Seasonal Fun at the Red Ronin [TSC & Friends]

[Emissary of Strife]

NAR SHADDAA
RED RONIN CLUB [X]

No one was really sure who organized it or why, but members of the Sith Covenant ended up at the Red Ronin Club on Nar Shaddaa. Officially, it was owned by an alias of Kaila Starfall, more infamously known among the Sith as Anathemous. Now? Lysander von Ascania ran the place on her behalf.

There was a fully staffed bar, a dance floor, and even an arena, all located on the first floor alone. It was crowded, too, with a party that never stopped. The windowless space, dark lights, hypnotic sound... little was the difference between an hour and a day at the Red Ronin, where time always seemed to slip away. Then, there was the roar of bloodthirsty applause from the arena, where spectators packed themselves in to watch fighters take on everything from alien beasts to each other.

Above, on the second floor, was the VIP section - reserved that night for "serious conversation" between Covenant higher-ups, if you believed the hearsay. There was also a third floor, but that was entirely off-limits, unlike the roof above, where one might abscond for a bit of privacy.

It wasn't exactly the most authentic Life Day celebration, but hell, it was a party.

Objective One - Party: You don't have to square off, threaten to kill each other, or anything like that at all. Like seriously! Just be normal. Have a drink and dance. Please just be normal and party!

Objective Two - Animal Control: A droidbreaker was let loose in the arena and killed the poor fighter pegged to bring it down, and now the handlers can't subdue it. The thing eats metal - it's eating its way out of the arena! It'll eat the city too if it gets out there. Someone needs to stop it!

Objective Three - Listen: In the VIP Room, Mercy and her inner circle discuss their plans for the Core. Or at least that's the rumor. Maybe someone could sneak up there and find out what the hell this talk is all about.

Spoiler: OOC

This is a low-stakes social thread. Feel free to throw in on any objective, or move between them, bring your own if you want! There's no post order or nothing.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective One: Party
Naniti Varin Mortifer Acier Moonbound Naamino Zuukamano Vestra Tane Arris Windrun Seren Gwyn Kirie Neriah Calven Ghruna Jorryn Fordyce Suzaku Mercy Hasuras Na-Gerra Calyx Sundrift Imperius Indomitus

The Covenant’s academy on Smuggler’s Moon wasn’t the only thing demanding his attention lately. There was other oversight required, this nightclub among it. From experience, obligation rarely had a way of announcing itself with warning.. and this had arrived much the same way. Unexpected and full of potential. Growth always was, he’d learned that early, learned it the hard way too, and wouldn't shy away from it simply because it was inconvenient.

The air was mingled with scents of alcohol, cheap vices, perfume, and warmed by far too many bodies in close proximity. Neon red bled over everything around him. It wasn’t often you’d see the blonde dressed like this; matte black slacks, polished boots, and a coat cut close to his lithe frame. Beneath it was a high collared shirt, fastened at the neck.

A swarm of acolytes, apprentices, and even Sith Lords crowded the space around him.. some known, others less so. It was rare to see so many of them gathered outside the academy, not plotting the downfall of their next target.

Well, at least not here at the bar.

With a good portion of the Covenant packed into the Red Ronin.. the reality was simple enough. Tonight, this was undoubtedly the safest spot on Nar Shaddaa. Violence would think twice before introducing itself here.

With a nod to the bartender, Lysander ordered another round, making sure the generous pour reached everyone sitting close by. Sharing drinks like this always had a special way of bringing people together. The stubby glasses slid across the bar, vibrating with the room's pulse.

Lysander brought his glass up; just enough to be noticed. A toast. “To everyone who’s carried their weight.” A roguish curve graced his mouth before fading. “And to the ops. They won’t be a problem again.”

Then he drank, the liquid burning as it slid down.

 

[Arris Windrun]

Arris raised her glass to the toast as she walked behind the crowd gathered around Lysander and headed upstairs. She'd have to compliment him another time for both the venue and his fight on Genarius.

The door slid shut behind her, drowning out the roar from downstairs, as she stepped into the VIP section. Besides the guards and one bartender, the room was quite empty.

She sauntered across the open space, sipping her drink, and sat down in a private booth towards the very back.

The cyborg opened a channel on her implanted comlink. "Tell Vestra and Mercy I've arrived."

Mercy Vestra Tane Lysander von Ascania

 

[Suzaku]

If it were any other club or cantina. The corpse holding a glass and raising it for a toast would of been the only sentient creature inside. But in this place? The Red Ronin was as strange as clubs came, especially when sith owned the establishment.

Midst the cheers, Suzaku's overly guttural sounds could be heard. A raspy moan before the glass was turned and inversed into his toothy decaying maw. The liquids pouring down, only to spill out onto floor. Escaping out of holes in his stomach and torso.

Its not like I can taste this anyway.

A single eye veered of its own accord toward a figure that seemed to toast, drink and then veer off from the group. A female? Arris Windrun . Dropping the glass, the undead acolyte moved through the gathering of sith to follow the woman...

The door slid shut behind her, drowning out the roar from downstairs, as she stepped into the VIP section. Besides the guards and one bartender, the room was quite empty.

Approaching the door, Suzaku examined the structure or so it seemed he was. He just stood there. Not only blocking the way but also staring into space. Lost in a trance....

 

[Riffraff Ranat]

Tags: Lysander von Ascania | Open
Location: Red Ronin

She'd been landside for some time, homesick from her clan and flagship certainly, but this was important work that needed doing and Riffraff refused to send anyone in her place. It had taken some doing, ingratiating herself amongst the workforce of the establishment some weeks prior. The ruse started with mopping up puke in one of the refreshers, making sure someone had seen her quietly doing the work. It was amazing how a workman's jumpsuit and carrying around cleaning supplies or tools could get you into secure locations.

Once Riffraff had been spotted by a few staff doing little odd jobs, she moved up to servicing a droid here, lending a death stick there. She didn't smoke the stuff herself usually, but always carried a pack as religiously as one might carry a credit purse. After putting in enough time to be assumed by most as an employee, Riffraff grew bolder. Her ultimate objective was to carve out a place for herself and eventually her clan, but she needed to find the right niche.

Word of a Sith Covenant had come to her and felt like a promising lead.

The larger ruling body of Sith was well known to her, having worked countless gigs cleaning up after their concerts and lavish parties, tuning up gong droids and shipping refuse away from their stately worlds to be dumped in places they'd deemed worthy of their trash. However, Riffraff was leery of the iron fist with which they aimed to rule. The way that certain crime was excusable while other kinds would get you introduced to an executioner had the wily ranat sleeping with one eye open whenever she traversed their territories.

The Covenant however had a wild, chaotic streak to it and known ties to the Black Sun. A far more comfortable arrangement for the smuggler, slicer, and all around handywoman. When murmurs of a party being hosted at the Red Ronin reached her pointed ears, Riffraff knew she'd want to be there.

​

With her disguise established, Riffraff blended into the backdrop as if she'd worked there from opening day. When the well dressed blond made a toast to the room, her keen orange eyes took him in with calculation. She'd pieced together that this was Lysander, the young man who now ran the establishment and Riffraff wasted no time in loading up a little tray under the pretense of delivering more drinks to parts of the room too far from the bar. It was doubtful anyone would notice she wasn't well dressed like the waitstaff, given that she balanced the tray atop her head which brought the drinks to about waist height for most patrons.

Riffraff circled, glowing eyes keeping track of the center of activity, planning her approach when the opportunity presented itself. She was loathe to do business out in the open and so she awaited the moment that might Lysander break away from the others. All she needed was an initial introduction, enough to initiate curiosity before she laid more cards out on the table.