Addicted to the Night.

[Drogh]

In the underground where the nights are endless, many pleasures can be found here and much pain can be seen here. Coruscant has fallen far, the Gulag Virus swept this planet clean of life, the rule of the Sith, the list is endless for the decay of this capital, a historic ruin, yet the home of billions. Buildings crumble, the industries crippled, the fumes of the underworld and seeking up into the upper. This planet is dying within, the city is dying, the people are dying, soon this will truly be just another wasteland, a urban wasteland. Yet that might not happen for some time, Drogh of course wants to enjoy or try to enjoy what little time this planet might have, and so do billions of others. Drugs, booze, far darker and sinister pleasures reap the underground, clubs with all kinds of dancers to please any man or women, or any form of sentient life for that matter.

It's a true nightmare, yet for others a dark heaven. Drogh walked across the streets, the crowd shuffling, talking in their mess of langues and dialects that all started to mesh together, creating as haze of audio that blurred. Above Drogh personal spaceships roared across the sky, zooming above the darkness. Tall skyscrapers that stand firm, some looking upside down, others touching both ends of the ground. The Underground, or at least this part of it was not rotting nor dying, it still had life in it. Drogh for once, wasn't looking to hide or to feel sorry for one self, and let his mind eat away at him, Drogh was looking to fade those thoughts away, with drink, lots and lots of drink.

Finding a decent bar, Drogh walked into, he was found to met with a dozen or so stares, Drogh did his best to ignore them, Drogh sat down, ordering a drink, for once Drogh simply wanted to relax.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Already in the bar Drogh had managed to meander into, The Slave sit in a booth with two obvious Twi’lek prostitutes beneath each arm. His eyes were a careful glaze, his expression a plastered grin, and yet he seemed entirely aware of his surrounding in a fuzzy sort of sense. However, the most notable feature he likely had was the exceptional aura of force that reverberated around him like the pulse of a heart.

Badumn. Badumn.

It echo’ed through the bar to those sensitive to the force, a tidal wave of sensory information as The Slave gave off a meaningless laugh in the depths of Coruscant’s underbelly. For whatever reason, his body seemed to be acting as though it were dying in the force sense, pushed to what many would see a jedi’s coup de grout, instead a passive essence.

Was he dying?

He probably couldn’t tell in his condition, his thoughts passing over each of the various memories that melded together over the past few days.


[member="Drogh"]

 

[Drogh]

Drogh felt a thorn of some sort, some thing digging into his back, Drogh reached over with his arm to see if thing was there, and yet his hand hanged in the air. Drogh turned around, a strike of fear hit his body, some sort of dart had been fired into him?, Yet as he turned it become more clear, it was the force. Some sort of clash in the force, Drogh barely understood the force, yet he could feel the force, and those who had an effect on it, and some one did. The aura had a rhythm to it, a pounding of a drum, a spasm in the force, yet it faded as soon as Drogh confronted it. It wasn't gone entirely but that sharp pain he felt died down dramatically, the aura had weakened. Drogh was overcome with suspicion, and with suspicion came paranoia, and yet Drogh directed his head towards the beatings of this faint drum, he found him self staring at a boy. A face he had seen many times on many different bodies, a battered and beaten face, broken? Not entirely, but certainly bent. To Drogh he was just a sack of flesh, but Drogh could understand that others would find this one attractive, although bruises and scars do add to a distaste. Drogh tired to read the boy further, but he couldn't, some mental barrier was there, although not bedrock, was still very hard to break though.

Drogh was oddly fascinated with this one, his battered body had a past, slavery, abuse? Most likely both, Drogh could see a slave from a mile, if it be pleasure or labor and this one was both, it had scarred the boy no doubt, both in body and mind. The effortless mental blockade put in front of him made Drogh even more interested, just what was he hiding? And yet the being seemed so relax, almost empty, dead even. Drogh wanted to approach the boy, if nothing else to find out what or who he was, his aura, appearance, company all made Drogh wonder, Drogh did not turn his gaze, his metallic mask just staring into this empty husk of a human with so much to hide.

[member="The Slave"]