Private A night out

[Ragos Terrek]

Some club on Nar Shaddaa

It was madness! Lights flashed in rhythmic patterns. First red, then yellow, then blue, interjected with periods of darkness. Music thumped so loud it shook your teeth and rattled your bones. Conversation was impossible, it was even too loud to think. The assembled mass of bodies knew there was no other choice. No other option…just dance.

So they did for hours, beings from all over the moon moved and grooved with each other, forgetting their problems or their worries or whatever and just letting go, allowing themselves to lose whatever inhibition they may have brought with them.

Exiting the mass of bodies and placing themselves at the bar was a young man with dark skin and emerald green eyes. He wore bright red varactyl skin boots, black polythin pants that fan out wide at the ankles, and a black polythin shirt that had a v-shaped opening that went to the top of his muscular chest.

His head and chest glistened with sweat while he tried to get the bartender droid's attention.

Senna Lonis

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna Lonis peeled off her stained clinic jacket and draped it over her arm as she stepped into the pounding heart of the club. The air was thick with sweat and neon haze, each flash of red, yellow, and blue illuminating her like the specter of a starfighter caught in a hyperdrive. Her loose black top—a whisper of mesh—clung to her form, and the short skirt revealed legs still trembling from twelve hours standing over hyperbaric wards.

She slid into her heels with a practiced flick of her ankle, feeling the familiar tug of anticipation as her pulse synced to the bassline.


A grizzled Rodian bouncer barred her way, hand outstretched, scavenged credits gleaming in his claws. "Entry's five credits," he rasped, voice crackling over the speakers.

Senna tipped her chin, lifted dark lashes, and used her wrist com to complete the digital transaction. As the Rodian confirmed, she caught her reflection in a polished steel pillar: emerald eyes bright with mischief, sweat-slicked hair haloed by strobe lights, lips curved in a promise of tonight's escape.


She moved forward, hips swaying in time with the rhythm, and the crowd parted just enough to let her slip through—another story in the endless dance. At the bar, the chrome-plated counter gleamed under violet light.

Senna settled onto a stool, the world behind her dissolving into the beat. Here, for one night, she wasn't a medic patching wounds or soothing cries—she was pure motion, pure freedom, and she was ready to lose herself in the music.

 

[Ragos Terrek]

"Hey fuck you, trick." Ragos practically yelled at the server droid the third time it scooted past him on its one single wheel to serve other customers.

The fething thing must be custom programmed or some chit cuz Ragos could swear that after he cussed the droid it purposefully stopped in front of his place in the bar just long enough for Rag to start to open his mouth to order before the droid zoomed off again to serve a rodian couple that Ragos fething knew had come to the bar after him.

Tonight Ragos was at some top side club on Nar Shaddaa. It was newer probably less than a decade old with some chit name, Kyber, he was pretty sure that's what it was called. Ragos didn't know when it became common to name a nightclub something so silly.

Really, Kyber?

This was not Ragos' normal spot. He'd never been here a day in his life and a good bit of Ragos life was spent in clubs. His pops had run a top side joint called The Starving Sarlacc for Valturla The Hutt. Pops tried to keep his working for a gangster a secret, Ragos was never sure why, everyone on this fething moon dealt with some criminal syndicate or another, but that was pops. Compared to the Sarlacc, Kyber sucked, man.

Ragos wasn't here to be critiquing the place or whatever, he was here to dance, and drink, and keep his eyes open.

It's a gooood thing they open

Ragos thought as he watched the server droid slide over to the bar's newest patron, ignoring Ragos again as it did.

A dark haired woman had taken a seat at the bar. Even in the chitty strobe lighting Ragos could see that her features were sharp enough to cut. Ragos gave the bar and the surrounding area a quick look over and proceeded to slide a few seats down to sit next to the raven haired woman. By the looks of it he still had time to kill and better to do that with some company.

"A water," Ragos cut off the droid as it tried to take the woman's order. "And two of whatever she orders." Ragos placed a small stack of credits on the bar for the droid to take before turning his attention to the stranger.

"Name's Ghost," he introduced himself. "What's yours?"

Senna Lonis

 

[Senna Lonis]

Senna had just opened her mouth to order when the voice cut in—low, confident, and a little too smooth to be entirely innocent.

"A water. And two of whatever she orders."

Her gaze shifted sideways, lashes fluttering like she wasn't entirely sure if she'd just been rescued from the droid or ambushed. The man was already placing credits on the bar like they belonged there, his dark skin glowing under the violet lights, his emerald green eyes watching her with interest that didn't exactly hide behind the polite smirk.

"Name's Ghost," he said, smooth as the synth-jazz echoing beneath the bass line. "What's yours?"

Senna blinked, then tilted her head with a sly little smile playing at her lips. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, leaned forward just a touch—not enough to give away anything important, but just enough to let the mesh of her top catch the light.

"Ghost, huh?" she repeated, biting back a soft laugh. "That's subtle. What, were Shadow and Whisper already taken?" She paused, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "You know I could've ordered poison just now, right? You really gonna let some stranger pick your fate on a club night?"

She leaned back again, crossing one leg over the other, her heel dangling lazily from her toe.

"But alright. Since you like living dangerously—" She offered her hand, palm soft but fingers strong. "I'm Senna."

Another beat passed, and she softened just a little, lips curving as she added, "Daytime clinic aid. I patch up people who love finding excuses for their next 'kick.' Blaster burn, swoop crash, lover's quarrel gone sideways—you name it, I've seen it. Nothing glamorous. Basically a medic with more sass and less respect."

Her eyes glimmered in the strobe haze. "And tonight, Ghost, I'm off-duty."