Private The Cons of VIP

[Adean Castor]

Jutrand
Gala of the Stars

Adean seldom went out of her way to lie to get into places of privilege. The vast majority of her misadventures masquerading as someone else were started by simply agreeing to someone else's assumptions. A politician's kid? If it meant getting out of a dangerous situation, sure. An investigator? If it meant getting past a taped-off area with minimal questions, absolutely. The lies of convenience, the 'you said it, not me's, piled on just about everywhere she went, one borrowed identity after another. And after each lie, Adean was sure to make a quick exit before it could catch up to her.

There was a first time for everything.

The Gala of the Stars was a celebration of the arts, culture, and travel among said stars, two-thirds of which Adean was particularly interested in. Ever since she'd accidentally lied her way from home, she'd kept on the move in a bohemian lifestyle, jumping from one life to the next. Her hair dyed green and the sketches of swirls and other designs that lined any paper she wrote on were easy indicators of a penchant for the arts. The festival was big, too. She could've easily remained nameless and faceless until she was ready to leave.

And then there was the call of VIP. Adean hadn't gone into the festival expecting to lie her way into the lounge decked out with comfy chairs and hors d'oeuvres, but when a particularly frazzled worker saw her walking by, shortly behind another group of dark-haired humanoids, and handed her a VIP badge, Adean wasn't about to say no. She glanced down at the name printed between sips of a fancy drink. Brassius Zambrano. At least half of that name, she'd heard before, the name 'Zambrano' striking a spark of brief panic in her belly. Surely it'd be fine, right? She'd enjoy a plate of snacks and be on her way. Surely she wouldn't run into anyone else of that name to catch her in the lie.

Darth Carnifex ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

It had been a long time since He'd sat in attendance to the Gala of the Stars. Before, the annual festival had been hosted upon the old throneworld of Dromund Kaas, but after the prior Empire's fall it had gone uncelebrated for several years. Now, with Jutrand the new center of Sith power in the galaxy, the festival had seen a slow return. Bright pennants of red and white fluttered in the open air, great banners of black sable unfurled from high elevations, various symbols inked in blood-red upon their ebony fields.

There were all manner of events unfolding throughout the festival, many of which were old revivals of things long since thought forgotten. But this was the way of the rising power in the Empire, the Revivalists, those who desired to see the old culture of the Sith not only reintroduced, but strengthened and proliferated all across the galaxy. Wherever their influence held sway, the Revivalists brought with them the hallowed memories of a culture long neglected.

Darth Carnifex, the architect of this Revivalist movement, sat upon a throne of polished obsidian and amber crystal. Around Him were the various power brokers aligned with the Revivalists, those who either shared the same cultural desires as He, or thought they could profit and advance from what was clearing the nascent confluence of authority within the Empire. The Emperor, by contrast, was nowhere to be seen, far too consumed with his war and his own secrets to attend.

That Darth Carnifex, the former Emperor, was visibly there was not by accident or happenstance.

All was deliberate.

A Sith demurely approached, falling to one knee. They wore the vestments of the Kissai over heat-blackened armor, denoting their status as one of the emergent priestly caste being reintroduced to the Empire. The caste held fanatical devotion to the Dark Lord of the Kainate, and thus to the Revivalist movement. "The prisoners are nearly prepared, Qoritwaidardirhoz." The utterance of the ancient Sith tongue of ur-Kittât was harsh and grated against the senses, causing the lesser servants nearest the throne to flinch back.

Without warning, the Dark Lord severed their heads from their bodies without appearing to lift a finger, such was His power over the Dark Side that He could kill with but a thought. Such weakness could not be tolerated in His presence.

"Very good, see to the final preparations. Long have our people traded in a diminished existence. We shall bring back the old ways, and show them to all who would serve us."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

The food was delicious, as to be expected in VIP. Adean contemplated a second plate as she glanced about the suite with practiced caution. So far, so good. No one had thought to interact with her, either caught up in their own conversations or scared off by the name on her badge. She could get used to the treatment, as dangerous an idea as that was.

But doing so would invite more trouble than it was worth, of that she was quite aware. Casting another glance around her surroundings, she got up to leave her plate near the closest trash receptacle. Much to her chagrin, she made the mistake of meeting the gaze of one of the workers, one who seemed to be in charge. Chit, so much for leaving before I'm kicked out, the thought ran through her mind as the event coordinator started in her direction. Her mind started to race with excuses or ways to further sell the illusion of her assumed identity, before catching the look in the coordinator's eyes. They didn't seem angry, only worried.

"Pardon me, ma'am, my employees have noticed a disturbance in your uncle's suite," the coordinator's voice rose there as if she wasn't sure what the accurate relation was either, "Would you perhaps be willing to check on him, see if there's anything more we can provide?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." The confirmation there truly were others of the Zambrano name present sent chill down Adean's back, her answer of affirmative being driven by instinct rather than sense. "Where is his suite?" Get the directions, go the other way, never look back. That was the new plan.

"Wonderful, thank you! It's right up here." The worker gestured up some stairs, making no move to ascend them herself and watching Adean expectantly. "You won't miss it." Well, chit.

Adean met the woman's relieved expression with a tight-lipped smile, immediately regretting the position she'd talked herself into. But with eyes on her, there wasn't much of a choice but to head up the stairs. Each step felt heavier, wave upon wave of dread washing over her. A part of her desperately hoped to pass by another employee, maybe even a break area to ditch the badge and claim she was an employee herself. There was no such luck.

She saw the throne before she made out any other details, nearly turning around right then and there before her eyes caught the heads on the ground. Her already pale face went paler, eyes widening at the horror, breath caught in her throat. Adean found herself frozen in both shock and fear, only then realizing just who precisely sat on the throne.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

A dreadful sensation arrested her, an unmistakable horror flooding her cognition as she became deftly aware of the presence of the Dark Lord. More than that, the true frightening realization that His sight had set upon her. Even turned away, facing the entirely opposite direction, He saw her; like He was looking straight into her eyes from mere inches away. It was something few dared to actively seek, and now for one who did not truly belong she was it's current fixation.

"Come, child."

The voice that thundered from the throne was powerful, authoritative. Each syllable was laced with a dark power beholden only to the Sith, and by it's intonation it brokered no argument. Even as she walked forward, she found her movements quickened by an unseen force, as though she was being swept along into the Dark Lord's orbit against her volition. Actually seeing the Dark Lord did little to assuage the terror that rose up in her throat like bile, for He cut every bit the legend spoken in hushed, frightened whispers.

He looked at her passively, though she could tell that just beneath that placid expression was masterfully restrained rage. At no particular person or object did He direct this simmering rage, for it seemed directionless save that it was reserved for all life. Murderous, sociopathic, genocidal. Such were the adjectives used by trillions to describe the Butcher King, the Black Iron Tyrant; Scourge of a Hundred Worlds.

Idly did His hand rise, a flick of a gesture towards an unseen darkness beyond the young Adean's periphery. A massive claw, wreathed in silver scales, emerged from the shadows and wrapped around the legs of on one of the fallen servants. Slowly, it dragged the corpse away from view, the headless body disappearing incrementally into nothingness. All that followed was the wet rending of flesh and the crackling crunch of bone. It would be some time for the action to repeat, and the second body to be pulled within only for the cycle to repeat thrice and then end in deafening silence.

"Your face conjures some familiarity," spoke the Dark Lord at last, "But it is one that I cannot place with certainty. A rare thing, to be sure, for I have committed all who share my blood to memory. What is your name, little one?"

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

Adean's blood went frigid as it became all too apparent that her presence was noticed. All notion of the requested check-in being a simple task had left the moment she'd seen the throne, only further solidified when she was addressed. Yet something propelled her forward where her legs would've remained rooted in place.

It was only once she started walking that she remembered to breathe, doing so through her nose and ignoring the sting that threatened discharge from both nose and eyes. The anxiety was palpable, near overwhelming. And she'd surely be killed for it, just like the decapitated servants on the ground. Killed for her artifice and then killed again for being unable to keep it together.

A wave of resolve - not calm nor peace - washed over her just before she reached the throne itself. It was a sensation she'd experienced before albeit not with this level of intensity. As if her being, or perhaps something else, acknowledge the surely dire situation and decided to grit its teeth and commit. Her anxieties didn't depart, merely pushed deep, deep down somewhere where they could be felt later (assuming she survived to feel them). Almost as if Adean had departed, leaving this fictionalized Brassius behind.

Adean managed to get by with only one shaky swallow of bile and trepidation as the bodies were dragged away. She didn't want to see more of the scaled creature, didn't want to think about what it'd do with the corpses, or what it'd do to her should she do anything to upset it. She stared straight ahead, back straightening, making ever effort to avert her gaze from the Butcher King.

"Brassius, m-my Lord," she answered quickly, cursing the stutter that snuck in to her speech, only hoping that the creature's gruesome display would be justifiable enough for that reaction. To anyone else, she would've manufactured some flavor of casual in her tone. Something that could easily lead into a 'oh I just have one of those faces' or another similar excuse. Here, however, there was no room for additional subterfuge. "I apologize for the disturbance. The employees below wish to confirm everything here is up to your standards."