First Reply Dark Water Sushi Bar (Social, Connections, Meeting)

[GhostKey]

Denon
District 12
Dark Water Sushi Bar
Early Evening, Light Rain
OOC Entry Ideas: Feel free to be any role in this scene. Fixer, connection, stranger chance meeting, corpsec, intelligence service, employer, fellow slicer, denon local etc.

[Theme]

Colors bled into the rain, turning slick streets into liquid light. The air buzzed with electrified hum, muffled voices cast out over a busy cityscape, beating the restless pulse of the city. District 12 was a contrast. On one hand, it catered to tourists with clubs, malls, and a relatively low crime rate. Several corporations took center stage, their skyscrapers dominating the skyline, including a towering former Black Tie Syndicate asset still standing in the district's heart, and an Apex Corporation tower not far behind, rising in its presence every cycle.

On the other hand, Zann Consortium, Nanofreak, Red Static, and Voidway-affiliated gangs fought for the control the Black Ties had left behind. Turf disputes flared up more often than they should, keeping the streets just unstable enough to remind you this was still Denon.

Denon Security and CorpSec didn't bother with a heavy presence here. The main streets gleamed for the tourists, but the alleys were where the city still showed what Denon was. Tucked in a maze of backstreets, a flickering holo-sign advertised Synthpet Haven, selling last-season digital companions to whoever didn't mind outdated firmware. Further down, the scent of sushi drew some closer, alley gutter smoke making them hesitate; dancing glows reflected in endless puddles waiting to soak unlucky shoes.

Across from a secondhand tech and slicer shop—where budget decks and spare parts traded hands for far too high prices—was Dark Water, a small, local sushi joint.

Outside, thin canopies sheltered its seating, while inside, neon bathed the space in cool blues over the booths and warm reds around the sushi bar. Orange lanterns flickered above, their soft glow catching the encoded artwork lining the walls—messages hidden in plain sight for those who knew where to look. Central to the entrance, a transparent bar gave diners a view of an animated Atrisian chef, his blade flashing as he chopped fresh sushi with a thud thud thud onto the board.

To the left, deep blue booths lined the walls, some offering a rare window view, others more private. In the far-right corner, a row of holo-arcade machines concealed a secret terminal—The Darkpatch—a bounty and job board for slicers, if you knew the right name and high score to active it. Besides it, a stimcaf machine, that may or may not have the drink you want filled. Public terminals looked like they'd seen better days but were active, for holonews, messages, synth music and forgoten old b-holomovies.

And in the south-right corner, standing guard like an overeager sentinel, lurked the fearsome GONK Noodle Hustler GONKing quietly to itself. Get too close, and its custom voice modulator kicked in, blasting prerecorded sales pitches in different languages. The only answers accepted were GONK, Yes, or to retreat for cover.

Ghostkey was dressed in Denon streetwear like he was trying too hard—black jacket traced with cyan neon, black ribbed boots, and thick, pocketed trousers—he almost looked like he fit in. Almost, but the teenager didn't move like someone who belonged here.

With Kashyyyk burning, Mathayus had fled to Denon with Glade's rescue, and was trying to make it here. He ordered a stimcaf from the machine, fingers tapping against its worn panel. This was either his big break or the moment he flatlined his one shot. So far, all he'd managed was work as a datagrub, patch jobs for patch credits—it was something; Glade wouldn't let him in on anything more dangerous, but he wasn't here to meet Glade.

​

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Commission

Valery had always been good at blending in when she needed to, but tonight she was going deeper into the heart of Denon's underworld than before. The city was a maze of shadows and intrigue, the kind of place that felt both foreign and familiar to her. It had been years since she had moved through its streets in search of information, but the job was the job. And now, here she was, wearing a new identity that would get her access to the kinds of places where the secrets she needed would be waiting.

She was dressed for the part — fitted brown pants with leather straps that hugged her legs, and a white cropped top with enough of a daring cut to suggest she knew how to play the game. She approached the bar inside one of the more notorious clubs, a place where rumors flowed just as easily as the drinks. The neon flickered above her head, casting her in shifting hues of blue and red as she made her way through the packed space, brushing past patrons who were too lost in their own affairs to take notice of her.

Valery had a goal here: intel. The information about the artifact had reached her ears, and she knew the kind of people who frequented places like this would either know something or know someone who did. As she reached the bar, she tossed a quick look around, letting the weight of her presence settle into the space as she leaned against the counter, her gaze scanning the room.

"Something strong, please," she told the bartender, her voice casual but carrying just enough authority to make sure she was heard over the din.

As the bartender moved to prepare her drink, she glanced across the room, catching sight of someone. It was a fleeting glance, but it sent a small jolt through her.

But for now, she waited. She let the drink come to her, and with it, she would draw closer to the secrets that would lead her down the path to uncover what she was after. A lot of things had changed, but the underworld? That, she knew how to navigate.

GhostKey ​

 

[GhostKey]

The thap thap thapping of sushi stopped. The chef, a broad-shouldered, tattooed Atrisian man with a face like chiselled stone and unnerving metal teeth, said nothing at first. His sharp eyes flicked to Valery, reading her. Then, with a sudden, booming belly laugh, he clapped a thick hand against the counter.

"HA! A lady who knows what she wants! Good!"

Setting a small cup before her, Batch filled it with a shimmering, deep-crimson liquid from a matte black ceramic flask. The scent flavored like charged ozone and burning citrus, mixed with something smoky hinting at fire beneath, like it might ignite if she provoked it. He folded his arms crossed, watching her with a knowing metal grin.

"Drink. This will wake your spirit."

To her right, Ghostkey persuaded the stimcaf dispenser into spitting out something close to a Denon Delux. A double shot, overly synth-sugared Glade-influenced mix, completely drowned in cream the way Elara Amadis used to mix it back home. Nostalgia soon patched out of his thoughts; no time for sentiment.

Mathayus... Ghostkey, slid onto a stool at the sushi counter beside the bar, elbows loose, posture resting, but his dark green eyes spoke the story, looking over his shoulder, waiting. The meet was coming, and he wasn't about to glitch this up. One shot, one play.

Sipping the creamy caf, "easy there, that one's got a bite," he glanced to her drink. Black, deep auburn hair fell to cover his eyes as his head turned downward.

"Tch! My drink's have more honor than half the people in this district—treat it with respect!" The Atrisian chef glared at Ghostkey, but it was good-natured ribbing.

"Like that's a high bar", he half muttered to himself, unfolding an old Flexscreen, a rolled-out thin interface he carried around. A jagged scratch ran down the front—scars of use. Patchsmithing old scrap gear to make it workable. Fingers tapped out along strings of grimy half-baked code, garbled commands spilling across the display to fix and rearrange. Muscle memory, done as reps. Warming up like any deck-jockey DJ before the night started.

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Commission

Valery watched as the drink was poured, the deep-crimson liquid shimmering under the club's neon glow. The scent hit her first — sharp ozone, burning citrus, something deeper beneath it that reminded her of fire waiting to be stoked. It smelled dangerous. She liked it.

The bartender's booming laughter earned the faintest quirk of her lips. "Drink. This will wake your spirit."

A challenge? Maybe. Either way, she wasn't the type to hesitate.

She lifted the cup with a steady hand, brought it to her lips, and took a sip. The bite came first — bold and electrifying — but it barely made her blink. Instead, warmth spread down her throat, a slow burn that settled into something rich, something alive. She let the taste linger, rolling it over her tongue before finally swallowing.

Not bad.

Her fiery gaze flicked up to the bartender, and she offered a slow, approving nod. "Strong," she murmured, setting the cup back down with a quiet clink against the counter. "I like it."

To her right, the man who had just sat down — young, dark-haired, sharp-eyed — spoke up. Her smirk deepened just slightly as she side-eyed him, the cup still resting beneath her fingertips. "I can tell." Though as she said, she wondered how the kid seemed to know that. Wasn't he too young to—

Right, Denon.

She leaned slightly against the bar, one arm draped lazily over the counter, her posture relaxed but aware. She took another sip — because, frankly, she liked the drink — and let the moment settle. No rush. No pressure. Just the hum of the club, the warmth of the liquor, and the quiet undercurrent of something interesting about to unfold.

She glanced at him again, a quiet curiosity in her gaze.

"You seem to know this place pretty well," she began, hoping to draw some more information out of him.

GhostKey ​

 

[GhostKey]

Batch let out a deep approving murmur, rumbling in his chest like a generator warming up. "Gokudo Drop," or Outlaw Drop in Atrisian. "Drink's a family recipe from Atrisia." He slid a fresh plate across the counter—simple raw blackfish wrapped in dark Dac seaweed, flecked with Kodari-rice. Cheap Denon street fare, but the good rice, and burn in the spice it warmed stomachs. "Hungry?" A pause, then softer—"Don't matter. You eat." Big man, bigger heart for those on the street. A container with cheap utensils was placed on the bar.

Ghostkey hunched over his pad, eyes darting between flickering jumbled code, hair half in his face. Young, life on Kashyyyk hadn't taught him to ghost as he should—or drilled in the art of silence yet, when to keep his lips still. He side-eyed the newcomer but more fully now, pushing his hair back with restless fingers.

"Yeah, place is spire. Looks like scra—" Batch shot him a glare so piercing it could carve fish for him. Ghostkey corrected fast.

"Stack. But low eyes, off-grid. Solid crash spot." Denon slang heavy, almost there, but not quite native. He was working at it.

He leaned in toward the woman, voice dropping down a beat. "You can d-patch here and everything." Causal. He wasn't spilling, but his firewalls weren't up either. If she knew, she knew. Darkpatch—slicers' bounty board, buried in the guts of a half-working holoarcade machine in the corner, hidden in plain sight.

THAP. Batch's cleaver slammed into the chopping board, hard enough to shake the counter. Ghostkey jolted up, message received.

He recovered fast, lopsided grin. "They call me Ghostkey. You new to 12?" District 12 always had fresh nomads drifting through. She looked like she belonged, but the question wasn't just friendly; he was scoping her out, seeing what she was about.

Nodding his head toward the droid in the corner, still GONKing softly to itself. Locals kept their distance unless they had a deep craving for noodles. But tourists, they always got hustled.

"Just steer clear of the GONKer."

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Commission

Valery watched as the plate slid across the counter, her fiery gaze flicking up to the bartender. Gokudo Drop. The name fit. There was a history there, something passed down, something meant to be felt just as much as tasted. She liked that.

Her smirk softened just slightly as she inclined her head in gratitude. "Appreciate it," she murmured, picking up a piece of the blackfish wrap and taking a bite without hesitation. The spice hit her first — a slow, creeping burn that settled warm in her chest — but the balance was good, the rice grounding it, the seaweed adding just enough texture. Simple. Strong. Like the drink.

Like the district.

Her attention shifted back to Ghostkey as he spoke, his words laced with that distinct Denon slang — almost natural, but not quite. That was interesting. Not born to this, but learning it, wearing it like a new jacket until it fit right. A nomad, or someone looking to belong.

Valery let the word d-patch roll around in her mind, connecting the dots. She knew what it meant. A slicers' bounty board, buried in plain sight. If you knew, you knew. And clearly, he was watching her to see if she did.

She didn't react right away, just lifted the cup to her lips again, taking a slow sip before setting it back down with a quiet clink.

"New to Twelve, yeah," she admitted, her smirk returning, but there was an ease to it, nothing forced. Just conversation. "Just passing through, but figured I'd get a feel for the place." A slight tilt of her head.

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the GONK droid in the corner. Steer clear. Noted.

"Not my first time on Denon," she continued, turning back to him, eyes sharp but not unfriendly. "But Twelve's got its own feel. Any good spots I should check out while I'm here?" A small pause, a knowing smirk.

She wasn't looking for trouble.

Not yet, anyway.

GhostKey ​

 

[GhostKey]

Glade hadn't shown him the real choicelink spots yet, where the best Keyrunners vibed, but he'd slipped into a few clubs. She was right in her thoughts before, Denon didn't stick to age limits. People lived fast here, died young.

But he could talk 12 all day, like the tourist that finally knew where to go, or the kid thinking himself invincible, not appreciating how dangerous it all really was beneath the lights and sound.

"Tourists hit Terminal Velocity, all flash and noise. HoloSin's got high-roller food if you don't mind slummin' with corpo-drones," he watched for a flinch. "Locals stick to Zero Lux. Nix Kade used to run it. I'd sell my own rig for a crack at their Black ICE Lounge." A legendary ghost, with backrooms containing a who's who of slicers.

"Data Dive's small, but free T-links to the undernet with no eyes. Good people. Rooftop's got this skyline view, can just sit back and watch 12 hum." He grinned, sipping his cup,. "Friend's hooked on Eclipse Reef near it, those biolume night dives. Feels real but eats a cred-stack." Perfect for tourists or those with money to burn. The teenager paused, giving her a sec to chime in, excited to share but an overtone of tension; something important was close.

"Need a place? Oblivion Heights is lux-tier, Anti-grav platforms, dream suites, neural spas, different kind of life." He scraped the last dregs of stimcaf with a finger. "Or to ghost lower, check Wraith Den above Titan Sprawl, old scrap mall, off-grid free for all. Got everything." He didn't elaborate further, if she knew she knew.

Twelve, a wild ride. Plenty of districts were deadlier, but this was where slicers caught their breath and patched themselves up. Offworld wayfarers coming in pumped jobs, credits and plenty of life into it.

Ghostkey moved data like he saw it before it landed. Fingers a blur over the thin screen, chaining code before another could track it. Fast as a podracer with years behind the dashboard. Today had to go well, he was tense and checked the door one more time. Wait a nano—was she part of his test? He glanced up again at her, making sure.

Valery Noble

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Outfit: Commission

Valery listened, her expression thoughtful as Ghostkey rattled off the names of places — some flashy, some practical, some tucked away just enough to be interesting. She'd been around Denon enough to know the surface layer of it all, but Twelve had its own beat, its own rhythm, and he knew it well.

"Zero Lux," she said, rolling the name over her tongue like she was already tasting it. "That sounds like the place to be." Tourists could have their flashy clubs and corpo lounges — she preferred places that felt real. And for the sake of her mission, she'd much rather surround herself with locals.

As he continued, her smirk tugged a little wider at the mention of Oblivion Heights. Anti-grav platforms, dream suites, neural spas — lux-tier, as he put it. That sounded… nice. Not because she was all that concerned with extravagance, but because it had been a long time since she'd actually taken a moment to breathe. Her missions usually landed her in rougher spots, places where rest was just a technicality between fights.

Maybe she could indulge. Just this once.

"Oblivion Heights," she decided, taking another sip of her drink before setting the cup down. "Sounds like my kind of place."

But then—

She noticed it.

The way he checked the door. The subtle shift in his posture, the tension winding through his movements like a coiled wire. He was good at keeping it buried beneath the surface, beneath casual conversation, but she caught it. Valery's gaze sharpened just slightly, but she didn't press — at least, not yet. Instead, she leaned back just enough, tilting her head slightly as if considering something, but the weight in her voice had shifted.

"You keep checking that door like you're expecting someone," she mused, her tone smooth but laced with quiet curiosity. "Something wrong?"

Her fiery eyes locked onto him, watching. Not accusing, not prying — just waiting. If he wanted to brush it off, she'd let him. But if something was about to go down?

She wanted to know.

GhostKey ​

 

[GhostKey]

"Chucking creds for the Heights, must be vert-bound." The spires climbed high, connecting degrees of wealth and privilege the higher you lived. Anyone buying that high played the Redline game for more creds than he could get. Maybe she had a syndicate backing her, or maybe she was just that good. Either way, GK didn't push for a name or alias. Respect from one ghost to another.

When she gave him the glance and asked what had him keyed up, he stayed true. "Big day. Wired up." Straight and honest. "My shot to jack in, get connected." nothing formal, all about respect and who you knew. He was so ready for the adventure and challenge ahead, still naive enough to crave it.

His contact was late, or maybe this was the test. He exhaled, "you ever been somewhere you didn't belong but you wanted to, an outsider looking in, the glass feeling like a wall?" That feeling had been burned into him since forever, an outsider, always pressing his palms against the divide, alone was the only time the world made sense, carrying that isolation with him.

A young, thin, green, Ivory Cigarra smoking Mirialan dropped onto a stool from out of nowhere, palm down, a jittery rhythm to his fingertip. A piece of holoart on the wall shifted to a cooler shade of blue, seemingly reacting like good holo-art always was. The man's eye's flicked between GK and Valery, restless, like he was on too much stimcaf

"Didn't expect company. You vouch for her, kid?" Kid, not much older than a teen himself, but age burned fast here. Looking at Valery, seeing if he could get a read.

GK hesitated. He could feel Clicker watching, evaluating the moment, knowing him by rep only. "She syncs," not a lie but he didn't' know her well enough for more either.

The young keyrunner rolled a datastick around his fingers, then tapped it down in front of them. "Crack this. Now."

GK raised an eyebrow, plugging it straight into this screen, fingers stretched as firewalls flatlined—then a silent alarm sent a trace. A faked breaching alert, making the whole slicer bar seem like a corpo target. Heads turned and some got up to leave, but Batch their chef didn't stop chopping his fish. Lanterns above signaled a warning, and the projected sealife on the wall danced a different tune for those with a careful eye.

The Keyrunner exhaled smoke. "Two minutes till this place glows hot. Work well under pressure?"

A setup, pressure, misdirection. Was it just for GK, or for Valery too? Or was trouble on the way? Something did feel off, and a hint of danger pinged in the force nearby from a table across their way—dark leather synthcoat with his back to them, cybernetic fingers holding a screen. GK was far too caught up in the moment to notice it.

Valery Noble