Private The Calm

[Rik Perris]

Location: Mists Nightclub - Ta’a Chume’Dan - Hapes
Approximate Timeframe: The Annihilation of Tython
Tag: Briana Sal-Soren

Andrik 'Rik' Perris had some time; barely enough to justify darkening the doorstep of the family home back on Corellia for a proper visit and still only make it back in time by the skin of his teeth for commencement of the next op, but enough to take a solid handful of days and do anything but think about what came next. On the two-year-old advice of… well, the name didn’t matter, he’d made his way to Hapes, though the simple fact that it was in the area, due to the outfit he was attached to being secluded in the Transitory Mists, made plenty of reason to go and get the fuck away from his team.

Interpersonal tolerance was at an all-time low ever since Zoyar, their peacekeeper medic, got gunned down about a month and a half ago. Part of it was grief. The rest was just the hazard of sharing space with other people. They could handle each other well enough, but they still bristled some at ‘Jedi leadership’. And blamed him, as if he could have done more to prevent this outcome. He wasn’t omniscient or omnipresent. The Force didn’t work that way.

“Fuck them,” he groused beneath his breath, stopping briefly to check his reflection on the side of a gleaming building before walking the few remaining meters to the club. It wasn’t often he got to dress like this, in a suit, or even bothered, but he was sick of the average cantina or hole in the wall, and wanted to see what the higher end clubs were like here, compared to his last experiences of them, on Coruscant. And on Naboo, before the cataclysm.

After an ident check - the stressors and ravages of his way of life hadn’t started to write lines into his face, unlike the story told by the accumulated healed breaks and other scars writ throughout much of the rest of his body for those who might know how to read such a book - the door staff gave way to allow him entry. The air was touched with the pulse of driving bass and provocative vocals when he stepped into the building, an atmosphere that thickened as he ascended the stairs to the main part of the club, and entered through another set of doors at the top into a vast room where lights of various colours moved and changed to the track administered by a woman on the decks who was just as suffused with astounding beauty as the vast majority of the Consortium's citizens... and any one of them could just as well be a honeyed trap.

That had been the caution that came with the advice.

Turning away from the dias, Rik made his way over to the main bar and an empty stool. It was just early enough that the place wasn't crammed to the gills with night revellers... as far as what passed for night in this realm. He had to wonder how the expat communities put up with the constant daylight, and he already knew he wouldn't want to live here on that basis alone, but for a visit? It was something else. It wasn't just the general beauty, but a society dominated by women? You had to experience it first-hand and form your own opinions. When one of the bartenders walked up and singled him out with a look, and a 'What will you have?', Rik gave an answer, promptly.

"Ale, whatever's real good and local. Not looking to get knocked on my ass too early," Or at all. Well, that might depend on how the night went. "Thanks."

He'd drunk absolute swill a time or two, or... well he'd lost count - some people should keep their day jobs, but sometimes you just needed whatever was close at hand and would get you blitzed, damn the consequences - and there was no reason to keep that up, here.

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Wearing: XoXo
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Mists Nightclub, Hapes
Tag: Rik Perris

Secluded to one side of the bar, Briana attempted to absorb the atmosphere of the evening, cradling a sparkling champagne flute, yet finding herself unable to wrest her thoughts from the quagmire that engulfed her. The unsettling images of her friends and the occurrence of the Maws most recent strike, weighed heavily on her mind.

The news of Tython's assault reached her ears hours earlier, and its reality struck with a sobering impact. Several of her friends were caught up in the conflict, and their fates remained unknown, fueling her growing unease and guilt. A sense of remorse gnawed at Briana's conscious for not being there to aid them, despite recognizing the undeniable fact that her family needed her and quietly harboring her countless doubts regarding her place in the Jedi Order.

As intense emotions washed over her, Briana absentmindedly swirled the effervescent champagne, its enticing golden gleam offering a fleeting refuge she yearned to lose herself in. Taking a sip, she relished the crisp sweetness on her tongue and shut her eyes, inhaling deeply and allowing herself to be enveloped by the scentscape of the bar – decadent perfumes mingling with robust whiskeys filled the air.

The environment played like a symphony, muted conversations drifting above a soothing melody emanating from hidden speakers. The clinking of glasses became percussion as patrons toasted to various successes and camaraderie. The kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within her rose and fell like waves on an ocean, their intensity ebbing for just a moment as she savored this fleeting sanctuary.

Only the sound of a low timbre voice broke through her reverie.

"Ale, whatever's real good and local. Not looking to get knocked on my ass too early, thanks."

She raised a finely arched eyebrow before it lowered back down to furrow in contemplation, the attention he'd drawn alerting her to his presence in the Force, radiating like a brilliant signal. Was he another Jedi? From where? His accent was distinctly non-Hapan, and from his order, an outsider. Or seemed to be, at least from what she could discern on a surface level. Overcome with her own innate curiosity, she swiveled to face the stranger seated but a barstool away and tucked a thick curl of her cascading chestnut hair behind one delicately scrolled ear, the gold and cream gown that hugged her figure whispering softly as she moved.

Adopting a nonchalant demeanor to try and break the ice, she offered, "If you're after a quality drink that won't break the bank or, as you so eloquently put it... 'knock you on your ass too early'," a good-natured grin graced her rosy lips while her eyes discretely appraised him; handsome and lean, he cut an imposing figure. "then I recommend the Fumé de Viande."

 

[Rik Perris]

Location: Mists Nightclub - Ta'a Chume'Dan - Hapes
Approximate Timeframe: The Annihilation of Tython
Tag: Briana Sal-Soren

The barkeep was quick to bring him a tall glass of a local brew that was decidedly more red than amber, ‘This is our dark ale,’ the barkeep explained, ‘you will find little better in Ta’a Chume’Dan than what we produce in-house.”

Rik nodded; he’d have to take the barkeep’s word for it. He wasn’t about to go on a brewery-hopping tour just to find out if that was true for him or not. As the barkeep moved on to helping other patrons, he wrapped a hand around the glass and was about to pull it to himself for a sip, when a feminine voice that didn’t come all that close to sounding like a Hapan native - as far as he’d been able to tell - stole his attention and made him aware that he wasn’t the only empyrean presence in the establishment. His eyes narrowed in the moment as she spoke; was she part of the local Force outfit, or…?

"If you're after a quality drink that won't break the bank or, as you so eloquently put it... 'knock you on your ass too early', then I recommend the Fumé de Viande."

“Hn,” he sounded softly as his lips curved, not going so far as the comely grin that bloomed on her face; he half-considered her recommendation while at the same time appraising her fleetingly in a sidelong glance. She didn’t really sound particularly Hapan, despite that when he fully turned his chin towards his shoulder, and put his eyes on her, he wasn't able to tell the difference. "That so?"

His fingers curled away from the base of the glass into a very loose fist, not wanting to warm the brew any faster than it was becoming, alone, “How do I know,” he settled his other forearm on the bartop, perpendicular to himself, and his tone was flecked with light, playful accusation, “you’re not trying to pull one over on me?”

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Wearing: XoXo
Equipment: Lightsaber
Location: Hapes
Tag: Rik Perris

Briana couldn't help the small smile that formed on her lips as she watched Rik, the hesitation in his expression, his movements. He was right, of course—she could be trying to pull one over on him, and on Hapes, she couldn't disparage him for being overly cautious. There was a reason why Hapans carried a reputation of being backstabbing and opportunistic. "You've got a healthy dose of skepticism, I see. But, believe me," she replied, infusing her voice with her own innate charm, both smooth and subtle as her finger traced along the rim of her glass. "If I wanted to pull one over on you, I could think of far more creative ways than recommending a drink."

"Besides," she gestured with her hand in the air to bring his attention to their surroundings which boasted of Hapan grandeur - shimmering chandeliers reflecting pools of colored light onto both patrons and architecture alike—intermittent laughter wafting through the air like a thick fragrance off the finest cuisine that could be found in the House of Lords district, wealthy patrons intent on enjoying their status. "why come to this particular establishment if you didn't want to enjoy something new and thrilling?" Her challenge hung in the air like a silken thread.

With a graceful wave of her unoccupied hand, she deftly manipulated the Force to push a coaster-sized menu towards him, its gold-embossed letters detailing exotic beverages unique to the bar, among them the enthralling Fumé de Viande. Taking a delicate sip from her own drink, Briana let out an appreciative sigh as her ruby-stained lips curved into a sly grin. The reflection from ever-shifting lights glittered in her eyes, filled the slightest hint of mischief.

"Your choice, Ace."

 

[Rik Perris]

Location: Mists Nightclub - Ta'a Chume'Dan - Hapes
Approximate Timeframe: The Annihilation of Tython
Tag: Briana Sal-Soren

[ Far more creative ways? ]

Rik wasn’t certain whether to take that as a threat or a promise, but the phrase dove into the pool of his thoughts, regardless, and the way she - whether deliberately or not - ran a single finger slowly back and forth along the rim of her glass pulled in a little more of his focus on this woman beside him at the bar.

But it was what she said next that made him employ a little pull to make his glass slide into his hand, rather than tear his gaze away from her to pick up the glass like a normal person; he lifted the glass and took a long sip, watching her as she did the opposite to send a coaster his way… not that would look at it.

Was he being manipulated? Some chance of it, in his mind.

Did it matter?

No.

He lowered the glass and set it on the menu coaster, “Rik,” he said to the moniker she’d employed, “long time since I was one of those, and I think I’d recall if you were a passenger,” he leaned toward her a little, “Saber didn’t fly tandems.”

Was it a cramped space? Sure, but that didn’t stop some pilots.

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Wearing: XoXo | Equipment: Lightsaber | Location: Hapes | Tag: Rik Perris​

The insinuation in Rik's words did not go unnoticed, and it brought a modicum of lightness that’d been missing in Briana’s day—a welcome change from the heavy thoughts that’d previously occupied her mind. “Mmm, you’re right about that," she began, matching his lean with a slight tilt of her head, the soft lighting catching the angles of her face. "I do tend to leave quite the impression." The corner of her mouth quirked up into a playful, knowing smile, as if to underline the truth of it.

The words were allowed to hang in the air, marinating in the moment before she seamlessly pivoted into introductions. “So, Rik, huh?” With a slight nod of her head, she introduced herself in turn. “I’m Briana.”

Repositioning herself on the stool to more fully engage with him, Briana elegantly crossed her legs, one over the other, the high slit of her dramassian shimmersilk dress offering a fleeting glimpse of her thigh. Hapan couture always made her feel a tad…exposed, but if she felt uncomfortable at all in that moment, Briana never let it show in her expression or demeanor.

“I actually have flown a few different crafts,” Briana offered, hoping to open up the conversation.

“Though, I’ve never been part of a squadron.” There was a hint of something akin to nostalgia in her voice, a soft sigh of remembrance for dreams deferred. “Originally, I aimed to join the Naboo StarCorps and use that as a platform to spring off into politics, so I ended up spending a lot of my time in Nubian models during my youth, at least until the whims of the Force—or more accurately, my brother—decided to reroute my trajectory."

Your Late brother. The correction silently tried to assert itself, a phantom whisper that sought to anchor the painful truth. Although she never felt his passing, her attempts to reach out, to push past the limits in her training in search of him, were met with nothing but an abyss, as vast and impenetrable as the void of space.

Briana took a measured sip from her glass to drown out yet another sobering thought.

“So, tell me, what brings a pilot—or should I say, a former pilot—out to this stretch of the stars?"

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