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.
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.”
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.