Dinner and a Knife

[Scherezade deWinter]

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]​

Her meeting with the Black Suns concluded, Scherezade could have theoretically leave back for the Unknown Regions, go and take a look how construction on Eve was advancing, and more. But no. She smiled, walking into the hangar of the flagship so she could board her own little one instead. While the others would either be returning to the Scintilla or going elsewhere, she had been invited for a dinner date on Nar Shaddaa by a mysterious [member="Zenva Vrotoa"].

The trip from V'Shar to there would not take too long, though she made sure she had her cloaking on while she traveled. It would look incredibly bad if the representatives of the Black Sun had any reason to think she was following them out of the meeting, especially when she really was not. Besides, Nar Shadaa was fun.

Scherezade had always loved the nitty gritty places; the underworld of Coruscant, the seedier cantinas on Geonosis, dank gambling dens on Tatooine… The uppity clean and sparkling paces were not ones where she preferred to spend her time. Certainly, she was much better at passing in those places than she was once upon a time, but… Still not her first choice.

The invitation had included several things of note. For one, Agents of Chaos had been mentioned. It was still so odd to Scherezade, that people looked to her as one of the faces of the organization, as someone to ask questions about when it came to that. The transition from nobody to somebody had come as a surprise to her and she was still adjusting. The second thing mentioned was her company – Whimsy. With that, it was much easier already. She was used to talking about her birthday plannings and her uncommon means of mass destruction.

For a change, she chose to don a new kind of garb. Rather than arrive in the normal armor and million weapons, Scherezade worn something more akin to her native home planet, though its name was stricken from any record found from the Core. A few knives were still stashed between the folds of the fabric for obvious reasons; Scherezade was and would always be, among other things, a weapon, a blame, something that killed and destroyed.

A while later, landed and ready to go, the Blood Hound of Chaos left her ship and made her way towards the club at which the meeting would occur, her stride confident, and a smile on her lips.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva drew a deep, slow breath through her nose, her bizarre eyes fluttering closed as she savored the scent. Nar Shaddaa! If there was any one mud ball in this vile Galaxy that you were sure to find the Zabrak warrior, it was here. No matter the hours, days, or years, sooner or later Zenva would arrive. These days she arrived in style.

Her private Fleet was not only made, but housed in the Nal Hutta System. This moon was practically her backyard. Her Flag Ship brought her to orbit, an armored shuttle to the ground, and a squadron of Assassin Class Speeder Bikes stood by her private car to transport her to her personal Club. Hhawa Kouiehh, or Club Vicious, was nothing impressive, but it was her's and she loved the place.

The squat, two story building was in a rougher area, but far from the worst places the Smugglers Moon had to offer. Businesses were plentiful here, and for blocks around everything was awash in vibrant neon illumination. Club Vicious was no different. Blues, and purples ruled the glow in Zenva's club, and the moment she stepped from her car she became a whole new person. Zenva Vrotoa was replaced by the illusive Crime Lord known as the Blood Matron.

What stepped from the car was a sight to behold indeed. The Zabrak's statuesque crimson form was wrapped in an elegant black gown. The air around her shimmered faintly as her energy shields popped into place. The vibrant colors of the club and local however left the Zabrak's sharp features completely obscured from sight. The reactive glow of her death's head tattoo masked her true face splendidly.

Behind the Matron a younger, armored Zabrak girl, named Renesri Aylia, stepped from the car. A bodyguard, or so one was intended to believe. The pair walked into the Club's main room, a smaller dance floor waited below. The two circled the floor to the walls of VIP Booths. Zenva's was already prepared. The Matron took a set in the corner couch, her bodyguard immediately moving to stand behind her right shoulder. Instantly a servant Droid stepped forward to hand her her usual drink.

Lighting a cigarette, and setting her drink aside, Zenva waited for her guest to arrive. Her fierce yellow-red gaze swept the room. This area had less traffic the the floor above, or the three basements below. The music her was quieter than above, and the real party favors were in the restricted floors below. Zenva closed her eyes, inhaling the hot scent of Nar Shaddaa once again, before taking another sip of her whiskey. Her death's head glow smiled at the world before her while she sat listening to the music.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]​

People. So many people. Scherezade was led by a guard, or a waiter, or a whatever he was, through them. True to any place that called itself a nightclub, it was packed with patrons, some of them dancing, others making out, and a few hiding in dark corners. Scherezade could scent them all. Her nostrils flaring, she closed her eyes for one moment, dimming the glow of her eyes behind her shut eyelids, willing herself to smell and feel less of it before her senses were overwhelmed. To an onlooker, she would seem like someone who was just taking a moment to blink with purpose.

It was not until they'd moved to another floor that she felt as though she could normally breathe though. Only now could she pause to reflect and understand that her reaction downstairs was not normal. Again she blinked, though this time she could not help but wonder if perhaps Zeltron pheromones or something that operated similarly were in play.

Led to a table with two Zabraks, Scherezade said nothing as the man who'd brought her there took a deep bow and left, leaving her to stand in front of the table. Glowing green eyes immediately took the surroundings in, noting the way the Zabrak' blood smelled, the amount of people with warm blood in the near area, and… Well, she still didn't have a trick on how to count the number of potential droids around her through the Force. Some day, she was certain, she'd crack the way.

"The Blood Matron," Scherezade said, her voice deep, her smile warm, her mind trying to remember if the tattoos held specific meaning for Zabraks or not. As the invite had come from her, Scherezade had no reason to believe she had to introduce herself. The Blood Matron knew who she was.

Though, Scherezade did wish her sister was with her. Her sister would know protocol and be able to tell her if she was going to sit down because she was there, or if she was meant to stand there like a pretty face until asked to sit.

Making a quick calculation in her mind, she decided to just take a seat, and hope that if one of the guards tried to stop her, the scene wouldn't dirty her white clothes.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A hideous sound ripped through the Club's music, a vicious tone like the alarm klaxon aboard a capital ship. Zenva's hand reflexively came up to press her fingers to her temple. The noise did not exist outside the confines of her own mind. A welder of the Force, and a powerful one by the level of noise within the Matron's mind, had just entered her Club.

The Zabrak's bizarre yellow-red eyes fixed nearly instantly on the woman being led to her private booth. A tall, shapely brunette woman in a rather fetching outfit was brought before her. The noise inside the Matron's skull intensified, and once again she was thankful she had found a way to hide her features from easy sight. Who moved first even Zenva wasn't sure, the Matron's hand came out to gesture towards the seat opposite her even as the woman slipped into the chair. The woman spoke briefly, a honey sweet voice if Zenva had ever heard one.

The Zabrak took another long drag of her cigarette, in part to calm herself, before she spoke in return. "My Lady deWinter, thank you for joining me." A gray plume of smoke billowed around the Zabrak, her nearly musical voice carrying proudly over the Club's pulsing soundtrack. "Would you care for something to drink, or shall I call for dinner?" The woman's glowing death head smiled broadly, serrated, shark like teeth gleaming oddly in the neon skull's mouth.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]​

"Please," Scherezade said, giving the Zabrak a small smile, "Scherezade works. Lady deWinter is the title my grandmother uses, and I would prefer not to share it with that woman."

Of course, the story went much deeper than that. Scherezade despised her grandmother, and even though the title was also wielded by an aunt she loved deeply, she would not touch it. Not ever. With time, she would carve her own titles that suited her and the mage she wanted to present. No form of lady would ever fit it. Ladies were women who… Did not behave like her.

Drink or food? That depended… What did the Zabrak wish of her? It was rare for the Sithling to be summoned to such meetings. Usually, it was Alwine who attended these, as Head of Speakers, or even her own sister, Madalena, who was much more of a social beast. Scherezade was just sitting in her seat, hoping she would not spill wine on her white clothes.

"I have the rest of the night left open for you," she assured the other woman, "There is plenty of time for both."

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

In the dull lavander glow of the club the Zabrak's face shone like a beacon, reds and whites shimmering vibrantly. In most situations the tattoo served to hide her true, sharp, predatory features from sight. The Sith was unlikely to miss the sudden swell of anger at the mention of a material figure. Her own rage, the childhood of suffering her Sith Mother had inflicted on her, caused her face to physically tick in such agitation that even her tattoo could not hide the spasm. "I apologize." The Matron said in a honey sweet tone that would normally fool one sitting across from her.

"Scherezade." Zenva paused, her dominant right hand coming up to touch her chest as the Zabrak nodded faintly. "Zenva, please." The Zabrak turned slightly, gesturing almost absently as she took a drag of her cigarette. As she straightened an ancient servant Droid stepped forward to set a tray on the small table between the two females. The Zabrak gestured towards the tray and the two identical glasses upon it. Each a large, short crystal glass holding a large sphere of ice and approximately two fingers depth of brown liquid. Zenva made no move toward the drinks herself, a trait learned from her time among the Red Ravens. It was left to the guest to choose a drink, a proof of sorts that the drinks could not be poisoned.

The Blood Matron exhaled a ploom of smoke, continuing in that same nearly musical voice. "Splendid. Both it shall be. In due time of course. A whiskey to start. I believe, perhaps, there is business for us to discuss before dinner, yes?" Zenva's serrated, pearly teeth flashed in a knowing smirk.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Zenva Vrotoa​

A smile lit Scherezade's face as the Zabrak said her name, and she nodded in turn, "Zenva," repeating. This already made everything much nicer. For the life of her, perhaps it was because Scherezade's entire existence sort of was compressed into under two years, but even with her grandmother's memories branded into her mind, she didn't quite comprehend many different kinds of formalities. Not that she was dumb – she understood protocol well enough these days, and while her small talk needed a lot of improvement, she knew, at least in order of sequence, what to do in a lot of business and government situations. But she did not comprehend any of it. Why the posturing? Why the stupid games?

But there would be no such games here. Or at least, Scherezade hoped that the fact that Zenva had agreed to first name basis would at least decrease the potential of the games that might have been otherwise played. Without knowing the female too well at this point, she really had no base to construct her worries on.

As the two glasses were set between them by a checker board droid, Scherezade looked to her red skinned companion with a quizzical look. Whisky. Sure. She could… Allow herself a few sips. After all, she hadn't said anything about the fact that she was a former alcoholic; especially since she did still on occasion. Carefully, she picked one of the glasses up.

"Oh yes!" Scherezade almost squealed with excitement, "I intend on burning most of the galaxy down by toppling large governments and organizations that do the whole interplanetary control thing. I'm looking for people who'd be interested in joining or backing such a cause."

Raising her glass for a cheers, she paused, awaiting the response.