First Reply Poor Choices

[Jyneva Talon]

Planet: Florrum
Location: Club Nemesis

As the music from the jazzy kloo horn swayed through the air with seductively low notes, the purple sequins from one of the Twi’leks glistened in the light.

The red beauty - once called Lethan among her own people - kicked her leg high and performed a small spin on one thin ankle, while her other leg curved up and propelled her around like a spinning top made of purple glass.

Her neck tilted back in a seemingly care-free motion, while her thick lekku slipped off her shoulders and into the air. To others she might look lost in the shadowy ambience of the music, but in truth - her brown eyes had opened, just barely.

She checked the stools of the bar out beyond the crowd, to see if there were any new faces just sitting down. Anyone who might look just rich enough - or dumb enough - to let her slip in.

She stopped giving the bar a side-eye and launched from her spin. Her lekku splayed out behind her as she performed a jump and then came down into a somersault.

Her sandaled feet thudded heavily against the stage floor. With a very casual - but very calculated - bump from her hip she knocked into the Theelin who had been dancing near her.

When the Theelin woman was bounced out of the way and nearly off the stage, the Twi’lek gave a small gasp of “Oh!” and shielded her mouth to hide her smile.

She turned her eye back to the bar to see if anyone new had picked up a drink.

 

[Rheyla Tann]

The ice cracked in her glass as she swirled it once, slow and absent-minded, before taking a sip.

Honey-brown eyes flicked up just in time to catch the dancer’s jump, the spin, and that theatrical gasp. A little too dramatic to be genuine. A little too deliberate to be anything but bait.

Rheyla smirked behind her drink.

She leaned her elbows against the bar—lazy posture, practiced ease—then casually shifted her weight to scan the room behind the stage. No shortage of action tonight. A pair of Rodians throwing down credits over a game of sabacc. A Zabrak with a twitchy eye nervously tapping his fingers while watching a pazaak match two tables over. And at least one Trandoshan dealer who looked a little too calm about the cards he was holding.

The place smelled like spice, synthale, and sweat, with just enough perfume drifting from the stage to make you forget the floor was sticky.

Perfect.

She set her glass down with a soft clink, the credits for her next drink already slid halfway across the counter with a finger. Not because she needed another. Just a reason to stay.

A little downtime before the next job. A couple of games. A few drinks. Maybe walk out of here with heavier pockets—or at least some fool’s credits to buy new coolant filters for the Scourhawk.

Then, just before she turned, her gaze drifted back to the stage—and landed on the red Twi’lek.

Her eyes found the red Twi'lek's.

Brown to honey-brown, through the haze and flickering light. The dancer didn’t miss a step, but Rheyla saw it.

She gave her a slow, deliberate wink.

Then turned with a slight tilt of her head and left the bar behind, weaving through the crowd until she slid into an open seat at a sabacc table near the back. The kind of table with credits on the line and egos in the pot.

She rested her hands on the edge of the table, lekku wrapped and posture relaxed, and gave a nod to the dealer.

"Deal me in."

The night wasn’t about credits. Not really.

It was about seeing what the galaxy still had to offer, even in grime like this.
And maybe—just maybe—seeing who else at this table played the long game.

Jyneva Talon​

 

[Jyneva Talon]

The Theelin was fuming, stomping one of her hooves and preparing to respond in kind right then and there on the stage.

But Jyneva had seen the wink.

She brandished her sharp nails like claws in the Theelin dancer’s face and nudged her away. The other dancers paused but no one moved to stop her. All the girls were afraid of anyone who could survive on Florrum for so long.

Jyneva had subconsciously locked onto perhaps another victim, tight muscles roiling under striped red skin as she excused herself from the stage.

She cast her head downward but secretly watched the other Twi’lek - blue she was, her head carefully covered by a brown cowl of sorts, as she moved deftly from the bar and slid through the crowd.

The Twi’lek visitor stopped at a Sabacc table. Jyneva happened to know that this table in particular drew only the high rollers, the ones who truly had credits to waste.

How interesting.

Although other Twi’lek females were sometimes harder to fool - they were capable of intricate games of deception, after all - Jyneva considered herself something of a champion in this regard.

“Champagne..in za flute glass,” she purred to the bartender. The Besalisk man knew her very well, but said nothing. He passed the drink into her outstretched, maroon-colored nails.

Jyneva made her way casually to the sabacc table, the flute glass held carefully above most of the crowd.

The glass of champagne appeared first, followed by a soft voice inviting itself in by the blue patron’s sharp ear.

“A drink…for za lovely guest…” Jyneva said casually. She offered the Twi’lek the champagne, her outfit shimmering in the small reflection, almost as effervescent as the yellow bubbles.

She remained standing next to her with one hand on her back as if she suddenly had a player to pull for in this game.

Tag: Rheyla Tann​

 

[Rheyla Tann]

The cards hit the table with a soft flap, each one carrying the faint scent of old smoke and newer desperation. Rheyla leaned back just enough to feign indifference, one arm draped casually along the chair, the other ghosting over her cards.

She was about to call the bluff of a Nikto with a twitching eye when the flute glass appeared in her periphery—golden, sparkling, intentional.

Then came the voice. Soft. Silken. Accented just enough to curl behind the ear like smoke.

“A drink…for za lovely guest…”

Rheyla didn’t look right away. She let the air settle first. Let the offer hang just long enough to be acknowledged without eagerness.

Then she turned her head slightly—just enough to meet the brown-eyed gaze of the red Twi’lek now standing at her side. The same one who’d played the stage like a game board moments ago. The same one now pressing a hand against her back with practised ease.

The same one who’d seen the wink.

Rheyla smiled. It was small, crooked, and utterly unreadable.

“Careful,” she murmured, eyes flicking from the champagne to Jyneva’s face. “I don’t usually take drinks from dancers who run smoother than they land.”

She accepted the glass anyway, fingers brushing deliberately against the maroon nails as she took it.

“Stick around, though,” Rheyla added with a charming smirk, shifting slightly in her seat as the dealer began to burn and draw. “Maybe you’ll bring me luck.”

Or maybe you’ll tip your hand.

Either way, the night just got more interesting.

The dealer slid fresh cards into place—sharp, glossy edges catching the low light. Rheyla glanced down without moving her head, clocking a +2, -4, and a face card that had the nerve to show a Sabacc Shift warning symbol already glowing faint at its corner.

She kept her expression flat. Shift risk this early? Either the deck was rigged, or the house wanted a show.

She flicked a single chip into the pot.

Across from her, the Nikto player narrowed his eyes. Another tossed in a full raise without hesitation—some puffed-up Duros with too much swagger and not enough restraint. Rheyla didn’t blink. She just let her fingers trail along the rim of her champagne flute, as if the fizz inside mattered more than the pot on the table.

To her right, the Trandoshan dealer gave her a glance, slitted pupils unreadable.

"Call," she said simply, and matched the raise.

She could feel Jyneva’s presence still hovering—close, deliberate, the weight of that maroon-painted hand on her back a subtle reminder of the dance that hadn’t quite ended.

The game continued. Another card was dealt.

A +10. Dangerous. Tempting.

The corner of Rheyla’s mouth curled. She tapped a finger twice on the table—hold.

Let the fools around her keep pushing. Let them chase hands they couldn’t control. Rheyla didn’t need perfect cards. She just needed the right moment.

She took a small sip of the champagne—eyes still on the table—and said idly, to no one in particular:

“Funny thing about luck... it likes to kiss you right before it bites.”

And then she smiled, just enough to show teeth.

Jyneva Talon​

 

[Jyneva Talon]

Jyneva matched her smile, while she kept an eye on the game.

She did not really understand that much about sabacc. No, her game was always on people, although that was true of sabacc as well…to a certain degree.

She watched the Tw’lek take a sip of the champagne and nodded vaguely to herself, as her nails drifted upward to prick playfully into the soft flesh of her back, to idly pluck at a lekku that snaked over her neck.

Her hand bumped against the cool plate of green armor - Mandalorian, maybe? - and she was reminded to tread carefully here.


All the while, she formed a plan. She would wait patiently by this one, see how far along she went in the game. Perhaps if she kept bringing her drinks, kept leaning in with her perfume…when she took the rest of these fools for every credit they had, she would invite her back to a room, or a ship, and the credits would be within reach….

“You play so calmly under pressure,” she trilled gently in the woman’s ear, drawing closer. “Zey have not seen the likes of you…a Twi’lek girl running za table…it is exciting to watch.”

She smiled. One of her hands pulled her own lekku and stroked it over her shoulder in a soothing motion. “I am Jyneva.”

Tag: Rheyla Tann​

 

[Rheyla Tann]

Rheyla didn’t react immediately to the nails. Let them test the edges. Let them think they were drawing a response.

But when they trailed upward—just enough to brush the base of a lekku—her shoulder shifted slightly. Not a flinch. Not quite. More like a quiet recalibration.

The kind a predator makes when someone walks too close to its kill.

The armour’s chill met Jyneva’s fingers next, and Rheyla felt the subtle pause. Good. She wanted it noticed.

She held her cards lightly in one hand, the other still lazily cradling the champagne. Her eyes flicked up only when the Duros across from her let out a grunt and dumped another handful of credits into the pot.

The words drifted in—low, smooth, close enough to warm her ear. Compliment wrapped in silk, heavy on the emphasis. A Twi’lek girl, running the table.

Rheyla’s smile returned, faint and crooked.

She set her glass down with deliberate care—like she was tucking the moment away with the rest of her read on Jyneva.

Another card was dealt. A -6.

She glanced at it, then tapped once: hold.

Her total was hovering close. Not perfect. But she wasn’t after perfect. She was after timing.

Jyneva’s name drifted into the space between them like spice in the air. Rheyla let the name hang there a beat. Didn’t look at her yet. Then, finally, with just a slow tilt of her head, she offered:

“Pretty name.”

Another beat.

“You can call me... Rheyla.”

The last card hit the table. The Trandoshan watched them all closely.

Rheyla’s gaze stayed forward, though her words curled softly under her breath:
“Keep brushing my lekku like that, Jyneva, and you’ll make me think this is a distraction.”

She didn’t say don’t. She didn’t move the hand.

Instead, she slid one last chip forward with two fingers and said, without looking away from the table. “All in.”

The Duros cursed. The Nikto hesitated.

And Rheyla just leaned back, calm as ever, as if this had never been about credits in the first place.

The dealer’s claws tapped against the table’s surface.

“Sabacc shift,” he hissed.

A low groan rolled across the table. The card values flickered. Rheyla didn’t flinch.

Her +2 became a -3. The face card held. The -4 jumped to a +4.

She did the math, fast and silent. Her total held just under twenty-three—still strong. Still dangerous. The Nikto cursed under his breath and folded, pushing away from the table. The Duros slammed his palms down, showing his hand with too much drama and not enough payout.

Rheyla, quiet as always, laid her cards out with a flick of her wrist. “Twenty-two,” said the dealer.

A beat of silence.

Then the credits slid her way. The Duros stood and left without another word. The Trandoshan nodded once in approval, already preparing the deck for the next hand. Rheyla scooped her winnings with slow fingers, her eyes never leaving the table—until she turned just slightly toward the woman still standing at her side.

Jyneva, ever poised, still close enough to smell like stage-light perfume and sharpened sugar.

“See?” Rheyla murmured with a slight smirk, her tone light as spice and twice as warm. “You are lucky.”

She finished what was left of the champagne in a single sip, then set the empty glass on the edge of the table. Her eyes lingered on it—then on Jyneva.

The credits slid her way—neatly, easily. Rheyla gathered them in slow, practised movements, stacking chips into tidy towers like she had all the time in the galaxy.

She could still feel Jyneva beside her. That lingering presence. Not pushing, not pulling. Just… waiting.

Rheyla didn’t know what the red Twi’lek was playing at—not exactly. But she knew a charmer when she saw one. The kind who leaned in close with perfume and compliments and soft little distractions, hoping you'd forget to ask what they were really after.

Didn’t mean it wasn’t entertaining.

Her honey-brown eyes flicked up—briefly, deliberately.

“You always hang this close to your favourite players,” she said lightly, not looking up, “or am I just getting the deluxe treatment?”

She let the words hang, her tone dry but edged with a curl of amusement.

Not cold. Not dismissive. Just curious.

Jyneva Talon​