Private Neon Streets

[Sophelia Ardemark]

If any holorecorders caught her...she'd be in A LOT of trouble. She doubted the jedi thought too kindly of criminal underworld races. And she knew for sure her mother and brother would not be too pleased. As she maneuvered the jetpack the best she could, following close behind Isar, she raised one hand like a celebrity would, over her face.

Even though she doubted any of the live feeds were on the pair of them.

Hand quickly lowered as they landed. A wince as weight shifted back to her injured leg. Frown drew deeper and deeper as they went. Absolute horror at his tattoo.

A black sun, uh.

But beggars and all that. "Okay, I'm coming," she hissed as he tugged her inside. Limping. She let the jetpack slide to the floor with a KLUNK. Blues flickered around the abandoned space. Settling for a moment on that half-visible land-speeder. She recognized a lot of the tools. The same ones she'd used to work on her bike.

Before a wary glance back at the Zeltron. Plopping herself gingerly on a stool that had a layer of dust on it, she held up one finger to him. WAIT. Glancing down, she inspected the burn on her thigh.

Deeper than she thought.

It would take energy to heal. She didn't think she had enough for both wounds. Oh he was going to love this. She grimaced internally, blues catching on the lavender pair. "Bacta patch on my shoulder. I'll take care of my thigh."

No way in nine levels of Korriban fire was she going to let him near that part of her leg.

Lowering that finger, she took a breath, trying to relax and swooped her blonde locks over the uninjured shoulder. A silent warning to the zeltron that if he tried anything...taking a knife from her pocket she'd gotten back from one of the seraphs, she began cutting away the fabric around the wound on her thigh. Then, against her better judgement, she offered him the knife.

 

[Isar du Vain]

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He waggled the knife at her. “Just pull your stuff down.”

A violent rolling of lilac eyes.

“Enough with the death glares, love, if I wanted a topless show that bad I’d still be on Nar Shaddaa.”

Moving around behind her, Isar started opening up one of the bacta patches. He studied what he could see of the wound through the burnt riding leathers. Angry red skin and cooked flesh. Nasty. He let out a whistle.

“Lucky. Another inch to the right and it might have gone straight through you.”

Facing her back, Isar waited for her to unzip and slide her black leathers down from her shoulders.

“Where’d you learn to race like that?”

Small talk to distract her through the pain. Yes, trying to play the hero again was he? That always turned out so well…

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

An indignant huff rose from her chest as she looked up at him. She bristled as he sassed her about her glares. “I barely know you.” She snapped. The pain and fatigue catching up to her. She took the knife back and pocketed it.

“Fine,” she conceded. Gave one more glare for good measure. ‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ snuck into his mind. She waited until he was behind her. Then, gingerly, she unzipped the back of her leather riding suit. Goosebumps formed as the air hit her soft skin as he tugged her arms free one by one. One hand clutched the material to her chest.

Discomfort raced through her and she tried to remain still. Back was ramrod straight. Her muscles rigid. Attention drifted to her thigh and his question as she centered herself with the force.

“I mostly self taught,” she paused. “There was someone I met who helped me get into it.” She frowned, sorrow whispering into her bones. The force gathered beneath her palm, warm and steady. The angry torn flesh began to knit itself back together, burns giving way to new, pink skin. A faint warm, golden glow spilled between her fingers as she worked. She could feel her energy slipping away.

“What’s your story, Prince?” A glance over her shoulder as she worked. She was genuinely curious. “You’re full of surprises.” A quiet musing as more of her thigh healed with a pulse of soothing energy. An echo to what he’d whispered into her mind.

Isar du Vain

 

[Isar du Vain]

"Well it's not prince for starters," the Zeltron chuckled, "Call me Isar."

Lilac eyes studied the wound, an angry strip of scorched flesh across her upper back and shoulder. Yet aside from that reddened and blackened skin his gaze could not help but wander, following the smooth and fair planes of her lean muscle, still carrying a sheen of sweat from the race and the fight.

"Got to keep you on your toes," he mused absently.

He swallowed.

"Anyway, you don't want to know me."

The bandage peeled with a ripping sound and he pressed the cold, blue, slick surface to her wound.

"I'm bad news," the smirk carried into his voice. But beneath it there was something else. Raw and resigned.

Gently, Isar smoothed the edges of the bandage onto her back, magenta fingertips brushing across warm skin. The soothing smell of lavender hung in the air, subtle and clean.

"There. Right as rain."

Two fingers lingered just below the bandage, right beside the divot of her spine.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

It still felt strange healing in the open. She’d grown up holding and suppressing her gifts. She wondered if it would ever feel different. If she’d feel proud of it instead of ashamed. A small breath as she sent a final burst of energy into the wound, leaving a mostly healed pink line of flesh behind.

"Anyway, you don't want to know me."

And how many times would it take for him to know not to tell her what to do? A small wince as the patch went on. But she found his touch surprisingly gentle. She waited a moment too long.

“Isar…,” she began. Then pulled away. Standing and maneuvering her arms back in the racing suit and then to the zipper in the back. Fingertips brushing against his for a moment before zipping up. She felt a little dizzy. Must be the energy healing took.

Saying thank you felt like not enough.

Turning, she reached forward and tugged his busted and bleeding knuckled-hand gently toward her, fingers clasping around the lavender skin of his wrist. Only that space separated them as her azure eyes traveled upward clashing against his own. Sure, he had a Bacta patch. But…it would be hard to keep that across his fingers. And this felt like a more meaningful thank you.

If he didn’t pull away, she’d tug that same force energy and channel it into her palm until is glowed with that soft golden hue. He’d feel his skin knit back together, a tingle and then something soothing as if his fingers drifted through a pool of warm water. Even as a weight settled on her shoulders. Her own energy quickly waning. If anything, Soph was stubborn so she pushed onward. Just a little more.

 

[Isar du Vain]

His name rolled off her tongue and a frisson of cold ran down his spine.

Just because her pronunciation was all wrong in that accent of hers that he could not place.

No other reason.

The Zeltron held his breath as she took his busted up hand in hers. Lilac eyes widened as he felt the warmth, soothing away the pain. Stitching broken flesh back together. And sucking away her energy as she did it.

The floral tattoos on Isar’s neck moved beneath his quickening pulse, blood pumping through his veins hot as bike fuel.

“Too much,” he said, half to himself, lowering his hand away from her. “Don’t need you passing out.”

They stood close now. Too close. His breathing was shallow. His other hand came up, reaching for the zipper she’d just done up, magenta fingers idly toying with it between forefinger and thumb. He looked down at her, searching azure depths, faces inches apart.

“You didn’t need to do that, Stardust,” his voice was low and husky, “I told you. I’m bad news.”

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Isar du Vain

Oof.

Head spun lightly.

Knees went weak. Due to the healing, of course. An awareness of where his hand hovered just at her back.

Still managed a flash of ire in those blue depths as she looked up at Isar. "When are you going to learn not to tell me what to do?" The rush of lightheadedness blurred her vision for a moment. A roaring in her ears. She felt like she could float away and never return to her body.

But she fought it.

A stumbled half step forward as she swayed, hand instinctively reaching out to grasp one of the zeltron's shoulders. A sway and a tilt as her head dipped close to his. Lips almost brushing against his own, instead her chin glanced the side of his. Feeling that rough sandpaper of hair along her skin before her head bumped into his shoulder and into the crook of his neck.

Eyes squeezed closed as she took a breath, assaulted with the smell of lavender, trying to chase away that dizziness even as her legs threatened to give out completely.

No.

 

[Isar du Vain]

The bow of her lips nearly brushed his, so close he could feel the heat of her breath, then she collapsed into him. Isar stooped down to catch her, hands gingerly avoiding her upper back as he held her to him. His face turned into her, stubble raking along her neck, nose against skin. She smelled like clean sweat and engine oil and... something else he could not place. A subtle lingering perfume.

Despite all her lean muscle and curves, she felt nearly weightless in his arms.

"Just said we don't need you passin' out, love," he murmured against her bare flesh, then sighed and pulled back a bit.

Raising a finger, he made a flicking motion. The Force surged out and the tarp on the landspeeder with the disassembled engine whooshed off. Inside the speeder it had some leather upholstery that, all things considered, seemed a better spot for a lay down than the ground of the shop. And it was already missing a chair. Perfect.

Reaching down, Isar tried to scoop her up at the knees and carry her over to the landspeeder.

"Why don't you take a nap here. I'll find us a ride off planet."

And then?

And then they'd probably go their separate ways.

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

Sophelia was convinced Master Bridgerton hated her. Sure, in theory, she was one of the few students at the Sanctuary who would be able to safely secure the antidote this supposed Doctor Grimwall had. Be able to sense in the force if it was able to actually do anything to the mysterious illness that was ripping through one of the villages on the far side of Naboo. The Jedi had gotten a few leads and since their numbers were so few, Soph had been assigned her first solo mission to chase down this Doctor Grimwall.

Find him.

See what he knew and if he was connected to the virus outbreak.

The only problem?

Besides having to go to Nar Shadda.

Was that she had to be a worker at this club and scope it out every single night. This Doctor rumored to visit. And she'd already been here FOUR NIGHTS. And she'd had to wear this...thing.

Ugh. Disgusting.

Clothing was a generous term.

It was made from a nearly sheen, silky material. Dark plum bordering midnight. The halter tied around her neck, the fabric plunging over her chest with a deep V, ending just above her navel. The cool air of the club chilled her bare back. The material hung lowly around the curve of her hips before plunging downward to the floor. Not without two deep slits on either side up her slender legs.

At least the stilettos were cute. That same deep plum color as her dress. And the earrings. A shimmering golden strand in each one that sparkled against the length of her long blonde hair.

The Dead Drop Club throbbed with pulsing music and colored lights, neon spilling across polished metal and smoky air. Dancers moved beneath flickering holograms. Along the edges of the room, curtained booths offered secluded spaces for backroom deals, private negotiations, and quiet exchanges of credits and information. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Nar Shaddaa glittered beneath them—a sprawling maze of lights, traffic, and towering durasteel buildings disappearing into the darkness below.

Soph gathered the drinks from the bar on her tray. She was quite proud of herself. She'd gotten pretty good at bar-tending. A noble going to barkeep was not lost on her. Still, reminded her of working on Tapani during the summers. Well, the one short stint she was a barista. Okay, that was a lot different. At least the jedi had pulled strings to get this temporary job.

Maybe she'd finally see Doctor Grimwall tonight and be able to get out of there. Could always be hopeful.

 

[Isar du Vain]

The music in the club thumped in the air, about as ever present as the smell of deathsticks and cologne. Isar finished his drink and slammed it down.

"Where are you going, Korvo, the night's young," Isar laughed. The light of the club shone down on his magenta skin, eminently visible through the thin, black mesh shirt he wore tucked into dark, solid slacks. The same electrum earring he always wore hung from his left ear.

The Trandoshan enforcer gave him a look, "Been a long day, Isar. I'm done," the reptilian shook his head, "don't know how you do it."

"What?"

"Go out like this every night."

"Oh come on, it's not every night."

If the Trandoshan had eyebrows, they would be raised.

"Where else have I got to be, Korvo?"

A snorting hiss came from the reptilian, "Now that I do believe. Don't get mugged in an alley again. Ssssee you."

Sighing, Isar walked over to the bar to get himself another drink. Leaning on the counter, he wore a mischievous grin beneath his mustache, and idly ran a hand through his pushed back red-purple hair. He raised a hand to call over the bartender, then froze. That presence. He recognized it.

No way.

Here?

Turning, Isar spotted her. Lilac eyes ran up and down the length of her. No longer in racing leathers, but a backless dress in a deep plum, with thigh slits so high that they made his eyebrows raise.

Grabbing a new drink, some sort of whiskey he really didn't care as long as it got him buzzed, he came up behind her, thinking she hadn't spotted him yet.

Standing awfully close behind her, he reached out with his mind and brushed his senses across hers. "All the clubs in the galaxy and you chose mine."

Out loud he said.

"Stalking me, Blue Eyes?"

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

She didn't know why but as she was stacking another drink on the the tray, she felt a shiver run down the length of her spine. She'd chalk it up to the poor uniform choice this establishment made their workers wear. But then she heard that familiar voice slip into her mind against the steady beat of the dance floor. It snagged her attention above all the clattering of glasses in the room. The laughter and music. The shuffle of feet on the floor.

Prince.

And here she thought she'd never see him again since Corellia. Or at least, until the next race. Lips thinned as she slowly turned around. Blue eyes traveling from that smug look on his face. The chest and muscles beneath his 'shirt.' The fit of those pants to the drink in his hand. Even with all the smells in the room, the lavender hit her nose first. Before her eyes clashed back into his own.

"Why am I not surprised to find you in a place like this?"

It was clear she was judging him and the place.

"Some of us are working," she scooped the tray of drinks up and when it was clear he wouldn't move, she stepped around him with a determined click of her heels, nearly hip checking him with her own. "Don't you have somewhere else to be? Some neck to be sucking on?"

 

[Isar du Vain]

Lilac eyes watched her for a moment.

Hate to see you leave, love to watch you go...

The dress hugged her frame in ways that he hadn't thought possible.

"Aw what's the matter, love?" Isar promptly followed her like a dinghy tied to a ship. "Racing not work out for you after all? Guess we all have to pay the bills somehow."

Unnecessarily cruel, maybe. But he had left a note in the ship with his holonumber on it and she'd never called. That stung a little bit. She had to have seen it... hadn't she?

"You really expect me to believe we just randomly run into each other... on my home moon... at one of my favorite clubs..."

He snorted.

"I mean, dead space, love. You're even wearing a dress that matches my hair. Got me concerned."

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

She ignored Isar first.

Soph paused at one of the booths along the walls and set two large drinks down for the two wookies there. With an empty tray, she finally faced the cocky zeltron again. "What?" A sharp inhale through her chest. That material that hugged her skin shifted as her breathing did. A spark of ire in her blues. "That's none of your business...," she paused, glancing over his shoulder at a group walking in.

Mild disappointment as her eyes scanned their faces between landing back on Isar.

"I'm not the one following the other around," a primly stated observation before common sense started to shift in her mind. Wait. Did he say this was one of his favorite clubs? His home?

Perhaps...no....

Could he...

Would he....

A skeptical glance as she hesitated. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell him? He might even be able to...help her?

A couple going to the dance floor lightly bumped into her from behind and she shuffled a step closer to Prince. "Don't make me regret this," she started, lowering her voice sightly. "I'm trying to find someone. Does the name Grimwall mean anything to you?"

 

[Isar du Vain]

“Grimwall huh,” Isar did not retreat as she took a step closer.

A lilac stare watched her face intently but began to drift down… following the bow of her lips, the hollow of her throat, and then down further. Tracking smooth, fair skin and curves rising and falling with her breath held in only by the plunging neckline of her “uniform.”

This close, he caught the scent of coconuts and saltwater. Oceanic. Tropical. Like some resort on a volcano island.

Isar’s throat bobbed.

“What do you want with the old doc? Stalking him instead of me,” the Zeltron shook his head.

“Don’t know if I should be relieved or jealous.”

A smirk curled his lips beneath his stubble and mustache.

“Alright, alright,” he lifted his hands in surrender, “I’ll help you. Sometimes he comes here, fifth floor top VIP lounge. Restricted. Unless you’re me.”

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

It was strange how the path of his eyes carved a trail of goosebumps down her flesh. How he could make her feel like she was wearing nothing at all. She already felt too exposed in this…thing. It was as if he’d already ripped it off.

Fingers curled to a fist at her side as the smallest tinge of heat rose to her cheeks.

One hand lifted, a stern index finger hovered in front of his face.

“Excuse you. Eyes up here, Isar.” She tried to calm her breathing. Restraining herself from the urge to somehow cover up.

“He might have some information I need.”

Eyes flickered to the wall of windows. Maybe she could just scale up or break into the fifth floor. Problem was, it was just her here. And she had no security intel.

A flustered inhale. As her hand lowered. There had to be a catch, right?

“Okay. What does being with you mean exactly?” She could see Vinny getting agitated at the bar. Her boss. He kept glancing their way.

 

[Isar du Vain]

“Being with me? At least buy me a drink first,” Isar retorted, unable to help himself.

The twist of his toothless smile beneath his mustache mirrored the dancing mischief in his pale violet eyes.

Looking over her shoulder, he caught the glowering gaze of the shift manager. Probably wondering if she was doing her job. Isar sighed and pulled out a wallet, then began counting a wad of Huttese credits.

“Well…” he said slowly, waggling the cash in front of her eyes, “I am paying for a very expensive bottle.”

He put the wallet back, then brazenly tugged on her halter top with one hand. The other took the wad of credits and slid them between fabric and skin. Low. Making sure they were properly tucked in. The back of his tattooed fingers brushed against a warm, supple curve.

“And a couch on the fifth floor. You’ll take me the bottle and sit me at the couch… and maybe your doctor is already there.”

He let go of her dress but didn’t step away, lingering too close as he looked into those azure pools.

“They haven’t let you up there yet have they? Probably haven’t been working here long enough. Usually it takes a year and you have to be vouched for. Fifth floor is where the business happens.”

And by business he of course meant the criminal kind.

“I’ll get you up there. Now… why don’t you be a good girl and get me that bottle, Stardust.”

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

"What do you think you're...," she sputtered as he tugged that thin fabric of her 'gown.' She felt a draft in a few more places as the material shifted every-so-slightly. Then the sudden warmth of his hand going a place he had no right to go to. Those credits scratchy against her skin and threatened to fall down and through the moment he place them there.

And then she felt bad for all the other workers here who had to do this every single day. She wondered if they'd felt as cheap as she now felt. Indignation and ire bubbled in her veins and before she could think better of it...

That curled fist at her side tightened and before he could even finish speaking it was flying toward his nose and that smug smirk in a quick jab.

A few dancers gasped around them. Whether it hit or not. There was a small moment where those who had noticed - stared. And Vinny was already high-tailing it over there. He was a Chiss. His rough-blue hand shot out, fingers curling tightly around her upper arm. Enough to leave a bruise. He was shaking and furious, chin dipping apologetically to Isar.

"Mister du Vain. Please. Accept my humble apologies. Soph is a new girl. Anything I can do, just name it." His angry red gaze snapped to Sophelia as his grip tightened.

"Only here a few days and already causing trouble. You will be dealt with"

Even through all that, Soph only had eyes for Isar. If a glare could stun him on the spot, hers would.

 

[Isar du Vain]

The punch caught him right in the mouth, snapping his head back and sending him reeling. He jerked a hand up, covering his face.

The shift manager came over, rambling, trying to get ahead of the repercussions.

Isar felt a coppery taste in his mouth, trickling down his throat. He lowered his hand. Isar smiled dangerously, teeth red.

“It’s fine, Vinny,” his lilac stare never left Stardust, “She just can’t keep her hands off me. I want her and I want a bottle of the Mantellian Sav. The big one. I have some business to take care of on the fifth floor.”

The smell of lavender grew thick with suggestion. Letting Stardust go seemed like a good idea. The Chiss didn’t need to grip her so hard did he? No, no. He would spoil her complexion. And why waste her, Du Vain was clearly interested wasn’t he? And connected. And Vinny didn’t want to anger Du Vain connections. These thoughts slipped through the Chiss’ mind and he thought them entirely his own.

The Chiss let her go. “Of course. Of course.”

Isar raised an eyebrow at both Stardust and her ‘boss.’

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Sophelia Ardemark

 

[Sophelia Ardemark]

She swallowed. Still fuming. Even as he stared back at her. That hint of mischief never leaving those lilac eyes even as danger became the upper currents. Vinny released her and finally, finally she noticed the other eyes on them. The pause in bodies moving close together on the dance floor. The music seemed louder as those who spoke hushed.

Forcing herself to take a short inhale, she began recomposing herself. Even as Vinny snapped his fingers for her to follow. Blues snagged on the blood as she clamped down on any feelings of traitorous remorse.

No.

He deserved it! And much more. Hand dropped and scooped up the wad of credits that hung low in her dress. A flicker of her gaze away from Isar’s mouth to his eyes before she turned. And followed after Vinny like a good little employee.

Fingers that were still tightened into a little fist of fury at her side finally uncurled. A quick shake of her hand. Skin still tingled where her skin had contacted with the zeltron’s own. At least the throb was highly satisfying.

The chiss snatched the credits away and got his finest bottle of whiskey. Placing it in her hands and bent down to whisper a warning in her ear. “If I hear of anything else like that happening again, you being fired will be the least of your worries. Do you understand me, girl?”

Soph thought about saying a lot of things. Doing a lot of things. But her mission stopped her. She had to do this. This was her best bet.

“Yes.” Then as if she had to force her own lips to move, she ground out, “sir.”

Plastering a fake little smile on her face she turned back to join Isar. Carrying that bottle. Fingers a little too tight around the smooth, glass neck. If it was human it would’ve been a strangled by now. Hips dipped from side to side as she joined the zeltron at the lift. Then a reach into his mind, since there were others around.

‘You are enjoying this far too much.’

 

[Isar du Vain]

“Look who is talking. Soph, huh. Nice jab. Really sold it to Vinny.”

He tongued the inside of his mouth where the flesh had broken against his teeth and tasted more copper against his taste buds, the pain stinging. Deserved, he supposed.

But then he thought about the way her skin had run with goosebumps at his touch. And yes. He would have done it again.

He keyed the fifth floor and the turbo lift doors hissed shut.

Isar wrapped an arm around her back as the lift whirred up, hand coming to rest on her opposite hip. One finger brushed against the peak of the thigh slit, whispering against the warmth beneath. The touching as soothing as the smell of lavender that rolled from him.

Or at least, it tended to have that effect on most.

“Get ready to put on a show.”

The mind to mind connection in the Force was not mere telepathy. As a Zeltron, Isar felt her bleed of emotions. All that bundled anger and determination, a hint of fear and more annoyance. And beneath it all, something else. He let his own self-confidence drift back through the connection.

“I don’t know why you need the information. And I’m not going to ask right now. But these are dangerous people. They’d kill you and dump you outside without a thought. Do not test them. Follow my lead.”

The lift came to a stop and chimed gently. The door hissed open and Isar exited with ‘Soph’ beside him, still holding that bottle.

The interior resembled nothing like the more restaurant style of the club below. Couches and booths lined the walls, with two bars at either end. In the middle there were two dancing Twi’leks, a maroon-skinned lethan and a cobalt rutian. If ‘Soph’ thought that her uniform was bad she might have second thoughts on seeing the attire of the two Twi’leks. If it could even be called that.

Isar snorted and appreciated the view. Couldn’t beat the classics. Besides, they worked hard at their jobs. Real hard.

Gaze panning past them, he found one of the lounge areas sunken into the floor, couches all around a central table. An Aqualish was doing a line of spice off the glass. There were a lot of others. Too many he recognized. Among them was Dr. Grimwall. Isar sucked in a breath through the nose and headed that way.

Heads turned, following Isar. The back of his neck prickled.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the Prince of Nar Shaddaa himself. Isn’t that what you’re calling yourself these days?”

The speaker was a mean looking one-eyed Rodian seated beside the Aqualish..

“One-Eye, Narbo,” Isar forced a smile and looked between the two gangsters, “Been a while. Still with the Bareesh?”

“Makin’ a comeback. You’ll see.”

Isar’s lips twitched. “Mm. If you say so, just remember this is a neutral zone,” then he let out a nervous chuckle and plopped down on the opposite couch. More gangsters crowded the couches, but the Doctor seemed preoccupied. Isar couldn’t quite catch what he was saying. Maybe Soph had better hearing.

“Why don’t you open that bottle, love,” he said to Soph.

Then he pat his knee.

“And have a seat right here.”

A touch of concern tinged his thoughts as he saw the way the Aqualish and Rodian looked at her.

“They won’t touch you if they know you’re mine. Too worried I’d break their minds and leave them drooling on the carpet.”

Sophelia Ardemark