondered if she’d really mind it. Fiore quickly scolded herself and moved towards the spear toting man. Her hair was pulled back into a nest of intricate braids and the points of her ears gave her away.  

 

“So, you know anything that’s going on here?” Pausing she decided to try and seem friendlier. “I really like your spear, looks sharp!” Dorsca Waverunner Hopefully this guy wasn't one of those odd guys that seemed to like nibbling on the tips of Eldorai ears, there had been a couple Fiore had run into - especially in the dingiest of all dingy cantinas. 


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#10
Vaylin

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Vaylin hadn't recieved the invitation directly, no rather it had come through talking with Aria Vale. She had spoken with her Master again, between exploring a couple more planets. The two were due to meet up again soon, and as such Aria had suggested the apparently upcoming part as a venue for it. Vaylin was completely against it, such things were not up her alley, far too much noise and was liable to get kicked out when she inevitably fought someone. So what would be the point in even going?

 

Aria however, had pushed the matter that the Zabrak needed to socialize more, beyond just the random person she ended up crossing paths with while exploring.

 

But at a party? This could only go badly, Vaylin was sure of it.

 

Nonetheless, she found herself following the coordinates given and eventually exiting hyperspace. Vaylin let out an impressed whistle at the sight of the Technicolor Beat.

 

"Okay, I'll admit that's an impressive sight." She said, to no one in particular given it didn't mean anything to the droid currently piloting her ship.

 

"They are requesting our invitation."

 

"Transmit it then, and do as Master instructed. We're simply a friend of Aria Vale's, whom she extended the invitation too."

 

"As you command."

 

Vaylin's ship was rather unseemly in comparison to the others that had already docked. Hers was small and simple, practical enough for her needs at this point in time. Once they were docked, Vaylin departed her ship and walked down the ramp. She was dressed in a rather casual get-up, as she was most certainly not the type to wear a dress. Instead she opted for something similiar to her usual attire when exploring, only much more fancier to fit the club scene.

 

The Slave


Edited by Vaylin, 21 May 2017 - 07:14 AM.

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#11
Dorsca Waverunner

Dorsca Waverunner

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Fiore de Noir

Mumble mumble here, mumble mumble spear - but her tone was clear enough. He'd already learned that Basic, like his dialect, swooped at the end of a sentence to indicate a question. Question about here, admiring statement about spear. Straightforward enough.

He grinned broadly and attempted to formulate an answer. His dialect and Basic had diverged from a common root centuries ago, and still shared many cognates.

"Spear good, not good here. Smell drink. Enjoy time. You go fire?"

Not bad for a first try, if he did say so himself.

#12
Marcus Itera

Marcus Itera

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The members of the crew and nearly the entirety of the Disfavored Elite were coming in tow. They'd already start a ruckus, with Einar boasting an ability to down an entire keg of Corellian Fell-Brandy before promptly passing out. Clarissa had also staked a claim to doing the exact same thing minus the loss of consciousness. Bets were made, roaring laughter echoed around the Force cylinder before the boarding doors hissed open. Air pressure and gravity equalized and then Marcus and his forty-something comrades filled the little entrance area of the vessel.

 

While they no doubt expected a welcome party, police droids armed with close-range weapons weren't what he was expecting. That changed the whole manner of his boys and girls, the atmosphere became one of tension and a possibility of quick violence. The Elite hadn't come aboard bearing many arms, at least Marcus had assumed. He was sure the band of mercenaries had slipped an assortment of hold-outs, vibro-shivs, and other smaller weapons in but nothing compared to the wide-arc concussion rifles these bots had.

 

With the narrowing of eyes, Marcus strode to the fore of the group.

 

This Slave wanted to meet him personally? Either he had a job for him, or this man had the hots for 'im. 

 

He prayed for the former.

 

"Aight, I'll go. Show my boys and girls around, will ya? They're itchin' to get to partying." The mercenary flashed the lead bot a grin. "Now let's get on with this. I'm trying to relax too."

 

The Slave



#13
Aria Vale

Aria Vale

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"You'll be there, right?"

 

Aria waited apprehensively for an answer from the communicator pressed between her ear and her shoulder, studying her reflection in the full-length mirror in front of there. 

 

"Maybe, love." Darth Imperia's voice was relatively upbeat through the static crackle, the Coruscanti accent she'd recently switched back to distinct.

 

"Maybe!" Aria laughed. "Come on, it'll be fun. I even convinced Vaylin to come, and you're best off introduced to each other when you're both drunk."

 

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. "I'll try, but you know I'm busy. There's a thing going on with the coalition-"

 

"Yeah, yeah." They had an agreement not to discuss the details of Imperia's company too closely. "Listen, I'll be there, please try to come. Love you." She disconnected and turned to hunt through her dressing table for earrings.

 

-

 

Her ship transmitted a message announcing her as Aria Vale, and hastily Aria added on that she was extending her invitation to Vaylin, who'd been more receptive than Imperia to the idea of a party but not by much. Between Vaylin and Imperia, Aria was surprised anyone she knew would be at the party - not that she could complain, of course. She was very rarely the most social of her circle.

 

But she was cheerful regardless as she strode down the ramp into the Technicolor Beat dressed in knee boots and a black dress. It was still a party, after all- there would still be drinks and dancing and blaring music, and never mind the company. 

She made her way into the club, looking around. A bassline thumped out of speakers as coloured lights made the atmosphere hazy and abrasive, and Aria could easily smell the alcohol; it was certainly promising, if nothing else. 

 

Drinks were commonly her first order of business whenever she went out partying - it was the only way she could be expected to reach the dance floor - and so her eyes sought out the bar, running over when she found purchase, heels clicking against the floor. 

 

"Something colourful, please," she grinned.

 

- Causstik Rahn - Dorsca Waverunner - The Slave - Marcus Itera - Vaylin - Fiore de Noir - Alyson Halle -


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#14
Causstik Rahn

Causstik Rahn

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Causstik and his retinue of a couple dozen warriors exited the mangy craft cautiously.

 

“Could be the Fuzz. We lure ‘em on to our vessel then ambush ‘em,” Causstik growled through gritted teeth.

 

He was leading his group forward when a singsong voice echoed through the hangar.

 

“Welcome aboard The Technicolor Beat.”

 

Hands shot to weapons and the Trandoshan’s bared their arms.

 

“Oi, who said that!” One of Causstik’s warriors growled behind a raised sub machine gun.

 

“An intercom you nitwits,” Causstik growled to the crew. “Lower your weapons,”

 

The Trandoshans reluctantly stashed their weapons back in holsters and sheathes. They stared around curiously. Causstiks malformed ship was a stark contrast to the luxury liners and pleasure cruise ships that lined the hangar.

 

“Ain't no military here boys!” Causstik said, relieved they would not have to fight their way out of this place.

 

“I’m Cybele. I am this vessel.” The AI began in her sing song voice.

“For you and your guests, we have anything your heart desires. We are luxury incarnate, and given the chance we’d love to serve you; for the proper amount of credits. My Master gives a greeting and outstretched hand to you, and all those able to find this craft.”

 

Causstik listened as a droid approached the warriors and he gave the constable a toothy grin. He withdrew a credit stick from a small pouch in his armor. He tossed the stick to the droid and turned back round to face his men.

 

“Well boys, who’s up for a little R&R,” Causstik cried out, arms raised high in the air. He was answered by a loud cacophony of hissing roars some of the warriors going so far as to raise their weapons and firing them into the air.

 

“We’re all in agreement then,” Causstik finished as he turned back round to face the robot again.

 

“Any questions?” The singsong voice asked. Causstik threw a large meaty arm around the mechanical avatar and his toothy grin grew even wider.

“Where can me and me boys get a drink?”

 

Aria Vale

Marcus Itera

Dorsca Waverunner

Vaylin

Fiore de Noir

The Slave

Alyson Halle



#15
The Slave

The Slave

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The Slave watched from his high perch as Aria Vale and Vaylin entered his all but humble abode. Quaking with sound and energy, the ship offered them a glimpse into the life that was his hedonistic rampage across the galaxy, and with the Great Gatsby like exclusiveness of the entire ensemble, it made it all the more interesting to watch these people board and enjoy what he had prepared for them.

 

These two however, were something special. He had heard a number of times of Aria from Imperia, and knew they were close, but what he sought more than just meeting her was impressing her. Not for his sake, by all means no, but for the sake of his master and her alone. There was a certain enjoyment in the brag of what sin he had wrought, and to show them both that Imperia’s own disciple had created such a foreboding pleasure center in the span of almost no time would at the very least show she had an extraordinary eye for talent, if not a grand ability in tutorship.

 

However, that could wait. As the voice of his love-infused AI spoke sweet nothings into his ear, he watched as Marcus Itera was brought through the main room and off to one of the VIP centers on the main floor. Something he himself would need to enter to actually speak to him, and hopefully get to exactly what he hoped for. A new business partner.

 

With music like a harsh wine and people in a riot of rampant degeneracy, The Slave lifted himself from his folding chair and meandered towards the room his contact was waiting in. He wasn’t perhaps recognizable to the majority of those there being nameless and what not, but the greater the enigmatic presence he could carry all the better should he actually reveal himself to one of them.

 

He slid open the door and closed it behind him before removing the shades that protected his eyes. Lucky for him, he was at least well rested this time around, and his words were uttered with a grace of a philanthropist hell bent on making a deal.

 

Ah, Marcus Itera. A pleasure to meet you.”, he said with a quick nod. He moved to take a seat himself as the music threatened to deafen them despite the heavy soundproofing of the room.

 

They call me The Slave.

 

---

 

Why of course.”, Cybele responded with the courtesy she always seemed to offer.

 

Her omnipresent essence ran through the heart of the vessel in every vein she had. If nothing else, these people lived inside her, wandered her floors like a microbial does its host, and almost none of them were the wiser at to just how powerful she was within their floors. Her cameras saw weapons beneath clothes, holdout blasters being nothing more than a for show item to her unobstructed gaze. Even the way each of them could breath was monitored by her infinitely complex systems, identifying their species to their health in a matter of seconds.

 

If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you to where the main party is taking place.

 

Oh, but one mention. No shooting.”, she said with a undertone of passive aggression that couldn’t help but be noticed, but so faint in nature that it couldn’t be directly called out. The cheery nature of the AI betrayed the thought as she forced the droid she controlled to begin walking down the various halls, leading them unto the greatest achievement to ever grace luxury vessels in the entire expanse of space.

 

As they approached the main entrance, the pheromones of the dancers began to waft heavy with the smoke that was generated. The door opened, and they were given a simple glimpse of the massive 70 story nightclub, with its entire core centered around a massive zero gravity dance floor.

 

This, friends, is the heart of The Technicolor Beat.

 

Causstik Rahn

 

---


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#16
Joza Perl

Joza Perl

    #PinkSide

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Joza Perl was never one to turn down a party.

 

Well, maybe she had once or twice as her life grew more demanding. Juggling family and work was difficult, but to the energetic Zeltron is was another challenge she ran into headfirst. Besides, she dealt in entertainment—it only made sense for her to attend the invitations she received as she was able.

 

The Slave had come to surprise her, though. Was it really the same battered and spiced out young man who’d invited her here? Who she’d met at the Alderaan Gala?

 

Settling herself into a seat at the bar, she reclined forward with her elbows resting on the counter. Bright gaze swept up and over the room for a few moments, taking in the décor and technicolor lights that danced off of the walls and along the floor, blending into each other seamlessly as they went.

 

“Ma’am?” A male bartender, young and shirtless with a plastoid implant smile greeted her, demeanor that certain sort of distanced friendly you’d get in places like this.

 

“Sonic Serodriver, please.” Toothy grin flashed, and the drink was being mixed. Perhaps a few seats over or a bit further, she’d spot the form of Aria Vale. Eyes lingered for just a moment, recognizing her image as familiar but who? The drink was placed before her quickly and she smiled at the tender in thanks, lifting the cocktail to her lips and taking a slow drink while trying to figure out where she knew this woman. When her head turned slightly and gave more definition to her face, a slow, almost malicious grin formed along the rim of the glass before settling down to something more proper.

 

If Aria had noticed, the Zeltron would raise her glass in a vague gesture of greeting. If not, her eyes would drift elsewhere, always fascinated by and at home in crowds. 

 

Causstik Rahn Marcus Itera Dorsca Waverunner Vaylin Fiore de Noir Alyson Halle 


Edited by Joza Perl, 21 May 2017 - 06:39 PM.


#17
Vaylin

Vaylin
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She hadn't gotten lost. Nope, not in the slightest bit.

 

Upon her arrival, it seemed rather busy. Droids were greeting there guests, and someone called 'Cybele' was speaking over the ship's intercom. Which just further confused the Zabrak when the woman noted she was the ship.

 

How the kark did that work?

 

Was the ship haunted or something, sentient perhaps? Vaylin wasn't sure, and didn't want to ponder on it and form a headache before the overly loud music inevitably did. Either way, she ended up wandering the halls, with no aim of destination in mind. It became quickly apparent she was unfamiliar with where she was going.

 

Still not lost however, absolutely not.

 

That was when a droid had approached her, asking whether she needed help finding her way around. Vaylin had denied it, her pride wouldn't allow her to admit it. Despite the fact it was hardly going to take much to just say 'yes' and follow. Instead, she turned on her heels and just strode back towards where she at least believed the hangar had been. Then she felt it. Aria Vale's presence, as she arrived.

 

Oh, thank the karking Force.

 

To Vaylin her Master was like a beacon, and she followed right into the night club itself. It was a matter of seconds after Aria had sat down at the bar, that a sudden weight fell into the seat beside her, with a exaggerated groan escaping her lips. "I'll have whatever she just said." Vaylin looked from the bartender to her Master, a familiar deadpan expression on her face. "I already hate this."

 

From her angle, she was able to peer around Aria and noticed a pink-skinned humanoid looking in their direction. She frowned at Joza Perl, wondering why the woman was eyeing up her Master. "Looks like you've already got an admirer." She remarked, nudging her head slightly towards the Zeltron.

 

| Causstik Rahn | Dorsca Waverunner | The Slave | Marcus Itera | Fiore de Noir | Alyson Halle |


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#18
Fiore de Noir

Fiore de Noir

    Pierce the Heavens

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Dorsca Waverunner

 

Fire. Fiore blinked for a few moments as she tried to recall everything that she knew about wookie culture. Nodding, she remembered the fire was meant for gatherings and such. A smile spread across her face a mile wide and she nodded quickly. “Yeah! Let’s go to the fire and get some drinks. I hope they have whiskey – maybe this place is rich enough to have real Corellian Whiskey.” Her little mouth salivated at the thought of the honey smelling liquor.  

 

Looking around she really had no idea where to go, then she looked over at her new-found friend. Her pointed ears perked up and she grinned. “You have a good sense of smell. Help me find where to go and I’ll handle the rest. Um” Remembering his basic seemed a bit broken, she pondered how to word this.

 

“Show me good time?” Fiore hoped her point had gotten across. She was utterly fascinated by him also, she didn’t feel as alone at this moment. Remembering formalities, she quickly introduced herself. “My name Fiore and your name is?”  


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#19
Marcus Itera

Marcus Itera

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Thumping music reverberated about the Technicolor Beat. Marcus trotted alongside the police droids without a care in the world, slightly bobbing his head along with the intense, bassy tunes that he could distinctly make out as one of those hit singles from His Swinging Trio. Swing-bob. Good stuff, the mercenary mused. 

 

As for his crew, they'd already departed and made way for the zero-G dance floors. Many of them had taken it upon themselves to do a little pre-gaming: drinking prior to the party so they wouldn't have to spend as much cash on the host's tenders. Some planets considered it ill practice to do such things, but the rough n' rough soldiers of fortune hadn't a care in the galaxy. 

 

"That synthetic voice," Miranda buzzed in his ear, "Pretty sure it's an AI too."

 

"Pretty sure?" He whispered in reply. 

 

"Almost. Could also just be a droid." Her cyan avatar shrugged, occupying itself with a seemingly endless stream of bits. "But I've got that gut-wrenching feel that it's something like me."

 

"Like you? A cute little girl who wants to be real one day?"

 

Something of an embarrassed and offended blush pinkened her cheeks. "No, shut up."

 

Snorting, Marcus slipped a cigarra between his lips just in time to see his little procession halt and open the doors for him. Mechanical eyes landed on The Slave. The strange man offered a nod and a polite greeting, using his full name. Lighting the cigarra, Marcus returned the nod and strode forward before plopping down into a lawn chair next to the man. 

 

"Sup," he exhaled.



#20
Dorsca Waverunner

Dorsca Waverunner

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Fiore de Noir

He snagged stray words: fire. Drinks. Smell. Go. Then she caught on and went simple. Simple he could do.

"My nehme iss Dorsca. Yes, show you good, good time. Smell drinks." With his spear, he pointed at a large sliding door. Far beyond it, a complex beat pulsed and lights dazzled off metal walls. And sober people went that way, and intoxicated people staggered out to crash in their ships. Seemed like a good place to start.

"Is dance. Is little fight. Is yes?"