Dyxra'a's eyes seemed to gleam in the in the illumination of the bar, lit from behind by a malicious fire fueled by a sadistic glee for the fight that was beginning to form on the horizon like an oncoming storm. Flickering the steel blue eyes around the room, the Fallen noted the position of every thug under the command of Target, took notice of their posture and their debilitating and revealing emotions, examined what weapons they were carrying in plain sight and what weapons were concealing. Dyxra'a's eyes landed on every thug that she had in her sight, compiling information on each one and sorting it into usable data. Once she had done one sweep of the room, she preformed a second, focusing now on finding anything her initial sweep would have missed. Her brief surveillance done, Dyxra'a's eyes grew half lidded as her mind retreated back into her subconscious, carrying with it the information it had just acquired.
Just as abruptly as her eyes had closed, the cold eyes of Dyxra'a snapped open. However, the view that greeted her was not the view that she had just left behind. Instead, Dyxra'a was sat in a leather, high back chair behind a large wooden desk. The desk and chair themselves were within a sparsely furnished room; a thick red carpet coated the floor while the walls were completely empty save for a safe and two pictures: one was of a portrait of an aged human male with a balding head of thin, white hair while the second showed a scene of a collection of shadowy figures gathered in an alley, the only light in the picture coming from the ends of cigarettes that hung from many of the figures' mouths. Opposite Dyxra'a was a simple fireplace while, next to that, a bookshelf that was larger than the room should allow it to be stretched up into shadows, a smaller (but still logic defying) bookcase set next to it. Atop the desk itself were numerous printed documents, each one holding the details of numerous different things. Dyxra'a's clothing had also changed, leaving her now dressed in a black, baggy shift.
The entire structure that Dyxra'a found herself in was one of her own making, created through the Method of Loci. Every item within the room was born from Dyxra'a's mind and held some connection to it. The documents scattered across the top of the desk were a mix of surface thoughts and half thought of plans - things that were still being created within her mind, within the draws of the desk, completed plans were filed. The bookcase that defied the dimensions of the room held all of her memories in the form of rows upon rows of books and, since the laws of reality failed within the Loci, books that were at the 'top' of the bookcase could find themselves at the 'bottom' depending on Dyxra'a's needs. The smaller bookcase held a catalogue of skills and abilities that Dyxra'a had learnt through her life so far on the 'upper levels' and her knowledge on the 'lower levels'. The safe set into the wall was the representation of the block that Dyxra'a used to restrain the hindrances that were emotions while, at the same time, safeguarding secrets that she held along with ordered files of blackmail. The pictures on the wall represented the good memories, the portrait being of the man that had taken her in and cared for Dyxra'a after finding her on the streets of Nar Shaddaa while the image of the group was a representation of the gang Dyxra'a had formed on Nar Shaddaa, the place where her ambition for power and control had been realised in some form. The fireplace, while plain, was one of the more complex constructs of the Loci, utilised by Dyxra'a to literally burn information she wanted to remove out of her mind.
Leaning forwards, resting her elbows on the desk that didn't exist outside of her mind, Dyxra'a stapled her clawed fingers against her lips as she brought forwards the data that she had collected from viewing the club before entering the Loci. From the shelf that contained her memories, a flash formed as a book disappeared only to come into being on the desk bellow Dyxra'a's chin. Before her, forming out of a white fog that formed from nowhere, the interior layout of the club grew above the book, taken from her memories. Slowly, the fog began to swirl again, adding in first the collection of her allies gathered before the bartender then every thug that Dyxra'a had observed.
Tilting her head slightly, Dyxra'a spoke her observations out loud, seeing no need to do others, her accent shattering the silence that had filled the room. "Positioning hints towards a preparation to attack. Lack of evacuation means that no regard has been given to civilians. Varying ranges of weapons; Katanas, short range; Blasters, long. Behavior: focused and professional in all but a few. Fidgeting, twitching of the hands; hints towards either fear and anxiety or blood lust. Twenty percent of exhibitors of abnormal behavior possess hunched body language, trying to pull away from the fight before it begins: scared."
Pushing herself to her feet, Dyxra'a began to pass back and forwards in front of the desk, every now and then cutting her eyes towards the model of the bar hovering above the desk. Coming to a sudden stop, Dyxra'a lent of the model, peering at it closely. "Conclusion: The order has gone out for an attack, but lack of movement indicates reinforcements. Plan: Wait for the opportune moment then attack with knives to the throats of those displaying blood lust, remove from equation. Secondary targets are everyone else." Pausing mid monologue, Dyxra'a tapped a claw against the wooden desk in a steady beat as she wrestled with the one variable she could see, murmuring under her breathe as she did so. "Civilians are a risk. There's the potential that they'll side with the opponents, just as much as there's the potential that they'll try to flee. Further, not caring about civilians, gives me a more options in a fight, but protecting them could gain their favour for the Syndicate." After a pause, Dyxra'a growled from the back of her throat, dismissing the matter from her mind, resolving to deal with it when she needed to.
Without any warning, the Loci suddenly returned to just as it had been before her arrival within the structure. The next second, her eyes fluttered closed before opening again as the sound of the patrons of the bar invaded her hearing. The view that greeted her was the same as the last view she had seen before entering the Loci, barely any time having passed. The Method of Loci was a mentalism technique where one would form a construction and representation of their mind. In doing so, one's memory would improve, as would they're control over self. The best aspect that Dyxra'a had discovered was that time could easily pass much faster within the Loci than it did in reality, allowing for conclusions to be drawn and analysed faster.
Bending down slightly, ensuring that her stetson did not fall from where it sat, perched atop her crests, Dyxra'a grasp the leather wrapped handle of a metal can with her left hand. Embroidered onto the leather grip were five letters in a cursive font, spelling "Janus". Settling her hold on the cane into a more comfortable position, Dyxra'a's muscles tensed in preparation for the fight as her blood sung with a primal euphoria. In her right hand, the rotation of the knife she held stopped as she began to coil back her arm, preparing to throw the weapon.
