Rheyla Tann
Character
Steam poured from vented walls and broken ducts, coiling into the air like the whole city was exhaling frustration. Neon signs blinked overhead in no consistent rhythm, casting pale pink and acid green across puddles that definitely weren’t just water. Somewhere nearby, a droid shorted out and collapsed face-first into a cart of grilled meat skewers. No one looked twice.
Rheyla, for once in a long time, didn’t wear her usual cloth wrap over her head or lekku. Instead, she’d pulled on something different—a merged headpiece of metal and fabric, snug against her brow and temples. Not for any particular reason. Just to try something new.
A matte-finished metal plate curved over her forehead, shaped into a subtle V that rose into a pointed crest. At its centre, a blue gemstone caught the flicker of Denon’s neon haze—muted but unmistakable. Reinforced ear-cone covers framed each side, integrated into a dark wrap of cloth that hugged the crown of her head before loosening behind her lekku, letting them fall free for once. The fabric was heavy enough to block sand or sparks, but soft enough not to chafe.
She didn’t feel exposed, exactly, but it was strange not having the usual weight of cloth around her lekku. The old scars along their length were more visible now, faint blaster grazes that told more truth than she'd usually let show.
Still. Change didn’t kill anyone. Usually.
Having taken the tram from the spaceport, the soft, blue-skinned Twi'lek stepped off with the kind of walk that said, 'Don't bother me unless you’re paying.' Her boots hit ferrocrete and didn’t stop—if you stood still too long on Denon, the city noticed. And Denon didn’t do you any favours.
She weaved through the crowd, past a woman shouting about half-priced spice rolls, past a boy trying to sell fake Mandalorian relics made of painted plastoid, past a bounty board terminal with a screen so cracked it looked like a spiderweb. Half the names on it were probably dead already.
The smell hit next. Gods, the smell. Spice oil, fried stimroot, meat smoke, and ozone. Whatever Ace had promised her—dinner, was it?—he’d better not mean some recycled protein cube and a cup of rehydrated disappointment. If she was risking being seen this close to a Core-world dock, she wanted actual food. A flickering holosign buzzed to life as she passed beneath it, advertising some long-closed noodle stand in six languages. She didn’t slow down. The sooner she was through this sector, the better.
After a good half an hour of making her way through the crowded streets, Rheyla found herself high above the normal streets with air smelling like it hadn't gone through thirteen different filters of smoke, spice and regret.
Rheyla stood by a railing after taking a turbolift, having shared the cramped pace with a Devaronian. She swore she had seen the man before somewhere, but she just couldn't for the life of her remember where. Leaning against the railing, arms crossed, brow furrowed, she tried to remember where she had seen the Devaronian before.
