Scherezade deWinter
The Blood Hound
There were no signs pointing to The Bearded Lekku.
It was one of those places one could find by one of two ways. The first, word of mouth. You had to know people who knew people who maybe knew the right people. The second, was by following the scent of spice oil, the faint ozone from scorched circuity, and the smoke of death sticks. Frankly, the second way was much easier.
Very unlike Scherezade deWinter though, who for a change, had come to the place following the first path rather than the latter. Her boots crunched against the fungal grit of the Nightlands, every step softened by the tailored fall of her dress, a dark amethyst number with slits high enough to allow motion and danger, and sleeves loose enough to multiple blades. She had come without armor or any of her more noticeably toys. Just grace, and the quiet confidence of a predator who'd already counted exits before she entered.
The glowshrooms along the tunnel walls flickered as she passed, some reacting to her body heat, others perhaps to something else entirely.
She'd heard whispers of The Bearded Lekku. A gambling den carved into the bones of a war that never truly ended. A place where fortunes turned on dice, and destinies on dares. The games would make a lovely distraction, though they had not been the reason for her arrival. For all her great and many vices, Scherezade wasn't really a gambler at heart. Not with credits. She would still play them, of course, as she scanned the place, its people, and most importantly… its secrets
And maybe, just maybe, the drinks. It'd been a while since she'd last had something that came with a little paper umbrella in it.
The arched entrance loomed ahead, the metal scorched into stone, guarded by a pair of Trandoshan bouncers whose cybernetics hummed louder than their growls. They looked her up and down, nostrils flaring.
"Pit or Vault?" one rasped.
Scherezade smiled faintly.
She stepped past them without waiting for their verdict. The choice had already been made. "Pit," she purred after her back was already turned to them, pretending like there had never been a place she belonged to more than here.
Inside, the Bearded Lekku came alive. Neon glyphs in Twi'leki lit up the stairwells like tattoos, and a sabacc pot roared to life at a nearby table as someone lost a freighter and half their liver. A pair of Twi'lek twins wearing identical masks were dancing on a hovering dais, barely noticed among the crowd of drinkers, gamblers, and killers dressed in silk and spite. And the occasional scuffy farmer's outfit.
Scherezade paused at the landing, eyes scanning the crowd. Her target for the night had not yet arrived. But that was all right. She was a patient girl when she had to be. Slowly, she began to make her way towards the bar, the green glow of her eyes continuing to take the area in.
Yeah… Definitely some drink that came with an umbrella in it.
It was one of those places one could find by one of two ways. The first, word of mouth. You had to know people who knew people who maybe knew the right people. The second, was by following the scent of spice oil, the faint ozone from scorched circuity, and the smoke of death sticks. Frankly, the second way was much easier.
Very unlike Scherezade deWinter though, who for a change, had come to the place following the first path rather than the latter. Her boots crunched against the fungal grit of the Nightlands, every step softened by the tailored fall of her dress, a dark amethyst number with slits high enough to allow motion and danger, and sleeves loose enough to multiple blades. She had come without armor or any of her more noticeably toys. Just grace, and the quiet confidence of a predator who'd already counted exits before she entered.
The glowshrooms along the tunnel walls flickered as she passed, some reacting to her body heat, others perhaps to something else entirely.
She'd heard whispers of The Bearded Lekku. A gambling den carved into the bones of a war that never truly ended. A place where fortunes turned on dice, and destinies on dares. The games would make a lovely distraction, though they had not been the reason for her arrival. For all her great and many vices, Scherezade wasn't really a gambler at heart. Not with credits. She would still play them, of course, as she scanned the place, its people, and most importantly… its secrets
And maybe, just maybe, the drinks. It'd been a while since she'd last had something that came with a little paper umbrella in it.
The arched entrance loomed ahead, the metal scorched into stone, guarded by a pair of Trandoshan bouncers whose cybernetics hummed louder than their growls. They looked her up and down, nostrils flaring.
"Pit or Vault?" one rasped.
Scherezade smiled faintly.
She stepped past them without waiting for their verdict. The choice had already been made. "Pit," she purred after her back was already turned to them, pretending like there had never been a place she belonged to more than here.
Inside, the Bearded Lekku came alive. Neon glyphs in Twi'leki lit up the stairwells like tattoos, and a sabacc pot roared to life at a nearby table as someone lost a freighter and half their liver. A pair of Twi'lek twins wearing identical masks were dancing on a hovering dais, barely noticed among the crowd of drinkers, gamblers, and killers dressed in silk and spite. And the occasional scuffy farmer's outfit.
Scherezade paused at the landing, eyes scanning the crowd. Her target for the night had not yet arrived. But that was all right. She was a patient girl when she had to be. Slowly, she began to make her way towards the bar, the green glow of her eyes continuing to take the area in.
Yeah… Definitely some drink that came with an umbrella in it.
