Private A Dangerous Kind of Arrival

[Kaelon Virex]

Location: Nar Shaddaa, Upper Platform – The Gilded Veil, Private Lounge 9

Kael had changed shirts four times.

He stood in front of the narrow mirror bolted into the wall of his private suite in the Gilded Veil, fiddling with the cuffs of a charcoal tunic that somehow looked effortless and rebellious—like him, or so he hoped. The lighting above cast a smoky violet hue over his features, highlighting the faint scar beneath his jaw and the smirk he hadn't quite wiped off since he got her message.


"Born of secrets and stitched from sins…"

He mimicked the line under his breath, then let out a low whistle, dragging a hand through his black hair. It was still damp from the sonic shower, but not messy enough yet. He messed it up a little more, let a few strands fall into place like they just happened to look that good.

The cologne came next.

A little black bottle, scuffed at the corners. He rarely used it—too flashy for someone always on the move—but tonight wasn't just about a drink. It was about curiosity. Chemistry. Maybe a little chaos. He tilted the bottle, gave his neck a single spritz, then another along his collarbone. Spiced neroli and smoke.

He leaned in to the mirror, adjusting the line of stubble along his jaw.

"Not exactly stable, but at least I don't lie about it…"

He grinned.

Scherezade deWinter

She didn't just reply—she crashed through the signal like she was daring him to regret it. He liked that. He liked a lot of things about her, and he hadn't even seen her face yet.


Kael slipped his vibroblade into his boot holster. Not because he expected trouble, but because Nar Shaddaa didn't like anyone walking around without one.

A quick glance toward the door. The lounge was already prepped—low lights, a bottle of Zeltron wine chilling in the corner, sabacc cards set on the table just in case she wanted to make good on that threat to make him fold first.

He exhaled, rolled his shoulders, and let that cocky, dangerous charm settle over him like a second skin.

"Alright, Chaos," he muttered, heading toward the door. "Let's see what kind of trouble you've brought with you."

He stepped into the corridor, boots echoing softly on the polished durasteel floor, heart hammering just a little faster than he'd ever admit.

Tonight, the past was irrelevant.

The danger didn't matter.

And love? That was just another game they could both cheat at.

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The first Scherezade had done was scratch her head. Wait, was that really happening? Someone had noticed a profile that had been rotting in the void for over four decades and responded? Positively? What the kriff. And then the coordinates. She plugged them quickly into her ship's system, realizing she was going to be on Nar Shaddaa. Well. Not a bad place. One of the many she had terrorized all those years ago. She hoped the locals remembered her fondly for it.

She also had to NOT tell her sister! Or her chosen sister! Or her friend! No, all those whackjobs would come flying at her with entire wardrobes in tow, dead-set on stuffing her into something that wasn't bloodstained or explosive-resistant. At least one of them would expect to see her in something like a dress. What!

The Sithling took a few deep breaths, and set the course. This was happening. No one was allowed to know about it.

Right then, she was close to the planet. Time to get ready.

As predicted, there wasn't anything really suitable for something like that. Well. She assumed he wasn't someone who was trying to phish her and she also assumed she was not going to end up stabbed (by him). So… it was time to do what she did best. Improvise.

A bunch of leather coats she hadn't worn in a while were torn up, and then carefully stitched together, her delicate manual control of the Force allowing her to do so with accuracy. It was simple, really. If one was good at building bombs, one had to be good at working with their hands, which included… Dresses Yes. Fine. It was a dress. But it was a leather-wrapped sin of a dress, and that made it okay. The black leather clung to her body like a tight glove, hugging every single curve. A few cuts placed perfectly to let skin flash with every move.

And of course, the knives. The leather gave her certain freedoms to hide them in strategic spots. Not because she thought he'd try to stab her. No, Kael was probably the safest thing in the room, and that was saying something, considering he was still a complete unknown.

Hair… Yeah, that she could leave alone. It was long, soft, a little wild… She liked it the way it was.

The Gilded Veil, Private Lounge 9​

Here she was now. Ready. Or as ready as she could be. It wasn't too late to turn around, get back on her ship, and run away. She was really good at running away. That was part of why she was still alive.

A guard was by the door.

"Vael Ryn," she half purred at it, letting the syllables run freely. It wasn't his name. It was the name she'd been instructed to use.

As the door opened, a thousand thoughts ran across Scherezade's mind.

She didn't flinch as the door slid open.

Her boots, heavier than they looked, clicked once on the polished durasteel floor, a warning shot to the silence. She walked in slow, not because she wanted to draw it out, but because for the first time in a long time, she didn't already know how this was going to end.

The lights were low. Wine chilled. Cards on the table.

Cute.

And then her glowing green eyes saw him.

He did clean up nice. Not in a polished, groomed, boring kind of way, but in the you'll-regret-this-but-not-right-away kind of way. That collarbone spritz? She caught the smoke and neroli in the air like a snare trap woven in scent.

Scherezade tilted her head, gulping quickly before a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she stepped fully into the room.

"Look at you," she said, purred, letting her eyes roam freely. "Didn't even need to spill blood to make my heart race."

Then she paused, reached for the sabacc deck without breaking eye contact, and dealt herself a card.

"Fold now, Kael, and I might even let you keep your shirt."

---

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael didn't move right away.

The first click of her boots hit him in the chest like a vibroshock—warning, arrival, game-on. And then she stepped into the light, and the rest of the galaxy promptly shut up and sat the kriff down.

Leather. Curves. Knives.

She moved like she belonged in a firefight and a poem at the same time, and Kael, for once in his chaos-soaked life, had no ready line. His smirk softened into something less practiced, more… impressed.
And then she spoke.

"Didn't even need to spill blood to make my heart race."

He let out a breath like he'd been hit, brows lifting as she approached the table.

"Okay," he said with a grin, watching her fingers slide over the cards. "So, you are Chaos."

She dealt herself a card with surgical confidence, those glowing green eyes locked on his. And then came the kicker:

"Fold now, Kael, and I might even let you keep your shirt."

He barked a laugh. "You drive a hard bargain. But I'm afraid my shirt and I have been through too much together to abandon it over one card."

He moved toward the table with easy swagger, but his pulse was still hammering in his ears. Reaching for the wine bottle, he uncorked it with a flick of the wrist and poured two glasses without taking his eyes off her.

"You like Zeltron red? It's got a burn like a lover's lie, but smoother going down."

He slid one of the glasses toward her, then leaned a hip against the edge of the table, mirroring her stance—but not trying to match it. That would've been impossible.

"I'll admit, I wasn't sure you'd show. A ghost profile like that? Most people would've assumed it was bait. But then, you're clearly not 'most people.'" He tilted his glass in her direction. "I'm glad you did."

There was a flicker of sincerity beneath the rogue's charm. Not too much—but enough.

"I'm Kael. Kael Virex. Taris-born. Ex-smuggler, maybe-still-a-thief, currently very interested in whatever it is you're drinking in your eyes right now."

A pause. He sipped.

"So how about you tell me something true, Vael… Something you've never told a stranger before."

He winked.

"I'll go first if you like. But be warned—mine's pretty embarrassing."

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Oh… He did not yet know what the chaos that made her was. But he was starting to understand. It was almost a shame he turned down the offer of handing her his shirt. But that was okay, she supposed. The night had the potential of lasting several days if both of them played their cards right.

Her gaze dropped when his thigh brushed the table. Just a flicker, but deliberate. She didn't bother to hide where her eyes landed: that cursed hip, the one that hinted at things better left unspoken… or thoroughly explored. He was radiating the kind of energy that made her forget the air in her lungs. Another swallow. Another little smile to mask it. But the game was on now, and subtlety was overrated.

She took the wine glass like it was part of a ritual, her fingers curling around the stem with a kind of deliberate grace that didn't quite match the general public opinion of what chaos was. But oh… She would explain that later if need be.

"Zeltron red," she echoed, lifting the glass to eye level. "Smooth and strong, with just enough heat to leave a memory." She didn't drink right away. She let the scent curl into her senses first, the way a hunter might study the wind before moving in. "Fancy pick for a guy with messed-up hair and a knife in his boot," she added, one brow arching with playful challenge. "Are you trying to impress me, Kael? Or disarm me?"

Then, finally, she took a sip, slow, savoring it as it was the first drop of alcohol she'd had in over a decade, and let her lips curl into a smile that was just a little too sharp to be entirely safe. He gave her a truth. She should've dodged. Should've made a joke. Should've said something glib and glitter-coated.

Instead, Scherezade tilted her head and let just a hint of warmth soften her voice. She leaned in slightly, just enough for the scent of leather and something sweet-but-dangerous to brush into his space. Her green eyes sparkled, not with menace, but with mischief. The best kind.

"I hog the covers," her voice just above a whisper, hushed like a confession meant only for midnight lovers, "And I talk in my sleep, usually threats, but sometimes recipes for meat-preserving. Once a love poem to a roasted nuna."

She took another sip and smirked before sitting in one of the chairs with a fluid motion.

"Will you sit with me, or did I ruin the fantasy?"

Kaelon Virex

 

[Kaelon Virex]

Kael exhaled a short laugh—caught between delight and something dangerously close to fascination—as she leaned in, scenting the wine, toying with him like a cat might a slow, pretty bird.

"Are you trying to impress me, Kael? Or disarm me?"

He grinned. "Why not both?" he replied, tilting his glass in her direction again. "Though I'm not sure which one's harder with you."


Then came her truth—delivered in that low, confessional whisper that twisted around his ribs and pulled something wicked from his chest. "I hog the covers."
"Threats and meat recipes."
"A love poem to roasted nuna."


Kael blinked, then broke into a real laugh—loud, unguarded, head tilting back just slightly.


"Well, kriff," he said through a grin. "That's going to haunt me in the best possible way."


He slid into the seat across from her with a rakish sort of elegance, legs stretched just far enough to casually invade her space beneath the table—but not so far as to be presumptuous. He set his glass down, picked up the deck, and began to shuffle. His fingers moved with practiced ease—somewhere between a gambler and a magician.


"Alright, sleep-talker. Cards, then stories."


He dealt two hands. Clean. Precise.


"I used to boost speeders off upper-tier platforms on Corulag," he began, casually. "Quick in, clean exit, no blood. Mostly."
"Then I ran protection gigs for a Mirialan slicer who taught me how to rewrite Imperial IDs. She disappeared after a job on Zeltros. Or faked her death. Jury's still out."
He sipped his wine, eyes lingering on hers like a held note.


"These days, I'm… transitional." He offered a small, self-deprecating smile. "My cousin—Sommer Dai—she owns this place. You might've heard the name, depending on how long you've been ghosting around the galaxy. She's gone right now, off chasing something."


He flipped a card onto the table, then leaned back in his chair, watching her with that same persistent curiosity that hadn't dulled since the moment she walked in.


"So I'm holding the line while she's gone. Wearing the temporary crown. Making sure the lights stay on, the drinks stay strong, and the wrong people don't take a shot while her throne's warm."


His fingers tapped the card absently.


"But when she's back?" He shrugged. "I want my own place. Not just a bar. A real club. Music, gambling, a safe place for the kind of people who don't fit anywhere else."


Then he smirked, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Your turn. Another truth—unless you'd rather make me earn it."


He slid another card her way.


"Sabacc or secrets, pick your poison."