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.

 

[Ghruna]

Ghruna did not hate this.That surprised her.

The Red Ronin was loud, crowded, and smelled of sweat and alcohol. Music hammered through the floor hard enough to rattle bone. Bodies pressed too close together. Voices rose in challenge, laughter, and provocation. It was chaos.

It reminded her, faintly, of home.

Maldrani feasts were never quiet affairs. They were violent things. Drums, shouting, contests of strength, coupling that left bruises. This place lacked the open sky and the crackle of real fire and the carnage, but the pulse of it felt familiar enough that Ghruna did not feel the need to bare her teeth at it.

She stood near the bar, glancing past a duracrete pillar scarred by old impact marks towards the dance floor.

The glass in her hand was strong liquor, poured without asking. She had accepted it with a nod and drank half of it without ceremony.

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.”

She realised that this was some kind of tradition where she was supposed to wait and drink with the others.

She hesitantly lifted her glass. She was tall and long limbed, still not filling out her form. She raised her glass high in the air.

Her tail flicked once behind her, slow and controlled.

This seemed nice and simple. Far better than the quiet dance on ice where people were expected to speak quietly and joke and perform for strangers.

She drained the rest of her glass and set it down loudly on the bar.

"Another!"

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Pre-Arrival:​

Varin’s ship exited light speed as Nar Shaddaa came into view. CC-14 began flipping switches to stabilize the ship as Varin finished getting ready.

“Master Varin.”

CC began to speak quietly to him.

“Are you aware that there is a…girl…on the ship with you?”

Varin let out a deep sigh as he buttoned up his nice vest.

“I’m aware, CC. I invited her to the event, figured she could use a good time. Besides, you don’t have to mutter.”

He leaned in close to CC and whispered.

“I think she can hear you.”

CC blinked a few times before looking at Seren and then back at Varin.

“Oh, of course. Madam I do hope you excuse the mess, Varin is not the cleanest person when it comes to his rooms.”

Varin stopped midstride as he noticed the various clothes and junk strewn about the ship, some old food he forgot to throw out and a few bottles of whatever drink he was sipping on at the time.

“Uh…yeah…the place still looks like luxury living before Haro helped me fix it up though, so theres that.”

He gave a nervous chuckle towards Seren as the ship hit light turbulence.

Arrival:​

Varin stepped off the ship with Seren as they both headed towards the Red Ronin Club. Apparently his battle brother Lysander took it over after the disappearance of Darth Anathemous. Some of the personnel of the club even escorted them into the club where he saw all the acolytes, faces familiar and some not as familiar, gathered around Lysander. A drink was pressed into his hand as he gave his toast. Holding his glass up Varin listened to each word as if Lysander himself were speaking to him. He gave a light chuckle when he referenced the ops and then downed his drink, which happened to just be straight hard liquor, burning down his throat. He let out a cough.

“I guess that was sipping whiskey instead of an actual shot.”

His voice was a bit harsh from the bite back of liquor. He shook his head and coughed slightly to clear his throat. He then turned to Seren with a slight smirk.

“Lys!”

He called over to him as he walked over, the dense crowd seeing the bulky tall man and instinctively they parted from him as he made his way through, also leaving a gap for Seren to follow.

“Moving up in the world rather quickly huh? Your own club. Seems rather fitting for you.”

He gently placed his hand on his shoulder.

“It looks good here.”

Seren Gwyn | Lysander von Ascania​

 

[Seren Gwyn]

Seren had taken the ship in with quiet interest long before CC said anything—every scuff on the bulkhead, every abandoned bottle, every half-forgotten object told a story. Not judgment. Context.

When the droid finally spoke up, she didn't bristle. She only inclined her head slightly, amused.

"No offense taken," she said calmly to CC. "I have seen worse from people who claimed to be disciplined."

Her eyes slid—not unkindly—across the scattered state of Varin's quarters. When he noticed and chuckled nervously, she arched a brow, the faintest hint of dry humor touching her expression.

"You have the living space of someone very clearly unattached," Seren observed. "A bachelor who spends more time surviving than settling."

There was no bite in it. Only truth, stated the way she always did.

Then, softer—almost conspiratorial:

"If you survive the night," she added, glancing back at the mess with a hint of warmth, "I would not object to helping you clean. Consider it… preventative maintenance."

By the time they arrived planetside, the noise and heat of Nar Shaddaa rolling in around them, Seren's attention shifted fully outward. The Red Ronin pulsed like a living thing—neon, sound, bodies packed too tightly together, power thrumming just beneath the surface.

Inside, when the drink was pressed into Varin's hand, and he promptly discovered the difference between sipping and not sipping, Seren watched his reaction with quiet amusement, one corner of her mouth lifting as he coughed.

"An educational experience," she murmured dryly.

When he called out to Lysander and moved through the crowd, she followed easily at his side, unhurried, unbothered by the way people made space for him. She noticed it—the instinctive recognition of presence, of contained violence—but her gaze stayed on Varin instead.

As he clapped Lysander on the shoulder and complimented the club, Seren took in the scene with a measured sweep of her eyes.

"It does suit him," she said quietly to Varin, voice carrying just enough to be heard over the music. "Controlled chaos. Purpose disguised as indulgence."

Then she glanced back up at him, amber eyes catching the red light.

"You, on the other hand," Seren added, tone lightly amused, "look like someone who rarely allows himself to arrive anywhere simply to enjoy it."

A pause—then, an invitation rather than a challenge.

"Tonight," she said, "you should try."

And with that, she let the noise and motion of the Red Ronin swallow them whole—standing with him, not behind him, ready for whatever the night decided to become.

Lysander von Ascania Varin Mortifer

 

[Snees D'ner]

Objective One: Party

Tags: Varin Mortifer Seren Gwyn Riffraff Ranat Suzaku Ghruna | Open

Snees wasn’t sitting on a chair. Chairs were for people with longer legs. So, the Jawa was perched directly on the bar’s counter, boots swinging over the edge, dangling like he’d claimed the fethin’ the space outright. After all, that was the only way he could meet the room at eye level. And he learned a long time ago that eye level was where all the deals and bad ideas lived.

He was wrapped in layers tonight. A thick sand colored robe draped over his small frame. Around his neck and shoulders, an orange scarf was wound high, hiding most of his face. A soft wide brimmed hat sat low. Two yellow eyes burned beneath the brim. Curious, high, and still alert.

Beside him on the counter rested a slugthrower, nearly half the length of one arm. It almost looked comical.. until you realized how casually it had been left there.. as if Snees had no fear of anyone getting stupid ideas.

Smoke curled lazily around him. A joint was pinched between his little fingers, the ember glowing whenever he drew in another slow pull. The smell was skunky and unmistakable. If anyone noticed, that was ok. Let them think he was relaxed and not paying attention. Half of his credits came from those who underestimated him. The other half were usually on the receiving end of one pistol or another.

He paused just long enough to clock the others. Two blondes, then some girl with horns and muscle. Then there was a really tall one. Big and loud. The woman with him seemed the most steady of them all. Riffraff was a given. Big boss brain.

Another exhale, smoking ribboning upward. Then the toast came, everyone's glasses lifting. Snees liked that. Taking the glass, he lifted it as high as it could really go. Yeah, he’d pulled his weight alright. Pulled theft. Always out of someone else's pocket. For him it was like collecting taxes. Everyone had to pay up eventually.

The amber liquid sloshed as he tipped the glass back. It burned.. hotter and meaner than Tatooine’s twin suns. He hissed into his scarf, eyes narrowing.

Then he thunked the empty glass onto the counter.

 

[Gillem]

Party Time
Theme​

He took a long draw from his cigarette. The scent of the tobacco was sweet as it clouded around him. The slow exhale eased the tension in his shoulders as he tapped his metallic fingers on the bar for another round. He watched as a group of, well what he could assume were basically college kids in Sith form doing some sort of frat party, began to take a toast. It drew a soft chuckle out of him.

He remembered being that young. Ready for any adventures he could take. Then he saw the bigger one walk in. Good lord. What a bounty he could have.

The liquid in his glass melted the ice just enough for the ice to shift and clatter inside. He wrapped his mechanical fingers around the glass and tipped it back, watching the big kid down the whole glass. His reaction drew another chuckle out of him.

“No kid, that ain’t shootin whiskey. That's the real stuff.”

He mumbled to himself.

He got a glimpse of everyone. His eye picked up multiple bounties in the resort. Hell the whole place was swimming in money regardless of how you looked at it.

The skunkweed however caught his eye, well more like his nostrils. He turned to see a Jawa just sitting on the bar right by his gun. Gillem was not dumb enough to reach for anythings weapon, especially one about knee high and on the stuff. Then there was another shorter one, balancing a tray on her head. One thing was for certain. He wasn’t on Tatooine no more.

He slowly made his way over to the Jawa, his boots lightly thudding on the floor.

“How much for some of the good stuff on you?”

He reached into his pocket pulling out some credits as he began to count it. The lit cigarette glowing and smoking in a trail above him. The revolvers hung loosely at his hips.

Snees D'ner | Open​

 

[Reina Daival]

Tag: Open
Location: Red Ronin Club
Outfit


In the past, Reina would have been at the bar. Drinking herself into blissful oblivion and racking up a fairly substantial bill...But alas, that was back when she could handle her liquor. It was different now. Her tolerance for what she had viewed as nectar had been stolen. And sure, she might have agreed in the past that alcohol wasn't good for her health and wasn't a good coping mechanism. Though compared to her current coping mechanism...Well, drinking wouldn't hurt as much.

The Ersansyr wrapped the bandage over her arm, preparing herself for the fight in the arena. Even as she could hear those chanting and cheering off towards the bar, Reina couldn't bring herself to enjoy in their "merriment." It was strange if she thought about this place. About the so-called "Sith Covenant". The redhead had met some of the higher ups. Back on Dagobah. But there was also a few of the Acolytes she had met. Some on friendly terms...some on less so friendly terms.

As she waited for the fight to be ready, part of her wondering what was taking so long for the arena to be prepared, Reina pulled out her dagger, gently dangling it in front of her gaze as her iridescent eyes took in the details of it. She could sense the Sith Alchemy that had been used in its creation. A small exhale of frustration escaped her lips as her hand wrapped around the dagger's hilt. It made the Darkness more apparent. The storm battering against her. A storm she didn't know how to control. She could endure it. She could fight it. But control was a completely different beast. Perhaps like any beast, she'd learn how to control it. But that was not today.

No, today was for entertainment.
​