Jabiim held few boasts. In fact, some only credited the outer rim planet with two. One, it straddled the Mara Corridor. And two, Memphes. The galaxy's largest Massassi Temple turned gaming house. A small city in its own right, Memphes Palace attracted some of the richest and most eccentric individuals this side of the Core. Some were drawn by the allure of the Temple's dark mystique - a mystique thoroughly examined by a number of hired Force specialists and declared devoid of harmful effects, liability issues being what they are and all. Others came because of the socialites, a preening mass of nobility and entrepreneurs from Kuati baronets to Tion executives.
And yet still more came because of that unseen pull, the tug of the criminal underworld. A realm which Ry-Ry, the partially psychotic and utterly flamboyant master of Memphes, held in sharp check.
However, a morose Givin in a sharp black garb that almost met his neck glided toward the palace entrance. He did not seem to care about any such frippery. In fact, he positively scowled at the front and center statue straddling the fountain, at least so far as Givins could scowl, what with the exoskeleton and all.
The rebreather he wore would seem a peculiarity to any with intimate knowledge of Givin anatomy, since they did not need them in order to respire. Yet, few would know enough to remark such an article on an alien humanoid. Fewer still would care to do so.
All the better, because Ni'gel from accounting certainly did not want to draw any attention to himself. And he especially did not want to catch a whiff of pheromones.
A cavernous, disapproving stare swept across any who dared approach him as he lofted up the steps. He began counting steps in order to keep his focus on things other than the ludicrously clad attendants.
Why must I be sent to these lurid exhibitions?
Of all Hegemonic Automaton employees, Ni'gel was selected for such service approximately seventy point three percent of the time. A waste of his talents, if he did say so himself. And he did. Frequently.
A T'doshok bouncer at the door stopped him and looked the accountant up and down.
"Don't get many Givins here."
Ni'gel glanced disdainfully at the clawed hand resting on his shoulder and eased away from it.
"No, I should think not."
"Hm. Name's Sam'I-am. And you, you don't look much like a clubbing man."
That's because I do not like them, Sam'I-am, I do not like strip clubbing men.
Why was this bouncer acting so friendly? He was reducing his work efficiency by approximately ten percent. Ni'gel noticed that the T'doshok's eyes weren't actually looking at him, but just over his shoulder.
Oh.
"Please allow me to introduce my..." Ni'gel cringed, "companion, Miss Karma."
[member="Karma Jayne"]