Faction Neon Dreams

[Mauve du Vain]

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 du Vain //: 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 du Vain //:
//: 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 du Vain]

"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 du Vain //: 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.

 

[Salon Loghain]

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 du Vain 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 du Vain]

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 du Vain //: 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 du Vain || 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."​

​

​

​

 

[Salon Loghain]

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 du Vain .

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.

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin Mauve du Vain //:
//: Nearby: Antar Avari II Avaricious //:
//: Gallery at New Vertica, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

CT-312 stood behind and off to the side of the Princess, her movements automatic but never inattentive. Her eyes swept their surroundings, cataloging everything. From shifting lights reflecting off polished transparisteel to the subtle sway of Mauve’s hips as she led them forward. There was even a faint bassline bleeding in from the neighboring club. Every detail mattered.

Even Mauve’s greeting.

“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.

Not the first, definitely not the last time CT-312 would hear that. But still, she processed it, quietly. The Host’s voice held a playful air, paired with a soft laughter. The Scout’s head tilted ever so slightly beneath the helmet. Half amusement. Half acknowledgement.

Her attention tracked Mauve’s subtle flirtations towards the Princess. The slow gaze, deliberate gestures, the feigned pouts. And in turn, CT-312 also quietly observed the Princess’s measured responses. The smallest shift of her lips, the way her pupils briefly dilated. No immediate threat. It was only emotional dynamics only. Relevant though.

As the Princess and the Host started to move, CT-312 followed her lead without question. Moving deeper into the gallery, she spotted the security Mauve had mentioned, Antar . CT-312 kept quick mental notes. ‘Professional. Patrolling.’ His presence became another variable logged into her mental map of the gallery. ‘Exits, security placements, blind spots,... kill zones.’

When a droid butler offered drinks, CT-312 didn’t reach for one. She’d maintain operational discipline when she worked. An open helmet was a vulnerability she would not accept. Her hands remained by her chestplate, close to the weapon sling. But, when the Princess extended her hand, offering her glass to hold. CT-312 hesitated a microsecond before obeying. Carefully gripping the delicate flute with her leather-gloved fingers.

"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.

The Scout nearly snorted. Barely audible inside her helmet. Recalling the incredulous prices on the pieces they’ve passed, let alone the thought of asking for one. ‘Funny.’ The Princess was funny in her own way. CT-312’s was perplexed why she would want her opinions of the art pieces. Why would her opinion matter? This was all…

Not protocol.

Her smile and this… strange kindness. The Princess had a habit of extending these odd, unnecessary gestures towards her. This was something CT-312 couldn’t quite understand, But she gave a deep nod to the Princess’s request.

As Mauve lifted her glass to her lips, CT-312 tracked the movement. Noticing her eyes shifting between the Princess and herself, even the Zeltron’s subtle eyebrow twitch. Curious. CT-312’s visor turned towards the host as she spoke, her movements purposeful with the nearby painting. Mauve led them away, continuing through the gallery.

CT-312 let out a nearly invisible small sigh with the faintest shake of her head beneath the helmet.

Suddenly a sharp electric chime broke CT-312’s internal rhythm. ‘Security alert.’ Instinctively her head snapped toward the doorway instantly. Her posture subtly changed to a slight combat ready. The blaster rifle subtly shifted as her gloved hand squeezed its grip, even while still holding the fluted glass in her other hand. Alert. Ready. ‘Unknown. Hostile?’ There was an unidentified figure at the entrance. CT-312’s head flicked back towards Mauve, watching as she gestured to Antar to handle it. 'Not a threat...yet.'

The Camo Scout relaxed slightly, loosening her grip on her weapon. Her attention remained razor-sharp as they continued on their way towards a curtained doorway. When the curtain was drawn back, it revealed a grotesque work.

“The Bust”. CT-312’s HUD quietly registered life signs pulsing faintly from the abomination. Granted, she didn’t need sensors to confirm what was obvious. It was still alive. The pulse, the exposed muscles and tissues twitching beneath surgical tubes and feeding wires. Still suffering. For decoration and entertainment.

She’d seen her fair share of gruesome things on the battlefield and even off the battlefield. Dismemberment, casualty piles, flash-burned bodies that became unrecognizable, even bodies dissected open with each individual parts examined as if it was an x-ray film in the light. Heck, those times it was because of her. But those situations were necessary. This though? This was indulgence. CT-312 clicked her tongue softly in disapproval.

CT-312 listened as Mauve spoke of the piece.

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

Her eyes narrowed as she observed it carefully. CT-312 calculated how the system sustained the subject. How many seconds it would take to terminate its suffering. All of it processed in silent efficiency. But inside… cracks started to form a bit deeper. Quiet and unnoticed by her. Thoughts churned.

‘Is this how others see me?’
A body with no face. A number. No name.

Recalling the words of Imperator Lirka Ka during their meeting:
I see a woman who talks like a droid and wears a name like one

Thoughts moved towards one of her missions on Taris, the infected. Clinging to their last shreds of identity. Fighting before slipping into the inevitable. Death. Rebirth. Forgetting themselves and becoming something primal.

It was the opposite for CT-312. A thing born with neither things. Tubes sustaining The Bust, just as her duty and missions sustained her. Without orders, what would she even be? If not for duty, what use would there be for her? She internally shook and forced the thought away before it could lodged itself somewhere deeper in her mind.

’Can’t miss… what you never had...’ CT-312 compartmentalized it. As she always did. But unbeknownst to her the cracks were forming more.

Eyes shifting towards the Princess. Noting the subtle tightness in her voice. Analyzing the tone between her and Mauve. The subtleness of the Princess’s discomfort surfaced. CT-312 brow furrowed beneath the helmet. She kept one eye on Mauve's body language, like a nexu coiling around its prey. Mauve whispered something to the Princess, whose head and eyes shifted elsewhere from the piece for a moment before eyes glanced over meeting CT-312’s visor.

A flicker of something sharp moved through CT-312’s chest. Protective. Quiet. Unspoken.

Taking a few steps forward as if she was intrigued. Deliberately placing herself between Princess and The Bust, blocking its view. CT-312 chose to speak out loud. A rare thing. She didn’t know what compelled her to do so, but she continued. Her helmet’s voice modulator activated, her tone unreadable, flat.

“Fascinating piece.” as if she was appraising the ‘fine art’. “Very thought provoking to the viewers. Not by how it is presented. But what lies deeper from what those can visually see. The stripping of identity and reducing it to mere function. Even stripping the form, name, and choice. The life support itself serves a purpose in this piece.” CT-312 looked back at The Bust. “The artist captures something… deeper. Perhaps a perspective on existence itself.” Turning her head back, eyes glancing back at the Princess. “What remains of us when everything else is taken away?” Turning her head in Mauve’s direction “What keeps one alive after losing everything? After being stripped of everything.”

A short pause.

The faint pulse of music from the club next door continued to bleed into the gallery. Looking back at the piece one last time. ‘Reflex?’ CT-312 wondered. The Bust started to subtly bob its head. It was alive enough to respond in some broken way.

CT-312 shifted her attention fully to the Princess. Voice softened, attempting to ease and lighten the Princess’s mood. “Though, what would I know?” A slight small shrug followed. Her tone sharpened just slightly in a deadpan humor. Looking at Mauve in her peripherals behind her visor as her helmet still faced the Princess. “I’m just someone who points at things and goes shooty shooty… with a little side of stabby stabby.” CT-312 extended the fluted glass towards the Princess. “Drink?” her tone carried an awkward attempt at casual cheerfulness. An effort nonetheless.

Soon, CT-312’s caught the rising voice from the entryway. It was the unexpected guest arguing with Antar. Clearly someone wasn’t pleased. Noting it. For now, she’d ignore it. If the Princess wasn’t concerned nor the Host was alarmed, then it posed no immediate threat.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

So. The princess' lenient demeanor was not an act. Given everything Mauve knew and heard about Sith, she found the lack of sadism hard to believe. Until now. Reading emotions was simply what Mauve did and although the princess kept a collected outward demeanor, Mauve felt the undercurrents of Quinn's emotions as if seeing ripples on water.

Mauve walked toward a button encased in glass on the far wall as the trooper opined upon the nature of the "art" that lay at the heart of the room.

“The artist captures something… deeper. Perhaps a perspective on existence itself.”

The Zeltron's lips twitched.

"Oh really?"

She flicked open the glass case.

"The artist is a serial killer. And he did it because he gets off on cruelty." Mauve pushed the button. The whir of the machines clicked off, leaving only the rattling breaths of the Neimodian, until that stopped too. "The philosophical message is just his pretention to a higher purpose."

Mauve stared at the now truly dead "bust," knowing they must wonder why she kept it at all. She did not have an answer. Perhaps she should have disposed of it earlier in the day when it came in with the rest of the black market art. But she had had need of it still. A litmus test for this Sith princess' level of sadistic glee compared to the rest of her Order. Perhaps that made Mauve cruel too.

"I'm sure you both have experience with such people, if anything they say is true about your Order."

A touch of guilt tread upon her mind. "I had to know..."

The Zeltron information broker turned back to her guests. The tenor of the music nearby had changed. Fitting. She heard loud voices down the hall and again her lips twitched with a flash of annoyance.

Antar.

"Onto the next," she said and led them down the hall to the next curtained doorway. She pulled it aside and let them pass through.

A glass sculpture of a magnificent undulating fountain sat in the middle of the room. So perfect was the sculpture that every curve appeared breathtakingly lifelike. A bubbling fountain captured in glass. Of course, if it was only glass, it would not be here.

"Wintrium," Mauve explained. A glass formed from the hardening flow of the Fountain of the Ancients, sacred to the Klatooinian people. If one caught wind that she had this piece she would have bounty hunters trailing her for the rest of her days.

"Impossibly hard to cut," she looked sidelong at Quinn, "even with a lightsaber. The sculptor spent ten years of his life carving this with one. A gift for the love of his life to show his devotion."

Antar CT-312 Quinn Varanin Avari II Avaricious | U40a

 

[Antar]

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

---

"Suggest? You propose that the Prince of Ruusan, the very hand that shaped the nebulae and spun the stars into existence, should seek 'leisure' elsewhere?"

Well, yes. That is exactly what Antar wants. He opens his mouth to answer with a polite "Yes, sir", but the self-proclaimed Prince of Ruusan waffles on. Antar allows the creator of all things to blather as he pleases and as the Prince concludes his dramatics, the Dark Jedi is no longer smiling. His features are calm like a still body of water. Not a ripple of emotion can be discerned.

Antar gleaned much from his master's teachings and amongst the countless lessons he also adopted the old man's madness.

A beast that would bare its fangs and snap its jaw at God to see if he bleeds. That is the kind of man Antar Roque is.

Antar applauds Avari, staring the man down with his lithic mask of a face, "That's a good story. Really, it's great. Thank you for that. But I have to insist that you leave now."

 

[Quinn Varanin]

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

Quinn's eyes flickered toward the Trooper. Her familiarity with the "art" was striking—particularly how she seemed to grasp it on a different level. The idea of being stripped of everything, laid bare, was not foreign to the Princess. Though perhaps she understood it in a different way. Still, maybe there was something shared between her and 312.

Quinn wasn't allowed to linger on the thought, curiously watching as 312 stepped between her and the bust.

A small smile—one reserved only for the guard—curled gently on her lips. The gesture was appreciated. She offered a faint nod just before Mauve resumed her test.

Quinn watched the Zeltron closely. Something felt off. She wondered if 312 had intervened on purpose. Just as quickly as Quinn had felt the life breathe into the bust—it was gone. A flickering moment lost to the abyss. At times like this, she silently wished she could feel the warmth of the Light. The comfort in believing that, perhaps, the soul once bound to this sculpture might find peace.

But Quinn knew the Light was a lie. Ashla—or whatever god the Jedi claimed—had long since abandoned them.

With the agony and deathwish of the bust no longer weighing on her, Quinn felt lighter. She straightened her spine with care, brushing a hand against the side of her neck—where Mauve had stood moments before.

Her head turned, platinum strands catching the light as she murmured, "Yes, unfortunately. Many feel it's their duty to make others suffer as they do. The Dark Side favors none."

She looked away and followed Mauve, hoping the rest of the tour wouldn't echo that experience. Silently, she lingered a step behind until a trooper offered her a flute. Quinn accepted with a small smile, took a sip, and returned it with a soft, "Thank you," before moving to catch up to the Zeltron.

At the sight of the fountain, Quinn's eyes lit up. The beauty and resolve of the artist were etched into every curve. She wouldn't be surprised if it sprang to life, given the passion carved into the work. Fingers resting at her chin, she smiled—pleased.

Her expression softened as Mauve spoke. To have a devoted lover like the artist... it was something Quinn had often dreamed of. When she pictured such devotion, one face came to mind: her first love—an ambitious woman, flawed only in that. Quinn's gaze drifted as another face appeared in her mind. One filled with unwavering devotion. A knowing smile touched her lips as she considered how love might be expressed beyond the physical.

"It's beautiful," she said at last. "But Wintrium… curious material, knowing its origins."

Her eyes lingered on Mauve this time—longer than before. The truth behind the gallery was beginning to unravel.

"Didn't think I'd see something like this anywhere but its home." Another smirk, this time edged in subtle flirtation carrying a soft challenge in her voice.

Instead of pulling away, she drifted closer. As their arms brushed, she didn't shy from it, if anything, the Princess seemed to invite the contact.

"This is exactly the kind of piece I wanted to see," Quinn mused, her voice warmer. "I underestimated you."

Her head tilted slightly as the curve of her smile became evident. "Maybe your intimate knowledge," she added, "is worth far more than I thought."

 

[Salon Loghain]

Avari's golden eyes were completely locked onto Antar . The droid holding the mirror made an adjustment, allowing Avari to observe the unwavering, almost tranquil defiance reflected in the man's gaze.

"Insist?" Avari's voice maintained a soft tone, even though his fury simmered just beneath the surface. The ID10 Seeker Droids, as if they sensed the subtle shift in their master's emotional state, became completely still, their tiny lenses trained on Antar.

He took a single, measured step forward, the soft thud of his armored boot resonating unnaturally loud in the silence of the gallery. His golden eyes narrowed, not out of malice, but in the focused contemplation of a force user whose power had outgrown their mental state by leaps and bounds.

"Your 'insistence' is acknowledged," Avari explained, his voice lowering to a near-whisper that somehow still filled the expansive space. "Though it bears the weight of a single raindrop trying to reverse a galactic tide. It is, in essence, futile."

He extended his hand once more, not in dismissal this time, but in a gesture of absolute, unchallengeable authority, as if he were simply willing the air around Antar to compress and expel him.

"You misinterpret your position. This is not a negotiation. It is a declaration. And you are intruding upon a Prince's contemplation. You will either cease to exist, or you will be removed by the power of a Vigo. The choice, for this infinitesimally brief moment, is yours." His gaze intensified, becoming more than just certain; it was absolute and utterly devoid of compassion.

 

[CT-312]

//: Quinn Varanin Mauve du Vain //:
//: Nearby: Antar Avari II Avaricious //:
//: Gallery at New Vertica, Nar Shaddaa //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: LO-18D ASSAULT RIFLE, & Vibroblade Knife//:​

"The artist is a serial killer. And he did it because he gets off on cruelty." Mauve pushed the button. The whir of the machines clicked off, leaving only the rattling breaths of the Neimodian, until that stopped too. "The philosophical message is just his pretention to a higher purpose."

Letting out a faint slightly amused huff at Mauve’s blunt statement. CT-312 kept eyes on Mauve’s movements as she pushed a button. Her HUD confirmed it. The Bust was truly dead now. Its vital signs flatlined as it shut down, shifting the previous tension with it.

"I'm sure you both have experience with such people, if anything they say is true about your Order."

A touch of guilt tread upon her mind. "I had to know..."

CT-312 gave a small nod acknowledging her remark.

Her attention returned to the Princess as she spoke low, a trace of reflection or wariness? Something about The Dark Side favors none. Her brow furrowed beneath the helmet. ‘The Dark Side?’ Hearing that term before, but what was it, really? CT-312 wasn’t trained in such things. No one had ever explained. It wasn’t in any of the “flash learning”, not that she could recall.

‘The Dark Side… like the far side of the moon?’ The Scout tried to make sense of it. ‘Places where sunlight didn’t reach? Or… space? Space is dark.’ CT-312 didn’t know. ‘Was that what it meant? Maybe some kind of dramatic phrasing for the cold emptiness?’ At this point, she decided it didn’t matter. Orders didn’t require definitions.

Then, a flicker at the edge of CT-312 vision. Mauve’s lips twitched in the briefest flash. ‘Irritation?’ It seemed to be aimed at the disturbance echoing from deeper in the gallery where the unexpected guest was.

As the Princess handed back her flute. CT-312 took it silently, fingers careful around the delicate glass as they moved on. Walking behind, shadowing them without sound. When they came to the next piece— Wintrium. Her attention returned to the Princess. Noting the change. The easing of the Princess’s mood. Eyes lighting up. Posture softened. ‘Good.’ she noted.

Her visor faced towards the artwork. Listening to Mauve’s explanation of the piece, as the Princess’s voice carried warmth and reflection. The sculpture reminded CT-312 of Woostri. The sands and glass of that world.

Her first mission.

The one where she was sent to by the Sith Order. Where she had been “picked up” or rather where the DeathDrop claimed another asset. CT-312’s jaw slightly clenched. The host spoke of love and devotion. The sculptor's decade of effort. ‘Love… devotion…’ She silently huffed to herself. ‘What a joke.’

CT-312 didn’t know what love was. But devotion? That, she understood.

She had given 26 years to that facility that made her. To orders. To missions without questions. Without care and thanks, doing what she was made to do. And what had it earned her? A number. A function. Branded a nickname as a cruel reminder of what she truly was. Discarded and repurposed as needed. ‘Leftovers.’ echoed in her head. CT-312 clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

Tsk.

It had been a long time since that nickname surfaced in her mind.

Eyes flicking across the piece. Most would assume it was shared devotion. 'Love of his life.' she mused. But what if… What if it wasn’t? What if the sculptor’s love had been one-sided? Loyalty without return. A gift offered to compel a response. To demand acknowledgment.

Or perhaps both had been happy and they wanted the galaxy to see. To share their joy and see their love. CT-312 let out a quiet sigh beneath her helmet. Chastising herself for the spiral of thought. ‘Ridiculous. Idiot. Stay focused.’ Reminding herself, it was not her job to think this way. Making a mental note that art galleries had a way of poking into the corners of the mind. ‘Best to stay away in the future.’ Keep it surface level. Looking back at the artwork once more ‘Well sculpted. That’s all’.

Her attention snapped back to the present. CT-312 remained close. Silent. Watching. The art, the host, the Princess. But something was changing, subtle and quiet. The atmosphere between the two shifted. Nothing dramatic, but small telling signs that CT-312 noticed. Observing how the Princess’s posture softened just slightly as she stepped closer to Mauve. The faint warmth now coloring her voice. Testing boundaries. Engaging.

This was new for CT-312. She was observing something different ever since they arrived here. With a faint hum of interest, the Scout realized this was a battlefield of a different kind. Not the physical kind, but tactical. Subtle. A game of tone, body language, and words. Chemistry.

It was interesting. Rarely did CT-312 witness this kind of combat up close. Even more so rare, she found herself studying it as close as she was. Still, muscles tense just slightly with her guard raised. It was not out of suspicion, but a small flicker of protective instinct.

It was because: proximity always meant vulnerability.

CT-312 fingers flexed slowly across the rifle's sling. Observing this battlefield of a different sort. One worth observing and noting.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

"Maybe your intimate knowledge," she added, "is worth far more than I thought."

"Maybe."

She shrugged a bare shoulder.

The Echani princess stood very close. Mauve stood very still. Goosebumps rose where their arms brushed.

Mauve could feel the roil of emotions swirling around the three of them in this gallery. From Quinn, the reddish tint of desire. From her bodyguard, the yellow hue of curiosity mixed with the blue tinge of voyeuristic shame into a spray of green. Mauve's empathic telepathy tended to take on this form of synesthesia. She did not know why. Maybe her brain's natural inclination toward artistry.

"I guess you'll just have to keep watching to find out," plum-stained lips curved, mirroring Quinn's own expression.

With that, Mauve led them through the next exhibit, pausing briefly to touch an earring that doubled as a bone conductive earpiece connecting her to Antar. Her throat bobbed as she subvocalized the question, "What the hell is going on out there? Who is it?" She heard raised voices. Not good.

Onto the next exhibit, which showed a massive panel of what appeared to be a shattered planet done all in steelwork, surrounded by a thick pane of transparisteel.

"Careful," she hummed, "you won't want to get too close. It's Csilla, made from its remnants. They're still radioactive." Hence the thick glass. "You can feel the sorrow of its artist, a Chiss refugee. I call these three pieces you saw Life, Love, and Loss. But there's more."

One after another, Mauve led them through other art pieces, showing them a neural net of strands that evoked any sensation you could imagine if you walked through them, a Sith and Jedi holocron welded together in some unholy fusion, and other images meant to provoke the mind and stir the senses.

Until, at last, they came to a bare canvas.

"Ah," Mauve said, cheeks flushing, "This one is mine. Unfinished."

She gave a sigh.

"Haven't found the proper," her eyes found Quinn and hung there, "material."

The question hung unspoken.

"Maybe one day. Don't make your decision on a piece yet. Have you ever been to one of Nar Shaddaa's night clubs, Princess? They're to die for. There's one just across the way. You can hear the music. We should go," She reached out and took one of Quinn's hands in her both of hers, "I insist."

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