Faction Neon Dreams

[Mauve]

N E O N
D R E A M S​

High above Nar Shaddaa's light-drenched moonscape hung the floating city of New Vertica, home to the devil moon's most exotic night clubs, most death-defying swoop races, and most illegal art exhibit. The gallery Mauve ran was closed down for the evening to all but a select few clientele.

One, in fact.

Two, if you counted the bodyguard.

Here I thought that they all toted around a simpering entourage.

But then, Mauve had not met many Sith.

It tended to be a... health hazard.

She walked past walls hanging with artwork ranging from traditional early Republic, to the grim carvings of the proto-Coruscanti, and stood at the entrance to the gallery. She saw her reflection in the glass door. A deep purple, slightly sheer dress clung to the figure of a lavender-skinned woman with wine-dark hair and pale violet eyes. Not the eye-blistering array of colors that other Zeltros natives sported, but then she was not exactly a "native" of Zeltros. The face that stared back at her was empty. Blank.

Mauve tried to make herself feel. A small smile curved her lips.

The door hissed open at a wave of her hand and she walked outside, heels clicking against the duracrete, to meet her prospective client... the princess of all Sith.

Quinn Varanin

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mauve //: CT-312 //:
//: Dress //:

Having recently redecorated her penthouse on Jutrand, Quinn had been in the market for some unique works of art. Despite the drab and dreary of the Sith Empire, Quinn looked for something that reminded her of home and allowed her to explore something more for her life. It was a running theme she had recently discovered. Like so many, she clung to the past - longed for how things were done when she was younger. When things were far more simpler than the galaxy's current state.

The Blackwall had snuffed out most of the traveling artists in the galaxy. Which left minimal choice for the young Princess when decorating her small estate. Still, Jutrand and the rest of the Empire was home - more so than many other places. However, as time continued, maybe that wasn't the truth. As much as she had planned on one day bringing the Empire into its twelfth Empire with her as their Empress - there were things she lacked.

Knowing what was outside the protective barricade of the Blackwall was almost foreign to her. Her entire life had been behind its construction, the will of her adoptive father in his efforts to help guide and retain the sovereignty of the Empire.

Today was an opportunity to splurge on unique art pieces and explore beyond her father's will. To find something more in the galaxy - to feed the ambition of a young woman desiring the entirety of the known universe.

Quinn looked up from her communication device. She had been scrolling, admiring the work of the woman they were visiting. She took a small pill and handed her accompanying guard two epi-pens.

"I should be okay, but just in case, I was informed the woman was a Zeltron." She didn't expand further and ducked her head to step out of the speeder with help from the driver. As she stood at full height, her hand slipped the man a few hundred credits, thanks to his safe transport.

He nodded his cap and closed the door after helping the trailing trooper if she so decided.

"We shouldn't be too long, but I would like to explore a bit if you're alright with that 312." Quinn flashed the woman a smile as she continued forward. It seemed their host had come to greet them.

From what Quinn knew, the woman was esteemed in the art world. Because of this woman's knowledge and expertise, beautiful canvases adorned almost every collector's wall, worth their weight in credits. Quinn wanted to be one of those collectors; she wanted only the best on her walls.

The desire to see more of the galaxy hung at her fingertips.

As the woman drew closer, Quinn watched the fabric of the dress cling and move with her as if it were a part of her. Catching herself, Quinn glanced away, collecting her composure as the soft blush caressed her porcelain skin.

It seemed she had dressed appropriately, having decided on a dress that also accentuated her lithe form, tailored with a daring plunge neckline.

Turning her attention back, she nodded her head in greeting and held out her hand,

"Princess Quinn Varanin, Mauve, was it?" Quinn introduced herself and then looked to 312. "This is 312. They'll be accompanying me as protection. Please care for them as you would me."

She smiled again at the trooper, and then her attention returned to the Zeltron woman—who, by all accounts, didn't fit in with the Zeltron Quinn had met before; the woman was unique and far more beautiful than Holopics gave credit for.

"I'm quite excited to see what you have on display."

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin Mauve //:
//: Gallery at New Vertica, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

Sitting across from her client, CT-312 hadn’t expected this assignment to start off inside a landspeeder. But then again… she was summoned by the Princess. Surprised, but not surprised. Recalling the moments beforehand, the briefing had left out certain details. Purposefully, no doubt. Pulling up the mission briefing details once more on her helmet’s HUD.

<:// Location: Gallery at New Vertica, Nar Shaddaa //:>
<:// Assigned: N/A //:>
<:// CT-312 requested. Escort. //:>

The assignee had simply stated escort duty. Omitting the identity of the client. But it wasn’t the first time Princess Quinn Varanin had requested her from DeathDrop. The Camouflaged Scout did mention to DeathDrop that she did owe the Princess a mission. She just hadn’t known which mission it would be. Until now. Clearly someone up top found it amusing to drop her in this specific mission request. ‘It wasn’t my fault the stupid dress ripped.’ CT-312 let out a barely audible grumble, followed by a sigh.

A gallery this time. Definitely a far cry from their last excursion. The Nether— Hell? Whatever one chose to call that place… Still. CT-312 remained focused. She had done a bit of research beforehand, knowing better than to lower her guard just because the scenery was more refined compared to her typical battlefields.

As the speeder glided silently through the floating cityscape, the Scout observed the Princess from behind her visor. ‘A pill?’ then a pair of epi-pens exchanged between the two. Putting the pens in a secure pouch on her belt. CT-312’s brow lifted beneath her helmet. Head tilting ever so slightly as pieces of information slid into place. ‘Ah.’ The Princess was allergic to Zeltrons. A useful detail.

Soon the speeder slowed to a smooth stop, arriving at their destination. The Princess, generous as ever, discreetly slipped the driver several hundred credits. Accepting the Driver’s hand to exit, graceful and poised. When the driver offered the same courtesy to CT-312. She ignored it. Stepping out with practiced precision, fluid and controlled.

Listening to the Princess’s request, she offered a brief nod of acknowledgement. “As you wish, Princess.” It still always took CT–312 slightly off guard how easily this Sith Lord could flash a smile. She was never sure if it was genuine, a test… or something else entirely.

Movement caught her peripheral vision. An approaching figure. CT-312’s weapon remained slung low, her right gloved hand gripped tightly as her trigger finger disciplined, her left hand rested across her chestplate. The blaster rifle wasn’t raised, but it was there. Ready.

Her eyes shifted behind the visor, noting the Princess’s reaction. The soft blush. The glance away, as the figure drew near. No distress. No threat. Not at the present. Focusing back at the figure as they are within distance. ‘The host.’ CT-312 noted. Both women wore gowns that clung and shimmered with the subtle precision of wealth and intent. In contrast, CT-312 stood apart. Armor worn from deployment, but still maintained. Camouflaged, out of place in this particular environment. But functional and exactly where she was meant to be.

As the Princess addressed the host with a polite introduction, it was the last bit that caught CT-312 slightly off guard.

Please care for them as you would me

Keeping silent, her internal response was flat. ‘A pointless sentiment.’ The Princess liked to throw in these small, unnecessary gestures. She never quite understood or figure out what game the Sith Lord was playing. Light humor, perhaps. A joke? ‘Hmm…’ But one that didn’t make operational sense.

CT-312 addressed the host with a respectful nod. “Ma’am.” Words came filtered through her voice modulator, flat but polite.

As the Princess glanced back at her again, CT-312 silently fell into maintaining formation. Spacing herself from the two at a calculated respectful distance. Close enough for immediate intervention, far enough to give them privacy. She’d observe, listen, and always be ready.

 

[Mauve]

"I'm quite excited to see what you have on display."

Mauve’s eyes met the Princess’ own and tracked languidly down, following the gentle curves - the cut of the fabric an invitation. The supple stretches of ivory skin an insistence.

Zeltrons did not blush.

“As am I,” one corner of her plum-dark lips quirked upward, a slight pause, “we have several new arrivals even I have not seen yet. Your viewing would be the first.”

That heliotropic stare turned to regard the bodyguard, in her camouflaged armor.

“Hello 312, don’t stand too still - I won’t be able to find you again,” a touch of soft, throaty laughter at her own joke.

“Please, come inside.” She started to lead the two of them into the gallery proper, while smothering private thoughts.

Thoughts of how… unexpected this Sith appeared. When your armies ravaged worlds, Mauve expected a more grim presence. Perhaps an effusion of skull motifs.

Not a blonde with a bob cut.

“My gallery security is here somewhere, pay him no mind.”

Antar had a way of… appearing.

“You have come a long way, Princess. Refreshments?”

She snapped her fingers and a butler protocol droid waddled into view from a corridor carrying two fluted glasses filled with a sparkling liquor. Mauve took one and sipped it immediately. Firstly, she was suddenly quite parched on account of absolutely nothing in particular. Secondly, Sith tended to have a paranoia about poisons and drinks from what she heard. This might reassure Quinn.

“Vintage Hibisk-32.”

Quinn Varanin CT-312

 

[U40a]

High above Nar Shaddaa's light-drenched moonscape hung the floating city of New Vertica, home to the devil moon's most exotic night clubs, most death-defying swoop races, and most illegal art exhibit. The gallery Mauve ran was closed down for the evening to all but a select few clientele.

Euphortia's task this evening, in a Black Sun-affiliated leisure club next door, was to select music that could balance energy, moodiness, dignity, and, frankly, thirst. Euphortia had been given no binding directives as to volume. Therefore the track of the night was also audible in the gallery.

 

[Antar]

Nar Shadda
Mauve's Art Gallery​

---

Reports from security personnel come in from their assigned sectors from outside of the exhibit at regular intervals. Each team stationed at their posts chime in one after the other. The evening is quiet. Calm. Boring.​

​

Antar doesn't pay the client's arrival any overdue attention. They're here and that's all he particularly cares about. He maintains a healthy distance from the proprietor and her guests, idly patrolling the gallery along a set route. He can hear the faint sound of conversation. It's a large damn gallery.​

​

Antar raises his hand to press a finger to his earpiece, "Roque. VIP has arrived. All clear."​

​

He stops for a moment to examine a sculpture. A digital plaque is displayed in front of the piece; it's the artwork's title, and beneath it an egregiously large number. He cringes at the price tag before moving on.​

​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mauve //: CT-312 //: Antar //:
//: Dress //:

The Princess didn't miss Mauve's eyes. She could feel the woman's gaze cascade along her form; it only deepened the blush on her cheeks.

Thankfully, 312 responded to her previous statement. The trooper allowed the Echani Princess a moment to breathe. Mauve finished and mentioned the collection not having been seen. A delicate laugh escaped the woman's red-painted lips.

"You know how to make a girl feel special." Quinn quickly followed Mauve as they made their way towards the gallery; a nod of her head beckoned 312 to follow.

Although Nar Shaddaa had its reputation, Quinn was surprised that a place like the art gallery was located safely on the planet. It was part of why she chose this gallery over the others; she had never been to Nar Shaddaa. Looking around, she figured people's stories of the crime world congregating here were spun into fairytales.

As they passed through the door, she saw the guard Mauve had mentioned. Quinn smiled at the man and nodded to thank him for his services. She was buzzing with excitement as everything was starting to come together. Her eyes followed the droid that brought out the champagne. She paused, remembering that Mauve hadn't proven herself trustworthy.

But she had made the gesture of drinking her glass first, and Quinn took it as a moment of trust. Seeing this, Quinn reached over and grabbed her glass and realized that 312 didn't have a glass. However, she figured the trooper wanted to keep her senses about. Maybe 312 could loosen up later and let her helmet off, or what have you.

She put her lips to the edge of the glass and tasted the liquor. A smile spread across her face as she finished the sip and looked at the bubbling liquid.

"It's a beautiful vintage," Quinn said, admiring the curator's taste.

"You have beautiful taste - I'm sure it will be reflected in the art you will show me." Another smile curved on her lips as she took another sip of the golden liquid.

The music echoed through the art gallery; Quinn paused momentarily and listened. The atmosphere was perfect; she wished she could have brought Kirie to this. The girl would have enjoyed the artwork's beauty and the atmosphere - it was perfect and peaceful.

At least she had 312 to share the moment with.

"Mauve, please start with some of your favorite pieces. I'm in the market for paintings and potentially statues." Quinn moved closer to where Mauve stood as she glided gently past her, admiring the works that she could see from where they stood.

"Price doesn't matter, please don't worry - I can afford anything here, probably the entire place if I desire it."

Quinn paused and looked toward the trooper behind her; she waved her hand again and held out the fluted glass for 312 to hold for her.

"312, if you see something you like, please point it out—I want your opinions on what we're looking at." Another smile reserved for the trooper crossed Echani's lips as she looked towards her companion.

 

[Avari II Avaricious]

The Prince of Ruusan, Avari, stood at the entrance of the New Vertica art gallery, his expression subtly revealing his thoughts as the sign on the door clearly indicated that the gallery was closed for some unspecified reason.

Beside him, one of his ID10 Seeker Droids approached, holding a small polished mirror for his review, tilting its head to ensure his attire was flawless, the golden and white armor glimmering in the light.

He looked impeccable as always, yet that was not the source of his current unease. "Such intriguing arrangements," he said softly, his voice a deep, resonant purr, aimed at his perfect reflection. "To shut down an entire exhibit for... a single client. A dramatic touch, perhaps. One I might have orchestrated myself, had I the leisure for such trivial productions."

Without a hint of hesitation, he pushed the door open with one armored hand, disregarding the apparent private nature of the evening, for who could dare to impede the entrance of the Prince of Ruusan, the Creator of the Galaxy and the Forger of Empires, both past and present?

His eyes wandered to the Zeltron Mauve as she strolled past walls decorated with historical artifacts that he had influenced.

She was apparently meeting with others such as Quinn Varanin , CT-312 and even Antar though they mattered little to him as a particularly abstract piece caught his eye.

 

[Mauve]

Credits are no object?

No one started a negotiation by stating that the price did not matter save the obscenely rich… or the exceptionally naive. Or both. She pressed the cool rim of the glass flute against her lower lip. Did the Princess think to play her somehow? Yet…

How many Sith buy gifts for their bodyguards. None.

Unless.

Violet eyes shifted between the guard and her principal. One of her eyebrows twitched upward.

They could be…

Yes, that might explain it. Such naïveté. A better woman might have resisted the urge to take advantage.

Mauve did not.

Music from the nearby club leaked through the walls of the gallery.

“Well if you do buy the place… promise you’ll keep me?” Mauve let her lower lip slip into a playful pout, reaching out with a hand toward a nearby painting, “No one here gives a tour quite so..” one finger glided along the painting’s frame, “Intimate.”

The lacquered nail made a whispering scratch across the end of the frame as she pulled her hand back.

“Speaking of - shall we?”

She turned to lead them away, the movement hiding a smirk. Of no particular importance and surely not of interest to such a well-traveled princess, her dress happened to be backless and the dress itself slitted. For freedom of movement, of course.

Full length transparisteel windows lined the left side of the gallery, giving a view of the city far below. Doorways shrouded by curtains sat on the right side.

A security alert chimed. A figure appeared through the entrance. She glanced back and frowned. No interruptions. Looking around, her eyes found Antar and she gestured in the new arrival’s direction.

Antar would deal with it. Then again, the unhinged Dark Jedi might deal with it.

She smoothed away the grimace from her features and stopped in front of the first curtained doorway.

“They told me Sith would enjoy this one,” she pulled back the curtain to allow them inside.

To a scene from a nightmare.

The upper half of a torso and head sat on a pedestal, no skin, muscles exposed to open air. Veins twitched and pulsed. A series of wires and conduits plugged into the flesh from every angle, connecting to machinery that gave of a quiet hum.

The placard before it said “The Bust.” A grotesque mimicry of more classic sculptures.

“It’s still alive you know,” her smile languid and half-reverent.

Without skin and eyes it was hard to tell exactly what the alien had been before - maybe a Duros.

“It does not have a name anymore. An identity. The artist stripped all that away.”

Mauve paused, let Quinn stare, stepping just behind her and leaning close.

“Not to your taste, I take it,” barely a whisper. A test.

If Mauve felt horror leaking from the princess, then she would know that her persona was no facade - or else that she was such an actor that it did not matter.

“Shall we move on or… did you want to feel the pulse?”

Quinn Varanin | CT-312 | Antar | Avari II Avaricious

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: CT-312 //: Mauve //: Antar //: Avari II Avaricious //:
//: Dress //:

Quinn languorously glanced back towards the Zeltron as she pouted. She let her smile widen as she watched how the woman moved. Tempting.

Her lips pursed tightly as she pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth. If this was another time, she would have indulged in the finer art pieces in the gallery. She let her gaze continue to trail as she followed Mauve's tantalizing finger, partially being jealous of the art frame.

"Perhaps it depends on how convincing you are during our tour." She bit the lower corner of her lip for a second and then continued, "I have faith in your abilities—but I am difficult to please."

Her gaze drifted from the Zeltron as she looked toward the artwork around them. For the moment, they weren't as impressive as she had assumed. They were still beautiful, but she looked forward to more, which Mauve seemed to have picked up on.

Mauve turned to move, her backless dress giving something else for the Princess to look at while they traveled through the art gallery. Quinn wasn't above looking and admiring the art that was the Zeltron.

They moved through the curtains, and Quinn was greeted with something uncomfortable. She stood as if unbothered as she looked towards the torso that had been carefully crafted. The Princess didn't need confirmation of the bust being alive - she could feel it and understand its pain of being stripped. Her face didn't shift or give away to the torment in her heart seeing this poor creature.

"I can see that," She responded, her voice losing some of the cadence she had entered with. The Princess hated what she was looking at, pure torment. She felt the Zeltron close, leaning into her as if to taunt her. Quinn's eyes shifted as her head turned slightly.

"No, it's not, but it's obviously someone else's." Her voice was tight as she refused to look at the bust again. As much as she wanted to demand its release, she bit back her convictions. Her smile returned on her face as she turned towards the Zeltron,

"I hope you have something with a bit more personality than this poor soul." She turned away and glanced towards 312. She wanted to see the trooper's reaction. The woman had seen more horror than she had, but again, she was a soldier. Quinn filed the 'art' in the back of her head. She would purchase it, only to allow the tormented soul its freedom at the end of it.

"Please, Mauve, I'm starting to doubt this intimate tour you've promised."

 

[U40a]

“It does not have a name anymore. An identity. The artist stripped all that away.”

Next door in the leisure club, after a battle of algorithmic priorities and a forcible takeover of the lighting system, U40a deployed the next track.


The Bust, formerly a celebrated Neimoidian musician named Gorlurlur, in a moment that spoke, perhaps, of some vestigial spark of dignity and self-determination, the irrepressible and irreducible self, began, one twitch at a time, to gently headbang.

 

[Antar]

Mauve || Quinn Varanin || CT-312 || Avari II Avaricious
​

---

Antar hears the chime and presses a pair of fingers to his earpiece, "Roque. Security breach in the gallery. Responding now."​

​

He crosses the exhibit towards Mauve and the guests, pausing for a moment as he meets her gaze, then he adjusts his vector in the direction given from the Zeltron.​

​

He has a moment to gather himself and think as he approaches the uninvited guest. The corners of Antar's lips quirk up slightly from approval with his employer. A good boss assigns faith and agency to their subordinates. What tickles Antar is the unspoken permission that he's allowed to apply an appropriate amount of force should the need arise. Violence would be a last resort, and for Prince Avari that would be the second of only two options Antar would present him.​

​

Antar calculates the risk of the potential engagement. Property damage should be kept to a minimum; most importantly, under no circumstances should any of the art on display be damaged. Fighting with clearly defined constraints is an exercise of skill, and Antar does love to test himself. Just as he concludes his thoughts, he arrives before the peacock of a guest. These types indulged in flattery, right?​

​

"Good evening, sir," the faintest expression of contentedness with Mauve, one to be easily confused with politeness towards Avari, remains in the upturned corners of his mouth, "I apologize, but unfortunately the gallery is currently reserved for a private showing. Might I suggest The Next Door leisure club next door?" Shit.​

​

Recover, idiot.​

​

"If you'll allow it, we'll gladly arrange a private suite for a guest of your status."​

​

​

​

 

[Avari II Avaricious]

Avari stood motionless, save for the constant movement of his ID10 Seeker Droids, one of which adjusted its tiny mirror to reflect the perfect curve of his cheekbone while the other allowed him to see the other party of Quinn Varanin , CT-312 and the host Mauve .

His golden hues barely shifted from the artwork before him, created by a Corellian artist, though that was of little consequence now as Antar approached with misplaced conviction.

"Suggest?" Avari's voice, a deep, resonant purr, filled the space, tinged with incredulity that bordered on divine offense. It was not a question but rather a declaration of utter disbelief. "You propose that the Prince of Ruusan, the very hand that shaped the nebulae and spun the stars into existence, should seek 'leisure' elsewhere?"

He extended a gauntleted hand, not in greeting but in a dismissive gesture that encompassed the entire gallery, the city beyond, and indeed, the cosmos itself.

"This gallery, this moon, this galaxy," he continued, his voice rising slightly, yet vibrating with an undeniable force that seemed to weigh down the air around them. "It is my creation. Every brushstroke, every duracrete slab, every fleeting flicker of light belongs to me."

He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the mirror held by a droid, a small, satisfied smile gracing his lips. "And I am exactly where I wish to be. The notion of 'reservation' for my property is... an amusing organic fallacy. Do be gone now plebian before you ruin the atmosphere more with your odious presence" His gaze returned to Antar, piercing and devoid of malice, yet filled with the certainty of a deity addressing a particularly dense quark.