Private Neon Afterburn

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had been promised that the problem was simple.

It usually wasn't.

By the time she arrived at the club, one of the fog machines had apparently decided its purpose was to either produce nothing at all or bury half the dance floor beneath enough artificial fog to obscure a landing platform. The lighting system wasn't behaving much better. Several of the overhead strobes had fallen out of sync, while another bank of lights seemed determined to flash whenever it pleased, regardless of the controller's instructions. None of it was particularly catastrophic, but for a club expecting a large crowd after the evening's races, it was enough to warrant calling someone who understood electronics.

Fortunately, Aren did.

She spent the better part of an hour moving between the effects control system and the equipment itself, eventually tracing most of the trouble back to a failing control board that had begun sending corrupted instructions through the network. Somebody had attempted a repair before she arrived, which explained several connections that made absolutely no sense, and one bypass Aren suspected had caused more problems than it solved. Once those were corrected, Aren isolated the damaged portion of the board, rerouted the affected systems, and recalibrated the individual effects. The fog machines returned to producing something closer to atmosphere than weather, while the strobes finally began flashing in time with the music rather than attempting to induce panic independently of it.

By the time she closed the last access panel, the club was already beginning to fill. Music thundered through the room, colored lights swept across the growing crowd, and a controlled veil of fog drifted over the dance floor exactly where it belonged. Aren packed her tools away and gave the system one final glance before deciding she'd earned the right to stop thinking about circuitry for the evening. She could have gone home immediately, but the owner had offered her a drink along with her payment, and turning down free alcohol seemed unnecessarily principled.

Aren claimed an open place at the bar, setting her tool bag beside her feet before accepting the drink placed in front of her. Apparently, the club was a popular destination after the races, because conversations about podracing seemed to be everywhere. Names, numbers, finishes, arguments over overtakes, and equipment advantages passed around her with considerable enthusiasm. Aren knew enough about racing machines to understand most of the technical discussion, but she had never followed the professional circuit closely enough to recognize every racer who walked through the door.

That was probably why the blond young man, attracting considerably more attention than everyone around him, didn't immediately mean anything to her. Aren glanced toward him because several others had, noting the racing uniform and the unmistakable energy of someone still riding whatever adrenaline the evening had provided. Then she returned to her drink. Whoever he was, she had just spent an hour convincing a nightclub's electronics to behave and was perfectly content to let somebody else be the center of attention.

Unfortunately, the increasingly crowded bar had other ideas. Someone squeezed between two patrons behind Aren just as she shifted aside to make room, putting her directly into the path of the approaching racer. She caught herself against the bar before the collision became anything more substantial, managing the considerably more important feat of keeping her drink upright before looking up at him.

"Sorry about that." Aren glanced briefly at his uniform before meeting his eyes again, still having no idea precisely who she'd nearly walked into. A small smile touched her lips as she shifted out of his way. "Apparently, fixing their electronics doesn't come with crowd-control privileges."

Aren Vellin

 

[Aren Vellin]

Still riding his after-race high, and freshly gussied up by his personal PR team, Aren Vellin walked into the club to a series of excited screams and cheers. A short chant started up, VELLIN-VELLIN-VELLIN, before he waved it off with a bright but sheepish smile.​

​

"Let them ride it out" his media handler, Jenn Sykorra reminded him, voice low and short. She was the kind of person who smiled through a storm while hissing commands under her breath. "It's good for the brand."​

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The brand. Aren felt part of himself shrivel up inside, but he simply nodded in response. "I know, I know" he whispered back. His smile was more strained compared to hers, but nobody noticed or cared. Everyone wanted a piece of the Golden Comet, that evening especially.​

​

"Laaaadies and gentlemen, your victor has arrived!" For a moment the lights in the room flashed cobalt-blue and gold, and the number 213 was projected here there and everywhere. There was the ever present flash of paparazzi as he made his initial route around the room, plenty of hands reaching out to touch his pristine jumpsuit - most definitely not the one he had raced in - and a couple of ham-fisted brand deals done on the fly for both present audience and those watching on the live holo-feed at home.​

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"Can I have something proper to eat now?" the hungry lad pleaded, though Jenn only tutted and brushed a crease from the front of his jacket.​

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"There's time for food later, Golden Boy, you still need to pose for SWOOP holozine, and then McYoda's has their slot in fifteen. Did you hear that..."​

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As Jenn drawled on about prospective sponsorships that were being offered in the wake of his victory at the Theron circuit, and with each passing second Aren drew a little further from her until she was stood by herself, rattling off names and times and expectations all the same.​

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It was during this oh so elaborate escape that Aren turned and found himself on a collision course. He managed to draw back just in time that it was barely even a graze, much less a bump, though he reached out a hand to touch the woman's shoulder in order to keep her from becoming off-kilter all the same. It was instinctual, and he hastily drew his hand away when he realized what he'd done.​

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"Sorry, sorry," he said, cheeks flushed just the tiniest bit pink, "You'd think I'd be better at keeping an eye on my surroundings" the lad said, flashing a grin, "always am a little sluggish post-race. Adrenaline crash. I'm sure you get it." He jerked his head toward the bar, "Let me buy your next round?"​

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Aren D'Shade ​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren had noticed the commotion when the young man entered, though mostly because it was difficult not to notice an entire club chanting someone's name. The sudden shift of the lighting into cobalt and gold had also caught her attention, albeit for entirely different reasons. After spending the better part of an hour convincing those systems to behave, she had watched the elaborate display with the quiet satisfaction of someone pleased that nothing sparked, flickered, or produced an unexpected wall of fog. The number 213 meant nothing to her, and while the cheers made it obvious the blond man was important to everyone else in the room, she hadn't paid enough attention to the racing circuit to know why.

The near collision changed that only slightly. Aren caught herself easily enough, though his hand against her shoulder helped, and she gave him a small smile when they both immediately started apologizing. "I think we can split the blame on that one." Her eyes briefly flicked toward the crowd he'd been attempting to escape before returning to him. "Though I'm guessing you've got a better excuse than I do." There was amusement in her voice, especially after his comment about the adrenaline crash. "Can't say I know that particular feeling. My work usually involves considerably less cheering when I'm finished."

His offer drew a glance toward her mostly empty glass before Aren shrugged. "Sure. I'm not going to turn down a free drink." She shifted enough to give him room at the bar, setting her glass down before nodding toward the enormous number 213 still occasionally appearing amid the club's lighting effects. "I'm also going to take a wild guess and assume all of that is for you." There wasn't any awe in the observation, only curiosity. Whatever celebrity everyone else saw standing beside her, Aren mostly saw a young man who appeared to be trying very hard to escape the woman still rattling off obligations somewhere behind him.

She offered him her hand with an easy smile. "Aren D'Shade." A beat passed before she added, "And before this gets awkward, I should probably admit I don't actually know who you are." Her gaze briefly followed another flash of cobalt and gold across the room before returning to him. "But apparently I fixed the lighting just in time for your grand entrance, so I suppose you're welcome."

Aren Vellin

 

[Aren Vellin]

"Sure thing" he said of blame-splitting, flashing her a genuine smile. It felt good to smile because he wanted to, and not because cameras were being shoved in his face. He was sure they'd catch up to him again soon, but for now he could breathe.​

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"What's your work involve?" he asked, as he made his way to the bar. "Another one of what the lady's having, and I'll take a sparkling shuura juice on ice. thanks." All this clamour, all this chaos, in a club no less, and Aren wasn't even old enough to drink. Still he could enjoy the vibes.​

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"For me? In part, I guess. I'm sure when the others enter they'll get a standing ovation too." His smile turned a little more weary; the boy was exhausted. "Win enough circuits, and a crowd starts to form. Win the circuit of the day, and... well..." He gestured to the lights. "Have to say, Teta goes all out."​

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As introductions came, Aren made to shake her hand; he faltered half way there, narrowing his eyes. "Aren? You're sure you don't know me?" He chuckled awkwardly, and shook her hand all the same. "Then this has to be the biggest coincidence... Aren Vellin, a pleasure to meet you, Miss."​

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As for her fixes, he grinned. "Damn, so this is all your fault is it?" he teased.​

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Aren D'Shade ​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren answered his first question while he ordered their drinks, resting one arm comfortably against the bar. "Technology, mostly. Electronics, communications systems, droids, cybernetics. Whatever somebody puts in front of me that isn't behaving the way it's supposed to." She gestured vaguely toward the club around them. "Tonight it was their effects systems. Fog machines were malfunctioning, strobes were doing whatever they wanted, and the control board was sending bad instructions through half the network. Nothing especially difficult once I found the problem."

His introduction, however, earned a genuine chuckle from her. "Seriously?" She shook his hand, the coincidence immediately amusing her. "No, I really didn't know your name when you nearly walked into me. I promise." It would have been a particularly strange opening line if she had. Still, now that she'd heard the full name, something about it tugged at her memory. Aren Vellin. She'd seen that name before.

Her brow furrowed briefly before recognition finally arrived. "Wait. Vellin." Aren looked at him a little more closely, then toward the number 213 decorating the club before everything connected. "The Golden Comet." The nickname came with a small smile rather than any sudden excitement. Being connected to the Holonet as often as she was meant information had a habit of finding her whether she actively looked for it or not. "Okay, I've seen your name. Racing results, news feeds, advertisements... probably all three. I just don't follow racing closely enough to recognize you on sight." She glanced toward the crowd that had greeted him and added with mild amusement, "Apparently I'm in the minority tonight."

His accusation about the lights brought her attention back to him, and Aren's eyebrows rose. "My fault?" She pointed toward the perfectly synchronized lighting overhead. "I'm repairing it." A laugh slipped free as she accepted the fresh drink from the bartender. "You should've seen this place before I got here. Your grand entrance would've involved half the lights flashing at the wrong time and a fog machine trying to swallow the dance floor." She took a sip before adding, "So really, I saved your reputation. You're welcome."

Aren Vellin

 

[Aren Vellin]

Aren smiled. "Yeah? Sounds something like what I did before the circuit discovered me. Always tinkering, made my first racer you know? My folks run a repair yard." He whistled under his breath all the same though. "I don't think I'd know where to start in a place like this, though, there must be so many different parts." A club was much larger than a podracer... though neither was particularly easy to handle.​

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"Hey," he chuckled, "You ran into me too" he teased, "Remember?"​

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A hand found the back of his head as she remarked upon his name, rubbing the perfectly teased curls into an unrulier state. He'd hear about that from Jenn later. "Yeah, that's me" he confessed a little sheepishly, somewhat deflated that he had not sincerely found a person in this crowd who didn't know him. Thankfully she wasn't fangirling or anything, so he was able to remain a little more relaxed, especially as his drink arrived. He sipped it down, relishing in the sparkling carbonation.​

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"Consider yourself lucky." Even as he spoke to Miss D'Shade, people were trying to get his attention or catch his eye. Aren tried to pretend like he didn't hear them in the general clamour of the club.​

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"Yeah, your fault it's working" he laughed; it was hard to tell if he was being serious or not. "Hopefully Brak'll be here soon, I may have won the circuit but he won the championship last year and the crowd love him for it."​

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He could see Jenn making her way closer, though she hadn't seen him yet. Without thinking, he dipped to the other side of D'Shade and shrank into a seat. "Chit" he sighed, "Here comes the fun police."​

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Aren D'Shade ​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

The mention of a repair yard immediately caught Aren's interest. "You built your first racer?" That earned Vellin a more appraising look than his celebrity had managed. Fame didn't particularly impress her, but someone who could take components and turn them into a functioning machine was another matter entirely. "See, you should've led with that instead of the whole Golden Comet thing." Her smile made the teasing obvious. "And a club isn't really one machine. It's a lot of smaller systems connected together. Break it down far enough and eventually you're just troubleshooting components again." There were certainly more of them, but the principle wasn't terribly different from most of the work she did.

His reminder about their collision made her laugh. "I remember. I agreed to split the blame, didn't I?" She lifted her glass slightly in surrender before taking another drink. Watching him ruffle the carefully arranged curls made her wonder just how much effort had gone into making him look precisely the way someone else wanted before he'd arrived. Between the uniform, the entrance, the advertisements and the woman she'd noticed managing him earlier, Aren was beginning to suspect winning the race might have been the easiest part of his evening.

Then Vellin suddenly moved to the other side of her.

Aren followed his retreat with a puzzled glance until his muttered explanation made her look toward the approaching woman. Recognition came easily enough. She had seen Jenn beside him earlier, and given the way Vellin had been gradually edging away while the woman spoke at him, Aren could make a reasonable guess about exactly who the fun police were. Her lips twitched with amusement as she looked back down at him. Apparently her newest acquaintance needed somewhere to disappear.

"Really?" she murmured, suppressing a laugh. "All right."

Aren shifted naturally to occupy more of the space between Vellin and Jenn's approaching path, turning on her stool so her body helped block the easiest line of sight toward where he'd tucked himself away. Her tool bag was still beside her feet, and she nudged it over as well, giving him a little more room without making the whole maneuver obvious. Then she leaned an elbow against the bar and resumed drinking as though absolutely nothing unusual had happened. If Jenn happened to look their way, all she would see at first was Aren D'Shade sitting at the bar with her drink.

Without turning around, Aren lowered her voice enough that only Vellin should hear her. "You realize I charge extra for hiding fugitives, right?" A grin threatened at the corner of her mouth. "Especially famous ones."

She took another casual sip and kept one eye on Jenn's progress through the crowd. "Stay down, Golden Comet. I've got you."

Aren Vellin

 

[Aren Vellin]

"Not an easy hook, I'm afraid," he said, "Most people see the version of me made for the holonet, and ... sadly, grease doesn't sell."​

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When she broke down the notion of the club being one well-oiled machine, Aren smiled. "I guess that's true, isn't it? Still, it's impressive Miss D'Shade, you getting this place ready for all of the chaos we've brought in."​

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He met the motion of her glass with his own, a nod in liquid format, before sipping some more of his juice. It wasn't long before the shuura was forgotten, though, as he made himself scarce or at least smaller.​

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"I know, I know" he mumbled, as her amusement bled through her words, "I just want two minutes to myself, to breathe, before she pulls me in for another promotional spread. And, damnit, I want something to actually eat."​

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Jenn was a cruel taskmaster, at least that's what the boy would say, she monitored his diet and even when it was supposed to be his downtime she all but force-fed him sponsored supplements and meals in case someone walked by with a camera.​

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As such, he was more than willing to stay down low, even when D'Shade poked him with his racing name.​

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Aren D'Shade ​

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's expression shifted at that. She could understand why a carefully manufactured image wouldn't include grease beneath his fingernails, but that didn't mean she thought much of the reasoning behind it. "Their loss. Personally, I find knowing how your machine works more impressive than standing beside it looking pretty." There was nothing flirtatious in the remark, merely Aren's particular hierarchy of what made someone interesting. The fact that Vellin had built his first racer told her considerably more about him than any Holonet advertisement ever could.

His compliment earned a small smile. "Thanks. Though I suspect your people would've been considerably less impressed if you'd walked in and disappeared into a cloud of malfunctioning fog." Given the elaborate entrance she'd witnessed, somebody probably would have blamed the club, the technicians, and anyone else unfortunate enough to be standing nearby. Aren had simply done what she'd been hired to do. The fact that several hundred people were now enjoying the results made this particular repair more visible than most.

She kept herself positioned between Vellin and Jenn while he explained exactly what he was hiding from. The promotional obligations she could almost understand. He was a professional racer with sponsors paying for access to him, and presumably some amount of that nonsense came with the career he'd chosen. Preventing him from eating an actual meal after he'd just finished racing was considerably harder for Aren to appreciate.

"Okay, that's ridiculous." Her gaze flicked toward Jenn before returning to the racer crouched beside her. "You just spent however long throwing yourself around a track at speeds that would make most people reconsider their life choices. Wanting actual food afterward doesn't seem unreasonable."

Aren considered him for another moment, then glanced around the club. She had spent enough time moving through the place during the repairs to know its layout better than most of the people currently packed inside. More importantly, she'd used the service areas to reach several pieces of equipment that couldn't be accessed from the public floor. There were ways out that didn't involve pushing through the crowd gathered around the main entrance.

"I can get us out of here."

The offer came casually, without any suggestion that she expected something from him in return. Aren tipped her head slightly toward the less crowded side of the club. "If you wanted to. There's a service corridor behind the effects booth. I was using it while I worked, and it leads out without going through..." She glanced toward the crowd, then Jenn. "...all of this."

A faint smile returned as she lifted her glass. "We could find you something that wasn't selected by a sponsor, and you could have your two minutes of peace." She shrugged, leaving the choice entirely with him. "Or I can keep pretending there isn't a famous podracer hiding behind me. I'm surprisingly good at minding my own business."

Aren Vellin