Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Reality, the crutch for those who can't handle drugs.

Ottoman_Casino_Hotel.jpg

The Cream and the Crop Casino

Coruscant Underworld, The Azure Rose Nightclub

Late night


"Mmm, yeah..." Head bobbed, face mane fluffed to the fullest of potentials, he gyrated as only an alpha could. Ring of Aza'zoth leading the charge, he held up his fists and did what he did best. Expressed himself. The woman across from him, blue skin and red eyes and a pound of glitter over what skin wasn't hidden behind strings and bow ties. His outfit was a cursory thing, a required mode of communication, sparkling red with a shirt of white half unbuttoned. And sunglasses, for a room far too dark to where 'em. But he was a man that clashed, Christmas every day of the year, and the powder residue in his mustache might have shown that inclination. Until a child ran across the way, putting a halt to the fun as children always did. He shook his head and grabbed the kid but the scruff of the color. Kneeling down, the glasses ran the length of his nose to reveal the vibrant blue beneath.

"Kid, how'd you get up here?" Mouth full of a lollipop, Kranos yanked the thing out, clickity clack of crystalized sugar against white teeth. All snot and cheeks, he looked up towards the bartender. "He yours?"

Bartender, female and homely, Kranos would have been offended by her scowl if it hadn't looked like a rainbow across her face. "Yeah, he's mine."

"Welll, good!" Exclamation came with a smile as he lifted the child up, leaving the woman on the dance floor to boogie by herself. "Just so happens, we're opening a zoo in the bottom floor, below the brothel. Should fit right in." He turned to the child, teasingly holding the candy away before putting it in some unfortunate souls whiskey soda. "Won't you, you'll fit right in, won't you!" Smiling with rows of white, he looked towards the bartender and sat the child across the darkened surface. Lifting up his hand, it shook as he squeezed it into a fist, struggling. With concentration and just the right amount of pizzazz, he extended his finger accusingly at the woman. Squinting, he looked down at her name plate. "Uhh, Ali....Alice!" He snapped his fingers. "I like you, always have. But if you bring your child in here again, I'll be very upset." Pouting, he sucked air through his mustache and smiled. "Glad we could have this talk."

Fully prepared to mount the dance floor once more, he began to sway and turn, just in time to catch a flash of news across the screen. Two attacks, separate flower shops, burned to the ground. Wide eyed, he shook his head and popped a cactus popper of some scrumptious bit of something. Nothing gonna keep him down, not today. Turning back to Alice, he cracked his neck and flicked his fingers at her.

"Get on the horn, call these people. Should be on the directory..." When she waved to tell him it wasn't her job, he grabbed her hand and placed it down on the table. Licking the end of a pen, he scribbled the names, not putting down Mitzi. That little minx would get a call directly from the initiator of such a lucrative meeting. "Tell them their sugar daddy is calling. You get it...sugar?" He scraped his mustache, carsanum falling down on to his tongue. "Do this for me, Alice my dear, and I'll forget you looked at me so menacingly."

Letting go of her hand, he walked over to a separate communication device and called up the purveyor of the Maybell Hotel. Leaving her a message, he scratched his nose and rubbed the length of his finger across his teeth.

"Mitzi, darling. Head on over to the club, we need to talk. Maybell might be getting some unwanted neighbors." The shops were devastatingly close to the Hotel, and the way it seemed, this was the work of another up and coming gang. Otherwise, they wouldn't robed a flower store. What kind of monster takes another mans flowers! Hanging up, he gave another stretch before eyeing the infinity pool. "Mmm, yeah...No, later." He nodded to himself in agreement. "Mmm, later." Walking off with a drink he wasn't aware he ordered, he made his way to the VIP lounge.


[member="Nergal"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Griffin Coldwell"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Wilhelmine Dahma"]| @Any others in the CRC with premium access to the Cream and the Crop Casino
 
tinker tailor soldier spy
[member="Roger Kranos"] | [member="Nergal"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Wilhelmine Dahma"]

The Body Shop, Coruscant.

There is always a thing called consequence, Griff reckoned. It was a force of nature that one couldn't stop once it was loose, because once it was... it would be like a tidal wave breaking free and flushing everything of worth in its wake. Sounds of a HoloNet News Report live on Cartao only underlined this singular fact - gorram cloners shooting up their brothers and sisters who had been fighting for their freedom in the first place. But ain't that the shutta of it? Slaves would always be slaves, be it born, bred, multiplied or broken to it. It was this sort of shet that made him and the sis leave Tatooine.

That was in the past though. Dirt and ashes and a burning country house on the plane, the crispy snap of the wood disintegrating in the heat was still on his mind to this day. The memory felt sweet, sour, bitter and cherry to his mind, but that was a discussion for another time.

One of the Reckoners ran up to him, broke all the flow and muse in him with that expression that spelled it all. Something was up, and it ain't something good. See. The Reckoners were his gang, they were the grease and oil that kept the CRC running silky smooth - the vehicles fixed up, parts replaced and guns modded into oblivion and back. Every criminal clan needed a mechanist magnificanto and to the Rotary Club that woulda been one Coldwell Griffin.

"A call from up-top, bossman." the squeaky snap of the pitch-high was like keening to the ear, but whatcha gonna do when the lad had talent with the gear? Griff looked up from engine he had been working on, a greasy lap of fabric was being rubbed between his large hands. Expression of neutrality, but the lad knew he was being listened to.

"Kranos from the Azure Rose, it's on."

Griff grunted. The lad nodded and ran off again.

If it was on, it was on. Nature of consequence... it don't stop for no man or god.
 
The call came in but Mitzi was not there to take it. Miss May was halfway across Coruscant with her daughter and a tall, rackish looking gentlemen who appeared mildly out of place with the primly dressed ladies - one at either side. His name was Adrian Zibowski, but everyone called him Zib. He wore a suit with faded pinstripes, deep blue in color, a white shirt but no tie and hat that covered a furrowed brow. Pointed features might've been described as sharp and chiseled, handsome even were it not for the look of a lingering hangover.

At least he smelled good, Mitzi thought to herself as she walked beside him, gloved hands looped around his arm.

"I had no idea you attended the Coruscant Academy of Music, Zib," Pepper, Mitzi's 15 year old daughter at Zib's left side beamed brightly up at the man, "here I thought you were just naturally talented."

"Mm," Zib grunted over a toothpick, foul replacement for his normal habit of cigarettes, "if only the world accepted a certificate of natural talent as credentials."

"Oh sweety," Mitzi patted gently at his arm, "you don't need the world to accept you."

"Only the Maybell, right?" he eyed her, flinching away from that honey-sweet smile.

"We need those saxophone skills of yours to keep the patrons happy. The bail was worth every credit."

"And here I thought it was that you genuinely cared. Here you go, Pips, Dean of Performing Arts. Tell him Zib sent ya."

The golden-haired girl made a noise of excitement, allowed her mother to fix her outfit before setting into the office with an air of confidence exuding from every pore. Mitzi smiled warmly after her as the door closed before turning to look at Zib, "You could try to be enthused for her. She's so smitten with you."

Zib frowned a pointed frown, pulling the toothpick from his mouth and looking for all the world like he wished he had a cigarette, "I wasn't exactly prepared to accompany her to the Academy after spending the night in the box."

There was a scowl somewhere on Mitzi's face but the expression was far too soft to make it threatening, "It wasn't as if you knew a week in advanced."

"I'm sorry. Got a bit caught up in things yesterday."

"You promised, Zib. No more Heat."

Zib gave her a harassed look and pulled his arm away from her, "I know I promised."

"Then why was I bailing you out of jail at 3am?" hissed words.

"Because someone's planning to hit the Maybell," he spat back, recoiling at the sudden look of shock on Mitzi's face.

"What do you mean...hit the Maybell?"

"I was out playing poker on Cheap Side and these new blokes buy in. Never seen 'em before, but halfway into the game I'm looking at five credits left and they start playin' whisper down the alley. Someone's lookin' to hit the Maybell and they're recruiting for it. So I cut out early and waited for him in the back alley..."

"Zib..."

"I was taking care of it Mitz."

A trilling tone sounded from her purse and Mitzi blinked furiously at it. Wasn't a call she could ignore - that specific tone was from management of Maybell. Her heart clenched, the timing a bit too coincidental.

Zib glared at her purse, pressed the toothpick back into his lips and took a step back, "Go ahead."

She pulled the comm out, all glitter and gold plated and lifted it to her ear, "This is Mitzi."

"Ma'am I have a message from Mr. Kranos."
 
Sticking his finger in his mouth, he felt the inside of his cheek, as if he had never done before. Blowing out his cheek, he leveraged the finger out to the sound of a pop.

"What was that?"

The phone spoke with a bit of irritation, a situation that seemed to demand it. Kranos couldn't figure out why but he smiled on the other side, wondering if the man could hear it. Surely he couldn't see it. "Nothing baby, nothing. Keep going."

"Right." A pause, Kranos rolled his eyes for the slow drawl. "We've checked the other shops, they seem fine. No activity, orders are down. Funeral homes and tourist center look good. Everything is tip top."

"Tip-toe?" He spoke inquisitively, chin buried in a tumbler.

"No, not tip-toe..."

"I mean, if you need to be careful, by all means. Whatever you rabble use for your terms..."

"No, I said..."

"Let me stop you. I don't care how you walk or frolic or whatever it is you are doing. Just get in the job done."

"..."

"Don't sulk baby. Hows the Maybell?"

"It's fine, for now. Location is a bit contentious but I think it should be fine. Time will tell."

"Time, yeah. Something we don't have a lot of. Alright, we'll take again in a few hours."

"Can I give you a call if I see anything?"

"I'm not your call boy! You'll get a call when I'm ready. Leave a message at the tone..." He sniffed, rubbing his mustache, making a kissing sound into the device. "Ciao, queen." Shutting the phone, he flung it across the leather cushioning of the seat within the darkened VIP Lounge. Rubbing his nose across the rim of the glass, he jingled the ice to his own acoustic reprieve. The place was relatively empty, spotting a man getting a particular dance in the corner of the room. Making eye contact, he lifted the drink in salute and shook his head, laughing.

Suddenly, he heard the door open, the blare of the Azure echoing through with the flicker of lights. The bouncer gave a stern look to the casino caretaker, issuing declaration that the parties had been contacted. Kranos gave a nod and wily smile. "Let 'em in when they get here." The large man gave a nod of compliance before the door behind him. Leaning back on the cushion, arms pried against the backing for the ride he was about to plummet down, he locked eyes with the vibrant screen. Connected to the Golden Hour Opera House, he narrowed his eyes in the play upon screen. A slasher flick of some sort, slaves pitted against nefarious means, no means for escape. Riveting hip hop, he rolled his head back on the rest and traced the spotlights across the ceiling inquisitively.

[member="Griffin Coldwell"] | [member="Nergal"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Wilhelmine Dahma"]
 
tinker tailor soldier spy
[member="Roger Kranos"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Nergal"]

It ain't often the big boss calls upon ya to come uptown. There is a thing called dues and a thing called loyalty, few got that these days. They played the wily gang banger-routine, the edgy outlaw, slavers and pirates and whatnot, but they did done forget what the actual meaning was to live outside the law. Griff didn't forget, Griff knew exactly what it meant and that was why Griff was moderately thriving and more importantly not a bloating corpse drifting downstream of the metal refineries at level 982.

"We going up, boss?" one of the twins asked. Thin and lithe, svelte with sharp-veiled teeth and violet eyes marked them as they were. Fire-mountain people, worshipers of smoke and blood, Vahla. Underneath the leather stripes, grimy tank tops and punk tattoos were the flesh carvings they used to keep 'emselves alligned to their God.

King gorram Vahl himself, or herself. Sketchy details, those zealot-infested religion goers. One day they just showed up, walked off their chilly mountain and asked for sanctuary. Whispers of a shadow war, Vahla against Vahla, the light of Vahl dimming and rising again, thousands of bodies sacrificed to keep the mountain fire alive.

What did Griff know about any of that crap? Only thing he saw was the trail of throat-cut corpses they had left in their wake.

"Aye. Get the car around." ain't that the rarest thing for the gearhead maestro to get a word out himself, but improbability did not stipulate impossibility... if anything it was the exact opposite of the later.

A car came round. Vintage, real leather, beskar-plated if thin. One of the beauties of the old world forgotten and left behind like a disgrace.

Griff got in, the twins too and off they went.

They would be there soon.
 
Lifting his head from the back rest, he blinked sleepily and wrung his hands against his eyes. Blurry vision, specks of dust and lights, he felt a weight on his lap. Squinting, he tilted his head and shook, smiling.

"What the...kriff are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Uhh..." He cleared his throat as she grabbed his hands, placing them on her thighs. They slid off all limp noodle like as his eyes darted slowly to his fingers. If he concentrated, he could flex them and move them around. When they responded, he gave a giggle and lifted his head back on the seat. "You get tired of the guy in the corner?"

"He was a bit stiff..." She let out a laugh as she moved up his lap, pressing her hands on the back rest. "So, what do you think?"

"Me?" He lifted his head, she was all up in his comfort zone and blood circle "I try not to."

"About me?"

"Uhh..." He lifted his hand to her hair, strumming it like some musical instrument. "You have blue hair. It's uhh...blue?"

"Mmm, what els-?"

He interrupted her with a finger against her lips as he blinked, sitting up. "No offense. See, that's the phrase we use when we are about to say something offensive." He opened his blue eyes wide, sudden realization in lucidity. "You're not all that classy, are you?"

Before she could say anything, he lifted up and pushed her off. She went rolling to the floor as he postured, flexing. "You see that? Muscles!"

He glared at her as she stood up. Waving his hand to the door, he grew somewhat upset. As much as someone like him could. "Get the kriff out of my lounge. Taking advantage of a man trying to sleep. You know how hard it is for me to do that? IT'S NOT EASY!"

"You can't kick me out, I've purchased a pass here. I'm an important official?"

"An official? Official what? Harlot?" He held up his hand, leaning over, as he choked out a laugh. "I knew I recognized you!"

"I have important family members, they'll hear about this!"

"Yeah, well tell them I said hello. I'll let them know all about how we met!" Grabbing her top off the lounge seat, he flung it at her. Flicking his hand from his throat to his beard, he gave the woman a sincere salute. "Here's your refund!" With that, she ran out of the lounge, slamming the door behind her. He inhaled loudly, not truly believing that really just happened. Kicking an ottoman, he rubbed his eyes and stomped his feet. "Where the hell is my possy!"

[member="Griffin Coldwell"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Nergal"]
 

Yidhra

Mars Tsosûtiyakûtiyuska
The blinking strobes of the Azure were doing crap all to soothe the massive headache pulsating behind his eyes. Rather opposite, they made it so. much. worse.

Nergal groaned, a pitiful gurkle caught somewhere between desperation and surrender. Catching himself against some fancy fixture Kranos had installed on all the walls, the hulk of muscle and pink fur managed to stay upright. Barely.

See, he'd gotten a call. A very important one, at that. It's not like he would've ditched the bottle and hauled his ass upsairs in any other case, anyway. But when [member="Roger Kranos"] called? Yeah, you better answered, or the junkie went stone-cold sober faster than you could blurt 'toma'. He'd only seen it happen once, and it had been quite enough to burn the image directly onto his retina.

In his valiant effort to make it to the VIP elevator, a female fury burst past him, nearly knocking the enforcer back down. A flimsy dress flowed behind her, but even if he'd swung that way, Nergal was simply too wasted to turn fast enough. The bright side of his inebriation was, thankfully, that he already forgot about the queen by the time he managed two more steps forward. Had he been less drunk, the man might've taken the time to teach her some manners – preferably downstairs in the Golden Hour, where a particularly grisly act was taking place – but knowing himself and his plastered pace, it would've been morning by the time they'd made it all the way down.

And, well, the Rotary Club had bigger fish to fry.

With blood-shot eyes, Nergal pierced the bouncer just as effectively – or perhaps even more – than he would've sober, and a man that could've been his twin scrabled to the side.

Drunk or not, the enforcer instilled fear in his subordinates.

The man stumbled into the elevator and promptly slid down in the corner, leaning his burning head back against the soothing cold of the mirrors lining the walls. He just hoped Roger had gotten rid of that karking ding, or he was going to gut someone.

For real, man.


[member="Griffin Coldwell"] | [member="Mitzi May"]
 

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