Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Public Magic Cyber Tattoos — You Get What You Get (open to drop-in visitors)

DENON — SEVEN CORNERS
NEAR QUEKKO'S CHOICE SHIP EMPORIUM
AND ALSO A BUNCH OF STRIP CLUBS
GENERALLY CONSIDERED A ROUGH PART OF TOWN

To make any business off a pop-up stall like this, you needed to set up just inside the mouth of an alley off a main street: close enough to attract passers-by, far enough to avoid CorpSec. You needed to be able to grab your gear and bolt down some little access shaft or foundation gap.

Skeevi's pop-up was fundamentally just a hand-lettered sign, a folding table, and a cybertattoo gun stolen from a reputable establishment upcity.

The sign said:

FORCEMAGIC CYBER INK
FIFTY UCs
YOU GET WHAT YOU GET AND YOU DON'T GET UPSET


OOC/ Same deal as the Velok threads: drop in for a post or two, leave with a Thing that could change your life or just inspire lifelong regret. Might do tattoos with AI, might grab them from various cyberpunk things on Artstation and so forth. Most exciting.
 
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The realm of the God Omni had been a difficult one to traverse. Her long pilgrimage had garnered more faithful to that Primeval entity by her hand, yet for her worship, her eyes never graced its cheek. Then, there was a silence.

There was no fury had in hell as severe as Koh Su scorned. Many spirits experienced a second or third death, but her divine wrath was wasted in that hellish immaterial place. She had been stuck there for a time until something familiar began to follow her. He did so aimlessly, out of his depth.

It would have been effortless to end him, that boy. That child with a handsome face caused her to feel misery she couldn't understand. She transformed that misery into a rage and allowed it to simmer as she stayed just out of reach.

Eventually, it became pointless to loiter in this sorry invaded afterlife, the divine spark seemingly obfuscated even by a True Believer. All that was left of that holy heritage was a gift she didn't understand. Not yet.

Sargon's Few would have answers.

Or they would answer to Koh Su.

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A young woman walked the streets of Denon once again, skulking in the darker corners of the Twilight Belt, hooded and modest except an exposed band down the center of her chest clothed only by intricate religious iconography on her skin.

Few seemed to notice her, her presence muted, or their gaze seemingly avoiding her.

She came upon Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill 's curious stand.

"Magic is not a common commodity here," Koh Su's voice seemed to manifest her body to the young teen's sight. Despite the apparent youthful body, her voice seemed to have a strange motherly quality. Perhaps a touch deeper than her physical age would suggest. Or maybe she was a smoker. It was challenging to extrapolate an entire life on a first impression.

"I would think it would have an uncommon price. Perhaps there could be an exchange between us? I am of the faith but not the one shared by the Corporations or the Underworld, so you understand my valuables are of an alternate variety."

Koh Su would pull a sleeve of her robes and expose a bare patch for a needle.

"I promise it will be a greater charity than the dogs walking this street shall provide."
 
Horatio had intended to go to Quekko's and give his half-brother a ticket to his next performance and a strong talking to about recent events, but he was informed by staff that Jerec was still passed out from last night. While leaving he passed a tattoo stand. Normally such a thing wasn't Horatio's style, but he was trying to get a lucrative contract with Sith+, and they would appreciate such a thing.

Horatio put a credit chit of 50 Ucks and an NFT ticket to his next performance. It was a balcony seat, and would fetch a decent price if she could find a buyer.

"Something visceral yet musical.". Horatio said as he pulled back a sleeve and revealed his right arm. A translator on his hump would put the words into basic for the girl.
 
"Magic is not a common commodity here," Koh Su's voice seemed to manifest her body to the young teen's sight. Despite the apparent youthful body, her voice seemed to have a strange motherly quality. Perhaps a touch deeper than her physical age would suggest. Or maybe she was a smoker. It was challenging to extrapolate an entire life on a first impression.

"I would think it would have an uncommon price. Perhaps there could be an exchange between us? I am of the faith but not the one shared by the Corporations or the Underworld, so you understand my valuables are of an alternate variety."

Koh Su would pull a sleeve of her robes and expose a bare patch for a needle.

"I promise it will be a greater charity than the dogs walking this street shall provide."

Skeevi's Force training began and ended with lessons from a Dagoyan glitbiter in a part of town that made this look upmarket. The Dagoyan tradition centred on developing true instincts, spiritual instincts, rather than on anything so crude as 'using' the Force. What Skeevi had cobbled together for these tattoos was fundamentally just that: instinct. And right now instinct was telling them this client was a Serious Person.

"Done and done," they said, and got to work on Koh Su Koh Su 's left forearm.

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The tattoo was a heavily stylized freehand Dagoyan glyph. It had to do with long life and good fortune, but that was just the surface meaning. To a Dagoyan, it meant insight. So far as Skeevi could manage, the Force imbued the glyph with a gift of greater insight — as a tradeoff of sorts. The more Koh Su waited to take action, refrained from jumping in with both feet, the clearer the picture she'd gain of her situation and its deeper meanings.

Skeevi explained all this as they finished the tattoo.
 
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"Something visceral yet musical.". Horatio said as he pulled back a sleeve and revealed his right arm. A translator on his hump would put the words into basic for the girl.

The money and the ticket disappeared, and Skeevi got to work on the outside of Horatio Asyr Horatio Asyr 's right forearm.

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The futzing hologlyph that took form was a brazenly stylized Dagoyan musical scale, a robust chord. Skeevi wasn't especially musical, but music was intrinsic to certain Dagoyan meditation practices, and the Dagoyan mystics loved their meditation. But this was a bastardization of Dagoyan art, a piece that drew power from agitation, from one's own fear. Not a bad thing for a performer to have on hand (so to speak).

They explained all this to Horatio as they worked to stabilize the holo and the Force emanation alike.
 
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The Corellian Sharpshooter
Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill

Dan had been hanging at the bar again. You meet all sorts of curious people at Spango's, and today was no different. He had just ordered some organic bantha milk when a biker gang burst through the door. Chatting rowdily, they ordered drinks and headed over to the dartboards. The excess tattoos that covered their body made Dan think of something- he would look a whole lot tougher with one. Now that he thought about it, most of the mercenaries, bounty hunters, spacers, etc. that he had seen with exposed skin possessed a tattoo of some sort. Being a reputable bounty hunter, he should at least have one. Well, he thought to himself. I don't expose my skin often, but when I do, it would be nice to have a design. I would look a whole lot scarier and more worth hiring to do dangerous jobs. So, he went off in search of the tattoo place he had seen out of the corner of his eye while chasing a fugitive Rodian yesterday.

There it was. The stall caught his eye immediately, since it looked a lot lower-budget than all the other dwellings, stalls, and buildings around it. Dan could understand why. The stall was probably designed so that it could be set up and taken down quickly. CorSec was tough around these parts, and they quite possibly wouldn't welcome this kind of business. As Dan walked over to the stall, he saw an Ithorian just finishing up. The bounty hunter propped his rifle up against a table, and sat down in a chair. He rolled up his sleeve and took off his pauldron to expose his shoulder.

"Right here would be nice. Nothing too fancy; just something that a bounty hunter could brag about at a bar- y'know, something that makes me look dangerous."
 

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It had not been all that long ago that Mercy Mercy had him slammed into the walls of an alleyway just like this one, after he'd tried to take a nibble out of her arm. She'd beaten some sense back into him, ended his run as the Demon of Denon, and put a few drinks in him.

He'd stumbled out of that bar a short while after, and well his feet had brought him here.

After being spat out of the Nether at the rift Kal had shown him, he'd set up a similar stall in a similar alleyway to attract men and women to have their fortunes read, or to buy some ware or another. Mostly sand, let's be real. So suffice to say, seeing another shady stall in an alleyway tempted him.

He approached, head still spinning and back still sore from leaving an impression in duracrete, and dropped down some credits for the girl behind it.

"Hit me with whatever" he offered, with a shrug. He was already a man-eating, serial-killing, girlfriend abandoning arsehole. What was the worst that could happen?



 
"Right here would be nice. Nothing too fancy; just something that a bounty hunter could brag about at a bar- y'know, something that makes me look dangerous."

Skeevi flicked the bounty hunter's shoulder muscle thoughtfully. "Lessee...yeah, I got just the thing."

The staticky holotat took shape with a few deft strokes. They drilled down painfully hard: it wouldn't fade with age.

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"This is a Frangawl cult lifeleech rune from Bardotta. Dark Dagoyan. It won't hurt you, but if you shoulder-check someone, there's half a chance it'll steal a little bit of their lifeforce for ya." They slapped their own shoulder, a firm impact. "If you hit hard, yeah?"



"Hit me with whatever" he offered, with a shrug. He was already a man-eating, serial-killing, girlfriend abandoning arsehole. What was the worst that could happen?

Instinct suggested this kid was a threat in a serious way. Skeevi ran face-first into a stark choice: run or tat. They hadn't got this far by ignoring their gut.

"Yeah, let's see," they said. "I've got just the right ink for—"

They promptly disappeared, holotat gun and all, into a teeny little ventilation shaft, wiggling as fast as they could manage. They could come back later or, better yet, set up at another spot across town. The redhead was bad news. Their gut was, on that point, extraordinarily clear.
 
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The Corellian Sharpshooter
Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill

Dan didn't wince as the tattoo gun pressed down hard against his muscles. He had been trained to be beyond such things. He had not, however, been trained to recognize a work of art, and yet this tattoo clearly was a masterpiece. It looked cool, it was a legit "Frangawl cult lifeleech rune from Bardotta", it could leech life from those it made contact with, and he would finally have something to compare with the bikers and thugs at Spango's. This mysterious Zabrak girl really knew her stuff.

"I would like to compliment you on your work. It is truly art. Here is your payment."

Dan dropped a few credits on the table next to him and stood up. He picked up his rifle and set off once more through the crowded streets of Corellia, heading toward Spango's to show the bikers. Whoever heard Dan's comment might have been surprised at his art education; but then again, not all bounty hunters are mindless brutes.
 
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Skeevi's Force training began and ended with lessons from a Dagoyan glitbiter in a part of town that made this look upmarket. The Dagoyan tradition centred on developing true instincts, spiritual instincts, rather than on anything so crude as 'using' the Force. What Skeevi had cobbled together for these tattoos was fundamentally just that: instinct. And right now instinct was telling them this client was a Serious Person.

"Done and done," they said, and got to work on Koh Su Koh Su 's left forearm.

2H7z5AT.gif

The tattoo was a heavily stylized freehand Dagoyan glyph. It had to do with long life and good fortune, but that was just the surface meaning. To a Dagoyan, it meant insight. So far as Skeevi could manage, the Force imbued the glyph with a gift of greater insight — as a tradeoff of sorts. The more Koh Su waited to take action, refrained from jumping in with both feet, the clearer the picture she'd gain of her situation and its deeper meanings.

Skeevi explained all this as they finished the tattoo.

The left arm.

Insight.

Waiting.


The artist held a gift, just as Koh Su held one, this much she was certain. There was much about her life left obscured and unknown, and though Sargon's Few allowed her to be born anew unshackled to the past, her unblemished left arm had always been a curiosity when seeing the rest of her cohorts in their naked glory. The curiosity had been something to blot out with devotion, ignore with provenance.

It also laughed in the face of her divine fury, an artifact of temperance.

So much of what the needle wrought on her skin could have been coincidence, her minds seeking patterns where there were none. Yet she was sure this was divine, she was sure this was a sign of the gift, and an omen of her destiny. The hooded woman smiled and nodded towards the youth.

And then she waited, only just a fraction longer than she would have typically delayed. She was testing the insight of the mark. She was satisfied with the work and began to speak once again.

"I am blessed to be blemished by you. I will uphold my oath. When you desire, there is a sacred place in Volgho Hollows of the Seven Corners District. There will be others making a pilgrimage there, but they will not concern you. You will find me with this," From a belt around her robe, she procured a thin metal implement that gave the impression of a tuning fork.

"Your instincts are powerful, and I have instincts of my own I am obligated to share with you."

If the girl had no further questions or objections, Koh Su would begin to move on.

Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill
 
Koh Su Koh Su 's tuning fork vanished into Skeevi's coat. Just as quickly, they snagged Koh's sleeve — the one that didn't pertain to a freshly tattooed forearm.

"Hold on a sec," they said. "Where in the Hollows?" You could catch decent clients on the main drag here in Lum Rouge, but Volgho Hollows had been Skeevi's home any number of times — not just a home, but a training site. The glitbuzzed old Dagoyan lived there, for one, and plenty of other strange characters who'd played a role in Skeevi's growth. So far as you could call it growth.

Skeevi's hand tightened on the woman's sleeve. "Where in the Hollows?"
 


It was impossible for someone as well-versed in mechu deru as Sylvia to miss the unmistakable signature of Force-imbued tech. There wasn't a moment's hesitation as the young woman adjusted course towards the alleyway where a yellow-hooded kid had just finished setting up shop. With her head slightly tilted sideways, she read the sign and shrugged.

Sylvia's instincts told her the kid knew their stuff. Surely, there was someone out there who could fix it up if it ended up being a poor decision. Whatever the kid did with the Force for their tattoos, the woman was too curious to pass up.

"No final say in the creative process, then," Sylvia mentioned amusedly as she loaded up an empty credit chit that had been produced seemingly out of nowhere. "As long as my girlfriend likes it, yeah?" That, interestingly enough, was her only real concern.

With the chit loaded up, she carefully tossed it towards the kid and rolled up the sleeve of her flannel shirt.
 
Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill

The small alleyway would have been easily missed, but Ivory had made it a habit in her life to explore the nooks and crannies of places she'd visited.

Curiousity and amusement glinted in her violet eyes as she sidled up to the small pop-up shop. "Worth a shot..." She muttered to herself. It had been some time since she'd gone under the needle, anyway.

She produced the credits, bought the ticket, and was ready to take the ride. The fact that she had no say in whatever she would receive made the idea all the more exciting. Her entire body was already covered in tattoos, but there were a few spots available. The criminal loved body-art and would be happy to show off whatever she would receive.
 
"No final say in the creative process, then," Sylvia mentioned amusedly as she loaded up an empty credit chit that had been produced seemingly out of nowhere. "As long as my girlfriend likes it, yeah?"

That earned a sharp grin out the side of Skeevi's mouth as the money disappeared. "Process? What process? But sure, let's keep the missus happy, yeah? Let's see, let's see..."

The mark that took shape, they explained as they worked, came from the Frangawl cult of Bardotta. It was far and away the most colorful they'd done today. A two-finger tap in the right spot would make it inert if one needed to sneak. Skeevi inscribed the Frangawl glyph on Sylvia's left collarbone, in a spot easy to cover up or reveal as Sylvia saw fit.

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"As for what it does," they added, "I have not a gorram clue. The glyph's based on protection and safety, but I'm Dagoyan-trained: we don't really use the Force. This one just feels right. Don't, uh, try to stop a bullet with it, okay?" Perhaps just a hint of a raised eyebrow. "If it doesn't protect against the missus breaking your heart someday, come on back and I'll take care of it."


She produced the credits, bought the ticket, and was ready to take the ride. The fact that she had no say in whatever she would receive made the idea all the more exciting. Her entire body was already covered in tattoos, but there were a few spots available. The criminal loved body-art and would be happy to show off whatever she would receive.
Skeevi's gut twisted immediately, but not like it had with the redheaded boy. They decided to stay wary, keep it quick and clean, minimize the static, and not stand out too bad.

"Here we go," they said, beginning a simple glyph on Ivory's right elbow. An elbow strike would put the tattoo right up against the target. "It's a Dagoyan symbol, means healing and focus. My guess is it'll let you elbow something that would break your arm otherwise."

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Yula woke up on the couch.

Oh man did everything hurt. And spin. Everything was moving, and the severely dehydrated, possibly still a little drunk Zeltron could barely lift her head without being gripped by nausea. It took a good twenty minutes to drag herself from the cushions and trundle to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Something caused her to pause and examine her reflection in the blank screen of the holotv. She was wearing three overlapping neckties, a "Happy Birthday" tiara (it was not her birthday), and a pair of short shorts with the Huttaburger logo.

Peering closer, it seemed that she had made one more permanent addition…

Skeevi Merrill Skeevi Merrill
 
The Cat Knows Where It's At
The cat yawned as it stretched its body out before lazily laying back down. The noise from whatever Netherworld Yula Perl Yula Perl brought back hadn't been too much at least for the feline. It had seen worse and experienced much worse in its human life. Still, the cat popped open its eyes to catch sight of that more permanent addition. The hum of the rewashed air being cycled through the box that it temporarily called home cranked up further than the orange and white creature liked. So she pressed forward from her resting place, padding lightly until finding the right moment to leap up onto the Zeltron's back. A swift, nimble motion to reach the woman's shoulders, it perched there and stared at the addition, judging both it and the Zeltron at the same time.​
 

A smile formed on Sylvia's face as she looked down to see the final product. She tapped it, then again, then again. It was oddly entertaining.

"I doubt that'll happen anytime soon, but I appreciate the gesture," she responded as she redid the few buttons that had to be undone to reveal her collarbone. As questionable as the service had looked on the surface, Sylvia did not regret her choice.

"Thanks for the ink, bud." With a wave, the woman set off again, getting back to what she had originally been planning.
 
Questionable life choices had always been a speciality of Arkus', so it stood to reason that he would find himself in an alley wearing a too-small leather jacket that was clearly not his own and some rumpled but visibly expensive trousers. The right leg of his trousers bulged slightly where a dagger had been inexpertly strapped to his leg in the absence of its normal sheath and his hair looked like it'd been struck by a hurricane.

"What the hell." Extending his right arm, he forced the jacket's sleeve up to his elbow. "Give me the best you've got."

If there had been a chance she might be able to bind the Voices bothering him, he would've gladly paid almost any price. As it were, fifty of Ugcks or whatever was a price well worth paying for a mystical crapshoot that should, at the very least, look interesting.​

 
Peering closer, it seemed that she had made one more permanent addition…

it perched there and stared at the addition, judging both it and the Zeltron at the same time.


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The tattoo didn't move: a holotat relied on a simple, lasting power supply technology that drew a tiny amount of energy from skin torsion. Unfortunately Skeevi had left this ink bottle out in the sun. The power had died, leaving the tat static in more ways than one.

A powerful imbuement, a Dagoyan blessing of clarity, rested on the broken tattoo. It would dull the edge of all hangovers.

As for the design, Skeevi had picked a piece of Dathomiri-diaspora calligraphy. Look close enough with the right cultural competence and you would find it read 'candy.'
 

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