Bright Lights, Bigger City [Open Club Thread]

[Joza Perl]

Joza leaned forward, shifting an elbow to balance against one of her knees as she gave [member="Mishel Ren"] as much of her attention as she could afford in a place like this. A place like this. A place that she owned, operated and managed. It wasn’t an assassination attempt or overtly aggressive behavior that concerned her (though, perhaps to some degree she should be) but rather, she preferred to be awake and alert in this sort of environment. You never knew who or what you’d encounter when you came downstairs from the VIP room, especially given the Zeltron’s slew of odd friends.

From over Mishel’s shoulder, her gaze flickered onto [member="Alkor Centaris"] and gave the man a stern look. The Dark Jedi wasn’t the partygoing type, but he was the ‘drink-until-I-forget-where-I-am’ type. She’d get to her business with him, perhaps a little late than expected given the casual bombs Mishel was dropping. Bright green eyes settled back onto the young Kerrigan as she recounted the events surrounding her capture from Tygara.

The cigarette hung loosely from her lips, smoke curling lazily into the air just above the lit tip. Her initial question was intended to keep things slow, not wanting to bombard the young woman just yet. Joza couldn’t help but notice that she seemed entirely unperturbed by the situation as a whole, figuring it to be either a product of brainwashing or suppression. PTSD and anxiety made for a strange chemical cocktail, often expressing stress in an unintended or otherwise unhealthy way. Who knew what was really going on inside the Ren’s head, and Joza would claim to be no psychologist. For now though, she was vaguely suspicious of the woman’s motives given that they’d be hostiles in quite a different scenario.

“Kraal? That wasn’t too long ago…” She glanced over at [member="The Slave"] idly, as if he knew what the hell either of them would be talking about. Drawing her focus back to Mishel, she removed the cigarette from her mouth and exhaled smoke through the corner of her lips, away from the young woman. “Sounds like you’ve been through a helluva lot, kid.” Admittedly, her heart sunk a bit at the line I just wanted to go home. Joza had been in that same place at one point, years ago. Granted, she’d been much more unhinged and lost her lunch quite a bit due to nerves, but she knew the feeling well. Back then, all she’d longed for was the shoddy apartment she called home and the loving embrace of her mother.

“Forgive me if this is an odd question, but Rio—Mishel, is that what you prefer to be called? Mishel, you look a lot older than I figured you would.” Her tone has noticeably softened by a fraction or two, thoughts swirling into existence before she leaned a little closer, speaking in a slow, hushed tone. “Did they hurt you, Mishel? I can help you leave if you want to. I have a place you can stay.” There was a layer of concern in her eyes, deep and strong. The Zeltron did a lot of work with the abused and knew that a way out could be difficult. Granted, she’d never tried to outright remove anyone prominent from a major power, but the pink tinted woman was crafty and covert where she needed to be. Of course, this was just gentle probing to see where the real issue, if there was one, had lain. Mishel could be completely comfortable where she was right now, but she had said that she wanted to go home—presumably to her mother. Maybe she was torn on what to do and where to go.

She’d kept a fraction of her attention on [member="Nate the Bounty Hunter"] as he scuffled with the bodyguards, looking for a second as if he were about to take them on in a brawl. He relented though, and as he passed by heading towards the stairs, she reached out to skim her fingers along his arm briefly to get his attention. “Drinks are comp’d. There’s a fighting pit three blocks from here if you’ve got some anger to burn off.”

 

[Mishel Kryze]

Mishel looked about the room a moment, her eyes surveyed the second floor casually. Kaalia had disappeared, and was no longer in range for her to speak with telepathically. Her expression shifted temporarily with a frown before it left her facial features. She drew her attention back to [member="Joza Perl"] and watched the cigarette burn, her eyes focused on the glow of the stick. How it burned orange and she was reminded of Mustafar, reminded of her lightsaber and of home. In the moment her eyes flickered to orange but just the same shut down back to their natural hazel-green. The dark side had been sapped, what was once a deep connection was now barely a tether and in its place, the light grew and the young Ren knew not what to do with it. Her eyes shifted now to focus on Joza as she spoke and answered her question plainly in a hushed manner just as the pink skinned woman leant over. "I was made to serve my father, he told me that my mother abandoned me." She shut her eyes tight as something in her mind ticked over. "I cannot stay, my neurotransponder will be done soon and I must return home."

Quietly she rose from the sofa, "I appreciate your time, Aunty Jo. Perhaps... another time, we can chat more. If... if you see my mother, tell her I'm alive." There was something of a tear in Mishel's eyes. She knew not what was happening but she knew the memories she once held so sharply were fading. With Kaalia gone, the young woman no longer felt it safe to be in the club alone. Light against dark, and the truth of her origins fading from her mind. "And to you..." She turned to [member="The Slave"], "enjoy the evening." On her feet, she saw @Alkor Centaris and looked at him a moment. Then back to Joza, "actually Aunty Jo." A pause, "when you and... well, when you're done here find me on Monastery, and bring him." She gestured toward the Dark Jedi, and with that she made haste for the first floor.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

He offered [member="Mishel Ren"] a nod and a salute with his glance, a departing cheers for the oddly casual girl. She was interesting, in not slightly, but she didn’t seem right to him. Maybe he was losing his touch, or maybe he was actually going over his limit.

A soft sigh left his lips before downing the rest of the drink and setting the empty container down on the table between them. With his now empty hand, an idle finger moved to [member="Joza Perl"]’s wrist, stroking it lightly as he spoke;

“Is it always like this? Being important?”, he said, for once the coy behavior missing and replaced by something that seemed like genuine concern.

He paused for a moment, pulling the cigarello from his mouth and with it a thin trail of smoke. His words seemed withheld, carefully crafted before being presented to her, as though he worried what he would say;

“When I first walked over here, I couldn’t read you…”, his fingertip lightly tapping against her pink skin.

“I think I’ve noticed the chinks in your armor, Miss Perl. If only slightly.”, his tone a low rolling voicing, just barely overriding the louder bass that surrounded the club. He glanced to her, offering her a thin smile.

Still, a small portion of his attention was still focused on those beneath him. Their energy wasn’t rampant by any means, but a slow rolling thunder that felt it could erupt at any moment. He liked the thought of it, but his attention was getting dulled.

Was it because he could feel something, or because he was tired? Bah, it wasn’t worth a second thought. He’d just take enough Savorium to forget about it by the end of the night.

 

[Kaiden Rohn]

There were things that Kaiden would consider a 'target indicator'. Something that would give away your position or disposition to the enemy. Trash left at a rally point. Excessive movement. Things of that nature. However, his suspicion- his gut feeling about [member="Samka Derith"] was confirmed. Of all the things that Kaiden was good at, and very good at it- it was seeing through a ruse, a fake. Being that he kept a ruse of himself not falling apart on the inside alive at all times, it was easy to see fake people when he himself was faking all the time.

The girl was putting on the voice. Putting on the act. He watched her eye movements. Anyone could hide their facial emotions, that was child's play. That wasn't hard to do- the real trick was hiding your eyes. Eyes were the windows to someone's soul, after all. And Kaiden's eyes were hawk-like, stern and even damaged on one eye- cosmetically, at least. His eyes were as good as they used to be. Knees, fists, elbows and his back wasn't for sure, but he was damned if he couldn't see as well as any man, or even himself once upon a time.

She was a fake. A lie. An actress in a cheap set. Question was, what was the play. Kaiden decided to do the direct approach. In the worst event he was wrong, she'd freak out and run away, and he'd shoot his way out. At best, he was going to have one hell of a story.

"You can start by telling me what you're really doing here."

 

[Alkor Centaris]

Alkor watched as the man approached, wary and full of suspicion. He noted that the woman seemed taken aback, but not altogether surprised. That was good, at least. It meant there wouldn't be a scene, not outright at least.

That would come later.

He slipped the lightsaber away, back into the folds of his cloak, and exhaled gently. His attire was certainly not dressy, and he looked more like a rogue than a dapper gentleman- yet this was as normal as Alkor Centaris came. It was easy enough to justify a blaster weapon in the underground of Zeltros. He might as well be a Corellian spacer- gods, but he loathed the thought- as he slipped toward [member="Samka Derith"] and [member="Kaiden Rohn"] .

"There you are," he said in a relaxed, Corellian drawl. Notably, he did so without touching her. Alkor knew better than to touch people unexpectedly. "Sorry I'm late," he added, "I got caught up with work, no time to change."

His gaze was softened from the stern, stoic expression he generally wore, and his lips curled in a lazy smile- the trademark grin of his people. "Sorry if I'm interrupting something, but do you mind if I cut in?"

He offered a hand to the woman, his body language apologetic. "Care to dance?" he asked.

 

[Kuzo]

Despite the initial surprise, Irajah quickly recovered. She enjoyed social interaction, after all, she just hadn't expected to be thrust into it so soon after arriving.

"Quite the busy little corner of the galaxy isn't it?"

"Very busy," she confirmed with a chuckle, glancing out at the club. "I've never been to Blush before, let alone Zeltros, so this has been quite an education!" She didn't sound uncomfortable, so clearly Zeltros agreed with her.

She took a long sip of the pink atrocity that had been handed to her, lips puckering slightly. They certainly didn't skimp here. So that was one point in the club's favor!

"Now now no need to be nervous. I don't bite....................unless you want me too."

Blink.

Blink.

She threw her head back and laughed.

"Oh, oh geez," she said, eyes crinkled into a smile. "I have not had nearly enough of this.... whatever this is..... for you to talk to me like that." The words were on the stern side, but she was also clearly not offended.

"So what brings you to this little slice of indulgence Miss Irajah?"

She took another sip of her drink, swishing it around in her mouth for a moment before deciding on an answer.

"To get away from it all, even just for a little while. Maybe, just maybe, to pretend that nothing outside of some fine company and a good drink existed. Just for an evening," she said with a grin.

It was the truth, but it ran so much deeper than the casual, cheerful tone in her voice.

"And how about you two gentlemen, hmmm?"

[member="Viktor Alexander"] [member="Darlyn Excron"]

 

[Kenrath]

Viktor chuckled.

"So what you are saying is we should keep drinking and wait for a more respectable level of drunkenness to discuss foreplay? That would take all the fun out of being on Zeltros and celebrating a new step on the journey to greatness. However if you insist I shall attempt to behave..........for now."

He turned to the bartender with a smile.

"Another round for the lovely lady please."

Turning back to her he smiled.

"This trip is a graduation present from the old man while I wait on a Fleet assignment. It is not the nicest place I have ever partied but it does boast a particularly stunning scenery to make up for it."

Viktor sipped his drink.

[member="Irajah Ven"] [member="Darlyn Excron"]

 

[Darlyn Excron]

Darlyn smiled a bit at [member="Irajah Ven"]'s responses to the short barrage of questions. She certainly seemed to have some sense of humor, he could appreciate that, not to mention the cheerful tone and pleasant sounding voice overall was doing wonders to help his mood. Certainly better than high pitched wailing. He took a sip of his drink, letting [member="Viktor Alexander"] speak first, before offering his own replies. "Got tired of delivering bad news and helping with funeral planning. I had the funds and the reason, so I figured I might as well. Never been to Zeltros for anything besides business, and it's been quite the night."

He was rather straightforward and honest, probably more so than either of his newfound drinking partners expected. But, there was little harm in telling the truth and no point to lie. He was here to stop thinking about dead guardsmen under his employ, and hopefully not go insane with the amount of stress and frustration it caused him. "Never understood the excitement and reputation of this place, now I think I'm starting to get it though. Good drinks."

 

[Joza Perl]

Joza leaned back in her seat, snubbing what was left of the cigarette on the ashtray beside her. The girl was acting strange, as if she didn’t quite know how to respond to the situation at hand. Several red flags had gone up for her during the conversation, and she fixed [member="Mishel Ren"] with a passive, unobtrusive stare as the girl rose from the sofa to take her leave. A scarlet brow rose in vague interest as she motion towards Alkor, asking that she bring him to see her on Monastery. It was an odd request, and the Zeltron had to wonder if the two knew eachother. Perhaps they’d met on the battlefield or had dealings elsewhere.

“Alright. Be safe, Mishel.” Threads of sincerity wove their way into her voice as the young woman drifted away into the background of the club. Thoughts lingered after her, wondering if she should contact Siobhan to let her know that one of her own was alive and to get the full story.

Focus was drawn back to [member="The Slave"] as his finger ghosted up and down her wrist. It was a light touch, unexpected and cause a localized shiver to the sensitive flesh there. Important—better in here than elsewhere. It was a showy, typical Zeltron nature that allowed her to slip under the radar in other ways.

“Good,” Her words rode on a low exhale, sinking a bit further into the couch as she tilted her head back to rest against the sofa. “That means I’m still sentient.” From her new angle, green eyes landed on [member="Alkor Centaris"] as he offered [member="Samka Derith"] a dance. The casual way he held himself while speaking to her caused her expression to twist a little, given that she recognized the woman as one of the injured First Order operatives picked up from Mustafar. Alkor, as she knew him, was typically wound tightly. Was he a supporter of the First Order? Had she misjudged him? Still, the idea of watching him actually dance with a woman was too good to pass up, considering that this was the very same man who thought that pregnancy was both contagious and terminal.

Turning her attention away from her estranged husband for a moment, gaze fell onto the bruising at John Doe’s neck. Wounds as well now that she looked closer, some fresher than others. Scars, too. Always scars. “What do you do for a living?”

 

[Enyo Typhos]

[member="Joza Perl"]


While people were dancing, making merry and generally doing other stuff that involved having fun, Enyo was sitting in a booth in the corner. Unlike her template, she was not a social butterfly. Then again, her template would have reacted in a murderous way to the presence of First Order supporters, so this was perhaps a good tradeoff. By contrast, Enyo was indifferent. In the cyborg's humble opinion, her sister was far too sentimental. For all her power, she was a slave to the ebb and flow of galactic politics, lowering herself to serve unappreciative lesser beings, such as elves.


The clone did not understand...fun. It seemed frivolous to her. Archangel had not endowed her with social skills. So she watched, curious but cold eyes taking in the scenery ahead of her. Long dark brown hair framed a face that was deeply scarred from Korriban, but she wore her disfigurements like a badge of honour. Two heavy cybernetic arms, made of phrik, were propped up on the table. Her augmented legs, long and perfectly machined, were crossed in front of her. The bottle of whiskey on the table was almost empty, but it seemed the liquor was having trouble affecting her. Presumably Archangel was to blame for this as well.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave sat still for a moment, his eyes averting to his knees as he thought on her question. He could tell her he worked for other companies as an agent of their bidding, be truthful in that he was working for the Sith Ascendency or The Primeval, even speak on the drugs he sold on the DarkNet for the sake of fiscal independence. There were many things he did to maintain a healthy living, but at the end of the day he was nothing more than what he was made to be, and so he’d give her the most truthful answer he could.

Perhaps she deserved that much.

A soft orange glow illuminated his face before ceasing, replaced by a shroud of flavored smoke that fell quickly to his loosely fit alabaster tunic. Adjusting for comforts sake, he retained contact with her exposed skin as they spoke, his words a slow delight that rolled with each syllable; obviously a skill he had either practiced or something he was gifted with long before. Either way, his words came directed with care;

“I’m a slave. I do whatever I’m asked to.”, his eyes moving to watch and judge her reaction to his words. Their iridescent glow washed over her figure, but settled on her face with an inquisitive stare.

In truth, that’s all he was. Everything he was to be, or could be, was determined by his master and what they had planned for him. It is the only life he had ever known, and no matter the independence to travel they gave him he was still nothing more than a riddled and damaged psyche with an extreme case of Stockholm’s syndrome. Perhaps it came with the trade, but guesses and theories mattered little to him, only the results that came from it.

In this case, it was the beatings and bruises he showed. The scars and broken personality that came with a lifetime of abuse, but the ones Joza saw now weren’t from an angry owner; but the bruising of forlorn lovers and territorial mobsters that lay in every other alley of the crime controlled sector the club sat in. Neither were something he’d exactly go into detail if asked, in part because he already chose to forget what they came from. If it didn’t deal with who he was now, or what he was actively doing, it was simply a wasted thought process.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │

 

[Kuzo]

"Respectable has nothing to do with the level of alcohol I intend to consume tonight, I assure you," she teased with a wink to [member="Viktor Alexander"].

With that in mind, she accepted the second drink without comment or hesitation, other than a murmured thank you. After the initial influx of company, Irajah relaxed back, leaning against the bar so she could chat with both men more easily.

Arching an eyebrow as she sipped her drink, she asked a moment later, "Fleet assignment? Pray tell with whom?"

Her own allegiances may have been to the First Order, but she was (nominally at least) a civilian. Whatever his answer, it was curiosity, not concern that drove her question.

The smile on her lips sobered slightly at [member="Darlyn Excron"]'s response, but only because she understood far more his reason. But the smile was back again a heartbeat later, as Irajah was determined to have a good time tonight. Forget about Dosuun, about her work on Maena, about the looming specter of Panatha. Tonight she wasn't Doctor Ven. She was just Raj.

"I've never been to Zeltros at all before," she admitted a little sheepishly. "Blush came recommended by an acquaintance, so this is all I've seen so far."

 

[Joza Perl]

Things started to come together gradually. From the lack of name to the spiced out look in his eyes, to the bruises and cuts marring his flesh, it made sense that he was a slave. A picturesque example of abuse.

Maybe [member="The Slave"] was lying.

Beneath the thin smiles and behind that passive gaze of hers was paranoia—an anxiety that only very occasionally threaded subtly into her movements. Busting slaver rings was something of a pastime that had expanded into an underground operation complete with sniper rifles and shiny armor. It was dangerous, gritty work but part of Joza thrived on that sort of thing, the other part grasping at straws to find a reason not to keep going. And there were good ones—her son being at the forefront of every point of contention. But then she’d remember the scars on her back and the vaguely malformed flesh at the side of her neck where the brand had once been, and she pushed forward. She assumed she would push until she was back in chains or dead.

The Zeltron had a soft heart, sometimes too empathetic for her own good. Maybe, she thought, maybe he’d been sent here by someone who was tired of her meddling. Draw her in carefully until…well, there were a lot of ways this could go.

Continuing this conversation was one of them. She conjured up another pair of drinks, passing him one before taking a sip of her own. “Is your master here tonight?” She gave an idle glance to the crowd below, gaze lingering on the familiar visage of [member="Enyo Typhos"] as a jolt of surprise jumped her heart. That was definitely the face of [member="Siobhan Kerrigan"]—but since when had she become a brunette? Joza doubted that Sio would give up her red hair for anything.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

[member="Joza Perl"]


Enyo was no mentalist or mind reader, but she was quite observant. Growing up in a totalitarian environment where your every step was monitored and your every word weighed when it came to ideological purity would do that to you. Thus the fact that the Zeltron's eyes were on her did not escape her attention.


The look she gave the pink woman was chilly. This could mean any number of things if this were Siobhan. Perhaps ideologically motivated disapproval of the company she kept in her club. This was actually unlikely since the real Siobhan Kerrigan would have just gotten murderous...which might be why this writer was not using her in this thread.


Strong walls shielded her mind, a thought shield. Enyo's 'sister' was an empath, and so she'd learned from early on to preserve the sanctity of her mind. At least to a degree. Joza would probably still be able to glean surface thoughts. If Joza looked a bit more thoroughly, she'd probably detect Enyo's heavy cybernetic arms. Another key difference compared to the vain Lady Kerrigan. Oh, and thanks to an iron lung, her breathing was similar to Vader's.


For her part, Enyo sized the woman up. Her mechu-deru senses tingled when she felt the presence of metal and electronics, with the sensation emanating from one of the woman's arms. The cybernetic limb seemed like a strong one. Probably custom-made. Further analysis yielded the knowledge that it was probably phrik, though Enyo could not identify all of the cyber-arm's components. The woman's aura indicated she was strong in the Force and broadly light orientated, though Enyo could not magically discern her allegiance, assuming she had one.

 

[Darth Empyrean]

As the maiden pushed one of the drinks to him, he moved his cigarello aside for the second to sip a hefty amount before setting it back down; his eyes never moving from Joza. If there was a time limit he’d get to enjoy her, then he’d make use of every second. Bringing the tobacco back to his lips, he glanced around the crowd to see if Imperia had decided to make a casual visit, no matter how unlikely.

The crowd moved between strobe lights and lasers, each their own potent hormone filled vessel of fetishes and drugs; each moving in sync with the heavy vibrations of the club orientated music. He himself enjoyed the music even if he hadn’t had a history of it prior to his ‘freedom’ under his new master, but the more he was exposed to it the more it seemed to grow on him. Preferring the brightness and subtle intoxication of a large mob, he never did enjoy the slow rolling cantinas of places like Tatooine or Outer Rim space stations.

Looking over the riot of a party beneath them, paused on the ever staring [member="Sal Katarn"], his gruff features illuminated by a subtle cigarette's lit cherry, washing him in a rolling orange light before fading. Another mobster perhaps? He didn't remember owing anyone any money... Still, there was a cold hunger in his eyes. He wanted something. He'd deal with it later, he thought.

With his eyes traversing the faces of the rest crowd, he couldn’t seem to notice Imperia nor her force presence. She wasn’t here, not right now at least. Perhaps Joza wouldn’t enjoy that as an answer, but he simply shrugged as his gaze moved back to her;

“No. Not tonight it’d seem. Why do you ask?”, he said, his curiosity peeked at her inquisitive nature.

Did she want to buy him? He doubted Imperia wanted to sell him just yet, if not for a high price. She seemed exceptionally comfortable with him being in her custody, likely a result of the almost massive force sensitivity he had with little to no training, but he didn’t know her reasonings and made little attempt to worry about it. He wasn’t meant to question her afterall.

│ [member="Joza Perl"] │

 

[Kenrath]

Viktor chuckled.

"Most of the major governments have received my transcripts. It is just a matter of who has an open slot they need filled."

Viktor sipped his drink.

"Why you know anybody that needs a pilot that is as handsome as he is talented?"

Viktor smiled letting [member="Irajah Ven"] and [member="Darlyn Excron"] chat for a minute while he watched nearby patrons dance and have a good time. It was a fun place to be but Viktor was not sure it was a place he would come to many more times. He felt more at home in more upscale places but was still an adventurous soul.

 

[Samka Derith]

"What I'm... what?" Samka frowned, leaning forwards slightly towards [member="Kaiden Rohn"] and gestured to her ear to say that compilation of noise some tried to pass as music was too loud for a full conversation. "I'm just here to enjoy a few drinks with a few friends but I don't know if this is my kind of place," Sam glanced around wondering if maybe security might see a young woman being stopped by an elder gentleman as a issue but she didn't hold much hope for a place like this.

But it wasn't local security who intervened.

"I got caught up with work, no time to change."

"Clearly," Sam replied immediately and folded her arms. She'd encountered this sort of behaviour before, the kindness of strangers. From her understanding, it was fairly normal for strangers to identify someone in an unwanted social situation and pretend to be a friend or lover to offer an escape should the unfortunate person need it so she knew to play along. However that person themselves could become a problem if given the chance. The entitlement of the rescue romance was a very real thing and if that was what this newcomer was after then perhaps there'd be a higher body count than expected tonight.

The young Knight of Ren beamed, placing her smaller, sleek hand in those of [member="Alkor Centaris"] and spoke, "I would love a dance, thank you." She began to gracefully lead the man towards the dancefloor then leaned up and whispered a quick "Thank you," in his ear.

 

[Connor Harrison]

You don’t do what Connor Harrison has done and not react.

He’d acted more callous, crueler and colder than ever, and he had enjoyed it.

So there was once place he could go to revel in an atmosphere where nobody judged or knew him – bar the owner, who probably wasn’t there. [member="Joza Perl"] had told him of the club on Zeltros she was trying to start a while, and so what better place to go to now in this already dreamy state he was in to continue it a little more before reality hit.

Dreamy, or drunk. He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Not drunk…just a bit merry. Not too much. Enough. Who even cared.

Was this reality? He had done those things hadn’t he.

The burn on his leg was there, and the torn cloak, and the blood on his hand and chin. So he had. They would all learn in time to know his name and his power. She said he’d regret this. Nope!

He near enough glided into the cyberpunk-esque club from the humid outside with its lights and music, but he didn’t care for that. He was already a little cut from the journey in. Force users were around, but who cared. Of course they were – Jedi and Sith weren’t the only ones using the space wizardry. Most people had it but didn’t even know. Nobody would mess with him anyway.

Connor looked around and blinked, and saw bodies all around, lights and pheromones. He wrinkled his nose – it reminded him of her. Moving through the crowd gently, Connor sighed as a body or two hit him, and just made his way to the long neon bar and leant over.

”Whiskey or whatever burns going down," he shouted, waving his hand.

He fell back onto a bar stool and ran his hands through his hair.

What a few days.

They weren’t over yet anyway. Time to make it mean something.

 

[Joza Perl]

Brunette Siobhan met Joza’s curious gaze with a chilly look, and the Zeltron found herself taken aback for a moment or two. As the seconds ticked on, however, it became increasingly apparent that whoever this woman was, she was not the Sio that Joza had come to know. Red hair aside, the Lady Kerrigan wouldn’t be hiding out in some corner of the club—and if she was, there’d be at least half a dozen women accompanying her from either her own entourage or the club itself.

She’d also be more likely to give Joza a more verbal piece of her mind concerning the glare, which was really just a response to being stared it. Her gaze couldn’t help but linger, sizing the woman up in kind as she gleaned what she could from the distance. [member="Enyo Typhos"] was a darker presence in the Force with enough strength to put the Zeltron on guard. There were numerous trained Force sensitives in the club of varying ability, and she wasn’t exactly willing to duke it out with any of them. Blush didn’t need more blood stains, thank you!

The glass balanced at ruby lips for a moment before tilting inwards for a short sip as she considered [member="The Slave"]. The dark circles around his eyes and the bruised flesh couldn’t hide his youth, and she placed him to be an early or mid twenty-something. “Don’t meet many slaves who are given this sort of freedom.”

But she had. It wasn’t often, given that she turned her focus towards underground trafficking operations, but occasionally she’d run across slaves who were given more freedom than the rest. They had a sort of limited freedom, able to go where they pleased and do what they’d like provided it was within certain guidelines and they returned to the heel of their master. No collars or chains, typically a subcutaneous tracking chip or those nasty bombs rigged into the vertebrae. The technology was always changing, which was a good way to make sure your cargo didn’t get loose.

It was a cowardly act in her view, but it was a profitable public business in certain sectors, underground in most.

“Are you allowed to come to places like this?” Her tone was friendly if not a bit cordial, a pleasant face she put up when things turned more clinical.

X

The bartender passed [member="Connor Harrison"] a highball glass of whiskey, moving on quickly to the group of giggling, shrieking Zeltron women who’d meandered their way up to the bar for their fruity concoctions. A couple kept glancing over at the man, before one was given a light shove towards him. Going with the momentum of the motion, a young Zeltron woman with bright coral skin and vibrant violet hair made her way over to the Ren, hips swinging as she approached him before slipping onto the seat beside him.

“Hi!” She greeted brightly, voice raised over the thrumming bass of the music that seemed to surround them. “I’m Bianca.” The woman gave him a toothy smile.

 

[Enyo Typhos]

[member="Joza Perl"]


"What is that woman's name?" To say that Enyo asked the pretty Zeltron waitress would be implying that she was polite. Rather, her tone was chilly and imperious. Siobhan could be just as authoritative, but the clone lacked her warmth. She was all razor-sharp, hard edges. Ostensibly at least.


"Uh, Joza Perl. She's the owner of the club," the waitress said, a bit taken aback by the tone. "You're all alone. Pretty thing like you should have some company. Would you like me to?"


Enyo stiffened when the the waitress ran her hand across her shoulder and abruptly removed it. Fortunately for the poor lass, the clone remembered her strength and thus did not crush her hand. "No," she said stiffly, "take this to your mistress," with that she put a piece of paper in the woman's hand. Essentially, it said: I see you're staring. You know her, don't you? Talk private.