Chaos Choreography [CIS Dominion | S-38]

[Paragon of Virtue]

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Many of the Southern Systems rallied in joy as producer Chad McChadstone announced a final season of the holo-reality show, Dance or Die. The last season had happened over a decade ago, but both reality and casual fans of the show had savored the memories of it in sweet nostalgia, remembering the days during which Alderna Portacia's shoe slipped off mid-dance and hit one of the judges in the face, as well as the genuine excitement and rush as they waited to see which dancing couple would make it to the finale.

Spoiler: Chad McChadstone

After many months of hype build up, the truly last and final season began. Audiences from all around the 'verse were invited to watch, both from the comfort of their own home and at the space station that had been specifically constructed to house the competition. Four dancers have made it to the finale night – Stacy, Jackelina, Brad, and Challgo – all four have proven to be at the top of their respective genre, and all four would be competing tonight for the grand prize, to be considered the greatest dancer in the Southern Systems.

Spoiler: The Final Four Dancers

Yet as anything else in the business of reality holoshows, not all that glitters is gold.

One by one, former contestants of the season as well as their back-up dancers have shown up dead, often within hours of being voted off the show. While Chad McChadstone's deep pockets have kept the tabloids and newspapers away from knowing and making such information public, knowing that it would wreak financial ruin on him.

But while the mainstream media has not a single word on the issue, the Confederacy of Independent Systems is a whole 'nother matter, as Chad McChadstone was foolish enough to attempt to dispose of the bodies within Confederate Space, thus making himself a problem to them. It did not take too long to figure out where the bodies floating in space were coming from, and soon enough, there were more than enough people on the space station than McChadstone had accounted for.

However, the plans to come in, clean the place, and get out, were quickly laid aside as the Confederacy realized that something bigger is going on. While we have every intention to arrest McChadston at after the series finale without causing a tabloid feast, in the meantime, there is something dark and sinister that is hounding this space ship; and this something dark and sinister is hungry – and will not stop with just dancers.

Some of the Confederates have been assigned, whether willingly or not, to being backup dancers. This does not mean they are simply standing in the background moving their upper body while their thumbs point at everybody; no. These people, are dancing on the stage. The cameras are on them. And in between the numbers of the contestants, they are dancing in the limelight!

Of course, all of this is just a way to blend in – blend in, try to get the other dancers to trust you, try to investigate whether anyone knows anything of what is happening, and try to lure whatever it is that is killing everybody to come at you, because you know how to fight in stilettos.

Those following this objective have been patrolling the massive space station for the past few hours, and you have just realized that while there might be a Big Bad hiding somewhere – it apparently has little minions. Clear the space station from the critters that put everyone in danger. These blood suckers latch on to their victim's face suck their brain content out through their nose. These guys are not playing friendly!

Spoiler: Blood Sucker image

Walk around the space station, dance in hidden corners, find the food buffet, or have a lover's spat – you're free to do anything you want to in this setting!

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Spoiler: CIS Tag List

[member="A'Runda"]
[member="Akabane"]
[member="Alden Akaran"]
[member="Alora Fae"]
[member="Alwine Lechner"]
[member="Amarant deWinter"]
[member="Amaya Cardei"]
[member="Amelia von Sorenn"]
[member="Amethyst Atreides"]
[member="Amethyst Sovereign"]
[member="Anya Malvern"]
[member="Arabella Darkhold"]
[member="Archim Calixis"]
[member="Ari Zanareth"]
[member="Arlox"]
[member="Aston Jacobs"]
[member="Aya Clarke"]
[member="Azmodan"]
[member="Betty Americus"]
[member="Braan Kell"]
[member="Bandit Six"]
[member="Caesar Kenway"]
[member="Callisa Asran"]
[member="Cardinal Vi'dreya"]
[member="Carith Thelcar"]
[member="Chikako Liona"]
[member="Cim Salro"]
[member="Corvus Dravere"]
[member="Daisy Americus"]
[member="Damsy Callat"]
[member="Danger Arceneau"]
[member="Daniel Americus"]
[member="Dalton Kenway"]
[member="Darth Tacitus"]
[member="Darth Timorem"]
[member="Luna Terrik"]
[member="Daxton Bane"]
[member="Dhakarta"]
[member="Dianah Vi'Dreya"]
[member="Drauchir"]
[member="Ecthelion Aiglos"]
[member="Efried Halbrecht"]
[member="Ella Nova"]
[member="Erin Tenel"]
[member="Fawn Alzi"]
[member="Gerwald Lechner"]
[member="Gray Venasir"]
[member="Hajrah Marjanah"]
[member="Isarn Apis"]
[member="Ithiel Vi'Dreya"]
[member="Jade"] Isara
[member="Jennifer Blanchard"]
[member="Jorco Czeku"]
[member="Jorge"]
[member="Josh DragonsFlame"]
[member="Jyoti Nooran"]
[member="Kalee Bladesworn"]
[member="Kaptan Americus"]
[member="Karlie Lynn Destat"]
[member="Kasca Fen"]
[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]
[member="Kayla Wylen"]
[member="Kingsley"]
[member="Kip Ridel"]
[member="Kurayami Bloodborn"]
[member="Kurenai Yumi"]
[member="Kwelin Orlov"]
[member="Kyber"]
[member="Kyrinov"]
[member="Lefwen Claskier"]
[member="Lirka Ka"]
[member="Luna Terrik"]
[member="Luna Vega"]
[member="Lyla Quinn"]
[member="Mallory Bash"]
[member="Maple Harte"]
[member="Marek Starchaser"]
[member="Mauer"]
[member="Minerva Vessia"]
[member="Muad Dib"]
[member="Nine Lives"]
[member="Orion Trex"]
[member="Osintrium"]
[member="Petra Cavataio"]
[member="Qaarssk Roark"]
[member="Razelle Breuner"]
[member="Roy Americus"]
[member="Rylan Kordel"]
[member="Samantha Jade"]
[member="Scherezade deWinter"]
[member="Shalita Vi'dreya"]
[member="Sola Marr"]
[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]
[member="Srina Talon"]
[member="Taramaz Laurs"]
[member="Tex Americus"]
[member="Teyla Ee'everwest"]
[member="Thalira Kiing"]
[member="Tmoxin Temi"]
[member="Traveler"]
[member="Treiades Rhoujen"]
[member="Varick Lechner"]
[member="Veronika Fleischer"]
[member="VildarnTentoria"]
[member="Vyra Silara"]
[member="Xenro"]
[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Paragon of Virtue]

Five minutes. Five minutes before the last episode began, and she would be dancing for her life. Stacy took a look at herself in the mirror, moving a single strand of hair back into its place, and applied a heavy dose of hair spray to ensure it would stay in place. Her heart was beating madly. Her chance. Her chance for fame and fortune, her chance at last be recognized as the best dancer in this part of the galaxy, and after that, maybe, the entire galaxy!

Certainly, she'd heard the rumors of what had happened with others who had been eliminated; but seeing as they weren't allowed to call their former pretend friends to see how they were doing, she didn't let that worry her too much. All she had to do was dance as though her life depended on it today, and win. After that… Nah, she'd probably not call previous contestants either.

Practicing her best smile in front of the mirror, Stacy nodded to herself. She was ready.

Challgo was not nervous at all. While the others were prepping for the season finale, he had sat himself in the corner on one of the lavish couches, and lit a cigar. The others could worry as much as they wanted to; he knew he was good, and he knew he'd given it all. All that remained now was for the voters to let the rest of the galaxy know what he already did- Challgo was the best.

His yellow eyes looked over Jackelina with a hint of a smile. There was a woman that he would be more than happy to meet with once all this silliness was done with. Those who participated on the show were not allowed to interact too much with each other when the cameras off; someone had actually been sent home for breaking that rule in the original season he had danced in.

The only thing that slightly worried him were the new backup dancers the show had decided to add in at the last second. It was almost unheard of. Neither of the final dancers had had the chance to work properly with them, turning them into wild cards. What if they were sub-par? Oh, they probably were, but what if they were so bad and unprofessional that it would hurt the votes? He was going to have to have harsh words with McChadstone once this was over.

Brad was hiding behind one of the curtained off sections that had been provided for those who wanted some privacy. It was the last night, the night for him to make a name out of himself. While he was certain that others were busy with meditating and all that chit, giving final pirouettes in front of mirrors and whatnot, he only wanted to be along. Pulling his little datadevice from his pocket (as they were all forbidden to carry comlinks of any kind), he pressed a few buttons. The image of his wife and three daughters, who were all sitting at home and waiting forhim, came up.

Brad smiled and ran a finger close to the holo. Father was going to win this tonight. Not for himself, not for the fame, but for the money to take proper care of the people he loved who were sitting on some backwater moon, waiting for him. "I'll make you all proud…" he whispered as he closed his eyes, thinking of the way his wife smelled, of the way his daughers' hands felt.

Jackelina was nervous. Nervous enough that something rumbled inside her stomach, making her uncomfortable. They had five minutes, she knew. That was one minute more than she needed. Darting from her place, the beautiful mocha skinned dancer ran out of the dressing room and made her way to where the restrooms were. It was probably nothing, she figured; just nerves. This competition had been a wreck on her mental state, with all that drama, and entire dances she had to learn from scratch, all within days. Every part of her body hurt, but the camera would see none of it soon, because she was a gorram professional. She could dance with broken ankles if the situation called for it.

How she could not dance though, was with her entire brain and insides of her head missing, which was a darn shame, because the moment she left the restrooms, Jackelina found herself in front of something she had never seen before. She found herself in front of this:

Jackelina screamed.​

 

[Malok]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!​

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Wearing: This & That​

Tag: [member="Valencia Hadley"]​

The Vicelord was sensing a pattern.

It seemed that, whenever he introduced a new pupil into his life, their first interaction with the Confederacy was always…odd. In fact, as the reality of their current objective settled into his mind, he thought back to how his alabaster apprentice Srina first encountered his nation. It was not a ceremonious occasion. It was not a tour. Hell, it wasn't even anything political in nature. His first apprentice began her tutelage by witnessing the Golbah Games - a sham of a tourney - that he had yet to live down. And now, the Viceroy of Manda was keeping the tradition alive. In less than a week following his stay upon her world, they were both notified of the latest plan of expansion. The nation would exert its naval presence over a region of neutral space, and in doing so expand their borders noticeably. However, there was a Station smack dab in the middle of their desired territory.

The rabbit hole started there.

What was intended to be a routine, "park our ships here until the pirates stop breathing", quickly evolved into an investigation. Bodies were being found by the Knights Obsidian, which traced back to the Station that was directly in their expansion path. Coincidence? Maybe. But anyone daft enough to dumb carcasses in the Sith's backyard was sure to be found out eventually. Nonetheless, apparently the Station was home to some rather popular dancing show that was all the rage. Darth Metus was personally ignorant regarding the programming, due to the fact that his time was consumed with the duties of his office. (And any free, HoloNet time was spent cackling at the glorious chitposting site known as 5man.) So, while the notoriety of the station was lost upon the Vicelord, the situation itself was not. Furthermore, the role that his advisors insisted that he take in the operation was one far away from any potential violence.

He was certain someone, somewhere, was karking with him.

Regardless...Darth Metus found his face being assaulted by doe-eyed makeup artist. Brushes beat against his skin in a blur, before a masquerade mask was slipped into place. Today, as opposed to scouring the station for any signs of foul play, the Vicelord was relegated to the task of backup dancer. He and his adviser would take the stage and - by the gods - dance whilst attempting to suss out where and how the deaths were occurring. This particular game plan boggled the Sith's mind, as they easily could have set interdictors about the Station, sent in the Knights Obsidian, and let them interrogate every living soul upon the vessel until the answers were given. But no. Dancing. This is what his life was now. With but a sigh of resignation escaping his lips, Darth Metus ascended from the makeup artist's seat and stepped towards the exit of the dressing room. According to the show's "script", they were supposed to go on as a transition act or something - dancing in the back whilst the star moved around, he didn't know exactly.

However, his only solace in this particular tribulation is that he wouldn't suffer alone. And as his sulfuric gaze settled upon the form of his adviser-turned-dancing partner, a low chuckle escaped his lips. At least all eyes would be on her, as his suit and tie didn't hold a candle to what the producers had put her in. The Sith offered his arm, greeting the Viceroy with bemusement in his tone. "And who might you be, oh masked one?" he began, before one of the stagehands motioned them to step forward. In but a moment, Valencia would take lead and the performance would begin - for the Sith could do many things, but cutting a rug like an expert was not among them.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Dancing in the Streets!​

Wearing: The Usual​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

Ephraim did not believe in altruism.

It had been literal decades since the Ghost of Endalaan acted out of sheer benevolence - and even then, it was in the name of protecting his kin. Ever since his departure from the distant world he called home, the mantra permanently flowing from his lips was "what is in it for me?" He found that, in the chaotic Galaxy of the present, morality simply did not pay. In time, the Jedi and their ilk would dominate the stars, only to be crushed by the Sith. The cycle of Dark versus Light superceded any mark that he could make across the stars - so why bother looking out for anyone but himself? It did not matter if he saved a burning building today, as it would probably be leveled tomorrow. Thus was the mindset that characterized the mercenary each and every day. Hell, even after he entered into the service of the Confederacy, his motivations were simply the fat, consistent paycheck...and the rumor of his kin residing there.

Nonetheless, in the moment, Ephraim could care less about the plight which had brought him to the Station. According to the report handed down from Obsidian Command, there were bodies turning up in the void of space. Their space. And the Pathfinders had done an excellent job of tracking down the source - supposedly a station which was the set for some HoloNet series. His role as Executor was simple. Get in, sweep the ship, and find out who was killing the people. And, once found, do as the Executors do. Now, whether that meant stuffing a lightsaber down the sorry sod's throat, cramming him out an airlock, or letting him live depended upon if the bastard made it worth his while. Whoever was responsible for this mess was going to die - there was no doubt about. But if Ephraim got there first...well, there was no shame in shaking down a dead man.

With his mind on his money, Ephraim began his contribution by heading towards the onboard security lockup. If the vessel had not been boarded by the Confederate forces, this area would have served as the detention center for any rowdy guests...but also the armory or locker for the security personnel. In his mind, anything pilfered from their stores could be written off as the price of doing business. In fact, if things went batchit crazy, the Ghost was convinced they wouldn't even miss anything that was unaccounted for. They would just be grateful to be alive, safe and sound in the Confederacy's arms. His lips curved into a small smile at the thought as his boots thudded against the polished floor. He had opted to investigate this corner of the station alone, for some of his peers might frown upon his tendency to fill his pockets. Thus, it was just the Ghost, his thoughts, and potential loot.
That is, until his HUD detected movement. The azure numerations upon his visor blared as a small figure zigged and zagged along the floor. Ephraim tensed and reached for his lightsaber, igniting the golden blade with a flick of his finger. It burned into being just quick enough for him to meet the creature with a neat slice as it leapt towards his face. Its demise left two squishy halves on the floor, and the Ghost gaped for a moment. He blinked twice, directing his HUD to switch views for a moment. The thermal visor kicked on, affording him a better view of what laid ahead in the lockup. What he saw...made his teeth clench together. There were several of those..whatever the karks...in the walls. And some of them were stuck on the faces of bodies in the next room. Wait. There was another heat source - someone else was there. Maybe it was the one responsible for the suckers? Or was it a civvy?

Ephraim called out. "Whoever you are - get out here! Now!" He was certain his voice would attract the attention of whomever that heat source was...but hopefully, the face huggers wouldn't have ears. Regardless, he quickly cast a glance to the fallen creature and blinked again, sending a snapshot of what he saw across the Confederate channel. Hopefully, his peers would be able to make heads or tails of whatever that was and be on their guard.

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!​

Location: Dance or Die Studio in S-38​

Wearing: Something Understated​

Tag: [member="Darth Metus"]​

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It wasn't what she may have imaged for a first excursion in her new role - but she'd be darned if that didn't mean she needed to be on her toes... Possibly literally. Being the Viceroy of a planet like Manda came with several unique requirements, like a need to have a working knowledge of a dance floor. As a result, Valencia had spent her fair share of time in classes learning to charm whatever partner she might end up schmoozing on a dance floor. Being able to be charming while spinning was a talent she had never imagined for herself as a child - but there it was.

The producers had put their foot down with her wardrobe, but they couldn't convince her to let their adorably naive makeup artists anywhere near her face. No; when your only tool for getting the information you were looking for was going to be a bold lip and some contour, she wasn't about to leave that in someone else's hands. She allowed them to coif her hair up into a tangle of blonde whisps that framed her head like a golden halo, and the heels they'd provided were towering - but that was where she drew the line. She chose to pair the ensemble with a muted purple lip with a silver gloss overtop and eyes makeup so dramatic that behind the mask all that was visible were to pale blue expanses of her eyes. If the mask came off it was going to be a lot - but with any luck, it would stay firmly in place.

With deft fingers, she carefully secured the horned piece across her face and neatly secured it among the tumble of blonde curls. With a grace that didn't normally accompany heels quite as high, Valencia lifted herself from the makeup chair and strode over to her dance partner for the evening. Those softly purple hued lips turned up in a cloy smirk as she slid her hands around the offered arm, sidling up beside the Vicelord. "Well don't you look dashing."

As the stagehands motioned wildly for them to step forward she shot him one quick and genuine smile before she tugged at his arm and slid her hand down to take his, lifting it to chest height between them and lifting her other arm in a flourish, her face shifting to a dazzling smile as they stepped out onto the brightly lit stage. Thankfully it appeared they'd put all the other dancers in similar costumes, all colour blocked much as they were, so even in the ridiculously tight dress they'd squeezed her into, she wasn't terribly out of place. She strode confidently to the rear of the stage and spun once at the end of his extended hand, the skirt of the dress lifting pleasantly before settling about her ankles.

She turned to face him and lowered her other arm to gently rest it against his shoulder, keeping that smile firmly in place as they settled into stillness waiting for the music to begin. Her voice came as a soft whisper as she kept the proper distance between them, but she found it easy enough to keep her lips locked in the smile as she spoke through her teeth. "I confess, I'm not exactly sure how this is meant to help up sort out what's happening here - but I've had much less enjoyable meetings."

The music came in softly as she stepped back, carefully tugging at him to keep him in step with her as they began the choreography that had been supplied for them. It was a simple ballroom piece, meant to warm the crowd up before the performers hit the stage. The music was simple and elegant, and she found herself humming along to it as she and the rest of the dancers on the stage spun and stepped along to it.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Objective: Dancin’ in the Streets: burn vermin.


So painfully stupid. That was all Lirka could think about when considering this beloved murder show, but then again Ka was far from loving the idea of dancing: she danced when she was young, and danced when she had other career paths in mind. Dancing didn’t suit a Pit Champion, ruthless Marshal, or the Confederacy’s battering ram.

[SIZE=11pt]What did fall into her set of skills: purging out the little critters that had shown up throughout the station. One of the little bastards had already tried munching it’s way though her helmet: much to it’s displeasure before the massive Sephi crushed it with her cybernetic strength. And it gave her a clear enough intention as she stomped her way through the darkest and dankest recesses of this station, and what purpose was that?[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Burn.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]There was a vague hum as Lirka hulked around a flamethrower, that even for her size, seemed rather large. The thing seemed painfully volatile, and gave off an impressive amount of heat even without it spewing torrents of cleansing flame. Nothing was going to survive when she was done with it.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Because all these creatures always forget one thing: they’ll be more scared of her than she’ll ever be of them.[/SIZE]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Wearing: Outfit (sans wings) | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: One Czerka Knife, Concealed in her Hair | 2 Czerka Knives, concealed under the dress | Fire (Concealed under the dress)
Tags: [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Valencia Hadley"] [member="Ephraim"]
Location: Dressing Room

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Madalena was standing in front of one of the smaller mirrors, re-applying that dreadful shade of red lipstick that the production had demanded she wore while she danced. She couldn't exactly say that the outfit was ugly, but… It was not something she would have chosen to wear had she received more outfit freedom. Still, even though she knew she was here undercover, she could not help but be excited. Performing in front of a live audience and dance and-

Hold the F- on! She could see the Vicedude ([member="Darth Metus"]) and a beautiful blonde ([member="Valencia Hadley"]) in the dressing room, and they got to wear way more fabric than she did. Why?! Certainly, there were other dancers there, dancers who were wearing either much less clothing than either of the three, or much less, but still. Now, it wasn't the skin showing that bothered Madalena; most of the people in the Confederacy had seen her in much less. However, this was an undercover mission, where they were supposed to both blend in and most likely fight. Her clothes did not allow for enough weapon concealment, whereas the other two's did. It was unfair!

With only minutes to go before they all had to go on stage in front of the cameras, Madalena looked at herself again in front of the mirror, going over the choreography again in her head. She knew how to dance, she knew how to follow dance instructions. But could she actually do it with all those flashing lights and fireworks and millions of people in the audience? She'd never actually gotten the chance to o that while growing up, and now would be a first time.

And while she knew she was here as part of a mission, there was still a small part of her that wanted to shine with the performance part itself. There wasn't supposed to be a what if. She'd chosen her life, chosen to be a combatant, had not looked back even once since the day she'd talked into the Dominus' office and told him she was there to be recruited as one of the Knights Obsidian. Yet that tiny voice still wondered; perhaps fame and fortune would've given her the sort of life she would've enjoyed more?

Nah, that was such a silly fight. She loathed having these people do her hair and make-up and touch her and telling her what to wear and all of that. The Sithling had been close more than once to punching a dresser in the face just because of how touchy they got.

Half through her going over the opening routine, Madalena froze. Her eyes widened and she turned around, almost expecting to see someone there that wasn't. Confusion took her features over and she looked to the door, where she knew what she was sensing was coming from. But it couldn't be… Could it? It meant…

Forgetting all about the show, the camereas, the lights, Madalena moved from her place and began to walk towards the door. She had to follow that scent… That scent that was most definitely not Brayden.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space
Objective: Dancing in the Streets!
Wearing: All Black
Tag: [member="Ephraim"]

Things had gone poorly on Dredd. Very poorly. If she wanted to sort out another way to get what she needed, she was going to have to get her hands on some credits - and spend some time away from the people she'd gotten herself mixed up with.

It was with that in mind that Shakti found herself sneaking onto the Dance or Die set in the middle of neutral territory. She'd heard chatter that there was something strange causing the second half of the show's title to be a little too on the nose. Her skills loaned themselves to her being a sneaky bastard, so getting onto the station had been easy enough... Now she just needed to sort out what was happening. There would be some profit to be had if she could turn over whatever was causing the problems to the CIS.

She carefully tugged the lower half of her cowl up over the bottom of her face, only her eyes and a few shocks of red hair visible as she began to search through the less populated areas of the station. She could hear the sound of multiple sets of footfalls in several of the rooms coming up and with a glance around at the signage on the walls, she noted that she was drawing close to the ship's armory. Interesting. Why a media station would need an armory was a simple puzzle to solve - but one that was fully staffed seemed... Strange.

As she drew close to the hallway she assumed would hold the entrance to the armory she heard the faint whizzing of electronics, followed by the sharp snap of a lightsaber being engaged. She froze in place, her back pressed firmly against the corner of the wall as she heard the telltale sound of the blade cleaving through the air. She closed her eyes tightly and listened. There came the soft, wet thud of two pieces of something small hitting the ground and the saber settling into stillness. She could hear that same whizzing noise as whatever tech was in the next hall over was used again - and then came the shouting. Get out here! Now!

Her upper lip curled under the cowl and she carefully lowered herself a few inches, her eyes darting from hall she'd just come down to the sign declaring the armory around the corner. With a shove of both of her palms against the wall at once, she launched herself into the centre of the hallway and began to run back down the direction she'd come from. She wasn't about to be caught with her pants down in Confederacy space with some trigger happy stranger.

 

[Malok]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!​

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Wearing: This & That​

Tag: [member="Valencia Hadley"]​

Darth Metus was out of his element.

If there was one thing his alabaster apprentice, Srina, could truly attest to, it was the fact that her master was a terrible dance partner. Well, in truth, she would remark about how poorly he fared whenever they sparred hand-to-hand; but that in of itself was a form of dancing, no? The Sith had spent his years honing a great many things, from Mandalorian warfare to ancient magicks - but how to properly twirl about a polished floor was not among them. In fact, none of the nuptials in his life featured dancing, but rather a dive straight into the cake and liquor. Darth Metus was not a dancer, not by any stretch of the imagination; and therefore, he was very fortunate to have the Viceroy of Manda at his side.

When she was released from the makeup chair, she carried herself with that perpetual grace that he came to know. It seemed that it would not matter what attire she wore, her footsteps would always carry her with a sort of glide wherever they went. There was an unspoken confidence in her as he felt the weight of her hands grace his arm, and in that moment the Sith relaxed ever so slightly. From what he knew of Valencia, she had spent just as much time honing her various skills - and judging by how confident she stood, dancing might have been among them. Well don't you look dashing. she remarked in that velvet tone of hers. Darth Metus chuckled, regarding her with a nod and a very deliberate look up and down. "Look who's talking." he replied, offering a toothy grin before the stagehands urged them forward.

Though he yet retained a few inches of height over his compatriot, it was he who was being led into the foray. As they stepped into place, she easily twirled and settled; yet moved in such a way that his response was natural. His arm moved to facilitate her twirl - and once she placed her hand upon his shoulder, he placed his sword hand on the small of her back. Her smile was everlasting, and yet she was more than capable of speaking before the show began. Darth Metus...well, not so much. He smiled - offering a toothy grin right in response to hers that froze in place whilst the lights began to move. His response was not from behind clenched teeth, but rather deposited simply as a whisper in her mind. His tone was exactly the same as usual, so much so that, if she blinked, she might have thought he was speaking normally. Your guess is as good as mine. We'd get a lot further by questioning these folks than by dancing with them.

There was an introductory trumpet sound - a fanfare as the show's opening number was about to begin. At this point, the strong-jawed host of the event descended from on high to welcome the patrons, complete with thunderous applause and cheering. They were only moments away now. Valencia would feel the tension in his shoulder intensify at the thought. As my adviser, I have one request. If ever we are asked to do something like this again, shoot me. And with that said, the music changed - the opening number had begun!

And Darth Metus was at the mercy of Valencia's lead.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Dancing in the Streets!​

Wearing: The Usual​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"] | [member="Lirka Ka"]​

Ephraim deWinter wrinkled his nose.

As the transmission erupted from his helm and into the Confederate channels, the Ghost of Endelann perceived a pungent aroma. He knew the sensation all too well, and for the first time since his joining the Confederate band did he feel validation. He had cast in his lot with their ilk for the sake of a consistent paycheck; as the mercenary business was as rocky as they came. But, Ephraim had also heard whispers that there were others of his kin residing within the Southern System. Kin of unspecified relation. Someone...anyone who might have known him. It was jarring for the confirmation of this rumor to come crashing down in the midst of an operation; and it was enough of a distraction that he did not immediately notice the movement on his HUD.

It took him a few seconds to realize that, instead of complying with his command, the heat source heading towards the armory had actually begun to move. Quickly. Now, it did not take a rocket scientist to put two and two together in this situation. Hellish creatures were crawling inside the walls. Personnel were dead only a few paces away. And the only other, non-monster, living thing in this area ran at the sight of the authorities? Target acquired. The Ghost broke into a sprint immediately, stopping in pace only to pivot into the doorway leading to the armory. By now, the black-clad assailant had managed to get a decent headstart as far as running was concerned...but that was only going to make things more difficult for her in the long run.

Ephraim barked again: "Stop or you die!" Which, admittedly, wasn't the most encouraging thing to say to someone he was chasing down. And, in truth, if they made the chase last too long, he would consider ejecting them into the void of space regardless. As if to add credence to his words, the Ghost extended his offhand and growled. Frustration made manifest exploded from his hand in the form of telekinetic fury, attempting to pull down a set of the lockers which ran adjacent to the assailant. If all went well, these would stop her in her tracks - or at least slow her down enough that he could make the catch.

And, worse for her still, if they kept their current heading they would run headlong into [member="Lirka Ka"] and her flaming offense. The assailant wouldn't have too many options for escape.

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!
Location: Dance or Die Studio in S-38
Wearing: Something Understated
Tag: Darth Metus


Her smile never wavered as his voice slipped into her head, though the flash of those blue eyes behind the mask showed even better perhaps that she'd not been expecting him to use the Force to speak with her. She didn't miss a beat, however, using the hand he'd placed at her back as well as the one that cradled her own to gently lead him across the dance floor. Her movements were calculated and smooth, and she was careful not to do anything that wasn't going to look natural for them both - as they were meant to be undercover, after all.

As the music kicked up a bit she tightened her grip on his shoulder and spun them both, using the momentum to spin herself free and rolling along the length of his arm to strike a pose with just the tips of her fingers still held in his. With a flick of her wrist, she spun herself back in and was securely back in place as they continued to sachet across the high gloss floor. She brought herself in a bit closer as she turned that brilliant smile on him and quietly whispered, "Don't suppose you know how to dip?" She chuckled softly to herself as he made his point about questioning the crew of the station, "I don't disagree. Perhaps next time you'll let me intervene when they suggest that your time would be better spent on the dance floor than greasing the wheels on some skeezy holonet producer?"

She swept them effortlessly across the floor as the music continued to pick up, a remix of the original piece to add in a bit of bass and hopefully get the audience excited for the main performances to come. The almost offensively bright lights glinted off the lacquer on the horns of her mask as she tilted her head to the side, the purple feathers fluttering gently against her cheeks. "Don't worry too much - you're doing wonderfully and we'll be done in no time... Also I promise I'll shoot you if it comes to it."

With that encouraging thought, she released the hand that held his and moved it instead to his forearm, her eyes finding his with a smirk. The music shifted once more, rising to a crescendo as all the others on the dance floor began to spin out, giving the pairs a large amount of room. She stepped smoothly away from him as the two turned to face the audience. As the last note hung heavily she turned to face him again and stepped forward, "Ready?" She gave one last tug at his arm and spun herself inwards, the second step purposefully catching her heel as she tilted rapidly backward. He was either going to catch her or she was going to end up a mess of purple fabric and giggles on the floor - but either way it was quite the summation to the opening number.

 

[Veronika Fleischer]

​

Location: Media Station
Objective: Increase show rating by being a judge
Wearing: Dress designed by fashion designer Jilles Kendel

What would be a holo-reality show without celebrities? Chad McChadstone had reached out for some of the hottest holonet celebrities in the region and managed to secure a couple of them to sit on the judges panel, including a fellow member from the Confederacy. Veronika Fleischer was one of the highlights of the show throughout the season, with her massive number of followers numbering into three billion tuning to the show just to catch a glimpse of their favourite celebrity. Tonight, the socalite turned celebrity and fashion designer was dressed in a blue periwinkle dress that was designed by Jilles Kendel, a fellow designer who had volunteered to sponsor the dress in exchange for the viewership. Veronika gladly put on the lacy dress that was designed to display her legs and bare back, her hair neatly combed into a bum to give her a different look than the usual long flowing locks.

"And who do we have here? It's Veronika Fleischer, dressed to make another fashion statement again. Hello Veronika, now that is a really stunning dress." The camera cut to her face five minutes before the show to create more viewership. The host of the show placed the microphone towards her direction while the crowd cheered and wolf whistled.

"Thank you, I must thank my fellow designer Jilles Kendel for her kindness to lend me this wonderful dress," the blonde smiled at the camera, flashing her megawatt celebrity beam that she had practiced for years.

"We have a few minutes before the show starts, so let's go through a few questions. Tell us, do you think that you have been too curt in some of your responses during this season so far?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I think I am just being honest. Some of the contestants dressed absolutely terrible and could hardly make the cut in their dance moves. It's better to tell them off and let the votes send them home," the blonde replied in her confident tone.

"Still, you could have toned down your sarcasm. The last contestant Ellen cried when you told her that her dress was slutty."

"Oh yuck," Veronika made a face and rolled her eyes. "That red dress of hers did everything right. It was shiny, short, tight... I mean hello, slutty slutty slutty..." The audience roared in laughter when the celebrity repeated her famous lines, made famous ever since she was a judge in a fashion design competition called Project Fashion Walkway. Her sarcasm was rated highly and holonet critics loved her wit.

"Okay... how about one final question since the show is starting. What do you wish to say to the four finalists?"

"Good luck. And don't let us down."

"Thank you, Veronika. Now it's time for me to head back to the stage," the host left the judges panel and walked back to the stage floor to start the show. "Are you ready? Because it's show time!"

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space
Objective: Dancing in the Streets!
Wearing: All Black
Tag: [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Lirka Ka"]


Her footfalls carried her quickly back down the hall, tugging her hood down tightly around her head to ensure that none of her features would be visible if her presence set off any security measures. She could hear a moment later the sound of the stranger starting to pursue her, and she redoubled her efforts, leaning forward and running headlong down the corridor.

It was as Shakti started to run full out that she heard another sound, and this one made her pace falter. She skidded to a stop ahead of a large bay of lockers and screwed up her face as she heard what sounded like slithering behind the metal doors. Her shoulders lifted reflexively and she felt the blades against her back shift comfortingly into place, the warm metal like a calming force against her skin. She took a careful step forward towards the lockers and slowly lifted one hand up towards her shoulder to reach for the hilt of one of her blades.

Whatever it was inside the lockers was going to have to wait though, as the shout came from behind her: Stop or you die! Nope.

She turned on her heels and started off at a run once more, tossing a glare over her shoulder, the green eyes in her hood glowing wickedly as she locked them on the stranger for the briefest of moments. Distracted by her pursuer for the time being she didn't notice as the same lockers that had held her attention the moment before came crashing down - catching her fully in the side and sending her sprawling across the floor. Her jaw gaped wide as the lockers landed on her legs, pinning them to the floor, though no sound escaped her.

She wriggled violently under the massive metal structure as her hands started to push at them, trying to squirm free as she heard the approaching steps of the stranger. Though that same sound came to her again as she found herself settling, her head darting from side to side as she spotted several orangish slug-like creatures crawling out from under the lockers, their horrific little faces turning towards her as they started to wriggle her way.

 

[Lirka Ka]

Fire. Fire was a beautiful thing.

[SIZE=11pt]Fire did not judge, it did not care, it only purged: it only consumed. It was a wild animal, something the beings of the Galaxy tried to tame: something the beings of the Galaxy tamed just as much as they lost total control over it’s wild form. Fire was a cleansing light that turned aside corruption and rot, but it was the all consuming monster all the same: the creature that swallowed hope and rebellion in its multi-colored licks, it was raw, it was untamed, a whirl of possibilities. What Lirka wanted to be, but alas, could not recreate in mortal form.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]These thoughts ran through Lirka’s head as she pulled the trigger on her flamethrower, listening to the scuttling, chattering, sloshing, and biting of the disgusting vermin within. And a few seconds after the inferno was unleashed, a rolling firepower spat out of the newly beloved weapon: and she listened to the screams, the fire did not care. And it purged, the disgusting slugs that had been reaping so much chaos burned: within this hall at least, boiling within the confines of the wall. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Without a care for the small fires left in the wake of the weapon, Lirka advanced with the heavy stomps of her boots. Yes, she would be fine with this: to some extent the fire reminded her of Copero, the all consuming flames she woke up to; those very flames that had licked her torn body in the city streets, and that filled her ever deeper with all consuming urge to [/SIZE][SIZE=11pt]purge.[/SIZE]

 

[Vera Mina]

Objective: BYOO (Contact Killing)

Currently in: Command Form (See Bio)

Wearing: Mercenary Dress (http://starwarsrp.net/topic/140151-mercenary-dress/)

Armed with: Judge and Jury (Twin Se-14 repeating blaster pistols)

Law Abroad (Vibro-Katana)

Misdemeanor (Vibro-Stiletto)

Vera was most at home in her mercenary form, the only mode of the biot where all her combat features were unlocked. Like all of her forms, this one had been made to be deceptively deadly, being a chiss mercenary with red hair and a sculpted physique. More than a dozen fighting styles lay in her database: Her hands knew the most effective way to kill.

To be honest, this form was the one she regarded as the truest self. Being a lawyer brought great gratification ruining everyone she could, as if she were a wasp that knew laying her eggs in a spider would kill it and did it not because that was just what wasps do, but just for the 'pleasure' of knowing the spider would be eaten alive from the inside out and then erupted from.

But being this allowed her to unleash her blood lust as much and as often as she could. Part of her was curious that her creator, her 'mother' Nine Lives, who did not display the casual sadism her artificial 'daughter' did would make her in such a way...did this not make Nine as much responsible as Vera, who relished in her bloody acts was?

Regardless, Vera wasn't the sort to question fortune when it fell into her lap. And inbetween cases, Vera engaged in contract killing for profit as a chiss mercenary named Rom-Jin.

Vera had become quite wealthy already just on winning her cases, and as a result, she could be quite unpredictable when it came to the contracts she took. Sometimes it was a mere employee who knew too much about the corporation, sometimes it was a woman on the run from her husband. Others it was a billionaire, or, like today...a pirate

He was a pirate, who'd escaped a base in Sith Space creating powerful reflex enhancement implants, apparantly having escaped in the process an extremely vicious and cold-blooded Saaraishash Assassin, the same that had attacked her Mother's ex on Canto Blight not too long ago. He'd upset a lot of people since. He'd taken refuge aboard this station under an assumed identity. In her merc guise Vera had surreptitiously gained a license to operate in CIS and allied territory, but even as blood thirsty as she was (which is to say very bloodthirsty) Vera knew not to abuse it after so soon obtaining it. Some hutt had placed a fifteen thousand credit bounty on this guy. Chickenfeed, but Vera liked the challenge.

Where the Saaraishash failed, Vera would succeed.

No matter the guise, Vera was able to turn heads, and her mercenary gear, which resembled a revealing white dress and long boots and gloves, so it was natural that she would be able to pass among the various performers at the large space station. She might have considered going after the super creepy lamprey things but those things creeped even her, an artificial sociopath out to no end. No. Let some other poor cretin get their brains sucked out. That said, more than once Vera had come across some of them and dispatched them, either with her pistols or her bare hands, relishing their litlle snarls as she crushed the life from them.

Her katana and other weapons lay in a white duffle bag coated on the inside with reflec. A considerable amount of bribery and blackmail had led to her getting aboard the station without being on the station's logs, far more than what the contract would cover. Vera was that bored at the moment. Vera was that bloodthirsty.

The Biot found he had been laying low, working as a bouncer in one of the station's clubs, and that he actually lived on board for weeks now in an out of the way set of apartments on the station.

Which Vera was heading to right at this moment. She was going to be silent, defeat him quickly and then draw out his death slowly,

She crept quieter as she approached his door, hearing a pop song playing on the other side as she removed her jeweled knife from the bag,, strapping her other weapons to her, switching its vibrofunction on. She smiled, knowing she would take out the connecting tissues in his ankles first.

Using the vibrating knife and jamming it into the lock mechanism, prying it open and beheld the man himself lip synching to the pop music...

"On the pla-net Cor-ellia, came-a-Jedi Knight to-daaaaaayyy..." he sang along with the song, dancing in a gaudy velvet red suit with a white lace crevat in front, the walls of his apartment equally gaudy leopard-print aesthetics. He was well built, but had graying hair cut close to the scalp and a gray beard. His eyes were a brilliant green. Vera was some distance and his back was to her. She moved silently, making no noise in a way that would have made her own mother proud.

"Didn't speak that much toooo any, was so quick to be on his waaaaayyy..."

Vera crept closer, tempted to throw the knife but her combat doctrine relied on an unwillingness to let a weapon leave her hands willingly. As she got closer she admittedly found the folksy guitar music quite charming for the song's subject matter...

"No-one asked about his motives, all-they-did-was-flee-in-dread...be-cause-they-knew-his-saber-was-about-to-take-a-head...about to take a heaaaaddd..."

Spitting distance. Her knife raised, prepared to swipe at his ankles...only for the man to wheel around and catch her strike, kicking the surprised biot backward.

"The draft from when you opened the door gave you away..." the man snorted, inverting his combat knife, which he had used as a makeshift microphone. Vera snorted, more furious at herself than her target for making such an obvious mistake.

Her target bowed and introduced himself as Vera drew her katana with a toothy smile.

"Name's Howard, Miss, but I'm guessing you already know that." he rumbled.

"You guess correctly. I think I'll save the flesh on your face for last..." she sneered.

"Oh behave..." he grinned, speaking with an exaggerated Coruscant accent. As Vera rushed him, going for a decapitation, Howard leapt backward and landed on a pressure plate he had rigged under the floor.

Compartments on the ceiling opened up...and down jumped a bunch of trained, angry Tach Monkeys onto Vera, four in all, who roared in surprise as the animals covered her. A shotgun dropped from a ceiling compartment right next to howard and he immediately opened fire in her direction, the buckshot pellets composed of depleted uranium. The only reason Vera survived is because the reflex-enhancers in her dress's collar allowed her to dodge most of the blast, though some of the pellets still struck and blew off a small piece of her side, drawing sterile white blood whose color and viscosity reminded one of glue.

Vera drew her pistols and opened fire forcing him to dodge, though he let off another blast that would have hit her square in the chest had not a Tach been right in front trying to chew off the ooglith that served as her skin. She sustained glancing wounds to her face and neck, drawing more white blood. Thankfully her design made her unable to feel pain so she kept firing with her pistols set to full auto as Howard dived out of the room, running for his life.

Vera angrily tore the animals off, mechanical fangs sliding into place as she bit into the neck of one of the monkeys, extracting its blood to repair the damage to her skin. It started to immediately stitch together in all areas as she tore out of the room with a death glare, knowing that surprisingly well prepared little rat was making a break for it...

 

[Luca Donskoi]

​

Wearing: Outfit​

Armament: None​

Tags: [member="Scherezade deWinter"]​

Location: Dressing Room​

​

​

Well this was awkward. Dragged all the way out here to this floating mound of middle that served as the center of a renowned reality holo-series that had come to be known as “Dance or Die,” and now Calum was supposed to play a role in its theatrics? There was farfetched in the galaxy, and then there was this. It wasn’t as though Calum didn’t enjoy dancing or wasn’t any good at it, but he never wanted it as a vocation and it seems as though that is just want the Confederacy was trying with him here.

He wasn’t given any details as to why, only that he would be dancing with a Madalena Antares from parts of the galaxy unknown – that information wasn’t given to him. Only a simple name and holo-image so that he would at least know who to look for after the dressers did their thing upon his arrival.

That’s another thing right there. These dressers and other people that lived their lives simply to turn a person into something they were not, had tried to away his dignity with some of the random ensembles they’d come to him, pleading that he wear. First it was practically nothing, not even shoes. They had wanted him to strip down and wear some kind of ridiculous pants with intricate lacing that did nothing to cover the massive slits down the sides from buttocks to ankle. That…that simply would not do. He was a Viceroyalty after all; there was some decency he had to maintain and showing that to the galaxy simply didn’t go with a “decency” approach. So after awhile of fighting with the lunatics over his unwillingness to wear such revealing clothing for the entire galaxy, they came back with another set of clothing for him to try on. This time, though not so revealing as before, the outfit was outright ridiculous. It looked like something one would bury their grandmother in. Antique frills of puffy mesh sprang about in almost every direction and if they expected him to wear anything quite like that, they must have seriously been on some kind of spice high. Needles to say, that outfit didn’t even come close to happening. Finally, on a third attempt, after pleading for just something of a contemporary nature, the crew of dressers returned with an attire, he could finally agree with.

It was a simple pair of dark, blue slacks, a button down white, collared shirt and a pair of polished, black shoes. A polished, black belt with a shiny, silver buckle spanned his waist. Calum was going to button it up so that only the top two buttons remained undone, but the dressers were adamant that he show more of his chest off. He understood; he kept himself in shape and he wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the show and how contestants tended to dress while competing. So, even though he didn’t really care to, he unbuttoned the shirt to the point where only the bottom two buttons in conjunction with the tucking into his pants held the shirt in place in front of him.

Thankfully, they did not feel the need to do much makeup and left his face relatively untouched.

He sat back in his chair and looked at himself in the mirror, shaking his head disapprovingly. What was he doing here? Surely in all the territory the Confederacy held influence, they had a handful of professional dancers for this. Ones that enjoyed the limelight and thrill that fame and attention would bring them. But no, here he was, called to perform a duty and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

He ran over the routine in his head again, a routine he’d only had about two days to put to memory and then rose from his chair in the direction towards where he knew his rehearsal partner would be getting ready as well.

He knocked and was swiftly greeted by one of her attendants and when he saw her [Madalena Antares], he was at a loss for words. The outfit they convinced her to wear was…well…unique, for a lack of a more appropriate description. That coupled with the fact that she wasn’t really a small woman was something to behold for sure. She wasn’t an ugly woman, but she was what the galaxy stereotyped to be a goddess either. Still, she was to be his partner in this and he accepted that.

He smiled to her as she stood, and let out a small faint chuckle as she seemed somewhat oblivious and confused. Stepping forward, he extended a hand and cleared his throat slightly as an attempt to get her attention as she proceeded towards a door. “Are you ready for this, Ms. Antares?”

 

[Muad Dib]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!
Location: Media Station, Neutral Space, on Stage
Wearing: background angels
Muad= archangel with mask


In the background the strobe lights of flashing colors lit upon the backdrop of angelic forms writhing in sensuous dance. The lavishly oiled bodies shimmered from the accenting glitter dust accenting the mostly bare masculine forms. Several forms flitted through the air on unseen wire, lifting the winged forms aloft. The angels blended together seamlessly in forms that were nigh interchangeable.

Yet one among their number wore a pair of swords on either hip. A black, demonic mask covered his upper face and blue tattoos covered his left arm from elbow to knuckles. Beneath the smattering of glitter upon his torso and arms were faint lines of puckered flesh that revealed the artistic detail of the makeup artists. Even his eyes glowed a bright blue, offsetting yet purposeful in assisting in separating this particular angel from the masses of his brethren. A simile of the contest, where a single contestant would rise above all the others to stand unique among the others.

The archangel moved smoothly to the tempo of the music, intricate moves that were fluid and silken in their design and application. Few would notice that it wasn't a dance but rather a martial art, and the archangel transitioned from one form to the next. Upon his back the wings flexed with each movement. Unlike the props attached to the basic angels, these were more then what they seemed. The thought brought a smirking grin to the lower half of the exposed face.

More prominent background dancers slid upon the floor and began to move in synchronized motion. Glowing eyes tracked forms as the show began to near going live.

The Confederacy's choice of approach to this particular problem was unique, the call to their compatriots to rise to the occasion answered without question. Yet his reason for appearing from his self imposed exile had yet to become apparent.

Soon ...


[member="Calum Neth"][member="Vera Mina"][member="Lirka Ka"][member="Shakti Sweet"][member="Veronika Fleischer"][member="Valencia Hadley"]@Ephraim@Darth Metus[member="Shakti Sweet"][member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Kas Varad]

​

Objective: Tango with the best of them.
Location: Media Station, Neutral Space
Backup Dancing, around the main contestants or off to the side.
With: Anyone who wants to be spun around and tango'd out of their mind. Otherwise NPC Lady number 12.

Black, square-shouldered, tailored suit, luxury black tie and pressed white shirt. With tight cuffs and his hair short, parted sideways. Kas didn't look Kas tonight. Armorweave on somewhere underneath it all, and a small pistol plus blade guaranteed to be placed somewhere. This Varad cleaned up okay. If only he wasn’t a ruthless killer with a temperament to match. A tango temperament.

Kas could move. It was a gift of his trade to blend in on a hunt. Just don’t ask him to smile. He strode up to the stage. Iron-jawed and straight-faced, taking his place beside the regular dancers, food for the cameras and ambiance for the stage. For him, it gave him a great view of everything going on, to spot any trouble when he moved his partner about. The smile the Varad Crusader attempted made the nearest judge smirk before she regained her composure. Hopefully for her, before any holocamera picked it up.

Picking his first dance partner by just walking right up and claiming her. Aiming for a good height and build for him, enough so he could see over her shoulders and keep watch. Taking her by one hand to waist firmly, the other gripped her palm. He gave her a moment to adjust to the direct approach, locking eyes with her, only when she'd smiled to accept did they begin. The crusader began to move backward, steps in good time with the music, a full sense of rhythm. Not forceful. He was firm, and not tame either. Kas made sure they were stable, and that she moved to his lead. Whether she was any good or not, he took control to guide her, bodies distant to start with and hands linked. He’d have to take it slower than he'd like. The Varad wasn’t sure if his partner could handle a real tango yet. Time would tell as the pair really got started.

He had yet to see [member="Muad Dib"], but surely it wouldn’t be long till the bounty hunter naturally did see someone out of place.

 

[Paragon of Virtue]

Lights, camera, action! Chad was pacing back and forth in his office. Three dancers! THREE! And a whole new squad of backup dancers that were not professional enough to know how to make up for it! The talkbacks were already streaming in, announcing how horrible this series' finale was, conspiracy theories regarding the absence of Jackelina noted within two seconds from the moment they went live.

Every time he glanced at the screens, he felt the urge to immediately and violently vert his gaze. This… This was a disaster! He had been under the impression that these undercover confederates would be on par with the rest of the dancers. Instead, they stuck out like sore thumbs, some of them having the gall to resist what make up and hair were telling them to do. He was going to be ruined forever before the night was over, he knew it.

Sighing, Chad allowed himself to sink in his fancy and expensive executive chair, hands already on his commpad. Maybe if he could board a shuttle away from the station with the credits from the advertisements, he'd still have a chance of surviving this fiasco…

Jackelina is dead. Nice work, Confederates!​

Maybe someone can find the corpse. It's by the restrooms.​

[member="Calum Neth"] [member="Vera Mina"] [member="Lirka Ka"] [member="Shakti Sweet"] [member="Veronika Fleischer"] [member="Valencia Hadley"] [member="Ephraim"] [member="Darth Metus"] [member="Shakti Sweet"] [member="Scherezade deWinter"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Kas Varad"]​

 

[Allya Vi'Dreya]

Objective: Challenge herself through the slaughter of predatory creatures in narrow spaces.
Location: Station Ventilation shafts
Theme

A man dressed as one of the many staff members worked behind the scenes with impunity. He didn't seem out of place in the slightest, quickly working, getting caf, fixing broken equipment with incredible skill. By this time of the night, no one thought twice when he ducked into the ventilation system. The hole looked a bit to small for the larger male to fit through. However, upon reaching the shaft, the man disappeared and in his place, was a diminutive Mandalorian. Oh she had always wanted to work in behind the scenes like this, and it almost killed her to have to give the gig up. However, she was here for a mission, and it should be fun too. Now, looking small enough to fit into the hole, she crawls through, full armor.

Her armor was sensing an entire nest of those blood sucking, face eating buggers. It didn't matter to her one of the dancers was dead. I mean, it was sad, and she would try and stop it from happening again, but.....there was a fight to be had! That made everything better! Crawling through, she took a turn and went deeper into the station. It was a grand adventure for her, it made her heart race. Seeing a large number of small biological signatures in a space a bit below. Dropping down, she was immediately swarmed by the blood suckers. Flames lept out of her vambrace, engulfing the creatures in front of her. As another group leap at the girl, she raises a hand, and catches them with the force, and throws them against the wall with a squish.

Under her helmet was a big grin, as she fed on her own emotions, strengthening her connection to the dark side. No lightsaber was drawn, however, in her off hand, her kal was drawn and driven into a larger specimin. Slicing it apart, she kept moving, bouncing from place to place, drawing on the force, to leap up the shaft whenever she got swarmed to heavily. As they made their way up the walls, fire once more lept out of her, and engulfed the mass of flesh. A ping on her HUD made her aware of an attack from behind. Blaster was drawn and in an instant the beast has a smoking hole through it, and collapsed to the ground. Ahhhhhh.....this was fun.