The gangster club was seedy, no doubt about it. Exterior was a mix of over-the-top decorations, just gaudy, and an attempt to be classy, but the designer had missed the mark completely and it all fell into a pile of chit. The only real benefit to the obscenely large number of glass windows, which showcased all the 'fun' inside for outsiders to see and be jealous of, was exactly that - you could see almost everything on that side of the building. It might have been appealing, but again, the club itself was just trashy in all the worst ways.
Sentients of all types were in and around the establishment. Club-goers, addicts, dealers, gangsters, almost painfully easily to spot each type; doubly so if you were trained to pick up on details like that. There was a pair of large bouncers at the entry, who stood in front of the doors, and a line to get inside to the right of the two. Weequays, but a bit larger physically, like they had been hitting the gym since birth. Didn't matter if your arms were larger than your head, everyone had weaknesses.
Needless to say, the wait in the club line had been enough to work Tir into a state. He stood patiently, or as well as he could manage after over an hour amid clubbers, and ground his teeth. Dressed more civilian appropriate, the FOSB operator stared at the bouncers, as he waited for them to look over and allow the next group into the Nebula. Tir was on edge. Not because he was nervous, not at all, but because he hated being in one place surrounded by mouth-breathers who only cared about how their dresses made them look, or how many cheekas they'd pick up.
At one point, a highlight for the last hour had been a young near-human woman who had knocked into the velvet rope and sent the stanchion toppling; one of the bouncers had sighed and walked over to straighten up the rope, to which the girl had been confused:
"Ohmygah, did I dooo that?"
Tir just stood there, blank stare, as he focused on breathing. The less he thought, the better it was. Focus on the mission, nothing else.
If I ain't inside soon, Dresden can put me out of my misery.
Tir knew the other FOSB member was nearby, in location and ready, but up until now it had been a matter of hurry up and wait. But, then the bouncers walked over to the line and lifted the velvet rope free of the metallic stanchion stands. Knucklehead one motioned for a group to enter, which included Tir as a solo act, and the Firrerreon let out a slow exhale as he stalked into the establishment behind a number of others.
"About karkin' time..." He muttered, as he pushed through a pair of human males who were psyching themselves up with compliments about how good the other looked. It was all a lifestyle beyond Tir, he didn't do clubs, he didn't do dancing, and he sure as frak didn't do whatever the hell this place he had just walked into was...
The first thing to hit Tir was the music - it was so loud, especially to his heightened hearing.
Then the scents - there was so much sweat, vomit, and other things assaulting his nostrils.
And finally the sheer volume of sentients - so much movement, so many limbs and species, their number was astounding.
"I'm kicking this off now," Tir said seemingly to himself, though the small comm in his ear picked up his words clearly despite the environment.
"Ain't waitin' any longer. Let's bring this guy out."
For a half-second, the Firrerreon paused and looked around the club. It had all the usual club interior you might expect. Bar, dance floor, dark corners, booths and an upper floor with protective railing for sentients to lean on and peer down. Lights, fog, over-loud music and obscenely priced drinks. No wonder gangsters did well when they got into the club owner game. Still, there was a point to the whole situation, and Tir had wasted enough time in the outside line, so that mean getting things started.
Dark eyes scanned the crowd. He saw a male Zabrak, tall and built dressed in pants and little else, who grabbed at another clubber with heavy hands and a creepy expression on his face. He seemed good enough. Tir walked through the crowd, out onto the dance floor, and approached the Zabrak. The Firrerreon glanced toward the large window to his left, which afforded an excellent view of the dancing from outside. With a smirk, Tir closed the gap and stepped up to the alien.
"Hey, get your meat-hooks off the lady."
"Scrat off," The Zabrak said, as he turned to Tir. "Or I break your face!"
"Huh," Tir nodded with a grunt.
"Broken face? Works for me."
"Wha--?" The creeper started to say as he balled up fists and turned to Tir, but his words were cut off as the FOSB agent slammed his forehead into the sentient's nose. "Gah?!"
The nose was smashed flat, as a spray of blood escaped the guy's nostrils. Tir stepped back and shook his head, before he grinned and fell into a basic defensive stance, arms raised and guarding his head. The Zabrak recovered, they were a tough species, and bellowed as he charged the Firrerreon - and just like that, the scene exploded into violence, as a fight started between the pair - as the two came to blows, and fists started flying...
Hah, now we're talkin'!
Auld
and
Val Pellian
. "I'll go," she said, standing and heading towards the foyer. She picked up her blaster on the way, holding it down but at the ready as she went to the door. She peered through the peephole. Even in the glasses, she could immediately recognize Aurelian Dash. Eyebrows furrowing, she undid all the locks and pulled the door open, waving Dash in before shutting the door quickly behind him. 
