Public An Artificial Night | Open

[Csariden]

❖ CSARIDEN ❖
Rebuilt For Revenge.

Foam hissed against synthskin. Glitter clung to matte plating like it was trying to reflect a soul that wasn't there.

Csariden rose from the final step of his sharp, percussive dance, foot landing in a pool of seething acid with a hisss-pop that timed itself perfectly with the vent overhead cracking open. Upward went the glitter, like smoke chased by a higher calling.

The air was starting to clear. But the room was anything but clean.

He tilted his head just slightly, catching the path of the shattered benches being repurposed into makeshift wind machines by the kinetic instincts of his new co-belligerent. The Sith. She moved with a reckless clarity that reminded him of broken crystal—jagged and purposeful. Her voice cracked over the din.

"See? That's teamwork,"

Csariden offered her a slight flourish as he whipped the blade to the side, flicking clinging blood to the foam-covered ground, cleaned the blade with a slide in the crook of his arm, then returned it to the sheath.
And a nod, thankful for assistance. Only with the post-kill calm did his behavior belie his age – hair white and grey from age, crows feet and wrinkles around what was left of his face between the cybernetics.

A glance sideways revealed the bench-mover's targets: one with covered eyes—taking cover but not fleeing. The other near the table, a memory ghosted behind her face. Someone else's problem, but Csariden logged them both. Useful calm in a room that reeked of alarm.

The other Chiss – Stybla'cha'danni, wasn't it? – had begun to withdraw, which was a wise move, considering the escalation of crushing Denon security with the Force would bring. Sirens howled behind the walls. Authority was inbound, slow and clanking.

"We're burning daylight," he said softly, mostly to himself, but loud enough for the others to pick up if they were listening.
One step forward. His boots made no sound but a faint hiss, micropneumatics in the heel of the cybernetic foot absorbing unecessary sound from each stride to the center of the room, where the glittered foam was thinnest.

He would be a problem for whoever came through that next door, but in the meantime he was curious to the bloodletting that he happened to find his way to.

If I split off soon, I can evade capture. If I wait for reinforcements, the rumors spread.

Curiousity won over. He remained, albeit with hand on hilt, ready to act when conversation was interrupted.

Let them come, then. Make me famous.

Scherezade deWinter Lachadann Niysha Siara Kai​

 

[Niysha]

A half-dozen men dying gruesomely in her immediate surroundings didn't phase Niysha nearly as much as having the very convenient and relatively blaster-resistant table she'd been hugging ripped away from her did. Losing her cover was inconvenient; it meant that she either had to find a new one, or draw her lightsaber. Option two was unsound and undesirable, so she quickly dove behind a different table to bide her time until the cops vacated the only way out that she could honestly see.

Regardless of her position, Niysha drew her blaster. Things hadn't popped off quite loud enough yet for her to really need to take any shots at Denon's local law enforcement officers, and she'd really prefer it if it didn't get to that point, but there was no way she was going to be caught in any situation where she didn't have the option to defend herself or leave. And right now, leaving felt a little less reliable.

The hit squad had been made quick and very gaudy work of; turns out the glittery lady and the psychotic Chiss robot man that had spontaneously decided to hang out near her were both shockingly effective at murder. Literally who would've expected that? Unfortunately, that still did leave the security officers piling through (and blocking) the main door, which meant that Niysha wasn't quite safe to just dive through a window yet.

Hmm. She wasn't in a Wizard Problems situation yet, but she kept in the back of her mind that she absolutely had a Wizard Solution when she got there. Guards weren't terribly hard to affect, and with just a single little push, they could probably be encouraged to ignore her as she - a totally insignificant and unrelated individual - slipped out the door while they dealt with the very dangerous criminals and Sith in the bar.

Right now, it was a better idea to just let the doorway clear naturally... and maybe keep an eye on the emergency exits, check which windows were blasterproof, and so on. With the infectious acid largely taken care of, her time limit wasn't quite so acute, but Niysha was still quite certain this was far too exciting for her tastes, and she'd like to leave, please.

Scherezade deWinter | Csariden | Lachadann

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

The foam was gone. The vocalist was dead. And Scherezade… Scherezade was glitter-drenched, blood-splattered, and grinning like a child who'd just been told every adult in the room had mysteriously vanished.

She turned, locking eyes with the Chiss ( Csariden ).

"Shiny and sharp. You do know how to flirt."

She twirled once, scattering more glitter. "You're my new best friend now. That's how this works. You get called a terrorist and I decide we're soulbound. Tough luck."

A noise drew her gaze. Her gaze moved quickly to the table shoved aside. The woman with the too-quiet presence ( Niysha ) had moved, fast, graceful, smart. Scherezade cocked her head.

"Oh!" she called cheerily. "Sorry about the table! Didn't mean to toss it your way. You move real well though! I like you!"

The security team was closing in now. The cantina was filling with uniforms, helmets, blasters raised like they actually thought they were in control.

Scherezade raised her hands, palms out, all innocence. The Force rippled under her skin.

"Hi!" she beamed. "I surrender. Very dangerous. Very sparkly. Please take me somewhere nice. Preferably with snacks."

She turned, stage-whispered to Csariden without lowering her arms, "Do you think they'll fall for it? I give it… ten seconds before one of them tries to be a hero."

Then louder again, to the woman with the blaster ( Siara Kai ), "You're not Esther, are you? No, that's fine. You can still come to the afterparty!"

And behind it all, the quiet pulse of tension began to rise again. Not fear. Not anticipation.

Fun.

 

[Csariden]

❖ CSARIDEN ❖
Rebuilt For Revenge.

The scent of ozone lingered on his plating like sweat. Beneath his mask, a crooked smile where organic teeth met durasteel Jaw implant.

Security was pouring in. Panic scattered across the room like overturned cards. And amid it all—
The chaos, the blood, the glittering madness of it—
Scherezade danced.
Csariden laughed, a choking, bitcrushed, psychotic sound. A misanthrope in the veil of a rebel found another with an equal distaste for the living.

It settled to a low, artificial chuckle filtered through his vocoder, broken with static, sharpened by heat.

"Are we not already on the ideal honeymoon?"

He punctuated that with dramatic flash of the blade as he pulled it from the sheathe in a more-than-excessive flourish.
He twisted his head toward her, the one glowing optic narrowing in a mixture of playful and cruel expression.

"Though I admit..." — a click echoed as a silver sphere dropped into his cybernetic palm
"...I did bring a gift."

It began to hum. The thermal detonator, primed and armed, sang its short, fatal song in his hand. He didn’t throw it. Not yet.

He just held it as the pace of the beeping increased, nearing detonation - eye contact maintained with Scherezade deWinter .
For three long seconds, he let it cook, the pitch climbing.

“Let's dance–”

We all make art our own way.

Abruptly he tossed the explosive in a blue of movement.

It soared directly to the center of the incoming patrol.

Midair detonation.

A blossom of white-hot light bloomed in the group. A compressed scream of heat and pressure. Security droids and guards obliterated in an instant. Screams were drowned in the detonation’s roar. Csariden was already moving.

Before the blood-mist cleared, before the shockwave settled, before the others even shouted, the cyborg Chiss blurred into the blast’s wake, cloak trailing behind him, blade trailing crimson. He left no time for hesitation.

Just space to follow.

Scherezade deWinter Lachadann Niysha Davan @Others​