The Black Party - FO & TSE

[Vereshin]

As Vereshin attempted to dance with Pom, the surrounding cacophony of noise and drunken slurs began to close in on him. Sweat gathered on the back of his neck and his hand trembled violently in her grasp. Men and women of the Sith and First Order embraced passionately without any privacy and others exchanged venomous words around them. [member="The Slave"] offered no apology or explanation for his words, only an amused and cruel glance which caused the ends of his less adventurous counterpart's mouth to turn down. The sorcerer suddenly stopped moving, gripped Pom's shoulder and resisted the urge to bury his face in her chest and hide.

"Yes." He did not have his notebook and pen and could not run away as he pleased to scribble maths. The thought caught him in a catatonic terror and he struggled to breath in the woman's arms. For a rare moment, he allowed her to take control and lead the way. His heart rate rose to an uncontrollable pace and he his held his breath for as long as he could before releasing when he could hold it no more. He heard Pom's words but could barely make them out beneath the noise.

"I want to leave." He muttered innocently while he took Pom's hand. She lead him outside of the club where they collected their belongings and traveled directly to his ship.

/exit :' (

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Adriana Fortemps]

Jorryn smiled and leaned back as the warmth of the young woman passed around her, the room seeming to close in as she drew nearer before pulling back once again as she reached the end of the bar they had been seated. Jorryn watched as the brunette slowly began to back herself into the crowd amongst strangers, an outstretched hand with fingers begging for the Echani to follow her into the bouncing lights and echoing music. A voice behind Jorryn stealing her attention as she turned to face the red headed woman behind them, who had turned back to face the bar again.

Her silver hell fell back in front of her right shoulder as she quickly turned around to face the hatted woman beside her, still seated at the bar. Jorryn pressed her elbow against the counter of the bar, and again rested her face into the palm of her hand.

"I think she's taken an interest in you." The Echani teased into her palm as she leaned towards the seated woman. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you came along to find her later, somewhere on the dance floor."

Jorryn's glowing golden eyes quickly swept over the redhead's body as the hazy feeling in her mind left her less than subtle, before she began to fall close enough to the woman for hushed words to be heard over the loud, pulsating music that had filled everyone's ears. "I wouldn't either." Jorryn whispered devilishly into the ear of the prim girl as she began to straighten up before biting her lip playfully, her eyes taking in one more quick view of the woman, as she slowly turned around to follow the girl from earlier into the dense crowd.

Her soft hands stretched into the crowd, pushing strangers aside so that Jorryn could make her way to the one that had caught her eye. Eventually her wandering fingers found the one that they had been looking for, the brunette standing in the middle of the crowd dressed in a beautiful black dress. Jorryn's hands draping themselves over Mishel's shoulders as she fell into the 0g dance floor, attempting to bring the girl with her as the change of gravity again began to affect Jorryn's mind as the pheromones increased.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Mishel Zanteres"]​

 

[The Major]

Wait. . . A. . . Minute. . .​

Husky whispers and the inkling promise of delights on the precipice of imagination filled the air and in some instances touched upon the dandy drinker nursing yet another round of bubbly oblivion.

It's wrong. Unnatural.​

Suddenly the bespectacled woman perceived some sinister weight in the air, and it was more than a set of fog machines and the stench of dance sweat. Something. . . compelled her to move to the motions and inclinations of carnality. A violation! What stuck its hot, sticky claws into her chest and hips? Force. . . Arousal? No. There was no such technique.

The two women departed to the dance floor, and although she did want to follow along their trajectory she knew deep within her spirit that it would only be a fabrication. Grimacing harshly, her entirety of will was mounted as a rebellious counter attack to the velvet touch of intoxicating flesh. Hold on. Hold on. Bite. Fight. Was it the drink? Was it a trap?

Grinding her teeth, the auburn haired markswoman pulled off one of her gloves and stirred the contents of her cocktail. Bringing the wet finger up to her eyes proved that the metallic blue nail polish of special design remained blue. Should mind altering drugs or chemical compounds be present then the polish would warp in hue to black or green. And yet the nail remained blue. So was this all within her? Some hidden hedonistic streak submerged just between the veneer of posh clothing and gothic smiles? As the Major ruminated and fog from the dance floor puffed hither and to, vapors pooled up on the blue, and as tiny pinpoints of dew formed the finger nail began to pockmark with mold colored polka dots.

"!"​

It's in the air. It's in the air!​

Sybil pushed away from the counter in a rush and fumbled in her pockets for a kerchief before plugging it upon her nose and mouth. Eyes darting with the gleam of a beast caught in the trap, the First Order hunter quickly darted towards the nearest bathroom, pushing past crowds of men and women dancing and schmoozing on the floor. How dastardly. How conniving. Yet another bit of mastery to the presentation. Who knew how anyone benefited from such horrible deceptions.

The Major had her answer once she stumbled into the ladies room -it in and of itself a testament of modern elegance with connecting passageways to private chambers hidden just out of sight in shadow.

Pairs of women had seemingly succumbed to whatever perverse toxin that was floating in the air. They were. . . They were. . . engaged in various levels of depravity. Frantically, the Victorian one pushed past the fumes and the nightmarish hodgepodge of saliva glistening upon lips. In but a moment delicate hands were reaching out, trying to cut off her route or otherwise reaching to pull her into the. . . fray.

"Major?" Teased a voice from nearby. Stupidly, instinctively turning to face familiarity while in the grips of fear, Sybil cocked trembling eyes to the source. Special Agent Ebriette, an older woman who worked on the same Security Bureau detachment aboard the FIV Malice, smiled graciously upon her fellow operative; pulling away from her partner, she attempted to wrap her arms up and around the Fallanassi -her voice haughty and thick with exploitative intention.

"I knew you'd be here. You strike me as the type. It's okay. Come here and you'll stop trembling eventually. Just give in."

Sybil almost fainted upon the spot as cold hands tenderly teased her neck.

"NO!" She screamed, shoving her predatory compatriot back, nearly flinging her way by sheer force of strength. Tearing away from the gleeful squeals and greedy beads of multiple eyes, the moribund one felt her cane and top hat be pulled off as she jumped into a stall to the sound of laughter and clicking tongues. Terrified, she slammed the stall shut and put all her weight against the door while white gloves marked with various stains from different shades of lipstick frenetically smacked the latches shut.

Voices remarked. . .

​

"She's just shy."​

"It's okay."

"Don't be afraid."​

"We won't hurt you."

"Come out."​

"Come out, yeah."​

"Please."

"It's only tonight."​

"You'll feel better, Sweetie."​

"Come on."

Some of them turned back to their activities, for their night was short -and it was only tonight. Caged away, Sybil's eyes shot this way and that, looking for an escape route before clutching to the refresher side of the stall as little fists playfully tapped on the door. Eventually they stopped trying to coax her unto the floor and returned to previous obligations -sounds and sighs touching the air to the beat of bass from outside. Ignoring the frankly bizarre atmosphere of her surroundings, the woman regulated her breathing for a few minutes while humming to drown out the ambiance. A new song began and it seemed like some of the occupants outside the stall had finished and exited back to the main arena. Now sitting and more firmly in control in her tiny world, the Major produced a small black case with trembling hands and produced one quick effect needle marked only by a tacky yellow sticker. It stung fiercely as she dug the injector into her neck and thumbed its contents into her bloodstream. Soon, the pheromone effect floating about would be dulled to her senses.

[member="Jorryn Fordyce"] | [member="Mishel Zanteres"] | [member="The Slave"]​

 

[Samka Derith]

"Just like me," Samka repeated, resisting a snort as she evaluated the man in front of her. This specimen of depravity had little in common with her thus far. They may share some traits but in her mind, they were nothing alike. The sorts of behaviour on show tonight, that her host had encouraged, met with her strong disapproval. If he were truly loyal to someone, held himself to their ideology, would he be here? Squandering resources like this?

Unlikely.

"Hm," another sip of her drink as she pondered the question. It was an odd one, no doubt with an obtuse meaning of some kind he'd elaborate on in a moment but she decided to answer it straight. "In the right place, it can be nice. Create pleasing views and such." She'd leave a small pause and invite him with her eyes to elaborate if he wished to do so.

"You know my employer, it's only fair I know yours. So you do you work for?" The girl's tone becoming gradually softer and less guarded as she spoke.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“Who do I work for?”, The Slave said with a grin as he turned his full attention back to her.

There was a proverbial poison that dripped from his lips, but an excitement that fell with it that spoke for him. She was asking the right questions now, whatever odd topic direction The Slave intended was being slowly worked in step by step; and all that could be told by the simple look he gave her as he repeated what she spoke.

“Many people have owned me, Samka. Each with their own ideals, own passions…”, he trailed off, obviously getting faintly lost in the thought.

“They couldn’t handle what I offered them.”, he ended.

Although she was no stranger to corrupted yellow eyes from the Sith, his seemed faintly glowing in a manner most didn’t. Molten golden orbs moved in their sockets with a repressed slowness, as if even the movement in his eyes was cared for, to finish whatever act he seemed to put on to be ‘The Slave’. There was something inhuman about the gaunt young man that sat next to her, coupled by his dark nature and floral print shirt.

There was no way he could be real.

“To answer your question fully, I work for noone right now. Nobody owns me.”, he said, leaning back in his chair and sipping from his drink.

“Do you think that makes me dangerous, Samka?”, his eyes trailing to her reaction without the faintest movement of his head.

[member="Samka Derith"]

 

[Samka Derith]

She smiled pleasantly back at her host. His attitude had improved. No longer was he cruelly chiding her, he was basking in borderline exhilaration. Even below the tinted sunglasses, she could spot a twinkle in the eyes. It went beyond the 'ordinary' corruption of so many of those present, it was something alien and something beautiful.

Samka Derith smirked, only now with the tiniest of hints, did she get an idea of what she was dealing with here. The picture being painted before to her was a useful sadist. An intelligent killer but little more. No meaningful connections or ambitions as far as she could see. Certainly interesting but nothing outstanding.

Perhaps it was the Beta Waves but she began to see her host in another light.

"Yes." She responded without a moment's hesitation. "But it's no achievement, take away the leash and everyone is dangerous. My entire life is spent controlling dangerous people through one way or another. It doesn't matter if they're young or old or healthy or sick, they can all be dangerous. Everyone has that potential."

She sat forwards, telegraphing her interest. A loud yell from a drunken patron at the side and abrupt cheers from the crowd as a new track came onto the dance floor might have gotten a token glance before, a look of feigned interest to divert attention from the man in front of her. However now she was fully focused only on him.
"But you, I think your potential is far greater than anyone else in this room so here's my question, would you work for me?"

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

“Take away the leash, and everyone is dangerous…”

The Slave idly watched her speak, expression still as giddy as it was prior. She had been drawn in by a mixture of beta waves, pheromones, and his own conversational prowess. Her body language showed it, her gaze drunk on his presence, though not in the traditional sense. While most began to crave him for his body, even his face, she craved him for his potential, his aura.

She wanted him as a weapon, like so many others.

His answer was a singular word, at least directly. He spoke it with confidence, though seemed to let it hold on his tongue, as if he wasn’t sure of it;

“Depends.”

He paused, slowly removing the sunglasses he wore in the darkness. They weren’t needed, but they held back the bright lights from bothering him, but they did hold back some of his lightning like gaze.

“Let me ask you a question then, do you intend for me to become a dog of the First Order, or just you?”, he said with a grin that challenged her authority.

[member="Samka Derith"]

 

[Samka Derith]

Of course he was unconvinced at first, or at least pretending to be, he wasn't the type to jump at the call.

She met his eyes as he finally shed the sunglasses, now getting a better view of the corruption there. She was right. Samka could feel the way something stirred within him. It was faint, if her own strength with the Force wasn't as fine-tuned, she would have felt nothing, but it was there. Quite what, she didn't know, there was an instinct within her to ignore it, to not poke at the unknown.

But that wouldn't be fun.

"Look at the group partway from the bar, next to the dance floor but not on it. Your left, my right," she gestured in their direction with a motion of her head. A group of officers from the First Order's army and navy had huddled together, the smiles on their faces clearly infected by the Beta Waves and phonemes but still they stood isolated from the more hardcore party goers. They were clustered together in uptight dress robes in rigid poses.

"Exemplary officers, even here barely swayed from their ways, from their order and discipline. They are the embodiment of the First Order itself," Samka explained before adding in a murmur: "I don't think they'd be very happy to work with you."

"My job, if you like, is to serve the First Order's interests. Sometimes, it's work the First Order would find distasteful but it is what is necessary. You would be off the records and only in contact with me unless I say otherwise."

Samka went for another sip but realised the drink was empty. She gave a short tut of irritation.

"So," she settled back into her chair. "Do you think yourself a Sith?" The question may seem simple but like everything else she asked, the answer would reveal a lot.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

The Slave glanced to the group she mentioned without even the slightest movement of his head, only the eyes peered over and watched. Indeed, as she mentioned, they stood where they felt they should, laughed at only what was right, and kept their nose raised just high enough that you couldn’t see if they had a personality behind all that authority. They disgusted him, but as she pointed, he’d likely disgust them too.

No matter. Its not like they could kill him, so did their opinion truly matter?

Glancing back to Samka, he listened to the rest of what she had to say, letting no nod nor grin break the illusion of his disinterest. He was a surprisingly hard creature to read, when he tried, more than likely a result of being around a number of Zeltros; After All, being forced to hide how you feel from such an empathetic species, it’s surprisingly easy to fool the rest of the galaxy. Yet, that was not to say he wasn’t deeply invested in the idea of working with her; On the contrary, he was ecstatic. He just refused to show it.

“An agent of the First Order…”, he chuckled.

“No, I don’t consider myself a sith; though some others might.”, he said with a shrug.

With the mere flinch of his finger, another droid floated to them and dropped off a drink for them both. The Slave had on his small table a number of drinks he’d already finished, Samka now on her first; an artistic representation of just how contrasted their personalities seemed to be.

“Tell me this, what work does the First Order find beneath itself?”, The Slave said, letting his gaze fall back on her as he sipped from his newly delivered drink.

[member="Samka Derith"]