V A I N G L O R Y

C L U B · S Y N T H
It didn't matter where you were standing, even the walls of Club Synth danced to the bass-heavy music that was pumped through the nightclub. Dim warm colors and brighter cool colors strobed across the floors, walls, and everyone and everything in between in sync with the music. Bodies of all kinds, metallic and skin both, moved with as much passion and purpose as the beat they danced to. There were drinks at nearly every table, wafts of smoke drifted between the crowded throngs of bodies and hung over booths like curtains made of grey clouds. The parties at Club Synth went from dusk to dawn, though the entertainment lasted well into the day on more nights than not, but the alcohol flowed a little freer, the spice a little heavier, because it wasn't just any night.
Everyone who wasn't denied entry were given the surprise of their tabs paid for at the door by the young Anzati woman dancing without a care at the edge of the dancefloor, closest to the bar. Nar Shaddaa was called the smuggler's moon for a reason, it was both hell and paradise for anyone on the wrong side of the law - and it wasn't the first time one of them, smugglers that is, disappeared only to show up months later as quite a bit larger than the insignificant life they'd been more-or-less cosplaying at for years in the past. Her name was mentioned the moment a wrist was stamped upon entry: Amara Zambrano. There'd be some people who recognized the surname and not the woman it belonged to, it was inevitable given how far-flung the family she was a part of had creeped across the galaxy, but Amara had been a common sight both with the Black Suns, the lesser rabble at least, and the various clubs that catered to crime syndicates that weren't feuding with them. It just happened to turn out she was quite a bit less of a no-named pretty face and, instead, someone with a few connections that'd make a sitting Vigo nervous.
And she was back, though only for the night.
"Maybe tomorrow, too." She said, trying to raise her voice loud enough for the couple dancing on either side of her to hear her. There was a certain shimmer to the dress she was wearing, its glossy skirt and matte top that did more than its fair share of breathing for her. Arms draped in sheer sleeves moved almost rhythmically to the music while she swayed with her hips to the bass as if it were an unseen hand moving her from side to side. "Yeah," She said loudly, nodding her head in case they couldn't hear - it was a miracle she could make out what the two, apparently some old friends of hers, were saying. Something about her dad, though - it was hard for anyone else to make out what they were actually asking her about besides that. "Daddy made me promise to move back in." Amara turned her head, a red strobe light caught in someone's eye - catching her attention, too - at the same time as an orange one lit up her face.
"Have we met?" She asked, looking at the stranger up and down. It wouldn't be the first time she'd forgotten someone's face, but she was pretty sure she hadn't met

He didn't seem like the forgettable type.