The Walker in the Rift
Location: Nibelungen
Tags:

Gear: In Bio
Alana followed the narrow, winding street with her head lowered, poncho brushing against the dirty stone walls. Every corner turned into another corner, every alley bent back into itself. She cursed under her breath. Whoever this lightsaber-smith was, they picked the most karking impossible place to hide. She had never been to Nibelungun before, and perhaps it showed. The aura of this place felt lighter, but alien in several ways to her.
People here were too fething nice. She had been walking around for what felt like hours, trying to find this ‘esteemed crafter’ she had heard about, but had little to show for it. Not even a hope that this person may reside within this market she found herself milling about in.
However, she caught voices ahead, and desperate for a lead, she moved forward. Before her, people gathered beneath a glow lantern, talking in low tones.
"…it's about the art, you need to see what she can do," One said, hand lifted in a precise gesture, mimicking a flow motion.
“But I can not do the art, I do not have her gifts.” Another voice lamented.
“There are no gifts, the art comes to us in different ways, everyone has art to share.” Another voice spoke, trying to bolster the spirits of their colleague.
Alana's pulse flared. Finally. Clearly, this had to be it. They were talking about the force. She eased closer, letting the lining of her poncho drop.
The circle of people turned, smiling at her as though they'd been expecting her. Someone seized her hand before she could speak.
"Have you come here for the art as well?" They asked brightly.
"…Yeah," Alana said carefully, trying to sound like she belonged. "I'm here to… learn the art."
"Perfect!" Another laughed, and before she knew it, she was pulled into a a side building, ushered forth by the group as they slowly brought her to the front. She swiftly became aware of music, and what seemed to be a club she was being led into.
Seemed like an odd place to have a workshop, but soon she realized the mistake she had made as she was led out to the center of what seemed to be a theater. Musicians were waiting, drums already pounding, feet stomping. A dozen bodies whirled in rhythm, several parting as they witnessed the group coming towards them.
Her stomach sank, as she realized her folly. How could she have been so wrong?
No. No, no, no. This isn't the forge, this isn't the workshop…this is a blasted dance club.
She tried to think of an excuse, of some way out of this whole exchange, but it was too late.
They shoved her into the center.
Alana stood there, stiff as a board, red eyes wide as her escape was now blocked by a sea of eager faces. Someone clapped as they seemed to try and motivate her. The crowd whooped.
They were out for blood.
"I don't-this isn't-" she stammered, hands twitching toward her belt. The music only got louder. Someone shouted:
"Show us your art!"
Horrified, Alana realized they actually expected her to dance.
The dancers about her began to close in, as some sort of group line dance seemed to be underway.
Hope died in her eyes, as a set of hands grabbed her and pulled her in to join the masses of dancers, the music thundering now.
“I’m not here to dance!”
She cried out, but alas, she was silenced.
How the hell was she going to get out of this?