Kings in Rags

[Vrag]

Despite what the propaganda would have you believe, the life of a Sith Lord isn't as easy and careless as it seems. With the power, ironically, comes responsibility — though perhaps not exactly to the same morals as on the other side of the fence — and fulfilling one's role in the tight ship that is the One Sith can get… tiring.

Beholden to efficacy and results as she was, Vrag knew better than anyone that nothing could impact that self-set standard like the accumulated stress of her daily duties. It was these quotidian struggles that had come to weigh her down the most, even though one would — rationally so — expect it to be something far more earth-shattering; like the deaths of millions, perhaps, or the sheer brutality of orders that had left her lips during her tenure as the Hand of the Dark Lord.

Whilst not easy, this job she did was satisfying, and despite its many downsides, the firrerreo wouldn't have it any other way. Well, except today.

Today, Vrag had decided, was to be something of a day off — though the concept was somewhat alien both to her and her chosen line of work — and there were only two people in the whole Galaxy that came to mind as proper company for such an occasion.

As much as she enjoyed Darell between the sheets, the two of them never shared much of a connection outside of the bedroom, save for the casual game of Sabacc or the chance call to war. They looked damn good while slaughtering together, that much was for sure, but over the past few months, their relationship had become slightly more strained.

No, it would not be Carach that she would have stand by her side in this spontaneous — if long-overdue — excursion into the world of leisure. The many esteemed titles of those two individuals sprang almost unbidden into her mind, overheard a thousand times in ceremonies and official business, but Vrag dismissed them all as vacuous, irrelevant to the beings that bore them (though they did wear them well, that could not be denied).

Gabriel and Matsu would quite suffice, and as deceptive as those two names were in their simplicity — as if somehow the complexity of one's title directly translated into one's potential for destruction — the firrerreo found them to be most fitting of all. It was a day of harkening, after all, of literal and figurative descent back to their roots, for every one of them had once started out in the dirt, bloodied and screaming as they announced their dominion to the Galaxy.

They were bound to leave it the same way, one day.

In the wake of death that had recently swept over the planet-city in all its glory — not even a footnote, considering its bloody history — it was only fitting that its greatest worshipers follow suit, laying down their weapons for once to simply bask in the basest pleasures of life; drink, food, opiates, carnality… the three would partake of it all, free of the façades they wore so diligently on any other day of the year.

"Shall we?" the firrerreo prompted with a small grin, her keen blue eyes unshielded by a double layer of Vonduun and bone, and it almost made the gaze too intense, as if a barrier had been removed from a blinding light-source.

That, or they were already high as kites. It was hard to tell, and nobody really cared enough to bother.

[member="Reverance"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]​

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=10pt] She should’ve gotten dressed before she’d taken those pills Kranos had given her. The man had too many good connections and whatever he’d given her (amazing, I’m telling you, I didn’t come down for days) was already pumping through her bloodstream with startling speed. She felt microscopic and impossibly tall at once, her mind stretched in two different directions with each barreling away from each other at a pace more rapid than she could believe.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] She wanted more.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10pt] But first, the hurdle at hand.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=10pt] And it was a hurdle.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] She had a closet long enough to walk a mile in before one reached the end, organized by type of clothing and then further broken down in to color-coding. It was a paradise but for their night out they’d agreed – Matsu somewhat reluctantly – to shed all their usual trappings. Oh, she relished the idea, of course. There was little more appealing than becoming faceless for a night and sinking in to her planet’s underbelly. A night of disappearing, a night of simplicity. But she’d failed to think through the repercussions.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] She spared another glance at the simple clothes tossed on her bed and actually looked unnerved for a moment, scratching at her neck as if that would relieve the discomfort. “Guys, I don’t know if I’m okay with this…”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] But with a little encouragement – i.e. berating on Ygdris’ part (eyes, eyes like ice, flares of darker blue speared inwards, converse to the lighter, tides in unnatural gravity swirling past each other like snakes writhing like sharks brushing against each other like hands on hips curved pulled closer like stop) while Gabriel was presumably getting increasingly further off the planet, mentally – Matsu had eventually dragged on something far less complicated than usual.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] “We shall,” she replied, somehow feeling more comfortable with every passing second.[/SIZE]

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[SIZE=10pt]_______________________[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=10pt] It was refreshing to visit the Underground under the cover of anonymity, a hood wrapped strategically to hide her face and hair. The people she was usually hunting (fodder for the growing army of the Undead she held hundreds of layers below, past where the last person on Coruscant hung their hat, an eternally shuffling horde that just kept moving until they were too rotten to keep walking…and then they crawled…) just kept walking, laughing, stumbling through the streets to the next place for a drink. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] They weren’t so far down yet, though who knew where the night would take them. Neon lights still dominated here, throwing the street in to a harsh play of yellows and pinks and blues. Billboards flashed to draw patrons to this bar or that, another club that promised more sensual sights than the one that came before it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] All she knew was that she wanted to hit a club, but the rest of the night she’d go where her feet – or one of her companions – dragged her.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt] “We should hit High Zeltron – first round’s on me.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=10pt][member="Reverance"] | [member="Vrag"][/SIZE]​

 

[Reverance]

Off the planet, he could taste the gesture of it. A ship careening off into the distance, left behind was a dusty and statuesque caricature of himself, pandering to the odds of saving a universe that didn't seem to need saving. Was that he was doing? Lifting the world up around him, hoisted upon the convection currents of the flames lit by his own hand - he wondered if he would stomp that fire out or just let it run off into the distance, jealous of it's careless indifference. He needed a change, a vacation from the turmoils of dealing with the ants piling on top of themselves and scurrying about for the crumbs. Screaming at the top of their little insect lungs, bites on the ankle provided no form of harm but irritated nonetheless with infuriating scratching - enthusiasm to end the itch would draw more harm than the original intent, finger nails dragged across open skin. Beneath clothes and friction, blood would well up to remind them that it wasn't their actions that caused injury, but merely the remnants of self-inflicted damage that would draw pause. Pause at the realization that the greatest danger posed to the Sith Lord was himself.

He was awash with the taste of blood, that mineral and copper. He couldn't seem to wash it from his hands, seasoning to the cast iron and fortified with constant re-application. Soap had no power here and yet, he found himself dressed in a state the more easily reflected his recent melancholy. Rags for the Kings, he would merge back into the interface of the Underworld of Coruscant - where strips of clothing were something of an over dressing, nudity and prurience were the currency in this place. An exchange not of the hands but of the flesh, he considered it's payment in full with the induction of drugs and sensuality and the idea that where they were going, there were no steps to take back out.

A dive into the deep end, the streets washed with pastel colors that reminded him of softer things. Soft like the skin adorning the Atrisian as she strode through the lights, bathed cleanly of the luminosity in a form he had never known. He would even wager that lamps reflected a form of matching tone to the electricity in Ygdris' eyes, staring out from such unique features - that through intricate and hidden facial expressions, such violence was possible. His two companions were dangerous, and in tandem, something to behold. But when he could pull himself away from focusing on them, the hunger of the world around him took the Arkanian hybrid in large strides. Double paced, playing extended hopscotch, he couldn't seem to get over the world he so desperately sought to protect - and that Matsu so clearly embodied - and that Ygdris so clearly desired to experience.

"High Zeltron..." He spoke towards Matsu, feeling the sideways glance of woman just over 18 as he spoke, brushing past him along the walkway towards whatever destiny she had decided that night. The click clack of heels against cobble, the shimmer of a red dress that shined even in the darkness of night, and she had aroused the temporary malice of a Sith Lord who had yet to accept the night for the celebration it would soon incur. Scratching the scar over his eye, he looked towards Ygdris and smiled. "A drink sounds good."

An affirmation of the suggestion, currency of no importance except for the gesture it presented, Gabriel would lead the way. Tones of flashing boards, descriptions of drinks and discounts, would all turn to something increasingly similar to hunger and it's apparent satiation. And as it were, where they would drink from the fountain provided on Coruscant this night, thirst would inevitably reveal itself in multiple forms.

[member="Vrag"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]​

 

[Vrag]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JZi6yIDwnxw​

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There was a distinct urge, almost a demand, that she should feel levity, like people often did when they cobined night and celebration, but the truth of the matter was that the trio were never really people. Whether they were something less or something more depended entirely on where one sought out that opinion, but it was unambiguously agreed that they probably weren't entirely human (or humanoid, if you want to be exact).

And even in rags, devoid of their usual insignia and ensemble, there was an energy to them that belied their disguise. Like an aura, an extension of themselves constructed of their deeds and kills, interwoven with all those that had yet to come (a flash of red, a dress. then screams, then silence. nobody misses the young thing) and those that were already transpiring. Each of them, tethered to thousands of lives now gone and quelled, forever. That antediluvian vestige of a beast that lay slumbering in every creature would stir at their passing, its primordial instincts baying with alarm even as the passerby struggled to identify the threat three nondescript junkies could pose to them.

Vrag grinned at one such unfortunate, flashing two rows of unnervingly sharp teeth and then watched his eyes widen in dawning recognition. They would disappear back into the crowd before he could ever realize how close a brush with death he had just experienced, and the day would eventually fade within the halls of memory without the man ever knowing just how lucky he had been.

You see, death was too busy getting drunk that evening.

"They'd better have the strong stuff, or I'm out of here," the firrerreo quipped with that smirk still in place as they rounded the corner, and then it promptly fell. Of course there would be a queue.

Her first impulse was to plough straight through with her title at her lips, but the reality of their situation — scrappy street clothes and drugs in their bloodstream — reminded her that all she would receive would be laughter.

Were she more sober, Vrag might have conteplated the frailty of authority and the sweet, transient illusion of being in power, but she was not, and so she promptly chose the more practical option; she shoved one of the guests in the line as she slipped by, navigating the bustling throng with uncanny skill.

Watching the chaos follow was almost as fun as it would've been to participate in it, but her plans today did not include the classy entertainment provided by street fights, and so the woman merely exploited the distraction as intended. There would be plenty of bruises, nails, and teeth where they were going.

It was customary to share a few drinks first, however, and since Vrag wasn't a complete savage, she would adhere to this long-standing form of courtship as the beat of Coruscant's rotten, capitalistic heart thrummed along with their own. The heavy atmosphere of High Zeltron would inevitably infect their minds with glimpses of writhing bodies in the dark corners of the club, obscured in-between the epyleptic flashes of red and yellow and blue, and the last few nails would be hammered into their coffin for the evening.

"Rum," she ordered as an appropriately zeltros bartender showed up to greet the three inconspicuous guests. Her lips curled knowingly as she glanced at Gabriel in the flashing lights of the club, her mind flickering fondly to Redoubt and their little drunken escapade.

With a final wink, Vrag turned her head to face the short round at their table, resting her arms casually on the back of her seat in a display of predatory arrogance. With the tip of her tongue, the firrerreo counted the sharp points of her teeth as she pondered a seemingly complicated question, her piercing blue eyes never leaving those twin pools of black.

"So… how's that army of zombies coming along, Iron Maiden?" the woman finally spoke, snatching her alcohol from the zeltros as he returned.

[member="Reverance"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"]​