Private Lights, Camera, Violet!

[Mr Black]

Planet: Echelon Prime, Echelon System, Outer Rim
District 26: Purple District: Echelon's Spicesight, or the Violetside.
Location: The Violet Portway
Local Time: Artificial Night (Realtime 6 PM)
Tag: Aethelwulf Bergen

A synthetic violet ocean stretched out across the edge of District 26, with sailing vessels dotted around, leisure boats and neon party barges lazily drifting beneath a warm, dusky atmosphere. Air that tasted faintly of salt and peach liquor; holo-billboards rippled like waves crashing ashore across mirrored hotels, and a thousand overlapping parties bled into one hypnotic humming rhythm. Casinos, Clubs, Games, Holo-Realities, Marinas, and Hotels. The Violetside was Echelon's premier entertainment district, brightly curated chaos wrapped in safety contracts and perpetual summer. Day or night, it was always perfect. People from all walks of life came here; crime happened, but it was cleaned up before anyone could spill their drink.

"High energy, people!" chirped the assistant director, clapping his hands as the teens adjusted their microphones. "Smile! This is your big break! What do you mean you haven't signed your contract yet?" Datapads were flying about for NDA's, and who knows what contracts. It was everything you'd expect, and contracts on Echelon were currency.

Black watched the set, standing beside a small table and an executive chair, a half-smile lining the edge of his beard at the absurdity of it all. Organised chaos: lights, camera-drone-droids, make-up droids misting glitter on faces and into the air, wind and cleaning machines whirring. He'd nearly fired the GNN executive who'd setup the 'teen Travelogue at Violetside' until Legal reminded him that blaster shots weren't covered in his contract. Instead, Black had come himself, better to manage the potential PR wreck.

Many ASF officers flanked their perimeter, cleanly dressed in Apex black. While four armoured speeders waited nearby, drawing even more attention and crowds. The craft services table was strewn with cocktails, actually 'mocktails' close in taste to the real thing, served by a trio of quirky astromechs; someone had even remembered to include a quickly disappearing buffet, which had become the most effective nerve-settler. The choco-stimcaff droid however, had 230 refills pending, and sushi or bantha burger takeaway boxes were already piling up fast!

The lead director, a Kiffar with deep emerald facial tattoos, strode past, clutching a datapad, his face deeply expressive. "Remember, it's about the ocean, your impressions, your feeling. Be the water, don't just watch it. Keep it spontaneous." There was no script, just a loose outline and the repeated on-set mantra of high energy. The assistant director, a Denonite (Denon Local) on his fourth cup of stimcaf, almost bounced on his heels. "No, no wait, two steps left. Perfect, perfect, hmm, hold that place. Okay, you're looking at the drone when it passes to start, not the beach. Right, right good! Perfect, you're a star!"

Black's gaze watched the teenagers moving into place, wide eyes, nervous smiles, uncontained ambition or wonder. His two closest personal aides stood beside him, corporate suits all around, a Hapan female and a bulky olive-skinned man carrying a black briefcase . Somewhere among the extras was a blonde HRD chaperone he'd assigned: An AXS-3, Sentinel model. The liability coverage alone justified that investment.

He adjusted his cufflink, the gesture calculated and usually more than it appeared. "Alright, let's make sure they remember this for the right reasons," he spoke just loud enough for his assistants. "And someone remind our Denonite, enthusiasm is not a substitute for insurance."

 

[Aethelwulf Bergen]

The air tasted like peaches and metal, and Aethelwulf decided she loved it already.

She stepped off the hovertram into a sea of violet light and noise, her worn boots hitting the polished walkway with a hopeful clack. Everything shimmered, from the air, to the signs, even the people! Every direction she looked, there was something bright and alive, like the holo-billboards spilling soft pink light over the crowd, the music pulsing through the street like a heartbeat.

This was it. This was where people came to make something of themselves.

The ad had sounded simple enough, "Youth Travelogue. Seeking strong presence, charisma, and adaptability. Must be good with people."
She'd read that and thought, I'm strong. I'm adaptable. I'm great with people. Easy!

Except now she was standing in front of a camera crew bigger than her entire family put together, and someone had just shouted something about "contract clauses" and "brand alignment," and she had no idea which one of those meant she should introduce herself.

Still, she smiled. Big.

Her satchel thumped against her hip, full of exactly nothing useful, and she gave a quick, polite wave toward who she thought was the assistant director. He waved back absently, already mid-command at a group of teens rehearsing smiles. Aethelwulf took that as encouragement and marched straight through the chaos, careful not to trip on a power cable.

"I'm here for the vlog!" she called over the music, trying to sound professional. The nearest assistant director, a Denonite jittering on too much stimcaf, blinked at her. "You're… talent?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! I'm very talented! I can talk about places! And food! And I can run if there's danger! Oh, and I've seen so many holovlogs, I know how it's done!"

Someone handed her a datapad without looking, muttering about signature requirements. She squinted at the legalese for a moment before pressing her thumbprint in the little glowing box. The datapad chirped approvingly.

"There! All official!"

The Denonite stared for a beat longer, then shrugged helplessly and waved her toward the others.

Aethelwulf trotted forward, almost bouncing on her toes. She adjusted her jacket, ran a hand through her hair, and practiced a smile. It didn't feel right… too forced, so she tried another, a smaller one. That felt better.

And when she finally looked up, she spotted a man near the back wearing a dark suit, oozing quiet authority ( Mr Black ). Their eyes met for just a second before someone called for quiet.

Her heart thumped once, hard.

Maybe this was it. Her big break.

 

[Mr Black]

When his eyes met Aethelwulf's, he saw potential, a raw spark. It reminded him momentarily of his young daughter and the things in this galaxy that couldn't be manufactured. Someone shoved a large datapad into his hands, full of shooting schedules and location grids. He didn't look at it right away. He already knew how the day would go: controlled chaos with a side dish of liability insurance.

"You there, you don't have any makeup on! We can't have that!" A pink Zeltron in far too much neon bounced into frame, smile like starlight through a champagne glass. "Correction, dear," she said mid-step, eyes sparkling with artistry. "You have makeup, darling, but not Echelon makeup."

Aethelwulf Bergen would be given the full Portway treatment if she let them: a subtle neon tint, soft holo-glow, mists of scent coded like data to the district's artificial sea breeze. Three stylists hovered behind her like highly caffeinated pixies, arguing over which tone best complemented the violet skyline and her cheekbones.

No time! "First positions! Quiet! Quiet on set, rolling in thirty!" came the director's call

And just like that, young Aethelwulf was in place among thirty excited teenagers. Holocams gliding overhead, deciding who to focus on. Restless vibrating energy, bright, imperfect, and so alive, like someone had bottled the Violet Portway whole and turned it into a sparkling music video.

Black thrived in this kind of chaos. On Echelon, chaos was the raw material he engineered order out of; you just had to know where to place it. He watched the lenses, glancing to the gathering crowd and the light setup; quietly deciding which cameras were live and when. Turning his focus to the teens whose enthusiasm sold Violetside's dream best. Naturally, he framed the Apex-Exec showroom behind them over the bay, never missing a chance to sell the brand.

A Kiffar boy caught his attention, with purple facial tattoos, covered in way too much tech and neon; he literally almost glowed, much like his smile. Trying to put himself with the Apex Show Room over the water behind him. Black admired the instinct.

He started to move through the set as the countdown hit twenty seconds. The director gasped and him Black a horrified look, mouthing, "Hold on a minute!" Black smiled. "I own the set," that settled that. Passing a gaggle of teens, Black offered a calm, playful word. "Remember, love the camera and it'll love you." A few nervous laughs bubbled up. One kid saluted, and Black shook his hand.

Then his gaze picked out Aethelwulf Bergen again. No words, just that subtle tilt of his head toward the Kiffar lad, and a look that said frame's there, take it. A silent cue only a natural could read, or someone with the force's aid. For a heartbeat, the world shrank to this moment. That anxious feeling that something big was about to happen.

"Rolling in five!" Last warning, Black stepped out of view, and the Violet Portway came alive. "And… action!" The Kiffar director cupped his hands to his mouth. "Big energy, everyone! Someone tell me what makes Violetside the brightest place in the Outer Rim, go, go!"

The teens started shouting answers:
"Oh... the afterglow parties!"
"Yeah, the Detonite Club, best lightshows in the sector, no the rim!"
"The food, obviously, Beebo's Bantha Burgers, extra redline sauce."
"Defo's the holo-sunsets!"
A holocamera's focus settled on Aethelwulf like it was her turn to save the galaxy. No pressure.

Aethelwulf Bergen