Muad Dib
Paragon of Virtue
(Open for callers)
The room was dark. Faint lights from the soundboard cast a diffuse neon glow across the sound booth. One chair and two stools were occupied as they waited for the stroke of midnight. The middleman, the host, relaxed in the leather chair, its high back and sturdy arms embracing him in comfort and style. The brown corduroy bellbottoms clashed with the burgundy polyester shirt with wide lapels. The shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and a thick, gold chain lay across it. Dark, wraparound shades hid his glowing blue eyes while a death stick hung limply between his lips.
To the right, on a tall stool, sat a female Ewok in a halter top, a high-slit leather skirt, and gogo boots. Picket the Ewok needed all the height she could get. To the left, Indy the Jaws perched on his stool, with the front of his robe sitting dangerously parted while a whiskey bottle remained clutched in his tiny hand. Oddly enough, the hood was lowered, but Indy's face remained obscured due to the massive fro and mutton chops.
The man watched the clock strike midnight, then leaned forward, one finger pressing the button on the boom microphone as a sign blinked behind them on the wall: 'On The Air'.
And so it began.
"Good evening, lovers, dreamers, and those currently trapped in the cold, unyielding vacuum of space. You're listening to 91.234567 The Dark Side, your premier destination for late-night longing in the Outer Rim. I'm your host and DJ, the Paragon of Love, Muad Dib, spinning the tracks that pull on your heartstrings harder than a Force chokehold."
"They say love is a weakness, a distraction from absolute power. But I say, love is the ultimate passion. And what is the first line of our code, my midnight creatures? Love doesn't see black or white, Sith or Jedi, Gungan or Wookiee. Tonight, we are going to fuel that passion. Whether you're pining for a rogue smuggler who 'knows' or trying to convince your master that attachments aren't a one-way ticket to the light side and you long for that Paddypoke, I've got the anthems to stoke your internal fires, as only your favorite pyromancer can."
"So turn down your shields, turn up the subwoofers, and let the hatred—the heartbreak—and love flow through you. Up first, a smooth classic for anyone currently staring out a viewport at an orange binary sunset. You can feel the tension between a Sith pining for his Jedi paramour. "Something in the Orange."
"That goes out to the cute stormtrooper I locked eyes with at the Cantina. You may miss every single blaster shot, but you absolutely hit the bullseye on my heart. Our lines are now open for you lovestruck, or just Force lightning struck, starcrossed lovers. Give us a dedication and a song, tell us about the one who got away, or you threw down a deep reactor shaft, or hit us with a story about forbidden love and how sand gets everywhere. I am your host, the Paragon of Love, and this is 91.234567 The Darkside. After this message from one of our sponsors."
Muad Dib muted the mic and hit another button playing the voiceover dub for Locke Capital.
"Welcome back to 91.234567 the Darkside, here on the Outer Rim AMFMXMWXYZ. The traffic in the space lanes are jammed, the neon signs are flickering, and you're spinning through the void. But hey... why let your credits drift away into hyperspace when they could be working for you?"
"It's 0014 hours Galactic Standard Time. Do you know where your capital is? If you're building with the core-world fat cats, they're probably sleeping. But over at Locke Capital your credits never sleep. Whether you're an independent spacer looking to finance a new Corellian freighter, a planetary governor building a secret army, or just a simple entrepreneur in a side business trying to mass-produce your next line of heavy armor... Locke Capital has the leverage you need. They don't just invest in your future; they fund the very infrastructure of the outer rim. From the starship yards to the deep-space listening posts, Locke Capital has their hands in the finest tech the galaxy has to offer."
"So slide into your luxury Jedi or Sith robes, pour yourself a glass of vintage Corellian whiskey, and let the architectural masters handle the stress. Locke Capital: Because true power isn't measured in midichlorians... it's measured in margins. The lines are open."
The room was dark. Faint lights from the soundboard cast a diffuse neon glow across the sound booth. One chair and two stools were occupied as they waited for the stroke of midnight. The middleman, the host, relaxed in the leather chair, its high back and sturdy arms embracing him in comfort and style. The brown corduroy bellbottoms clashed with the burgundy polyester shirt with wide lapels. The shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, and a thick, gold chain lay across it. Dark, wraparound shades hid his glowing blue eyes while a death stick hung limply between his lips.
To the right, on a tall stool, sat a female Ewok in a halter top, a high-slit leather skirt, and gogo boots. Picket the Ewok needed all the height she could get. To the left, Indy the Jaws perched on his stool, with the front of his robe sitting dangerously parted while a whiskey bottle remained clutched in his tiny hand. Oddly enough, the hood was lowered, but Indy's face remained obscured due to the massive fro and mutton chops.
The man watched the clock strike midnight, then leaned forward, one finger pressing the button on the boom microphone as a sign blinked behind them on the wall: 'On The Air'.
And so it began.
"Good evening, lovers, dreamers, and those currently trapped in the cold, unyielding vacuum of space. You're listening to 91.234567 The Dark Side, your premier destination for late-night longing in the Outer Rim. I'm your host and DJ, the Paragon of Love, Muad Dib, spinning the tracks that pull on your heartstrings harder than a Force chokehold."
"They say love is a weakness, a distraction from absolute power. But I say, love is the ultimate passion. And what is the first line of our code, my midnight creatures? Love doesn't see black or white, Sith or Jedi, Gungan or Wookiee. Tonight, we are going to fuel that passion. Whether you're pining for a rogue smuggler who 'knows' or trying to convince your master that attachments aren't a one-way ticket to the light side and you long for that Paddypoke, I've got the anthems to stoke your internal fires, as only your favorite pyromancer can."
"So turn down your shields, turn up the subwoofers, and let the hatred—the heartbreak—and love flow through you. Up first, a smooth classic for anyone currently staring out a viewport at an orange binary sunset. You can feel the tension between a Sith pining for his Jedi paramour. "Something in the Orange."
"That goes out to the cute stormtrooper I locked eyes with at the Cantina. You may miss every single blaster shot, but you absolutely hit the bullseye on my heart. Our lines are now open for you lovestruck, or just Force lightning struck, starcrossed lovers. Give us a dedication and a song, tell us about the one who got away, or you threw down a deep reactor shaft, or hit us with a story about forbidden love and how sand gets everywhere. I am your host, the Paragon of Love, and this is 91.234567 The Darkside. After this message from one of our sponsors."
Muad Dib muted the mic and hit another button playing the voiceover dub for Locke Capital.
"Welcome back to 91.234567 the Darkside, here on the Outer Rim AMFMXMWXYZ. The traffic in the space lanes are jammed, the neon signs are flickering, and you're spinning through the void. But hey... why let your credits drift away into hyperspace when they could be working for you?"
"It's 0014 hours Galactic Standard Time. Do you know where your capital is? If you're building with the core-world fat cats, they're probably sleeping. But over at Locke Capital your credits never sleep. Whether you're an independent spacer looking to finance a new Corellian freighter, a planetary governor building a secret army, or just a simple entrepreneur in a side business trying to mass-produce your next line of heavy armor... Locke Capital has the leverage you need. They don't just invest in your future; they fund the very infrastructure of the outer rim. From the starship yards to the deep-space listening posts, Locke Capital has their hands in the finest tech the galaxy has to offer."
"So slide into your luxury Jedi or Sith robes, pour yourself a glass of vintage Corellian whiskey, and let the architectural masters handle the stress. Locke Capital: Because true power isn't measured in midichlorians... it's measured in margins. The lines are open."
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