Private Seeking New Alternatives

[Darth Virelia]

"To be, or not to be."

Tags - Calyx Sundrift

Pleasure had a taste on Zeltros—honeyed, acrid, cloying, depending on how far one let it seep. For most, it was the sweetest of poisons. For Virelia, it was background noise. The air itself was laced with pheromones and the pulse of music, the streets stitched together with neon and temptation, but none of it could touch the discipline of her mind. She let the tide wash over her, violet eyes half-lidded behind a porcelain half-mask, and allowed the world to believe her merely another patron chasing indulgence.

The Dark Court had no true roots here yet. That suited her. She preferred Zeltros as it was—a neutral stage no matter who 'offically' owned it, a place where information traded faster than credits. Rumours thrived here in a way even spice dens could not replicate. They clung to dancers' tongues, seeped from the mouths of drunk off-world merchants, and passed through the lazy laughter of smugglers on borrowed couches. She had come for one in particular: a story of a Jedi who had fallen, vanished into velvet shadows and never returned to their Order.

A figure like that was worth the hunt. Not because she needed another apprentice—though such a tool was never wasted—but because it spoke to her long game. A Jedi who had tasted the fracture between faith and reality could become a wedge, or a weapon, or a mirror. Whispers said this exile had been seen among the lower halls of Zeltros' entertainment quarters, drifting between revels, carrying scars that were not only physical.

Virelia passed beneath a canopy of lightstrips, their flicker glancing off the plates of her Tyrant's Embrace, disguised beneath a silken over-robe dyed a deep wine hue. She kept the armor muted, quieted through alchemical veils; to those who brushed against her in the crowd, she was only another patron in finery. Only when she moved did the weight of presence linger—enough to draw glances, never long enough for alarm.

She entered a lounge of polished crystal and low couches, a place that thrummed with bass notes deep enough to stir the ribs. Dancers turned their bodies into weapons of persuasion, each gesture coaxing more intoxicated laughter from the crowd. Virelia ignored them. She scanned the periphery—the gamblers at the sabacc tables, the Zeltron courtesans whispering to their charges, the slouching pilots who pretended they still had coin left.

Somewhere here the thread would reveal itself.

 

[Calyx Sundrift]

The jukebox in the corner warbled out a jizz tune, barely audible over the din of voices raised in lively debate. The bar was packed, patrons wedged into leather booths while the overflow crowded the standing-room floor, drinks sloshing in hand. By the holo-pool table, a rowdy group erupted in cheers as one of them sank a difficult shot, the electric crack of the holo-cue ball cutting through the smoky air. The bartender rewarded the victory with a tray of tequila shots, their sharp scent biting at the warmth of the room.

For now, it was relatively quiet. In half an hour the place would thrum with the brass and swing of a famed big-band. After that came comedy hour. Low profile as it was, the bar always did well.

Calyx lounged in one of the old, scratched vinyl booths that wrapped around a small round table. His booth, always reserved, had the one thing no others did. A clear line of sight to all three exits. The front door, the back, and the smuggler’s hatch behind the bar.

Reserved for Kanjiklub. Specifically their newest asset.

Calyx Sundrift.

Consigliere of the Zeltros branch.

He still wasn’t used to the title, but evenings like this suited him fine. Show your face, strike a deal or two, maybe indulge in a little trouble or some frisky action. Then call it a night.

His cocktail arrived, the vibrant red drink topped with a lime wedge and sugared rim. Calyx tipped his glass in a subtle nod to the Zeltron server, a man about his age who’d learned unbuttoned shirts meant heavier tips. He’d make a note to track him down later.

Across the table sat his companion - another Zeltron. She was alluring despite being well into her forties, and her dress left little to the imagination. Dessa, the one who ruled over Kanjiklub’s Zeltros ledgers. A single misplaced credit, and she’d drag the offender over for a reckoning.

“Any appointments tonight, Dessa?” Calyx asked.

She sifted through the holographic tabs springing from her bracer, absently swiping with one hand while keeping her wine glass impossibly steady in the other. “Nothing that concerns you, Cal. Not for the next hour, at least.”

Calyx sighed. “Got any budget for Sabacc or Pazaak?”

“No.” she answered, clipped.

“Promise I’ll win?”

“No.”

He huffed loudly, sinking into the booth like a sulking schoolboy. “Fine. I’ll just- stare longingly at my credits and imagine the winnings I could’ve had.” He raised his cocktail in mock salute and took a noisy sip, sugared rim brushing his lips.

Dessa didn’t even glance up. “That’s about all you’re good at, imagining winnings.”

“Hey! I win sometimes,” he shot back, pointing a finger with exaggerated indignation. “Once I even left a table richer than when I sat down.”

“Mm.” Dessa swirled her wine. “And then you bought three rounds for the whole cantina.”

Calyx grinned, unashamed. “Morale boost. You can’t put a price on morale.”

Her brow arched. “I can. Six thousand credits.”

He laughed, leaning back, smile still in place even as his eyes flicked, almost unconsciously, to the three exits. Charm aside, there was always calculation in his gaze. Even here, especially here, Calyx Sundrift never let his guard down.

That was when he noticed her, the woman in the wine-colored robe. She didn’t stand out enough to draw eyes, but for those who looked too long, questions came to mind. Calyx felt it before he understood it. The scent of danger. The threat in plain sight. The amulet of many grew cool against his skin, hiding his presence as he instinctively reached for the Force.

“Dessa?” His voice carried a hard edge.

She glanced up immediately, following his gaze. “Trouble?”

“Yes.” His eyes narrowed, his response flat and certain. “Invite her over. I need to know who she is and why she’s here.”

Dessa rose smoothly, but before she stepped away, Calyx added “And once you do, head straight for the exit. Put distance between you and this place. It’s that kind of trouble.”

She held his gaze for a long, worried moment. Then, with a smile carefully painted across her features, she sauntered toward the robed woman. Slow, graceful, and already playing the innocent part.

Darth Virelia