The Cream Rises to the Top [Coruscant Rotary Club, Invite Only]

[Roger Kranos]

The Cream and the Crop Casino

Coruscant Underworld

Evening (occurs after the Little Shop of Horrors)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k5C1Bt4k-iA​

"WHAT!" He yelled as he stood from the table, his chair falling back on the checkered pattern carpet. Behind him, lights spanned the distance, the corrupt and uncorrupt alike gambling their life savings away to the sound of the clink and clank of the slot machines. Music to the mans ears but he couldn't hear it for the steam pouring out. He slapped a bejeweled hand down on the green felt table, just where his cards would be if it weren't for him publicly holding up the game of poker. "WHAT THE KARK DO YOU MEAN...15,000 credits?!?" He exhaled and sighed. "No no, I didn't mean it baby...no that's fine." He turned and the shade of red deepened. "PER HALF HOUR!?! WHAT?!?" He exhaled again, his left hand patting the air as if he was trying to temper his own temper. "No no, baby. No, no, I take it back...for all three? Oh, that's fine. That's fine. Sorry darling. How long should I wait?" He jutted out his lower jaw as he paced, every turn eyeing the dealer who was expectantly looking towards the loud man, waiting to deal the cards. "A few hours...like to keep a man waiting, I see. No, no, that's perfect, I got some business to tend do. Alright baby, see ya then. Tell the girls I look forward to seeing them." He made a kissing sound into the phone. "Ciao."

He closed the holonet receiver and slowly picked the chair back up. As he sauntered around, he began a small jig, his hand hovering over his stomach as he committed acts of pelvic blasphemy, the forbidden ritual of dance. Sated, Kranos sat and set the phone down on the table and cracked his neck. He donned a dark blue suit, custom fitted for his lean figure with a white shirt, with orange flames going down the sleeves and back. Pushing his black shades up with finger-less and knuckle - less biker gloves, he cradled his fingers around his chips before picking up a few and making it rain to those attending the table. "Take that you heathens..." He tapped his feet on the floor, grinning, as he cupped the tumbler in hand and sipped the scotch upon cold stones. He had the confidence to act like a schmuck, partially owning the place tended to help sort these sort of things out.

"Wait wait, don't start the game yet..." He held out his hand, the phone ringing once more. "I gotta take this...so...shut your faces for a second." He picked up the device and held it to his ear. "You thirsty or what?" He chuckled and cocked his head back, anchoring the phone between his shoulder and ear. He dipped a finger in the tumbler, sucking on his index as he rubbed his teeth back and forth. Snow in the water. "Yeah, you said a few hours...yeah yeah, bring whoever you want. The more the merrier...that gonna cost extra?" He paused, squinting his blue ice chip eyes. "On the house. My oh my...Yeah, that sounds fine. Alright, see you in a bit babe." Same kissy sound. "Ciao."

Scanning the room, he placed the phone down on the table. Patting his jacket down, he pulled out a golden rectangle and yanked a tan cigarette from the case. Pulling a matchstick across the box, the image of the flame caught across the reflection of the shades, polarized and magnified. Drawing the flame in, he inhaled the smoke and anchored the item in between his lips limply. With a nod, he gave permission to begin the game. A few tosses of the arm and he had himself a pair of jacks. Smugly smiling, he looked towards the man across the table, bearing an unfortunately hideous scar over where his right eye used to be. He knew the man, the one that liked the Mandalorian oranges. Lifting the tips of the cards, he smirked and eyed the man across the way, looking for some tells. None were received as the stoic man inspected his cards.

"Tell me...friend...are you a cutter?" Of course, he was referring to the act of cutting a deck before dealing. "Because I find it gives...clarity." His voice, somewhere between a growl and whisper, from the origins of a vocal chord that had endured far too much tobacco for one life time, echoed out from a majestic salt and pepper beard, manicured and groom into something beautiful and awe inspiring. Even his hair was tied back in a knot, the man was obviously prepared for some action before the night was through.

[member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Nergal"] | [member="Reverance"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

For a man who knew so much about running casinos, Cryax Bane wasn’t much of a gambler. The analytical Chiss, who had spent the last two years running the Dragon Palace Casino on Antecedent, knew just how strongly the odds were stacked against a casino’s unknowing patrons. The lugjack machines, jubilee wheels, and pazaak tables, all these activities were expertly designed to part even the most talented players with their credits. Furthermore, the free drinks, plentiful spice, and ubiquitous long-legged hostesses and dancers served as acute distractions, making sure sure that even the sorest losers kept spending. The more limbs that twirled, the more the credits flowed. Ka-ching, motherkarkers.

The Cream and the Crop casino on Coruscant was a towering durasteel monster. Its basement levels began in the Coruscant Undercity and shot upwards into a glittering skyscraper nearly a thousand stories high. The sheer amount of entertainment The Cream and The Crop contained was head-spinning. The street levels showcased more accepted forms of gambling and games for the hoi polloi of Coruscant while the skytower was reserved for luxury apartments for those who didn't mingle with the plebeians. The basement levels gained the most notoriety for the establishment, especially since many of the activities hosted by the crime syndicate that owned the casino, The Coruscant Rotary Club, were said to be highly illegal, incredibly dangerous, and broke the taboos of some five-hundred and thirty-seven planets. Some even described the basement activities as testaments to human frailty and its weaknesses of the flesh and ego.

Speaking of ego, Cryax Bane’s had been taken down a few notches since he arrived on Coruscant. Working in a morgue tended to do that to a man. It wasn’t as if the Chiss slicer was a nobody on the ecumenopolis. He had gained his own notoriety as a crime boss in the Outer Rim, but in a sense, he was starting over, building back up his stock on an unforgiving planet run by the Sith. The Coruscant Undercity ate people for breakfast, and the Chiss would be damned if he didn't lift his fork and dine right along with it.

The unmistakable coarse laughter of Roger Kranos, Bane’s cohort, could be heard over the clanging of the slots and the titter of drunken patrons. His luminous red eyes scanned the room. The black, white, and gold motif of the casino’s decor spoke of the elegant decadence of the Coruscant Undercity of years past, when the criminals and villians played right underneath the noses of the Republic. At the pazaak table where Nipple Rings, which was Cryax's pet name for Kranos, was playing, the Chiss spotted the familiar tanned skin and whorl of flesh over one eye. It seemed that Reverance had stopped by to drop what was likely to be an exorbitant amount of credits at the CRC’s establishment. Cryax ordered a bottle of aged whiskey and sent it to the Wrath’s table, with a note attached, written in perfect cursive on parchment paper.

“Hope you’re enjoying breaking in the tables. --CB.”

The Wrath of the Dark Lord would no doubt enjoy the pun.

[member="Reverance"] [member="Nergal"] [member="Hades Michae"]

 

[Reverance]

Did he like cutting? Gabriel mentally scoffed, having just witnessed an abhorrent level of manners. He had never met this Kranos in person, yet he wasn't spectacularly impressed with the mans level of control. To call Gabriel a cutter would put meekly what should be considered cosmically. Self-cutting, a notion he had never partaken in for the pure act of it, was something that delved too deeply in self-control for his own taste. Skin ripped from the flesh for the purpose of moving into the ranks of the Vong - that was an act that the Wrath cherished. Laying beneath the knife and the claws and the presence of [member="Matsu Xiangu"], as frightening as it was exhilarating - that was an act that the Wrath cherished. Being crushed beneath the force of [member="Vrag"], after the two beat each other mercilessly through the path of self and mutual exploration - that was an act that the Wrath cherished. But cutting...he chuckled and shook his head, an amateur asking the professional if he partook. Laughable.

A losing hand is a losing hand and Gabriel acquiesced to such notions as he bore down on his cards, a laser beam focus that threatened the very integrity of the cards themselves. He would burn them in their spot, leaving rectangle scorches in the green felt, as he considered the options ahead. He rose, 100,000 credits, and the bearded Kranos matched with a laugh and charming smile. Gabriel would grow to like this man, he felt it, but for now, the Epicanthix grated on the nerves like chalk dragged across the board. A flop, the dealer claimed his bounty as the Wrath stared down at the empty square, where his currency used to reside. As the whiskey bottle met his hand, he read the note and smiled at the character of the penmanship, from CB - Obviously [member="Cryax Bane"], the handsome blue devil lingering somewhere far beyond the clutches of any unkindness.

"Would you like to buy in more chips, sir?" The dealer, beneath the canopy of his green and flimsy visor, spoke from the depths of a fu manchu mustache, heralding with some pizzazz his Atrisian ancestry. Gabriel tapped the last chip on the table, the buy in of 50,000 credits for the large stakes table, before uttering words of melancholy. He came here to lose, to contribute in his own way, but knowing the blade would cut doesn't alleviate the sting of the metal.

"Where do I currently sit?" He said, not looking at the dealer, but instead staring deep into those fleck of blue upon the eccentric man. "97.5 down." Gabriel let out a sigh and smiled. His aim was a cool 100 million, but the night was young and he had better things to be doing with his time. Pushing out of his chair, he grabbed the bottle by the neck and walked around the table, rubbing waist with shoulders of the chairs as he seemingly dragged his knuckles. A gray long sleeve shirt hugged his muscled frame, a flack jacket resting atop, as he stopped in front of Kranos. With a pause, his gaze shifted from the man to the gold leaf and red world around them. Like a massive yellow beast that bled continuously, it had a certain depth of character. And the hall of gambling hardly hinted at that depth and the depravity that Gabriel had heard so much about. He would need to bring Matsu here some time, when he could carve a bit more time away for recreational activities. Mid thought, he pulled a card from his pocket and placed in the bearded mans jacket pocket, where the handkerchief normally resided. "Nice beard..."

He spoke in a whisper before smirking and walking off, finding something better to do with his time. Last thing he needed was a night spent listening to some drug dealer order harlots like take-out.

[member="Nergal"] | [member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Yidhra]

Any criminal worth his salt knew full well how deceiving appearances can be, but the man in question had taken that adage to the next level. The Casino where he choose to do so was an establishment very familiar with levels, too, seeing as it spanned from the Underworld straight to the highest of Coruscant's skyscrapers. Its roots were embedded deep in the blood-steeped earth of the planet, and Nergal did his best to contribute to both the business and the fertilization of soil. After all, theirs was an operation that practically thrived upon their understanding of flora, and some species needed very… specific conditions to grow and flourish.

Despite the initial impression one might get after offering the man a casual glance, Nergal was quite the delicate soul. Those hands, even if massive and quite lethal, could handle the most gentle of flowers with care that looked quite comical upon his towering form. It was something the enforcer abused often, this misconception about his nature; it gave him an edge of unpredictability that he wielded ruthlessly when push came to shove.

Most of the time that was unnecessary, however, and when he was at peace, Nergal would utilize this to a very different end. It earned him good credits, mind you, and he got to have fun in a way that he often couldn't otherwise. His face, his very presence was well-known throughout the seedy streets of the planet's underbelly, and the flair that usually translated into especially creative violence could be put to use in a different, less deadly hobby.

And let's face it, Nergal just loved the limelight.

The Cream and the Crop Casino had stages in droves, but not all of them were suitable for the kind of show the zeltron liked to put on. And what a show it was! Colorful lights, wild music and a charged atmosphere, it all contributed to the famous parties that the man could throw. Tickets were always sold out, people piling in and trampling each other as they scrambled to see the display of some renown.

Then the strobes would kick in with a flash, bathing the man in hot pink light and blinding the audience with the shimmering of glitter upon his body. Deep black shade around murky blue eyes, a dashing red-lipped smile and a hint of a blush on his cheeks, and Miss Tillia Vaudeville was ready to knock the socks off of the crowd.

Almost invariably the handsome, if flamboyant performer achieved this with the awesome power of his voice, a natural baritone that he had honed and trained throughout the many years of his life to push its boundaries into the higher registers and achieve a velvety tenor. Usually he would pick dynamic, engaging songs to pull the audience closer and into the trance of his performance, gleaning standing ovations and bouquets of flowers galore. There was irony in the fact that most of those came from their flower shops, and it left a hint of wry amusement in the curved line of his smile. Adoration was adoration no matter where it came from, however, and Nergal basked in it nonetheless.

That evening was no different, and as per usual, the enforcer left the stage with his heart beating hard against his ribs and blood pulsating wildly through his veins. The clientele that came to watch his shows was of a certain kind, and theirs were certain… sensibilities that wouldn't allow for the sort of entertainment he needed after he was done with the display. And so Nergal, as he oft did, rushed down to the lower levels of the enormous building, leaving only the pink overcoat behind in his rampant need for a good old shockboxing match. It would punch all that glitter and makeup right off his face, but he would smile regardless, giving back as good as he got with the devastating strikes those paws of his could deliver. It was as if he needed to reaffirm his strength after delivering such a poignant performance, but that question led in self-reflective waters, and Nergal had sworn never to sail them again.

He would return upstairs with a split lip, the red of the lipstick replaced by the darker hues of blood that seeped into his mouth to stain his teeth red. Not that the enforcer particularly cared for the bruises already forming all over his body; the thrum of life and excitement in the casino was infectious — even more so for the zeltron half of him — and so he was far too busy grinning to notice the steady sting of pain. Tomorrow.

"Mind if I buy in on this game, dear?" he murmured in Kranos' ear as his hand gave a firm squeeze to the bearded man's shoulder. Blue eyes swept across the rest of the participants, and then the enforcer promptly sat down, ordering a neat double to a passing waitress. If it weren't for his peculiar proclivities, the man might've paid special attention to the high ride of the woman's skirt, or the deep cleavage offered on display, but he was all too interested in other things to pay any attention to those.

"Deal me in, will ya?"

[member="Roger Kranos"] | [member="Cryax Bane"]​

 

[Quietus]

My dearest wife,

After your last return I've spent a great deal of time worrying over your words. Perhaps I had been too hasty or simply not empathetic enough. I should never have asked you to send our daughter out here for a visit. I don't know what I was thinking. I know we've had our differences, but I'll not yet give up on what's left of us. I think of you and Pepper every day and I miss you terribly, I can't take much more of the isolation from our family, so I will be returning home for an extended visit just in time for Pepper's birthday.

Counting down the days,
Rupe


"Oh this is a disaster."
"Mother? What's a disaster? May I read the letter now?"
"Oh...of course, Sweetpea, here you are."
"I do love that he sends real, handwritten letters. It's very avant garde."
"I think the word you are searching for is antiquated."
"Nobody sends real letters, mother."
"That's because nobody is silly enough to write something that takes two weeks to deliver when they could just as easily open up a holo-call."

Mitzi May watched from her lounging position on the couch of her condo, listening with bemusement at her daughter prattle smartly on about how handwritten letters were going to make a comeback, just like real books and the Beejees. If nothing else, Rupe would be on the forefront of what would soon become a very widespread and short-lived fad–if anyone could figure out where to buy paper and inkpens.

Perhaps she should begin investing in some new stocks.

"So he's coming home then? For my birthday? Brilliant! I wonder what he'll bring me..."
"Probably outdated fashions from wild space...mf," Mitzi stood with a beckon to her butler who arrived with a full-length nexu-fur coat that she shrugged into, "don't stay up too late, Sweetpea."
"Where are you going tonight?"
"To the casino, darling, to meet with some friends."
"Are you going to see Mr. Kranos? Will you tell him I say hello? And give him this!"
"Of course dear...you know he loves to hear from you."

Late evening in Corsucant, at the corner of wilted dreams and desperation, the tempo of the city reached hysteria. Mitzi arrived at the Casino shortly past midnight, doffing her coat and entering the boom of the floor. She was a golden vision amidst the crowds, weighted by the gleam and glitter of luxury. Bypassing refreshment, the Maybell Hotel's owner climbed the levels in silence, stealing away into the upper echelons of this fantasy land to where she would find the man-in-charge in all his bearded, balking glory.

A sanguine smile as eyes connected, hips shimmying smoothly in a rhythmic glimmer of sequins and jewels. Nok nok nok nok - the beat of kitten heels across the checkers. Queen takes pawn.

"Roger, darling," the greeting was low as she bent over his shoulder where he sat, lacing her arms down over his chest, "I need your ear."

 

[Roger Kranos]

Leathered, fingerless gloves, dipped into the pocket of the jacket as that jackal left the table. 97.5 million, what a nab, Kranos thought with a smile and chuckle, before reading the paper.

Two orders of information on the rebel alliance. Keep the change.

The stylized man wiggled in his seat as he laughed, crumpling the piece of paper into a little ball, before jamming it in his mouth. Chomp, chomp, chomp. The paper was wet and dry at the same time, sucking the moisture out of the mans jowls, as he lifted the whiskey and downed several swallows, helping to pass the paper. Just then, he felt the firm grip of the Enforcer before he sat down at the table, blue chips of ice reflecting curiosity as the bearded set of nipple rings tilted his head in perplexed gesticulation. "Baby, you're always welcome at this table..." If that relationship wasn't ambiguous enough as it was, the night was young, and nothing but time was available to tumble down that rabbit hole fabulously.

But instead, he nodded to the dealer to begin the next round and include Nergal in the flow of cash and cards. Cards flung out violently from the Atrisian, like one of them cargo machines at the spaceports that sifts through luggage with punches and smacks in its method of sorting. Those exist, Kranos was sure of it! Nevertheless, he flung the buy-in chip, knowing that 50,000 credits was no biggie when the casino was perpetually running the gambit of profits. As he looked at his cards, his head bobbed back and forth to the sound of the music, his shoulders and back swaying as he felt them tasty grooves through his bones. Made he want to get down, get rowdy, and boogie. Or maybe that was the drugs in the scotch...maybe it was both. Probably both.

Like lavender personified, he felt that presence drape herself upon his back, and he got the weird sensation of smelling gold. Or maybe it was just the synethesia kicking, the odd side effect that acted as vanguard to the incoming onset of euphoria. That last hit was yummy, he thought, as he rubbed his beard and crossed his arm over Mitzi's arms. "Mitzi, you sultry minx..." He nodded with a smile to the dealer, matching a rise from some nameless victim of the swindlers swindle. Damn, he could taste the credits now.

"For you, I've got two..." He scratched her forearm with a finely manicured nail. In fact, for such a bearded individual, his grooming and hygiene was something to behold. Truly awe inspiring, the smell of manliness, yet cleanliness, stretched from him like the aura of that Sith Lord that just left the room. Except nicer.

[member="Nergal"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"]

 

[Yidhra]

He made a small noise of affirmation, something between a grunt and a chuckle, and then reached forward to look at his cards. Nergal wasn't the best of players, that was for sure, but the dirtied zeltron blood coursing through his veins — and trickling from his mouth — gave him enough insight into people's emotions to see through the poorer of bluffs. It certainly gave him an edge when it came to the sort of games that relied on facial expression or lack thereof, but in truth he didn't much like them anyway. Too much sitting around, doing nothing.

He was a man of activity, of dynamic, and lounging lazily often made him feel purposeless and morose. And that just wouldn't do.

The enforcer wiped the red smear from his chin with the back of a gloved hand, coarsely swearing about the stain it left. "Well, feth," his voice was low from a punch he'd gotten right to the side of the neck, voice rasping along the damaged vocal cords. The bloodied fingers massaged his sore throat as he folded, rising from the table again.

"I shall leave you in Miss May's capable hands, Kranos," he muttered with that same gravelly tone, his silver eyes flickering from the grinning man to the picture of elegance leaning over his shoulder. If he didn't know Roger as well as he did, Nergal would be worried, but the man could — contrary to all rational expectations — run a business despite being high on three different drugs most of the time. If that didn't throw him off, even a charming woman couldn't.

Content that their… enterprise was as safe as it would ever be, the giant of a man lumbered over to another member of the organization that wasn't particularly inclined to play the tables tonight. Despite the colorful clientele frequenting the casino, there was no missing the dash of blue even amid the dazzling lights and the glitter of gilded furniture. He was a man who could appreciate visual beauty when it was tasteful, and whoever had designed the casino certainly knew what they were doing.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he emptied the last of his scotch, swallowing the amber liquid as if it were water. It stung when it passed down his gullet, but the man was far too familiar with that burn to do anything else but welcome it.

"Hello, Bane," he chuckled, eyes twinkling with a hint of mirth now that an adequate quantity of alcohol had entered his bloodstream. "Enjoying the concerto of credits, are we?"

The CRC wasn't in the habit of hiring people before a thorough background check and vetting process were conducted, and as such, Nergal was well aware that the man was sitting pretty high on the galactic scale of the well-off. A few decades ago, the enforcer would've bristled with envy at the prospect, but he'd gotten over that. Being part of a successful criminal syndicate, naturally, had nothing to do with it.

"What are you drinking?" a simple question, and while his timbre was still rough, at least it wasn't slurred. He was much too used to the effects of ethanol on the body to become that drunk.

[member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Roger Kranos"]​

 

[Quietus]

If satisfaction at the response had a sound, it was currently purring in Roger's ear, the aroma of paradise wafting around his chair, mingling with cigar smoke and the sting of alcohol. Dainty fingers caressed the material over his chest as Mitzi May smoothly sidestepped his chair and invited herself onto the man's lap, an arm languidly looped around the back of his neck, the attached hand now resting on his far shoulder.

Mitzi cast an unabashed, perfectly coy smile at the occupants of the table, bright blues settling upon the drink he left waiting at the table edge. She picked it up and gave it a whiff, and just before any sample was made a familiar voice broke the din.

"I shall leave you in Miss May's capable hands, Kranos,"

"Nergal," such a peculiar man, a chime of ice in her glass accompanied the name, "leaving so soon? Don't be a stranger, dear..." sip.

Much better.

Now, where was she? Oh yes...

"He sent another letter," she began quietly, leaning against Roger so that her words found his left ear without trouble, "says he's coming home for Pepper's birthday." Nothing in the tone of her voice betrayed much of her own initial reservations about this news, but Mitzi watched her companion closely, eyes lingering to follow his actions at the table before returning to his face. Damn she loved those baby blues.

[member="Nergal"] [member="Roger Kranos"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

From the look on Kranos’ face, the Wrath of the Dark Lord had just made a stratospheric-sized donation to the church of credits. A delicious sacrifice to the god of greed, hallowed be thy name. Bane managed to catch Nipple’s eye and exchanged a sly smirk with the wild-eyed czar of catci. Then he turned back to the bartender and ordered another drink, his old favorite, a cognac, while watching a glossy-haired, porcelain skinned socialite drape herself over Kranos’ tanned muscles. Nergal, another CRC cohort, a man who both unnerved and intrigued the Chiss, especially after that interesting frisking at the Flower Shop, had joined their table as well. Bane absently watched the cards fly as he checked on a few listings he had placed on the invisible market. A few containers of organs here, a couple of containers of Bith slaves there. He had always been a workaholic.

A few cognacs later, Cryax saw a long shadow loom across his Datalogger. He raised his head to face piercing blue eyes, jet black hair and muscles like Wroshyr tree trunks. His heart leapt into his throat for a myriad of different reasons. Then a facade of calm passed over his face.

“Nergal,” he nodded, giving the man his most charming Chiss Quarterly model smile. Emboldened by the drink, he let his glittering red eyes linger over the most indecent parts of Nergal’s body for longer than he would have sober.

“Music to my ears.” he said, lifting his glass to clink it against Nergal’s. Then he answered his cohort’s inquiry.

“Cognac, right now. But I could go for something stronger.”

Oh, the innuendo was there alright. Blaring as loudly as the siren that signaled a lucky patron’s jackpot.

[member="Nergal"] [member="Roger Kranos"] [member="Mitzi May"]

 

[Roger Kranos]

Gloved hand slithered around the woman's waist as she found herself in his lap, his fingers bouncing against her dress. He had wondered what this night might bring and it seemed things were getting better and better. Oh wait! It was getting better, until she mentioned him. He nearly spit and if she hadn't been sitting on him, he might have flung the table and made a healthy bit of display of machismo. Instead, he settled for shifting the divot of his chin, just beneath his lip, as the soul patch moved back and forth. Merely a small portion of the beard, but an elegant and expressive portion! At least he thought so. His fingers curled around hers as he brought the whiskey tumbler to his mouth, drowning a swig as he let go, sucking moisture from his mustache as he waved the dealer on. He wasn't gonna raise, not on this hand.

"Darcy...that..." He craned his neck almost imperceptibly at the unspoken expletive, shiftily searching that sea of blue hidden beneath the veil of brown and brunette against a delicately pale canvas. He had to look away, could get lost in those things, especially as the drugs kicked in from the scotch. Stretching out his face with the droop of his jaw, he felt the flutter of his eye lids and lifted his free hand to his face. The facial tremor passed pretty quickly as he felt his skin go numb except for the soothing reminder of her press of gold against his not so stoic azure, the grip of his hand against her hip tightened, like holding on to the bar on a coaster. That moment, so long ago, flashed across an inebriated mind, as he recalled spilling them beans to Darcy. About Pepper not being his child. Kranos didn't feel bad, he didn't know the meaning of the word. Besides, Mitzi deserved better than some zealot hell bent on making the world a better place. There was nothing better than here, two feet in front of the face, tasting and sipping and experiencing. "I'm sorry babe...I totally forgot it was Pepper's birthday coming up."

He rested his cheek against her forehead, rubbing his teeth with his pinky, as he lifted the cards edge to reveal a lousy hand. He waved to the dealer beneath his flimsy visor, indicating that he would fold this hand. 50,000 down the drain, drops in the bucket, but his attention wasn't on it anymore. Rainbows and riding crops and lace and her and him, taking the good and muddying it proper. He smirked, overwhelmed by a sense of warmness that he couldn't seem to settle, coming down from a high like descending from candy mountain on a slow ride. "Is that the only reason he is coming back...or is there more to it?" Selfish to the end. Time for some knuckle wraps, gettin ready for some fisticuffs. Hey, what could go wrong? The guy goes by the name Rupe, he shrugged and smiled to himself at the thought of punching that ever punchable face.

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

 

[Quietus]

Faintly pouting at the idea of facing her own tribulations, Mitzi wilted into a gentle sigh as Roger's night experienced a nosedive of epic proportions.

"Oh honey, I'm your little bad-luck charm tonight..." she frowned and watched him knock back a further swig of his drink, becoming aware of a strange tingling sensation on her lips and tongue. She took another sip when he was finished and sat there in silence while he stewed and twitched, wondering what magic he was conjuring in his bloodstream. What stars was he seeing?

A confession of memory, that droll little smirk returned, "I would never let you forget her birthday," and neither would she... "she's going to be fifteen. You'll be at her party, won't you?" The apple of her eye, nearly a proper lady. Her chest swelled with pride just to think of it, but certainly the sting of expectation coupled with the news that Rupe would also be in attendance might throw Roger off track.

There was something to be said for the man. Half baked and spritzed most of the time, Mitzi couldn't fault him for what loyalty he'd shown her over the years. Always the reliable shoulder with his kitsch charm to boot. She kissed his hairline and began winding her free fingers through his ponytail, blue eyes flicking upwards at an approaching waiter.

"Miss M.," the waiter gave a curt bow and served a martini glass to the table edge, "your usual. Gin martini, extra-dry Vesper, stirred, straight up. Three olives."

"You're wonderful."

She set the scotch down and traded it for the skewer of olives from her drink, delicately biting one off the end, chewing thoughtfully on how to continue the conversation without giving Roger a stroke. His hand gripping her thigh was evidence enough of the temper simmering beneath the surface.

"He wants to try and ...fix things."

[member="Roger Kranos"]

 

[Roger Kranos]

She might has well have punched him right in the stomach. Tucking his bottom lip in, he moved the soul patch back and forth as the hair scraped against the bottom of his top teeth. He had known Mitzi for more years than he could count on all four hands...wait, was he seeing double? The room shuttered in ecstasy as he felt the draw of the drugs and manually clinked the drink, requesting a refill with the knock of the ice against crystalline shimmers. He had been there before Pepper was born, felt an innate attachment to the young woman barring on paternal instincts, and loathed the idea that that man would come back after such a long time away, attempting to re-open old wounds, long ago healed.

"Of course I'll be at the party, doll..." He smiled as he endorsed the fingers in his pony tail, like a dog pressing it's head against a hand to feel the petting. Nothing quite like the sensation of the high of drugs course through the veins and the delicate touch of a beautiful creature, running fingers through black hair. In truth, he would host the party if she asked, right in the Cream and the Crop Casino upper levels, but he suspected that Mitzi would decline. There was a lot of badness that went on those areas, best to keep the girl removed until she's of age to make her own choices.

The room might as well not have existed for the tunnel vision focus that overtook the bearded man, his hand waving another deal away as he allowed the participants their due. The table was getting crowded, the intimate position of the women nearly unnoticed in a world of debauchery and depravity. Heaven or hell, up or down, darkness filled the world around them despite the gold leaf flakes and vibrant hues. Everything intensified, the clack of the casino machines in the background, the sound of rushing water through granite centerpiece fountain several hundred feet away - all of it seemed to be muffled and hazy, a intense nothingness. His sight found her again in an expression of compliance formed in the crawl of a smile, favoring the right side of his mouth. Black beard parted by jovial expression, pink lips and tanned skin and the high life expressed in clothing and mannerism. "Do you want to fix things?" Cause he didn't want her to, nothing was broken now. Everything was right.

His phone rang and he instinctively clicked it open, keeping eyes locked with Mitzi. "This better be important..." His blue eyes rolled as mumbled words transpired across low quality speaker. "You can't just back out of an order...we don't work like that. No refunds, no deal!" He growled in response. "The credits are locked in, you...schmuck." He growled and turned the phone, as if he was about to yell. "Come say that to my beard you little leper. Until then, no refund! Go cry to your dead twi'lek!" Whimpering was heard on the other side of the communicator. "That's right, I remember! GOOD DAY, SIR!" This is the part where he would have cracked the phone in half and tossed it at the dealer. But he was with company and instead, folded it up nicely and wobbled his head, as if he was pleased with his insults.

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

 

[Quietus]

Well there was some relief. Pepper will be thrilled.

Strangely enough, the young girl had a rather strong fondness for Roger, something Mitzi wasn't always so sure about from day to day, clear to foggy. All depended on the mindset into which the notion settled - and being half-gone while in his presence the majority of the time often made it quite a lovely little thing.

But when the fog cleared and she pondered the implications of it all ... well, wasn't always sunny then either. More like overcast, big clouds hanging around like black cadillacs. On more than one occaision she'd awaken with a start from a dream of watching her daughter gunned down in a business dispute. Those nights her heart truly ached.

She'd wandered off, mentally, and noticed only at the sudden jingle of ice in an empty glass.

Do you want to fix things?

What a loaded question.

"Oh Roger..." but she was cut off abruptly by his phone, which she took as her cue to put a dent in her own drink. Daintly.

How to explain to a man she was nearly certain hadn't the capacity to love that she had, at one point, very much loved the man that called her wife. Those feelings had wilted over the years, true, but that wasn't something you just threw away. Her marriage was a bit like a dried flower - the initial vibrance had faded, the softness had become brittle, and all hope of ever revitalizing the bloom had long since passed. Yet ... there remained a dreary, romantic gesture to the leftover product. A momento of something that had been beautiful.



There I go again, waxing whimsical in a horror film.

Roger was looking at her again and she looked back at him over the brim of her martini, doey-eyes frowning, "I would not even know where to begin."

[member="Roger Kranos"]

 

[Yidhra]

His eyes lingered upon the shifting features of the slicer's face but for a moment longer, and then Nergal took a seat opposite the chiss even as his gaze never left those red orbs. There was a lot you could find out about a man with but one look at his eyes, but the blue-skinned criminal had largely remained a mystery to date; a fact that the enforcer was determined to change tonight. Or maybe it was the whiskey that was determined, and Nergal was merely a vessel for its goals that evening. Whatever the case may be, the fact remains that it was the towering man who leaned forward in his seat, not a bottle of scotch, and it was his cheeks that pulled back to reveal a smile that was, at best, slightly unnerving.

Unless the chiss had very… specific, tastes, in which case Nergal would be more than happy to oblige. That was party why he was here tonight, after all, and not downstairs punching others into oblivion with shockgloves. Despite his annoyance and irritated emotional state that morning in the flower shop, the enforced clearly remembered the peculiar reaction and the tensing of muscles that had little to do with discomfort and much more to do with the preferences Nergal hoped to explore further.

Another generous swig from the tumbler in his hand, and then the man finally spoke again, motioning to the beverage Bane was nursing. "Nothing wrong with cognac, nay, but… stronger drinks tend to satisfy more, don't they?"

So shameless, that curve of his mouth and the quirk to his right eyebrow. Nergal was much more reserved when he was sober, but sobriety was not really something he was overly fond of. Whenever possible, the man insisted on avoiding that droll state of being like the Gulag plague, opting for liquid fun to make his days brighter instead.

Sometimes, though, the enforcer stumbled upon individuals who carried even more potential spice up not only his day, but also his night. Individuals like the chiss himself.

"You sure you can hold your booze?"

[member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Hades Michae"] | [member="Mitzi May"] | [member="Roger Kranos"]​

 

[Roger Kranos]

Tick...tock. The fingers clicked and moved upward, ever so slightly, as he began to count the ribs beneath the dress with a stationary hand in his defiance of the slant of her hip. How many were there, he wondered, like rows on a piano, they seemed to go on forever, in infinite expanse of bone beneath supple and soft skin. At least, based on the feel of lips against hair line, he assumed it was soft. He honestly couldn't tell where the manifested visions of euphoria and dreams ended at the about face of reality. How well did he know her, he considered the notion, trying to recall blackouts and stupendous highs that left him dumbfounded for the night that past slowly behind him. Like a horizon, likely beautiful and spectacular at the time of it's birthing, seemed to fade into the haze of memories running together. And what pieces were missing the mind filled the gap, leaving a man unable to trust what he thought he might know for the deception that would easily sway the man in her favor.

But it was too late for that, she already had his heart strings like the cords of a bouquet of balloons, what kept him grounded was the tight grip she now nestled around his neck. The softness and feather-light feel, the aroma of her presence. Mixed with his odd transition into a thoughtful and deep high, he felt confounded by stimuli - of which the majority originated from her embodiment and persona in the echo of slot machines and the impertinence of those at the table, sitting guffawed and slack jawed at their conversation and mannerism. Finding his anchor in the bottom of his glass, he avoided her eye sight for the ruminative escape they provided and a more sincere reflection of himself then he desired to see, especially in a place like this, in a night like this.

"The beginning...that's where you should start." He smiled as he took a sip from his tumbler. "He left you Mitzi, abandoned you for what?" He squinted, waving his drink around nonchalantly to the jingle jangle of it's contents. "Some job in Ceto, for Moross? What kind of man is that...?" He felt angry, not at Mitzi. Never at her, she would have to strive hard to truly bring him down and those tear drop eyes, those parted red lips...he couldn't stay mad. Drugs helped when nothing else did. "You deserve better. Money was all he was ever good for!" His searching eyes found her once more, the tone serious despite the general jovial nature of their relationship. She may have seen him as the dealer, the man with the plan and the currency to make things happen, but he was still a person. And he felt and bled just like anyone else, despite the presentation of everything in opposition of such concepts.

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

 

[Cryax Bane]

A half smile cocked the face of the Chiss as innuendos were exchanged. “The stronger, the better,” he retorted, gulping down the rest of his cognac. Bane had never been the smoothest operator when it came to the mating game, but whatever he lacked in verbal technique, he made up for in other more physical ways. Even though his enigmatic good looks could afford him a myriad of lovers, these days, the Chiss prefered paid company, as attachments were much too impractical for his lifestyle. Should his instincts about Nergal turn out to be correct, he presumed that the man would be a kindred spirit in that sense, and that they would orbit around one another as they worked together. Occasionally, one would fly too close and the two celestial bodies would crash.

The Chiss flicked off his Datalogger with a deliberate gesture and ordered a round of shots for he and his new friend. The slave trade could wait. So far Coruscant was treating Cryax Bane like a prodigal son, full of alcohol-soaked redemption, washed in blood and dressed up in a nice, shiny new suit, pockets overflowing with credits. Why didn’t he quit the Red Ravens sooner?

In case there was any question lingering in the back of the monstrous man’s mind about Cryax’s specific tastes, he slipped his hand into one side of Nergal’s pink fur coat and traced a finger down whatever black leather accoutrements adorned his chest.

“Can I hold my booze?” laughed the Chiss, arching an inviting brow. “Trust me, I can drink my fill.”

[member="Nergal"]

 

[Yidhra]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Yg8MuaWMT0​

Nergal let out an appreciative hum at the slicer's suggestive remark, his silver eyes flashing with ideas entirely inappropriate to be voiced in such polite company. Once they were out of sight of the public and cameras, however… only Force knows what could happen. Given the looks and the smirk of his cohort, the night was about to get much, much more interesting.

Which meant he had to stop drinking, or the fun in the bedroom might be far more short-lived than planned.

The mildly inebriated man frowned at his distorted reflection in the amber liquid sloshing about in the tumbler, quite dissatisfied with this realization. Put down his drink? Harder than one might think. As a former doctor, Nergal was twice more likely to live in denial of his medical problems, and consuming too much alcohol was certainly high on the list. If he ever found himself on that cool metal table down at the morgue, his liver certainly wasn't getting sold to anybody.

The frown deepened, and then the enforcer finished his drink anyway, kicking it back with ease born of copious practice. A barely perceptible shudder ran down the back of his neck, but it had little to do with the punch of his whiskey; rather, the shiver was caused by something far more… subtle.

His gray eyes flickered to the handsome features of the chiss, lingering on those parted lips as his mind dived head-first into the gutter. Nergal wasn't a man of social intricacies, and discretion was as alien a concept to the zeltron as poverty was to Cryax.

Besides, why beat around the bush when he could clearly feel that the blue-skinned slicer wanted all that he had to give.

"I'm not one to brag… but I make a mean White Csillian," the tall man replied, his voice thick and gruff with the heat now coursing through his veins and ever downward.

 

[Cryax Bane]

Chewing his lip, Cryax internally fanned himself. Then he quickly downed one of the shots on the tray that suddenly appeared before the two men. The Chiss sucked his teeth, giving off a hissing sound as the tequila burned his throat. He finished by ceremoniously slamming the glass down on the bar with a thud. The drink began to loosen any lingering inhibitions about going somewhere private with a man who could probably snap his neck with one hand tied behind his back. Not that there was much reticence in the first place. Nergal's ubiquitous muscles took care of that.

"When you put it that way, visahot,” he chuckled, using a Cheuhn term of endearment. “How could I resist a taste?” His red alien eyes flashed unmistakably downward with his last query. Bane reached for another shot and missed it completely, spilling the glass of a nearby Rodian who shot him dagger eyes and moved away in irritation. The Chiss’ alcohol tolerance was abysmally low, and he was painfully aware that the morning was going to hurt in more ways than one. The sinner’s eternal lament.

Bane gazed up at the man’s large, sad eyes, craggy face, and maniacal smile. If Cryax had a “type,” Miss Tillia wasn’t it, but the Chiss was in the mood for something more raw and dangerous than the pretty boys who usually frolicked on his blue-skinned arm. He tangled a hand in the man's jet black hair and titled his head up to Nergal’s ear, lips grazing earlobe, his hot breath in a whisper.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?”

[member="Nergal"]

 

[Yidhra]

Words faltered on his tongue at the sight of the chiss' Adam's apple bobbing along the curve of his throat when the blue-skinned man kicked back a generous shot, and Nergal couldn't help but imagine how that gentle flesh would look with a slightly larger bulge. His silver eyes clouded over with lust almost immediately, zeltron blood boiling ever hotter as his fingers gripped the thin glass of the empty tumbler. It seemed like every movement of the chiss was fraught with tension and that subtle, beckoning whisper of a body begging to be karked rough and hard.

Nergal cleared his throat suddenly, placing the delicate glass upon the table between them with surprising care. For someone who had consumed considerable amounts of strong alcohol, the enforcer had quite the admirable hand-to-eye coordination. Practice makes perfect and whatnot.

He flashed a lecherous smile at Cryax when the man finally gave in to the relentless charm of his bad boy attitude, the heady mix of perfume, blood and glitter having swayed the handsome blue devil after all. "Yes, let's." When the man spoke again, his voice was another notch lower, caressing the bottom edge of baritone and dipping over into the bass register. Oh, yes, Nergal knew full well how to mold his mouth around those lower regions aaaand clearly the zeltron half of him was kicking into sixth gear.

The enforcer stood up with ease despite the svelte body draped over him, wrapping a possessive arm around the chiss' waist as they stood up, partly to support the slicer who clearly couldn't hold his booze — despite his claims to the opposite — and partly to show to the whole casino who exactly it was that was tapping that ass tonight.

They meandered through the crowd with relative ease — who wouldn't move out of the way when a six foot tall enforcer covered in glitter and chiss was heading for them? — slipping into an elevator soon enough.

Some technician would probably have enough sense to erase the camera footage of that particular ride.

[member="Cryax Bane"]​

 

[Quietus]

Indulging in a deep drink from her glass, Mitzi wilted over the rim.

His words were mental smacks, emotional beatings to a reality she was perpetually trying to forget. Abandoned. Left behind like an old couch that wouldn't fit the scene of a new, modern high-rise. She was the abused, the forlorn, the wobegotten. When she entered the foyer of the Maybell to the greeting of the bellhop and the bow of the doorman, the smiles of her clientele, she knew the words they shared in whispers behind her back.

Poor thing.

All alone.

Widow.

Crestfallen, Mitzi set her glass aside.

She didn't have to put up with these horrible feelings. Her dress might not have afforded her pockets, but Roger had plenty of them and he was always carrying something. Those delicate fingers traipsed across the material of his shirt, ascending the line of buttons to tickle at his beard and stroke under his chin, "I changed my mind, I don't want to talk about that anymore."

"I need a holiday, Roger dear. Won't you help your favorite gal out?"

[member="Roger Kranos"]