First Reply Credits Run Like Blood.

[Darth Virelia]

Credits Run Like Blood.
Location: ???
Objective: Establish a Deal.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: [LOOKING FOR MERCENARIES/UNDERWORLD TYPES]

"Power is not seized in grand battles or dramatic gestures. It is earned in moments like these—in the waiting, in the silence, in the careful arrangement of pieces before the board is even set. Let them believe they have a choice. Let them think they hold the cards. By the time they sit across from me, the deal is already made."​

The bar smelled of sweat, old spice, and the acrid burn of cheap fuel from the refinery yards beyond its rusted walls. Dim lighting barely cut through the smoke-heavy air, its flickering presence casting shadows that danced over the warped wooden tables and cracked durasteel flooring. A place where people came to forget things, Serina thought, her fingers tracing the rim of an untouched glass.

She sat in a corner booth, back to the wall, where the dim glow of a sputtering neon sign reflected off the polished leather of her glove. The air was thick with voices, low and murmured, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter from men who had already forgotten how short their lifespans were. The patrons here were miners, mechanics, off-duty enforcers—the beating heart of Sullust's underbelly.

She had dressed for the occasion. Nothing ostentatious, nothing that drew too many eyes. A dark, high-collared coat over fitted attire, subtly embroidered with a pattern only visible under the right light—power, but understated. No insignias, no obvious markings. Her dagger was hidden, strapped against the small of her back, beneath the coat's folds. She was no Dark Jedi here. Not yet.

A battered old holo-terminal hummed in the background, crackling through distorted audio as some off-world newsfeed played on repeat. "—SoroSuub operations disrupted due to—" The bartender silenced it with a well-placed smack of his fist, then went back to polishing a dented glass with a cloth that looked dirtier than the counter itself.

Serina inhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back as she glanced toward the entrance. They were late.

Not long enough to be disrespectful. Just long enough to establish control.

She exhaled softly through her nose, tapping a single finger against the side of her glass. A test, then. These sorts always tested her, even if they didn't realize it. Mercenaries, smugglers, killers-for-hire. Their kind had an instinct for power. They could sense who was in charge—but they also needed proof.

She would give it to them when the time was right.

For now, she waited.

The bartender approached her table with a grunt, placing a fresh drink before her without asking. "On the house," he said, nodding toward a Trandoshan at the bar, a hulking brute with faded scars and a missing eye. He lifted his own glass in her direction, studying her with the dull amusement of a predator watching something it wasn't sure was prey yet.

She did not return the gesture.

Instead, she picked up the drink, twirling the liquid absently in the glass. Let him wonder. Let him wait.

Everything in this room, everyone, was just a piece in the larger game she was playing. Some would prove useful. Others would be discarded.

Outside, the rain began to fall, soft at first, then steadily heavier, hammering against the metal roof in a dull, rhythmic patter.

Still, she waited.

And when they finally arrived, they would find her exactly as she was now—calm, composed, and already three steps ahead.

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Credits Run Like Blood
Tag: Darth Virelia

P.T. Adamczyk - Militech

Ah, the dingy slums and dirty bars, how he'd missed them. Places like these were where Aurelius had first cut his teeth in the world of crime, all those years ago under a Black Sun that had long since since set. And though years ago he exchanged those dive bars and back alley drug deals for cigar lounges and high-class drug deals, he never forgot the streets he had come from. On this night, he had exchanged his luxurious furs for an understated but effective Jkiti greatcoat that would provide more than ample protection from who or whatever he ran into.

Parking his Daggerstar swoop, the Devaronian activated the speeder's anti-theft system and made his way inside the bar, FDS-4F pistol tucked away in an easily-accessible holster if the need so arose and a Klaive PDW quite literally up his sleeve. Ah, sweat, spice, and cheap fuel. Back on Nar Shaddaa, all those years ago, everyone and everything smelled much the same, enough you'd think a hot new perfume was all the rage, Eau de Garbáge. He surveyed the building for a moment, before spotting Serina in the corner booth. Calm, composed, and sharper than any of the other scum in this slum by a Corellian mile.

Aurelius made his way over, scooting into a seat in the booth that sat opposite of her with a smile. "Terribly sorry for the delay, you know how traffic is in these parts. Too many people, going nowhere fast. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." When he was eventually asked for his order, Aurelius ordered two snorts of spotchka, before turning his attention back to Serina.

"So, should we get to know each other a little better, or cut straight to business?" He had not been informed exactly on what the business here was regarding, only that a prospective client was looking for someone with underworld ties, but you don't get ahead in this business without taking a shot in the dark every once in a while.

 

[Darth Virelia]

Credits Run Like Blood.
Location: ???
Objective: Establish a Deal.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Aurelius Baldor

"Power is not seized in grand battles or dramatic gestures. It is earned in moments like these—in the waiting, in the silence, in the careful arrangement of pieces before the board is even set. Let them believe they have a choice. Let them think they hold the cards. By the time they sit across from me, the deal is already made."​

Serina did not smile. Not at first.

She watched Aurelius with the stillness of a poised serpent, letting his voice trail off into the ambient hum of the bar. Her gaze was neither openly hostile nor welcoming—it was measuring, as if weighing not just his presence, but the intent behind it. Behind her eyes, something cold and analytical churned, dissecting every word, every gesture, every microexpression that danced across the Devaronian's face like the twitch of a gamblecube just before the roll.

Her fingers finally left the rim of her glass and came to rest against the table, the motion as deliberate as it was elegant.

"You're late," she said at last, her voice velvet-draped iron—smooth, low, but undeniable. "Which tells me two things. One: you have confidence. And two…" She leaned forward slightly, just enough for the booth's dim light to catch the pale glint in her eyes. "…you're testing the water before you swim. Sensible. If a little predictable."

She allowed that to linger in the air between them before continuing, letting the silence stretch just long enough to brush up against discomfort.

Then she spoke again, tone shifting, silkier now, with a touch of amused danger.

"Let's compromise. A little of both."

She sat back, her body language shifting subtly—not relaxed, but controlled. The kind of posture born not of ease, but of mastery. She let her eyes drift momentarily across the room, marking exits, faces, tension points, then returned them to Aurelius with surgical precision.

"I know your name." She twirled her drink again, not sipping—never sipping. "You've made a career out of thriving in entropy. That's useful. For the right buyer."

She placed the glass down, untouched.

"I'm not here to buy you, Aurelius. I'm here to offer you something else. Access. Protection. Power, if you can stomach it. But it comes at a cost. Not credits."

She leaned in again, this time slow, intentional—voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sliced through the smog like a vibroblade.

"Loyalty."

Then, as though she hadn't just dropped the conversation into a pit of seriousness, her expression shifted ever so slightly—just a hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips.

"So. Tell me, Aurelius. When was the last time you truly belonged to something bigger than yourself?"

And for the first time since he'd arrived, it became unclear whether Serina was here to hire a gunman—

—or convert a disciple.

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Credits Run Like Blood​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

The way Serina moved, the way she acted, the way she spoke, Aurelius clued in on immediately. He wasn't dealing with your average street rat, that was for sure. No, everything about the woman across the booth from him spoke to Aurelius that she was a coiled predator, a Maritima looking for a sign of weakness. But he was a Devaronian, and he had a knack for dealing with poisons.

"Sensible. If a little predictable", she said. He shrugged at the observation.

"You got me. I do prefer to be fashionably late, with an emphasis on the fashionable," Aurelius said with a chuckle. The spotchka came, which he paid for with Calamari Flan. He took a sip of the glowing alcohol, listening to Serina and noticing all too clearly the dagger that lurked beneath the surface of her words. She knew who he was, but that wasn't to be unexpected. While he had never been a household name like Jabba the Hutt, he had been around for a while.

And then the words came that were all too familiar to him. The promises, at a cost. But as usual, it wasn't credits. In that manner, he might've said she was being the predictable one now.

Aurelius chuckled, sipping his spotchka once more before setting the glass down. "You know, you're not the first to make me an offer like that. Probably won't be the last, either. Sky high promises of something 'more than this', something 'bigger than myself'. Bought that hook, line, and sinker from Black Sun, when I was a wee lil Street Kid barely grown into his horns. And then that sun set, and left me high and dry."

His clawed finger traced the rim of the glass, noticing that the woman never once drank from the glass in her hands He kept a sabacc face; after all, business was often not too different from gambling. Of course, at the casino it wasn't his life that was on the line. Usually. He paused for a moment, before continuing. "But maybe that was a blessing in disguise. 'Cause it gave me the gift of freedom, freedom to chart my own course, claw out a name for myself. Little blueberry by the name of Malicar Raith came to me with a deal one day, tellin' me Black Sun's back in town. 'Course, the fact that name don't mean anything to the Black Sun out there nowadays tells you all you need to know about how that went for him."

He took a sip of spotchka once more. "I suppose you probably already knew that, knowing me. The Donna, though, she's different. We have a mutual understanding. She understands that what I've built, I don't throw away for anyone. And I make sure anyone else I work with, they understand that too." The words Aurelius spoke were serious, but his body language was relaxed. That's not to say that he was mad at such an offer, nothing of the sort. He was no stranger to meetings like this or promises like that. Once upon a time, the little Street Kid might've bought that spiel, but he was older and wiser now.

"But enough about little ol' Auri here, why don't you give me the sales pitch anyways? Let me know who this 'power' and 'protection' is coming from, and what for. It'd be mighty rude of me to shut you down on the spot."

 

[Darth Virelia]

Credits Run Like Blood.
Location: ???
Objective: Establish a Deal.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Aurelius Baldor

"Power is not seized in grand battles or dramatic gestures. It is earned in moments like these—in the waiting, in the silence, in the careful arrangement of pieces before the board is even set. Let them believe they have a choice. Let them think they hold the cards. By the time they sit across from me, the deal is already made."​

Serina listened without interrupting, her expression carved from obsidian, smooth and inscrutable. No visible reaction, not even a flicker, as Aurelius wove his story. She let him speak. Invited him to, even. Every word he gave her was another layer peeled back, another proof of his wiring. He had charm, certainly. But more importantly, he had caution shaped by experience—wounds that had closed, but hadn't scarred over too thick. That was what mattered.

When he finished and the last syllable of "mighty rude" faded into the bar's dull clamor, she finally smiled.

Not wide. Just enough to imply secrets.

"Auri," she said, voice honeyed and predatory all at once. "It's not your first offer. Good. That means you've survived long enough to have regrets." She tilted her head, one gloved hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair back from her cheek. The motion was languid, feminine, but entirely in control. She was never anything else.

She leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but tightening the air between them. Her voice lowered—not to whisper, but to draw him in.

"Let me be clear: I'm not peddling faded banners or selling secondhand ideologies to washouts playing kingmaker."

A pause.

"You want the pitch? Fine."

She slid a small, smooth holodisc from beneath her coat and set it between them on the table. She didn't activate it. Not yet.

"What I represent doesn't have a name. Not yet. It's not a syndicate or a gang or a cult with a catchy acronym. It's a movement that hasn't reached the surface yet. A tide rising beneath the rot. A shadow beneath the shadow. You might call it… a recalibration of galactic priorities."

The words dripped from her lips like warm venom, every one precise and chosen. This wasn't an offer. It was the beginning of gravity shifting.

"I've got assets embedded in sectors no one watches anymore. Sleeper fleets. Dead men reawakened. Force-sensitives who don't worship temples or codes, only results. I don't want to rule some dying Outer Rim cartel. I want to rewrite the rules they all play by. The Empire, the Jedi, the gangs, the puppet governments. I want to burn out the stagnation and raise something fierce in its place."

She tilted the glass in her hand again—still untouched—and then, finally, set it down for good.

"I don't need you to swear your soul to me. Not yet. That's too… final. But I'm offering you first cut at the table. Real influence. Not 'what they let you keep.' What you take, with the right backing behind you."

Her gaze didn't waver, piercing and patient. "I'm the player who sees the whole board. And you… you're smart enough to know that in the end, every house burns. The only question is whether you're in the ashes, or walking out of the fire wearing someone else's crown."

The holodisc shimmered faintly under the bar's sputtering lights, still dormant between them. An invitation. Or a warning.

Then her smile returned, sharp and utterly self-assured.

"So. Shall we play?"

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Credits Run Like Blood​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Aurelius couldn't help but chuckle as he placed his spotchka down on the table, now empty. "Well, that's certainly an interesting pitch. Reminds me of those Agents of Chaos fellows from all those years back. I happen to be a fan of stagnation, myself. When things are stagnant, people, and more importantly governments, are complacent. And when they're complacent, it's easier for folks like myself to move around in their shadows, take advantage of them. I'm not exactly a bomb-throwing anarchist."

The second glass of spotchka sat between the two, opposite the holodisc, itself an unasked and unanswered question as well. But, given Serina's lack of interest in her own drink, he figured it was probably unlikely that she would be drinking this one either. "Now, that being said, if you're looking for some filthy acts done at a reasonable price, I can still be your man. I'm not one to turn down a chance to network, get to know some new folks and extend my reach, just don't expect me to fully buy into this not-cult of yours."

While she would not find an acolyte or disciple in Aurelius, this was not to say that the two could not have a mutually beneficial relationship. "My sincerest apologies if that's not quite what you were looking for. Friends with benefits, not a committed relationship, so to speak."

 

[Darth Virelia]

Credits Run Like Blood.
Location: ???
Objective: Establish a Deal.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Aurelius Baldor

"Power is not seized in grand battles or dramatic gestures. It is earned in moments like these—in the waiting, in the silence, in the careful arrangement of pieces before the board is even set. Let them believe they have a choice. Let them think they hold the cards. By the time they sit across from me, the deal is already made."​

Serina laughed.

Not a forced thing. Not polite. It was low, rich, and genuine—but edged with something cold underneath, like a blade hidden in silk. She let it linger for a breath too long, just enough to make the difference between amusement and assessment blur.

"Oh, Aurelius," she murmured, voice dipped in velvet, "do I look like a woman who gets offended by commitment issues?"

She reached across the table—not quickly, not with threat, but deliberately—and pushed the untouched second glass of spotchka slightly toward him. Not an offering. A signal.

"I know what you are. You survive by staying unmoored. By staying valuable to everyone and loyal to no one. A shifting asset. You're not the kind of man who sells his soul…"

A pause. The ghost of a smile returned.

"…but you do lease it. And I can work with that."

She reclined again, all predatory grace, her coat folding perfectly along the angles of her body like the drapes of a coronation robe worn in shadow. Her gloved fingers idly traced the rim of her untouched glass once more—still no sip taken, but the gesture had evolved. Now it was performative, almost theatrical, a dancer marking time before the next act.

"I don't need an acolyte. I have plenty. Some of them even believe in the cause. Others just want a throne when the smoke clears. But you? I'm not looking at you for belief."

She flicked her eyes toward the door, then back to him.

"I'm looking at you because you know how to navigate chaos without being consumed by it. Because you understand leverage, and more importantly—because you don't mistake independence for invulnerability. You know your limits, Aurelius. That's what makes you dangerous. And that's why I want you in the wings."

She didn't reach for the holodisc.

Instead, she slid a small datachip from her coat and placed it atop it. Nondescript. Blank, save for a single crimson marking that looked more like a smudge than a symbol.

"Consider this a key," she said. "Encrypted route. Private comm line. Access to the next layer—if and when you decide to peel it back."

A beat passed.

"No pressure. But if you do show up… you'll want to bring something heavier than charm."

Then, softer, her voice sinking just enough to brush his spine like a whisper too close to the ear:

"And Aurelius—if you ever do decide to throw in for real? I won't ask you to burn down what you've built. I'll teach you how to own the fire."

She stood then, as smooth as a ghost slipping from a dream. No drama. No threat. Just poise, purpose, and the distinct sense that reality had shifted a degree or two around her as she passed.

And then she was gone.

The disc. The chip. The second drink.

Left behind, like a question with teeth.

 

[Aurelius Baldor]

Credits Run Like Blood​

Tag: Darth Virelia​

Aurelius shrugged. "Can't blame a fella for wanting to be upfront ." Taking the second glass of spotchka, he began to sip. You're not the kind of man who sells his soul, but you do lease it. Heh, he liked that one. He'd have to use that at some point.

Finally, someone who understood his limits. But, he thought, that's no reason to let yourself feel safe. The woman's a serpent, remember that. You can live around them, you can deal with them, you can maybe even charm them, but you don't let your guard down around a snake. No matter how resilient to poison you may be.

Then the datachip came out, and soon she was gone. Gone, but the disc, chip, and drink still remained.

After Serina was gone, he reached across the table, taking the datachip in his clawed fingers and examining the small thing. So nondescript, so seemingly inconsequential. But with the capability to completely change the trajectory of his life. The woman never spoke her name, or even an alias; this did not escape him. But then, he supposed, people like this tend not to. He placed the datachip in an interior breast pocket of his greatcoat, before doing the same with the holodisk.

Then, finally, he reached across the table for the woman's glass. No use letting good hooch go to waste. When the server came back, he ordered a bantha burger, nice and greasy. Hey, you go to a dingy bar, you order dingy food. As he waited for his artery-clogging meal, he played the meeting that had just transpired over and over in his head. The woman was danger, a dagger draped in velvet and honey and dripping with poison.

Unfortunately for Aurelius, he had a thing for dangerous women.