Black Collar Gala

[The Major]

Crimson and clover, the Red Tower glowers over

"A Sith? Scandalous!" She cut, in a mock tone of shock that displayed whimsy. "Ah. . . but not to worry. You're amongst friends here in Point Nadir. Well. . ." Sybil qualified with a sneer, pointing at certain individuals in the crowd, ". . . mostly." One might note an apparent conflict of presentation. If the Major had no attachment to titles, why mention a joke at his revealing his alignment as a Sith?

It at least made interesting conversation.

She checked the nail which stirred the drink, seemingly satisfied with a result. Without pause, the woman downed her drink and placed the glass down politely.

!CRUNCH!​

​

What a satisfying thing it was, to crush an ice cube between ones molars.

"I've always wondered: how do the Sith manage an empire with so many vying for control. You'd think it might be chaos."

[member="Venthis Zambrano"]​

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

[member="Lily Kuhn"]

As far as criminal gatherings went, this one was as exclusive as it got. Good for her that she had... Options. "I should hope not," Tytos replied. Anyone holding the title of Emperor would always have options. There was only so far someone with such a title could fall. He did not consider it an enviable position in either event. Seemed too high profile. Governorships in the First Order were far less likely to attract a lot of attention, at least comparatively. They were also less likely to get him invitations to important soirees.

It seemed preferable to him that he be invited to high profile events because he demonstrated usefulness. Not because he held a certain title.

A smile tugged vainly at the corner of his mouth, never quite forming. "Koros Spaceworks, I believe? It so happens I represent a company in need of a naval force."

 

[Xin Boa]

[member="Kinsey Starchaser"]

"Well obviously yuh could have handled dese two," Xin replied. He stepped over the body she had just kicked with her toe. Neither of the guards even stirred. "I'm sure yuh could have escaped a locked ship too." What Xin hadn't known was whether they were actually going to take her there or step into a dark alley and put a bolt in the back of the head, or do something worse. And really he'd just been concerned and wanted to make sure she was safe regardless of how capable she was.

"And what makes you think my type is blonde?" Xin asked incredulously with a grin. Hair colour was probably like decorating head tails but Xin didn't really have any particular preference. Right now what he needed was to get some distance between them and the unconscious guards before someone else walked past.

"Thought she needed help. Then suddenly I'm dragged before the Hutt and told to introduce myself. Gonna keep meh head down when I get back. Good aim with the drinks."

 

[Kinsey Starchaser]

[member="Xin Boa"]

"Who doesn't like blondes?" She deadpanned back, gaze firmly on the belt and holster strap she wound around her waist. Belt strapped and hooked over the waitress uniform. Fingers gave it a tug to make sure it was secured.

Oddly colored brown eyes looked to Xin. This time her own roguish lips twitched. "What a gallant spacer, jumping in to help a stranger. The dress she wore probably didn't hurt to catch your attention either."

Twitching lips turned into a full on grin. Couldn't help the surprise flicker across her face full of heavy makeup for her 'job.' Seemed like they still wanted their lowly servants done up enough. Most makeup Kinsey had ever worn in her life and she couldn't wait to get the stuff off.

But the surprise was from the compliment. Xin tended to joke around a lot. Sincere compliments from him were...rare. They seemed to share that trait. In fact, smooth and confident Kinsey didn't know how to react. Threw her off for a second before she found that smoothness back again.

"Best part of my night."

Close enough to a thanks, right?

Chin tipped beyond Xin's shoulder. "I'll head back to our ship. You should get back in there." She was already turning.

 

[Yaadri Osi-Yyn]

The Red Tower,
Point Nadir.

Engaging in this conversation secretly was painful to Venthis. He hated it. Socialising. He would turn his head continuing his smirk, squinting for a moment. "Mostly." He repeated with a chuckle shortly after her. He narrowed his eyes even more as the crunch emitted from her mouth. Ergh.

He gave a soft nod at her question. Pausing for a moment, keeping his eyes locked onto hers. Gauging her expressions and how she 'was'. "The Empire is... suprisingly loyal to the Dark Lord." He stated. His mind ticked for a moment, before he would undo the top button on his shirt and widen his shirt out to show her his chest, revealing countless scars and burned tissue. "You can see why." He said, buttoning it back up, chuckling again to himself.

The path was tough, but he was near the end.

[member="The Major"]

 

[Quietus]

Red lips paused at the lip of the glass. Blue eyes flicked down to catch Qui’s dancing eyes through the smoke. She smiled, and tipped the drink. The burn spilled down her throat, keeping her belly warm.

“Mm. You look fantastic for your age,” Aver murmured as she caught the last drop of the whiskey with the tip of her tongue.

“So he was… what, the first Beasten?” She tilted her head to the side. There was an obvious father-shaped hole in that story. It was full of teeth, and looked none too inviting.

A question best left for another time.

There was a look growing on her face at the age comment. Something not quite mischievous and not quite mirthless. Smug. It was smugness. A response kept to herself if not for the gaze that drifted over the portion of the Merc that was immediately available to view. It lingered around the line of her jaw where it met her neck before wandering off with another exhale of smoke.

In a way, though they did not call him that. They called him Messiah. Regardless of his title, it is his doing that the role of Beastia or Beasten exists. One that he entrusted to me when I returned as a Master. He left Onderon under my care to join my grandmother on Honoghr in a ... retirement of sorts. They had a child together - one of great potential. Sadly that child was the first of my family to succumb to the Gulag Plague.

 

[Aver Brand]

Blue eyes crinkled at the edges as she listened. The alcohol warmed her throat, and a smile warmed her lips. As the crowd thinned and the lights dimmed, Aver seemed… softer, somehow. The black suit painted her half in shadows, and the silver features under a red mane were all that remained.

She rolled the amber over the walls of the glass, peering at her companion with a curl to her mouth.

Smug looked good on [member="Quietus"].

“So where’s Ari come into this picture? Kid’s, what? Twenty and change?”

 

[Xin Boa]

[member="Kinsey Starchaser"]

"Is that a note of bitterness?" Xin asked. Perhaps she had been spurned by a potential lover for a blonde before. "Not sure if I have a preference for hair colour he shrugged. But did yuh see dose legs?" He joked.

"I think I'll head back round from the other entrance. Worth it just to see the brat glaring at anyone who might bring up her colourful new clothes. Dis operashan hasn't exactly gone to plan but hopefully Hirrau has what we need."

They didn't need much. Just a criminal organisation willing to help them smuggle fuel across borders to avoid tariffs and to supply them with components and ordnance for their military vessels that weren't typically for sale outside of major governments.

 

[Kinsey Starchaser]

[member="Xin Boa"]

Kins waved a hand over her shoulder without turning back. Eyes were checking her power pack levels on the blaster.

"Ha! Not bitterness. I was a blonde once. And I agree. Legs for miles," she was smirking.

"I'll be at the ship. Comm me if you need another rescue."

Pace quickened a bit and she turned a corner, disappearing into the maze of streets with looters, criminals, and murderers.

 

[The Major]

Point Nadir, the booze is red too

Venthis'. . . ahem . . display was a tad surprising for the Major. Though she reckoned any one person who collected so many scars would like to show them off like the fleshy trophies they were it certainly established that he either was an accomplished fighter/survivor, the Tower's clumsiest noble, or just one of those kinds of guys. It would be melodramatic to be plussed by a little showing of skin when most of the guests here were surrounded by lewd dancers and hungry courtesans for every kind of fetish under the Old Gods' shining galactic core. However, as a backwoods hunter who often impersonated high nobility, one could often rely upon a streak of convenient prudery to facilitate an excuse to escape.

After all, she wasn't the only one sitting on this bench pretending.

"Might does equal right, as they say." Call it woman's intuition, but the Major could sense it was an apt time to leave behind something to be desired. Besides, everyone knew that nobles could not be bothered to have extensive conversation without growing despicably bored. Best to leave the vampiric fellow before some kind of awkward silence marred a decent chuckle or two. "Well! These functions are events to facilitate mingling. Here. . ." She produced a small card from her clutch. "Take my card. Don't be a stranger." And a hand put it on the bench cushion where Sybil sat a moment ago.

It was a holo-card, a strange little device in vogue in the deep core -and like most popular things of posh a completely waste of tech. If one touched the corners of the card, it would glow in a pleasant aquamarine while providing basic contact information. A touch of lilac permeated the card, similar to the scent of the woman in dressed in white and red walking away.

She gave it 50-50 odds that he'd just leave it there. Time would tell.​

Sybil meandered through the crowd with the skill of someone cloaked in overpriced tech, looking for someone to agitate. Any Hutt was straight out. Ugh. So many men about. How tiring. She moved on.

By chance, while walking past a number of booths something red caused her to double-take. The hue was accompanied by the rest of a woman smiling in a black suit -pinging a queer sense of familiarity. This woman appeared to be having a grand old time with her companion, who appeared to be the kind of lady who spoke every word in italics -smooth and dignified. Déjà vu was something of a bad habit in Sybil's life at the moment. Ever curious, she moved to intercept.

Now, generally, a maneuver like this would fail 9 times out of 10; thus, the Major was quite comfortable with failure. The markswoman aims.

"Pardon me, but have I seen you before?"​

​

She shot, pointing both her index fingers at Aver (which of course she did not know), already hefting the battering ram sized apology in reserve.

​

[member="Aver Brand"] [member="Quietus"] [member="Venthis Zambrano"]​

 

[Yaadri Osi-Yyn]

The Red Tower,
Point Nadir.

You could cut the tension with a knife. The entire room filled with various wanted personnel by various different authorities. It was risky for Venthis coming here, the Zambranos weren't the most popular of families in the galaxy. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions had died by their hand. Yet he could tell his new found friend wanted to make a sharp get away. He had to work on his pickup lines.

"Very well, Sybil. If that... truly is your name." He said with a somewhat smooth grin. Glancing to the side noticing her card she had left behind. He would ponder for a moment, before shifting over and taking it into his hands. The cards animation would kick in before he would glance up watching her walk away with a smile. He was... intrigued. For an emotionless carcas, he definitely felt something. Slotting the card into his pocket he would remain seated, for the rest of the evening either waiting for another to sit by him or to remain left alone.

[member="The Major"]

 

[Quietus]

He's a clone.

Brevity. In italics. Because the character is a mute and communicates through telepathy. All the time. Quietus released another stream of purple smoke from her lips and dutifully concealed the broken fourth wall of this post. Being the first person she'd ever really discussed the origins of Arathul with outside of family, Des began to understand how truly odd it all sounded. Or maybe it didn't. Who really knew with Aver - the Merc's life beyond their visits was much a mystery to her. What oddities she involved herself in, what strange happenings and peoples she knew were very likely on par with most stories she had to tell her. The only difference really being that Aver had fewer stories to tell for her shorter life.

Not that Des often asked after them. Separation was a thing and, frankly, the less she knew the better.

Was about to continue when a new voice cut through, drawing the line of her narrowed gaze and looking upon the face of civil socializing with a faint hint of dejection. If it weren't for a similar vibe coming from Aver she would have grit and bared the interaction. Or maybe just walked off to leave her to it. Neither were on the menu for either of them, apparently. Nope. Not today.

Free hand hitched firmly through her date's elbow, Quietus took the role of nasty schutta upon herself, directed Aver away from the woman and into the crowd of people. Suddenly hit with a sense of direction she aimed for the dance hall as the tune of a waltz filtered through the open doorway.

[member="The Major"] [member="Aver Brand"]

 

[Aver Brand]

“A clone.”

Yes, she could see it clearly now. Everything made sense. From ‘child died in Gulag’ to ‘clo— oh. Oh. Well… “Kark.”

She was going to say more, really, but then two things happened in quick succession. (Three, technically. Aver didn’t count her own reaction.)

A woman, tall and courteous and, indeed, known, appeared next to the pair. Bespectacled, armorless, gunless. Goreless, too. [member="The Major"] addressed her.

A woman, not quite so tall and certainly not as courteous – but far beyond ‘known’ to make up for it – curled a firm arm through her elbow. [member="Quietus"] nothing short of dragged the merc away. Aver was too surprised to resist, and Des was actually one of the few people strong enough to… you know. Pull it off.

“I don’t think so, no,” was all Aver managed to offer in response, quirking an apologetic eyebrow.

It was only after the blonde stopped again that she noted the music in the background. It was louder.

Blue eyes flickered down to Qui, knowing to expect greens full of mischief and unbearable smugness.

“Oh no.”

 

[Quietus]

The Ballroom
And the Waltz Goes On...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8QmV8wxEeE


Where they stopped was the very edge of the dance floor. An expansive space of decadence and glimmer between a ceiling pregnant with crystalline chandeliers and a floor gleaming of polished marble. Filling the air in between were rotating bodies dressed to the tens - a full, lively floor, but not too full.

Oh yes...

Those green eyes turned to Brand with a keen intent, spent Sten dipped into the empty tumbler in the Merc's hand, the latter pulled from her grasp and handed off to a passing waiter.

How did that invite go ... she landed a pointed stare up at the taller woman, do you dance?

 

[Aver Brand]

Few were the times when Aver Brand had ever felt quite so disarmed as when meeting that green stare.

Suddenly, this had nothing to do with mischief. Her spine stiffened, and the merc breathed out, slow-like – if only to stop herself from yanking her arm free of those fingers.

She looked down, then to the floor. Despite the opulent decoration, only few lights were lit throughout the expansive room, lending an air of a late evening to go with the slow drift of the music.

If she said no, Aver knew exactly what would follow. And so she didn’t, not merely because it wasn’t wholly true – but also because the consequences would… displease her. But there was another truth, much deeper, and unspoken even on that night.

Ygdris was tired of running.

“Not like this,” she admitted, tracing her gaze carefully along their linked arms. “But I’d like to… learn.”

Didn’t make it quite high enough to meet her jade eyes.

 

[Quietus]

A long moment stretched out between question and answer, long enough for Qui's boiling boldness to get away from conversation to slowly draw to a simmer. Long enough for her to remember the last time she had dance.

It had been a very long time and, she thought while watching the Merc suddenly withdraw, she hoped she could remember how properly. Imperative especially now that she learned Aver did not actually know how. The finger's at her elbow loosened at feeling the growing tenseness - Qui did not intend for her to feel trapped but there was a certain sort of irony to the situation that begged a hint of humor. It was there in her expression, fleetingly, crinkling at the edges of her eyes in a smile that she managed to keep off her face. Smugness wasn't appropriate here, but Aver didn't know the depths of said irony.

Wasn't just the initial invite she'd given.

Then I will teach you.

The same exact words spoken to her by a man named Cazador at a gala much like this so very long ago.

Qui slipped her right hand through the wrist loop of her clutch, giving Aver's hesitant gaze no mind. It was so rare that she'd admit to things like this that it seemed wrong to call her on them. Content, instead, to let them simply be part of the dance. She took up position at the woman's front, guiding the Merc's hands into place; left hand at Qui's waist, right hand in her own, raised. A moment to pause then, waiting for the music to cue in appropriately, waiting for the memories to filter in the steps.

My lead, with me, she stepped back, then in, directing Aver through shifts of tension in her hand and at her shoulder. It was a slow introduction kept along the outskirts of those gracefully passing by.

 

[Aver Brand]

It would be like learning to use a gun. And, later, a lightsaber. Like learning how to fight without any of those, on the ground, with fists and teeth and knees.

Or, perhaps, like learning to shoot a bow.

The thought brought a fleeting quirk to her lips before Aver looked down to the blonde now flush against her. With a frown she let her take hold of her hands, and gingerly let them rest where Qui willed.

This is… stiff, she ventured after a few steps. Of course when she said ‘this’ Aver really meant ‘me’, and so she closed her eyes again. Exhaled a long breath.

No mercenary and no queen tonight. No trail of blood shed by a thousand lifetimes. Just a rhythm and two bodies that knew well enough to move in tune.

Nobody cared if Ygdris danced – so why should she?

Her fingers relaxed against Des, and Aver… listened.

Not so much to the melody lifting and falling with the instruments, but to the subtle language spoken with no words at all.

Aver listened, and moved to answer not as a lover, but as a mate.

 

[The Major]

Elsewhere...

Whoosh. Miss.

Once they left the booth the Major looked down at her shirt, and even gave her arms a cursory glance. Nothing was painted on there that said "kark you." Of that much she was certain. Those lips of hers twist and she peered left, then right.

Sitting down in the abandoned seat she covered her face by placing her fingers upon her brow —freckle splattered cheeks going warm, then hot, and burning purple before it all faded away with a deep breath. Consider the positive: her head had not been exploded off. That would be far more embarrassing. Perish the thought.

Her enthusiasm for the evening tempered, she assessed that it was still too early to just leave. A bathroom break would have to do. And so Sybil left the floor in search.

 

[Quietus]

One turn, another, another. Slower than the others, they crept about the barrier between dancing partners and those watching, mingling, fraternizing. Following the the pattern, starting and ending and starting again, repetition in its simplest form could be easily learned and memorized by a woman who laid out the bones of demons on the regular. Aver knew the intricacies of the dance between foes; had waltzed to the tune of blasterfire and slugthrowers; had toed the line of death and pain against enemy countless times.

Now she moved to an orchestra of song, lead by nothing short of centuries-old-memories idly crossing the mind of her partner. Recollections of events long since past in grand gala halls that had smoldered to dust and been built over anew. This was not so much an exercise of finding joy in normal things, but in trying new things and stepping over age-old boundaries ... into the fire of the full dance circle.

Sandaled feet swept briskly beneath the hem of black and greens, leading the odd pairing into the quicker pace of the main dance floor. Before Aver knew it she was waltzing full speed, a wry smile growing on her partner's face.

 

[Aver Brand]

The qualities of a huntress bleed through in the slow stalk of the prey. Aver gave into the rhythm, into the subtle ebb and flow of warmth hovering just a breath away. Perhaps she imagined a different ground beneath her feet – uneven with corpses and pockmarked by blasters – a ground that she had traversed times uncounted, and would do so until she died.

This? Unlikely she would ever dance with Quietus like this again.

Or with anyone else, for that matter.

When their step quickened, Aver kept her eyes closed. Her lips quirked up, and she reasserted her fingers with growing confidence.

In the realm of footwork, this was like the battlefield. A collaborative spar, if there ever was a stranger name for dancing. Ygdris was only just learning to listen to words – but listening to bodies was the domain of beasts.

With a hum at the back of her throat, she pulled her partner closer.

How does it feel?