First Reply The Queen’s Gambit

[Lady Kyoteru Seraphine]

Open to Any one

The casino thrummed with glamor and subterfuge, a mesmerizing blend of hushed bets, tinkling glasses, and the barely audible exchange of credits. Canto Bight had long been a refuge for the audacious and the reckless, where fortunes could rise or plummet with the smallest flick of a wrist.

Lady Seraphine practically flourished in such an atmosphere.

She navigated the opulent corridors with elegance and grace. Her emerald gown flowed around her like liquid silk, glinting under the soft golden light. It wasn't her attire that turned heads; it was the way she moved. Her poise was infused with confidence, offering an almost magnetic presence that drew in admiration and scrutiny in equal measure. She relished both.

To a casual onlooker, she might have appeared to be another high-rolling aristocrat indulging in the night’s thrill. But beneath that dazzling exterior, her mind was a finely honed tool, a blade grating against stone, sharpening with each tick of the clock.

The artifact was nearby, hidden within this gilded den of vice. Securing it was her goal, and she intended to succeed before the night slipped away.

She stepped into the private lounge, a sanctuary reserved for the most formidable players. The air thick with unspoken wagers and veiled intentions. This was where the real games were played, not just of luck, but of power.

Then a stillness settled over the space.

A subtle quiet where the usual din should have roared.

Her eyes glanced across the room, and there were; a presence that did not belong. A figure too familiar, a gaze that cut through the smoke and indulgence like a blade poised at her throat.

There was a minuscule hiccup in the dealer’s movements, a beat too long, a flash of recognition suppressed too late. Every fiber of Seraphine’s being screamed danger, the unmistakable sense that she had just walked into something deeper than even she had planned for, and yet...

The game had begun.

And someone at that table was playing for far more than mere credits.

 

[Alana Calloway]

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The Queen’s Gambit​

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Location: Casino​

Tag: Lady Kyoteru Seraphine​

Gear: Casual Attire​

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Alana leaned back in her chair, one boot propped against the table's edge, the other planted firmly on the floor. The low golden light caught on the rim of her glass as she swirled the amber liquid inside, but her attention never wavered from the woman who had just stepped into the room.

The name carried weight, she thought, but Alana had never cared for titles. What mattered was the way the woman moved—like she owned the room, like she expected the universe itself to bend in her favor. That kind of confidence was either earned or faked so well it made no difference.

She set her drink down with deliberate ease, letting the sound of glass against the table fill the weighted silence. "Well," She drawled, tilting her head just slightly. "Didn't expect to see you here."

A lie. She had expected this. Had known, deep down, that Seraphine wouldn't resist the pull of something valuable slipping just out of reach.

Alana's fingers drummed against the table's surface as she took in the scene—the too-still dealer, the undercurrent of tension that had sunk its claws into the room the moment Seraphine arrived. The game had been running smooth before this. Now? Now it felt like the air before a storm.

She exhaled slowly, as if unimpressed, though she was anything but. "You looking to play? Or is this one of those nights where you just take what you want and leave the rest of us in your wake?"

 

[Lady Kyoteru Seraphine]

Alana Calloway
A soft smile curved upon her plush, velvety lips as she inclined her head in greeting to the Echani woman, who stood nearly a full foot shorter than she.

"Forgive me darling; I don't believe we've met." The lie slipped from her tongue in a honeyed tone.

Her emerald gaze washed over the pale, muted hues of the woman before her, stirring something distant. A memory long buried. A pang of familiarity clawed its way to the surface, sharp and unexpected, pressing against the walls of her mind. For but a moment, it threatened to take hold. But the entity within her was merciless. It suffocated the sentiment before it could root itself, smothering the flicker of emotion into nothingness.

She knew precisely the kind of danger that stood beside her. The entity within her had to be careful—preciously so. Vessels such as this one were not easy to come by, and the close proximity of a skilled bounty hunter and assassin, known in the deepest circles of the criminal underworld, set its instincts alight with caution.

With slow deliberation, she set her glass down. Her manicured nails drummed lightly atop the fabric, a rhythm of consideration, or even calculation. Then, with fluid grace, she lifted her hand, brushing back a stray raven-black lock from her face, middle and index fingers trailing briefly against her temple.

"I do believe I shall enjoy a few games of play." The words purred from her lips, silk and shadow, her exterior composed, poised. But beneath that perfect veneer, the parasite coiled, restless.

Ace didn't need to look to know. He heard it even felt it.
The dealer adjusted the deck, letting the cards settle neatly in their hands. Their gaze sweeping over the table, lingering just long enough to acknowledge each player.

A slow, deliberate rhythm. Manicured nails tapping against the soft cloth of the table, just once, twice, then a pause. Another sequence followed, subtly varied but measured. To anyone else, it was idle fidgeting, the absent-minded gesture of a woman lost in thought. But to Ace, it was a command made from a silent, coded pulse in the air, meant only for him.

His breath remained steady, his posture unassuming, but his focus sharpened.

She was uneasy. Not outwardly, of course. Lady Seraphine was as smooth as ever, every inch the poised presence that kept people spellbound. But beneath that perfect exterior, the parasite stirred, and when it stirred, Ace paid attention.

The signal had meant escalation of priority.

The first taps were a warning to remain alert. The second, more deliberate, meant a potential problem had been identified. Ace didn't need to guess who. His gaze shifted, just for a fraction of a second, tracking the white-haired bounty hunter seated near his charge. Alana Calloway .

The name carried weight. She was a ghost in the bounty circuit, part legend, part cautionary tale. One of those people you learned to recognize if you planned on surviving long in the business. Ace had crossed paths with worse, but the fact that Seraphine deemed her worth marking? That was enough to put him on edge.

He exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to adjust his vantage point. His movement was almost imperceptible; just a casual lean, a repositioning of weight that allowed an opening of his full peripheral range. His left hand ghosted near the seam of his coat, where a blade and a compact slugthrower rested. No action yet. Not unless the next signal came.

The dealer adjusted the deck, letting the cards settle neatly in their hands. Their gaze swept over the table, lingering just long enough to acknowledge each player.

"Ladies and gentlemen," they said evenly, "before we begin, let's set the stakes."

A small nod toward the betting markers, the glint of credits already placed by some of the other players. Custom dictated that new players offer their wager before being dealt in.

Before Seraphine or Alana could answer, the dealer gestured toward the pile of wagers already in play showing off a collection of wealth and risk that spoke louder than credits ever could.

Among them :

• A Signet Ring – A heavy, gold-inlaid band bearing the insignia of the Crymorah Syndicate, a Mid Rim crime organization known for its influence over smuggling routes and high-end black-market trades. The once-crisp engraving of its sigil—a stylized krayt dragon wrapped around a credit chit—had softened with time. In the right hands, it meant protection and a seat at the table among Crymorah enforcers. In the wrong hands, it was a liability, proof of a debt unpaid or a betrayal unforgotten.
• A Forged Identity Chip – A sleek, metallic datacard, blank on the surface but embedded with a fabricated alias, false credentials, and access to a modest fund of untraceable credits. Its registry was tied to Bonadan, a world infamous for corporate corruption and shadow deals. Whoever wagered it had no use for it anymore—or perhaps, they'd been forced to part with their escape plan.
• A Blaster with Engraved Initials – A DL-44 heavy blaster, its darkened durasteel frame bearing heat scoring and impact dents from years of use. Along the barrel, the initials "J.R." were etched in careful, deliberate strokes. The owner—a grizzled gambler from Nar Shaddaa—swore it once belonged to Jorrus Rane, a Corellian bounty hunter who disappeared after a job against the Pyke Syndicate went south. Whether it was a relic or a fabrication, the blaster still fired, and for some, owning a legend was worth more than the truth.
• A Sealed Holodisk – A small, unmarked data-storage unit, its activation port secured by an outdated SoroSuub encryption lock. The player who placed it in the pot shrugged off questions, claiming they had no idea what was on it—only that someone on Ord Mantell was willing to pay a fortune to retrieve it. It could be anything—a lost transaction log, a bounty list, or something far worse. Curiosity alone made it dangerous.
• A House Deed – A transparisteel-encased document, its parchment aged but remarkably well-preserved. It detailed ownership of a decaying estate on Dathomir, a world steeped in mystery and old power. The gambler who placed it in the pot had no interest in ruined homes or haunted worlds and had taken it as collateral in a bet long ago. The only thing keeping it from being worthless was the rumor that something valuable—something old—was buried beneath its floors.

Seraphine's gaze barely shifted, but there the deed was the prize she had come for.

The dealer's attention returned to her first, then to Alana.

"Shall I deal you in?"

Their voice was smooth and patient. The kind that had seen a thousand games and knew better than to rush. Their fingers rested lightly on the deck, waiting.

The dealer's gaze rested on Seraphine,

"And what will you be wagering, my lady?"

She let the question linger, the weight of the table's attention pressing in like a slow tide. Then, with an easy motion, she reached into the small clasp of her gown, drawing out a single, matte-black coin.

It was simple in design, but the emblem etched into its surface was unmistakable—the sigil of Black Sun.

A few of the more seasoned players went still. One exhaled sharply, another shifted as if reconsidering whether they wanted to be in this game at all. The marker was a tether to something bigger, something dangerous.

She set it down gently, letting the light catch the engraving for just a moment before she slid it toward the center of the table.

"I believe this should suffice."

Her tone was effortless, but the air in the room had changed.

The dealer regarded the token with a measured look, then nodded.

"The Black Sun honors its debts. As long as one lives to collect."

A quiet ripple of amusement—or was it tension?—passed through the table.

The dealer tapped the deck once, sealing the bet into play.

"Very well. Let's deal you in."

He then looked to Alana Calloway .

 

[Alana Calloway]

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The Queen’s Gambit​

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Location: Casino​

Tag: Lady Kyoteru Seraphine​

Gear: Casual Attire​

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Alana's gaze flicked lazily over the bets, cataloging each one with practiced ease. She had seen wagers like these before—fortunes gambled away on the whims of those who thought they could cheat fate. Some of these people would leave with more than they came in with. Others wouldn't leave at all.

Her attention lingered on the deed for half a second longer than necessary before shifting to the coin Seraphine had placed down. Black Sun. That was a name that carried weight in all the wrong places. The kind of weight that crushed those too foolish to understand it.

And yet, Alana didn't flinch. She only leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as she considered her next move.

Slowly, she reached inside her coat and withdrew a small, unremarkable holodisk. Unlike the sealed one in the pile, this one was old, the edges scuffed from years of handling.

She let it spin once between her fingers before setting it on the table with a quiet clink.

"Black Sun's got its charms," She mused, voice lazy, detached. "But I'm wagering something rarer."

Her fingers tapped against the holodisk's surface once.

"The last known coordinates of a ghost ship that's been drifting in the Unknown Regions for the past twenty years. No name, no record—just a distress signal that cut out the second someone got close."

She leaned back, watching the reactions ripple around the table. A few players stole glances at each other, some interested, others skeptical.

Alana smiled faintly, tilting her head. Her eye twitched as spoke, trying not to let her pain of the situation break through the gamble she was making. "Some say it's a lost research vessel. Others say it's a Republic black site that never made it back from the war. Me? It’s a secret place, belonging to some rather…interesting artifacts from the past. I’d like to think this would suffice?"

She gestured toward the dealer, giving them an easy, knowing nod. She really hoped this would work out.

"Deal me in?"