The Guiding Hand │ The Nar Shaddaa New Year [DM'ed Thread, Open To All]

[Darth Empyrean]

---

Deep in the Nar Shaddaa Undercity, the slow churn of urban decay had already been set in motion; the constant buzz of necessity driving its ways deep into the psyche of all those around. Where one street ended, another would begin; all in the name of business, no matter what kind. From shop owners to gang members, each strolled past one another with only the occasional spat; regular business for Little Coruscant.

In the area of The Promenade, a massive celebration had begun to take place, The Nar Shaddaa New Year; from the casinos to the boutiques, all were endlessly enjoying their night with little thought of recourse or sour spats. Where one nightclub’s party seemed to end, the next would begin like the suburbs or more docile cities, only in this there seemed more alcohol, more violence, and certainly more noise. Yet, even as the various groups moved and jested; something seemed off.

Despite the warmth in the air, the jubilee and hedonistic cat calls that rang out across the area; a faint coldness could be felt. One that shook the spine at its core, carried with it a sense of doom and dread not far from the likes of a battlefield. For most on the moon, it was a common feeling, something they could ignore with ease considering the absolute insane amount of madness and crime that took place; but there was something that took this conventional aura and deepened it.

Perhaps it was the rumors spreading about an unknown faction known simply as ‘The Black Hand’; a group that had risen up in the months prior but hadn’t caused a serious stir. Word travelled fast, but the only things that had happened thus far were the occasional beating or murder; nothing exceptionally strange or outright insane considering the locale. However, the more this kept up, the more some of the more veteran figures began to take note;

Something was coming.

See, most gangs that formed had a short lived life span. They either fell to larger gangs, or went broke trying to pay the Hutts off after getting schemed into a protection racket; yet no word of a turf war nor a protection racket had been spread. Even more so, there was no rampant claimers of the title ‘Black Hand’ like so many young men did, only the occasional whisper of yet another murder. They seemed more a cult, than a passing fad; but still, they hadn’t shown themselves a major threat as of yet.

It is here you stand, surrounded by the noise and enjoyment of thousands; all posed on celebrating the Nar Shaddaa New Year. It’s thirty minutes until the new day begins, and you’re stuck in the crowd, either on the edge of it all, in one of the businesses, or in the middle finding whatever it was you were looking for. Time is ticking, and every moment that passes sends another chill up your spine.

Something is very wrong.

Spoiler: OOC

​

This is the first thread in a new faction known simply as 'The Guiding Hand'; a ragtag organization of corporations, pirates, criminal syndicates, and whatever there is. Bounded together through a mutual threat, each will bear witness to this DM'ed thread through the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa at its darkest hour. You don't have to join the faction to join the thread, but participate as you see fit and enjoy yourself. The entire purpose of the faction is to create something more orientated on story line, rather than setting; and that is what this first thread will help establish. If you have questions, feel free to ask or PM me, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible.​

​

In the mean time, have fun, be safe, and enjoy yourself. I'll periodically respond to the thread and help establish resistance and escalate the situation as I see fit, hoping to guide everyone through something they can enjoy. Thank you, ahead of time!​

---

 

[Arken Lussk]

Victor was never great at planning vacations. Nar Shaddaa hadn't exactly been at the top of Arken's travel desire list but had welcomed the experience nonetheless. After all, what was the worst that could possibly happen? Get food poisoning from some undercooked street noodles? The New Year event was a regional holiday and one that the young man had longed to check out first hand anyways, so the duo departed to Little Coruscant with gusto.

Neon lights and limitless hedonism didn't surprise him in the slightest. The second the young man and his robed compatriot stepped to a street vendor, his cup had already began to runneth over. For a mere few credits, he was given a foaming cup of some sweet smelling alcohol and even some sweetened pastries neatly wrapped in flimsi. Arken smiled and dropped the credit chit on the vendor's counter and promptly turned away.

He lifted the cup to his nose, taking a whiff of it.

"Does this smell strange to you?" He sent a cockeyed look at Victor.

Beneath his cowl, red photoreceptors closed in. "Nothing anomalous, if that's what you're looking for. Doesn't seem laced or poisoned to me."

"Doesn't seem." Arken sighed. Mentally shrugging, he took a sip anyways. Fruity, hoppy aftertaste; not bad at all.

The pastry was just as sweet and filling as he expected it to be. Victor had deemed it safe to eat as well - perhaps legitimate business was a thing here on Nar Shaddaa as well. With that in mind, he wiped a smudge of fruit filling off of his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced around. Cigarra smoke, adult beverages, scantily-clad Twi'leks and brutish looking Duros littered the streets. Despite disagreeing shouts and cries of anger down the street, it seemed everyone on this lawless world were in high spirits and happily accepted a semi-peaceful stalemate of their apparent gang rivalries.

Still, that didn't sit right with him.

A holiday seemed like the perfect diversion. Bread and circuses, as father always said.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Where The Slave sat, there was little in terms of solace. Bass booming, bands playing even at a distance, and the soft wifts of spice spread like an aromatic cancer. Metastatic drugs taking over person by person before falling to the wayside, only to be ignited by the passing laser light show; an inspiring show for the intoxicated indoctrinated. The Slave however, was faintly sober for once, his rambunctious nature curbed by months of internal struggle with an artifact he should have never created.

Tucked in the corner of a booth, a female Twi’lek, a male devaronian, and another female human all lay passed out around him, his feet propped up on the Twi’lek. Corrupted gaze passing over the swarms of passersby, The Slave couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at the turnout. It wasn’t often he was on such a populated planet, but the pure atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa drew him in like a moth to the flame.

Still, in the distance there was a foreign feeling; something a force sensitive would likely feel more than any non-user of the metaphysical. It seeped, pulled and dragged; a malevolent force bound for the souls of man as it treaded water across the crowd. What came was not the darkness itself, but the forewarning of something that could be felt with the air, and it sickened The Slave. He was often regarded as impossible dark, but this felt premeditated, far too big for a single figure.

Readjusting in his seat, taking his feet off the passed out occupant he shared the booth with, he leaned forward and furrowed his brow. Just as he had felt outwardly of the danger that loomed, he could see a few stragglers in the crowd that stood out just enough to drag his attention. Instead of moving about, they stood still and watched; a hood covering each of their features. They seemed like sentinels, oracles perhaps in that they would foretell the coming events; but each never moved more than their head.

They were waiting for something, but what The Slave could not tell. Perhaps a turf war, or assassination? Either would be interesting to watch, so instead of confronting the oddities, The Slave remained in his seat, idly waiting, idly watching. It’d be only a matter of time before he realized his mistake.

[member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

The throaty whine of repulsorlift engines cut through the middle of the crowd as six blue and red swoop bikes made their presence known in the luxury district. The riders all wore helmets painted with variations of a motif: blue horns above red eyes.

The Devils of New Vertica did not come down from the floating city often, but when they did they rolled deep. They pulled their bikes up next to a bar and dismounted.

Idemir pulled off his helmet and ran a gloved hand through a mop of sweaty, blue-black hair. The Chiss wore a pistol in a thigh holster. Insurance, he called it. He looked around at the others.

"Elis, Dax, let's hit the bar and see if we can't work any intel."

A white-blonde and rakishly good looking human smirked, then glanced over at a woman who wore what looked like Mandalorian armor. "You hear that Eli, time to work that charm of yours."

She glared, then rolled her eyes. "I hate it when you call me that."

Idemir ignored their banter. "Sodrox and Jaash, I know you two have some business to take care of before the meet with Gorba, so we'll meet back here in an hour or so. Good?"

A Zabrak with a thousand yard stare simply nodded, while a dark haired human in a dark coat gave Idemir the thumbs up.

"Nile," Idemir glanced at the last member of the group, "you watch the bikes."

"What? Oh come on man," groaned a teenage human with a scar through his left eyebrow. "I always get left with the bikes."

"Yeah and remember what happened on the Oryon job? Wow, I didn't know humans could turn that shade of red. You should get that checked, kid. Just stay with the bikes and we'll get you for the fun part."

With that, Idemir, Elis, and Dax strolled into the cantina.

[member="The Slave"] | [member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Tan'yill Vizsla]

The right handed punch came swiftly to the unknown and fairly drunk mans jaw when she have had it with his intrusive behavior, forcing her against a wall outside the big crowd on The Promenade. He stumbled back a few steps covering his face with his hands, the combat gloves having added extra weight behind the hit. Her hazel green-yellowish eyes were intensely piercing the man while her heart was beating slightly faster, adrenaline starting to build up.

''Didn't you hear what I said?!'' she exclaimed fiercly before finding a way back into the crowd again, thinking it was best to hit the road if the man had companions nearby.

She disappeared into the celebrations of the Nar Shaddaa New Year, blending in with fellow twi'leks, shady devaronians, trandoshan bounty hunters and nikto mercenaries and a variety of other species that were filling The Promenade tonight. Earlier today she had finished a smuggling contract with a hutt crimelord at the moon, thinking it was a good time to spend some of the earned credits on the celebrations that were going on. As the hutts were her frequent customers she had been on Nar Shaddaa many times and knew the risks attached to going out, especially in the lower levels. The hutts private security details could not cover every block, and of course corruption was common.

As she looked back to make sure no one was following her, the smell of a warm night snack reached her and she made her way to the vendor it was coming from. It was some kind of greasy fried stuff, but it smelled realy good and she threw a couple of credits on the counter and a while after got her snack wrapped up in paper. She noticed the bar sign just beside the vendor, two nikto bouncers standing outside, that would be the next stop of the night, she thought and took a bite of the streetfood she just bought.

[member="Arken Lussk"] [member="The Slave"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]

 

[Noatyr Moldmerr]

​''Ah, bloody perfect, this is just great...''

Mumbling to himself, Noatyr remained against the wall he leaned against, trying to keep away from the crowd.

He had been having such a good time, and then some drunken jerk had tried to make off with his wallet, which resulted in him breaking several of the man's bones and a rather large scene in the middle of a crowded street, and now he was trying to blend in with the rest of the crowd before any authorities decided to come after him.

Although he doubted there was much of that in this part of the sprawling city, you never could be to careful. It was just his luck too. He had shown up to have a grand old time, and then his ship's navigation system had malfunctioned, resulting in him landing in this backwater spot of the city. He had just been trying to find a mechanic when he ran into that damn drunken man.

Still, it could be worse. This cantina like a rather suitable spot to hang around for a while, at least until he decided it was safe to leave. He noted several of the occupants, but none so far looked like worthy mechanics. If any of them actually were, he'd have to buy them a drink along with the normal payment.

​''Good thing I have the credits.'' ​He thought to himself with a slight smile.

[member="The Slave"] [member="Arken Lussk"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Tan'yill"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

​

The Romping Rugger, Our Setting​

---

Ten minutes to midnight, and the crowds begin to stir. Gazes move towards the holoscreens to watch the countdown from some attractive twi’lek newslady wearing hardly enough clothes to be on intergalactic television, but there she was and there they were, watching her jiggle and bounce in more ways than anyone should have. The occasional drunk grouping would begin to jeer and cry out in appreciation, while even more began to get excited for the proverbial ball to drop into the new year.

Another year of debauchery, another year of sin. None of them would change without intervention, none of them would see the truth of the galaxy as they were simply scum, and infestation with no guidance. What they needed was a shepard, a man to guide them like the sheep they were, and high above them all was just sort a figure. Hooded and mysterious, a masked individual with no name watched the various groups move about. A small comms radio lit up on his wrist with a female’s voice;

“Eight minutes, Master.”, she said with authority.

He didn’t respond, only let his arm drop back to his side and his train of thought catch traction once more. Just who were they people to think they deserved such a life, when they were good for nothing more than the hard labor of the mines, or the unadulterated life of slaves; they were nothing. They would never be anything, albeit those slim few who were born with the gift of godhood in their veins. It was he who would show them the light, he who would become their messiah.

The Hierophant of The Black Hand.

---

Where [member="Arken Lussk"] stood was a concert he’d seemingly stumbled into. Everyone around him jumped to the beat, and he was stuck in the middle before a slightly bustier of the crowd spilled his drink with one of their intoxicated maneuvers. She glanced over to him and smiled, speaking as loud as she could to beat out the music’s blare;

“Sorry about that! Can I buy you another?”, she said with as much gusto as she could muster.

Red hair fell in front of blue eyes as she ran a finger over one of her ears, but despite that something seemed to catch his attention behind that. A man in full black robes had approached a young man near a few bikes, and although this wasn’t unusual, there was something foreboding about it all. What he saw was darkness, and a choice.

Help the boy out, or get another drink. Only a few minutes left for the new year, did he really want to spend that breaking up a fight?

---

For the biker crew, their approach into the cantina would go uninterrupted. Its joyous music almost overbearing upon arrival, but likely a scenario they’d all of seen before. This group of drunkards, or that group of dancers, the only common ground any had to stand on was that they were drenched in the scent of spice and deathsticks; the go to drug for much of Nar Shaddaa in the years following the plague.

A wandering waitress dressed as a slightly pervy nurse seemed to greet them however. The outfit stood out, especially considering it wasn’t a themed cantina, but it at least got their attention. Her voice was sultry, as any good server in this district knew;

“Anything I can do for you?”, she’d say with a wink.

Outside however, where Nile stood, a cold air whisked by him, tussling some of his hair. His youthfulness had caught the attention of a passing man in a hood, and he’d begun to close the distance between them; though his interest wasn’t entirely on Nile himself, so much as the bikes nearby. He never spoke, nor even looked at the boy, and his features were covered by the abysmal black hood; but there was something uneasy about him.

A finger dragged itself across Idemir’s bike, a disrespectful sign in most cultures including this one, yet he never bothered to look up.

[member="Bareesh Kajidic"]

---

[member="Tan'yill"] had escaped the man she’d likely just hospitalized, but her disappearance into the crowd was met with something perhaps worse. As she was let into the cantina, she’d see a group stopped by a scantily clad nurse, but before she could say anything, a man had almost completely shoulder rammed her; if not by accident.

A grunt, and the hood over his head fell revealing the pale cyborg features of a man long gone from the average world, his only other defining feature was a small dragon tattoo on the side of his head. His eyes glowed red as he began to look down on her, as the man was a behemoth of an individual. Perhaps his father was proud of what he’d made, but at the moment she’d been faced down with something a little bit less than human. His voice was equally deep as he was large, but his singular word carried with it malice she likely didn’t care to see.

“Move…”, he said with cybernetic undertones.

---

The next drink he ordered came with a quiet smile and a wink from the waitress, but she disappeared into the crowd almost the exact moment she delivered; likely the persona that came with such a being. Despite his incursion only a moment before, there was nobody that followed, but from his position he’d notice something just as dangerous.

A blue twi’lek had ran into what appeared to be a massive cyborg, and his attitude had gone from solitary and imposing to threatening and demanding. It had all happened so fast, but there was little time to react if he intended to get involved. A robotic hand clenched in the distance as he mouthed something to her, his muscle bound massive figure staring down as he had to stand at least two meters tall.

[member="Noatyr Moldmerr"]

---

 

[Tan'yill Vizsla]

Leaning against the wall beside the vendor the six bikers draw her attention when they passed by and parked in front of the cantina, the former mechanic couldn't help but to admire them for a moment... the swoop bikes, that is! Guessing what kind of repulsorlift motors they were fitted with while she fiddled with finishing the greasy midnight snack. As she was finished she grabbed a napkin from the vendor and cleaned her mouth and gloved hands from the drops of grease that inevitably had gotten on them. With only minutes left of the year it was time for a drink. She steered her steps towards the cantina and glanced over the parked bikes, giving the young man of the bikers and seemingly the guard a short gaze and a smirk as to show appreciation of their transportations.

The rough bump in the shoulder came shortly after she had entered the cantina. A sudden feeling of anger filled her for a moment and she was about to say something when the rather large figure turned its head to her, showing her its cyborg features. Apparently the New Years celebrations was not going to go as smooth as she had thought from the beginning. Was it so hard to get one single peaceful night out? One single drink? She knew too well to pick her fights and after swallowing whatever foul words that was about to leave her mouth she took two slow steps sidelong backwards while her gaze flicked from its eyes to its hands, preparing herself if her de-escalating gesture to back off was not enough...

[member="The Slave"] [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Placeholder 0134]

Nar Shaddaa, apartment five blocks from the Promenade


Anderit's visage remained motionless as the needle pierced his skin.

His gaze never wavered from the dirt caked floor. He felt the chemical's warmth as it was injected into his veins, yet he did not move. That warmth grew into a blistering fire that set his whole body alight with varied sensations of euphoria and confusion. He felt the steel restraints that bound his hands to the chair he'd been seated in, but when he tugged they no longer hurt his wrists. As the drug reached his brain, all understanding of sensation grew faded into the colors of an out of focus world. Anderit could make out glittering lights and sharp lines, but he was unable to focus on any one such object.

A new feeling of warmth stirred the man from his stupor. Sulfuric eyes shifted down to his restrained hands, or perhaps more particularly toward the crimson stream of vitae dripping from his ravaged hands. He'd struggled against the bindings without feeling it, and thus had his hands wrists been torn open by the restraints.

The youth's face contorted with annoyance. He looked to the other two men in the room. His vision lacked any sense of clarity or focus, but he could make out their vague outlines in the dim light of the room; they looked agitated.

"You cut yourself again Andy?" One of the figures spoke. Its was hoarse with age, and Anderit recognized it as the Weequay that had met him at the clinic.

"Di'kut humans don't even know when they're high, do they?" A shrill voice chattered, "Let me smack him back out. Giln won't mind." Anderit heard the pitter patter of small feet approaching him. The outline of the figure must have only been four feet in height, perhaps less. He only understood it to be an ugnaut once it was close enough for him to smell its putrid breath. "Morning Andy. Why do you look so glum? It's almost the new year!"

The Ugnaught raised a hand. The Weequay grabbed it by the wrist. "Don't anger him. He's sedated, but he's still got his powers."

Anderit's lips parted to speak. A glob of sticky blood spilled from his lips instead.

"Shab, his lungs are having trouble again," the Weequay murmured a stream of curses and shuffled off. The Ugnaught snorted, turned about, and toggled on the holovision that hung from the adjacent wall. An image of the promenade in all its gaudy glory materialized on the screen, showing a scantily-clad Twi'lek that was a little underdressed for a newscaster.

"They gotta hire whores for the news now?" Anderit heard the Ugnaught settle down next to him on the floor. "Not how I was wanting to spend my New Years personally. You're not the company I was expecting," Anderit felt something sharp pierce the flesh of his arm. White hot pain followed, but its intensity was dulled by the power of the drugs.

His lips parted to shout, but he could not find his voice. Rather than speak, he could only make a low gargling noise: flecks of blood spilled from his lips.

"Move over ya fat fark. His lungs collapsed again." The Weequay fell to his knees in front of Anderit. The youth felt his restraints click, felt the pressure on his arms and legs let up just the slightest bit. The Weequay looked up to meet his eyes. "You try something, and you die on the floor here boy. One of your lungs has collapsed, and other one is filling with blood. How'd you manage that when you can only struggle in this chair?
The youth drew in a shaky breath. The Weequay shook his head, and turned toward his companion. "What'd you do?"

The little alien blinked, "What Giln told me to do. He owes us, and he's going to pay for it either with credits, or with his blood."

The Weequay shook his head angrily. "You're a karking idiot. He's been tortured enough - you've probably killed him now. Do you know what Giln will do if he finds the boy dead?" Another head shake. Anderit felt the restraints click open: felt himself being hoisted up into the Weequay's arms. The Ugnaught squealed something in response, but Anderit could not make it out.

It was all he could do to make himself draw a breath as the Qeequay dropped him unceremoniously on the nearby operating table. Restraints were placed over his wrists and ankles just as before, and with them came the pain Anderit had grown so familiar with. His vision was darkening round the corners, each breath drawn in by Anderit's sheer will alone.

Another needle pierced his skin. Cold ice shot through his veins. He felt his limbs grow unresponsive as it enveloped them, parted his lips to shriek, and found himself seeping into the inky blackness of the void as it reached his brain. A moment later, and he was left limp on the operating table.

The whirring of a hydro-spanner filled Anderit's unconscious mind.

"Sit tight boyo."

[member="The Slave"], [member="Tan'yill"], [member="The Slave"], [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"], [member="Bareesh Kajidic"], [member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Icarn Amonta]

Icarn couldn't say they were a huge fan of the flashing lights nor booming music. Overstimulation had the being leaning back in their seat, longs legs sprawled out over two more seats, teeth gently gnawing on the innards of a cheek. Their half empty drink did little for the mild headache that'd sprung up in the forefront of their head though Icarn had little intention of nursing the slight throb. Heavy-lidded eyes opted instead to sweep over the other attendees, taking in everything yet nothing in particular.

One would think the coming new year and its celebrations would at least pack dinner with a show. Much to their indignation, none of what Icarn had experienced so far would count as either. A shame, really, Nar Shaddaa bore such promise. It seemed the entity tucked away in their own little corner would have to make their own fun.

Even with the light throbbing of the temple, Icarn wielded mentalism like a fine blade, heightened by the intoxication of those around him. A little push here, a warped idea there, and all there was left before the area cascaded into chaos was just a little spark. It'd be a simple thing, really, and quite the show, too. All that was really left was to determine who the players of this little show would be.

[member="Arken Lussk"] | [member="The Slave"] | [member="Tan'yill"] | [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] | [member="Anderit [/FONT][FONT=georgia]Rinaren"]​

 

[Noatyr Moldmerr]

Sensing that trouble would ensue if he didn't act quickly, Noatyr suddenly dashed forward, standing only a few feet away from the tall cyborg and the slender Twi'lek, bracing himself to leap forward and intervene just in case things didn't go nearly as well as [member="Tan'yill"] hoped.

He certainly was hoping the rather large cyborg would take the movement out of his way with just a nod and would be on his way, but if not, things may turn ugly, which made it a good thing Noatyr had his Vibrosword on hand, which was already gripping the hilt of the weapon comfortably, as it had many times before.

He could count on his quick draw being enough to surprise the cyborg before he actually had to use it. However, he figured if he did intervene if...when things went bad, he'd most likely not be able to persuade the hulking figure to back down easily.

He stood stock still, as time seemed to stand still, as all three seemed to stand there, waiting for the other to make a move.

[member="The Slave"] [member="Tan'yill"] [member="Icarn Amonta"] [member="Anderit Rinaren"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]

 

[Lief]

The Rugger was feeling a little overcrowded that evening when he came down from his apartment above it in search of the landlord himself, Ari Sinnat.

A friend of the Smuggler's from his Medi-corps days, whenever Adiara was in town the pair always found time to resume their long-running game of Novacrown. Even if just one move was made, the tradition had stood now for several years. Whenever one game was finished the next would begin, and Sinnat was so serious about their friendly competition that Adiara never had to worry about him cheating in the meantime.

Tonight, however, the Gossam appeared swamped.

Stepping into the cantina-turned-nightclub it hit the Morellian all at once just what day it was and he groaned internally. Almost immediately he reached into his pocket, pulling out the pre-rolled gabaki cigarra and setting it between his lips. He didn't light it, not yet at least, yet it relaxed him just to know it was there.

This was going to be a long night.

A timer on one of the many holoscreens dotted around the main club floor showed them as nearing 7 minutes until the New Year. Adiara rolled his eyes, and simply sauntered over to the bar where one of the besalisks already had his usual waiting for him.

"I don't remember it being this busy last year," he said, with a slight huff to his tone, "And here I was hoping I could snatch your boss for a turn or two. Send him to my usual booth when he has a minute, will you Ferank? Good man."

With glass in hand he wound his way through the crowd only to find his typical seat taken by more strange faces. Glancing over his shoulder he looked at the besalisk with an exasperated expression, before gesturing to one of the only empty tables still around in hopes that he'd redirect the gossam that way when - or more, if - the time came. The table in question was suspiciously sticky, which had him wrinkling his nose in disgust. Still he sat down all the same and kept his whiskey in hand.

He'd give the Bucketheads one thing, they did have the best whiskey.

[member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] [member="Icarn Amonta"] [member="Anderit Rinaren"] [member="Tan'yill"] [member='[/FONT][FONT='lucida sans unicode']The Slave'] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Arken Lussk]

A thundering bass and hypnotic beats induced a seemingly euphoric air about the Promenade. The air itself was a mixture of cigarra smoke, other fruity smelling narcotics, and an ungainly cloud of both body odor and cologne. The young man simply walked along idly, almost cheerily stepping in beat with the loud techno music cascading across this party-world.

Arken took another swig of the hoppy alcohol, smiling pleasantly at Victor. "Man, I thought this stuff would be weak."

"And I thought you wouldn't be able to handle it, master. Congratulations, you have exceeded my expectations once more."

He snorted. "Should I modify your sarcasm triggers?"

Victor's red eyes gleamed with mirth. "Not at all, master."

The pair strode forth, following the source of the booming music until they reached the epicenter of this party. Crowds of people danced, jumping and moving in sync as they grinded against one another. Had the drink in his hand been completely finished, the young boy probably would've sailed straight into their sea of ignorance and joy.

...And the second he was reminded of his drink, it was gone. Sloshed straight out of the cup and onto the back of some fellow's jacket and trousers. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice considering his glazed eyes were fixated upon the Twi'lek in his arms. Solemn and irritated, the young man turned to see who exactly had bumped into him.

Long red hair, sharp jawline, blue eyes, curves in all the right places.

"Of course you can, doll," he smiled. "I'll have uh-"

Someone bumped into him once more, throwing him right up against the woman. Soft.

"Gimme a Bitter Crush."

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

Inside the Romp, Dax smirked devilishly, fingers of his left hand tugging at one of his earrings as he swiped a glass off the tray.

"I've a few ideas."

Elis rolled her eyes and elbowed Idemir, "I think Dax will be here a while, let's see who is at the bar."

* * *

Outside, Nile put a hand on the butt of his pistol. "Did you just touch the bike? Man, get the kriff away from them."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Five minutes until New Years…​

The massive figure watched as @Tan’yill backed away, obvious moving to back down from his imposing stature. A growl emanated from his bionic throat as she did so, and his eyes never left her until a few seconds after she stopped moving. The titan of a man cleared his throat, moved to spit on her boots and walk out, pulling his hood up as he went; hiding the dragon tattoo that graced the side of his skull once more. The man never even noticed [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] providing unseen support from the rear, but if either of them sought to deal with him now that his back was turned; now would be the moment.

Otherwise, he’d simply walk out, nothing would come of it; yet a few more in the bar with hoods covering their features and a ominous presence would begin to watch them for careless movements. It wasn’t hard to tell, especially when some of the unknown group seemed to move strictly for the purpose of sentry status on their position. It was a minor altercation, but enough of one that they had caught the attention of many they shouldn’t have. What this group was, however, was yet to be known.

---

[member="Adiara Drelas"] would find a seat not too far from his selected booth, though its stickiness was certainly not definable. Somehow, it was on both the top and bottom of the table, and the longer he sat the more he realized it was sticky on the seat he had perched himself on too. Ari was nowhere to be seen, but something of a squabble would begin to catch his attention.

In the corner booth, two large men in blackened cloaks would begin to argue with whoever sat there. It was hard to make out considering the noise, but they it was obvious enough they wanted them to move; and after only twenty seconds of argument, it seemed to escalate. Heated, the silhouette of a man reaching for a holster was obvious enough, but he never pulled it from his belt, only used it as a tool for threatening.

It was up to Adiara if he would begin to get involved. New Years was four minutes away, and the newscaster for the event offered a faint attention grabber for the hormonally active. He had to do something quick if he didn’t want to miss the finale.

---

“Sure thing, Sugar.”, the bombshell offered back.

She grabbed one of [member="Arken Lussk"] ‘s hands, winked, and began to drag him through the crowd to a local club; a neon light above it flashing every few moments with ‘The Romping Rugger’ dragging his attention upwards. To his side, he could see the young man reach for his holster and say something to the man that dripped darkness; not likely good choice for him. Still, the escort never ceased her movements until they were inside at the bar; yelling out the name he gave her only a moment before and waiting for them to come back.

Turning to him with back to the bar, she began to speak once more;

“Come here often, or is this your first time?”

---

The waitress seemed to laugh at his comment before grinning and disappearing back into the crowd. It wasn’t obvious if the remark actually hit and stuck or not, but judging by the way she simply walked away, it was likely that it didn’t. Often times, the waitresses only language was the tip they received; and Dax didn’t seem the type to have much on hand, at least to her.

As the two would walk to the bar, they’d notice a seemingly rich off young man talking to some red haired vixen only a few feet from them; though about what was hard to tell at the distance. Likely flirting, but beyond that there was little. Perhaps they’d of seen the fight that had almost taken place nearby as a massive titan of a man nearly steamrolled a far smaller Twi’lek; through a single figure would become obvious. Next to them was a man dressed in especially fine attire drinking some odd martini like drink; offering Idrine a smile that seemingly ignored the others with her. Under his collar was the signs of some gang affiliated tattoo, but it wasn’t visible without moving it; but he spoke far more fluent than any spacer running with a crew.

“Well aren’t you a blue devil.”, he’d say just loud enough to drown out the crowd and music.

“I always had a thing for Chiss.”, he said with a cocky grin.

Outside wasn't going as smoothly as one hoped, as Nile moved to grab his holster he finally caught the attention of the man who watched him. Moving just enough to expose yellowed teeth, the man spoke with a sickening nature in his tone while his skin seemed to flake ever so slightly.

"Its almost time.", he spoke in a cryptic manner.

---

Two minutes until New Years...​

 

[Lief]

"Bastasi!" the Morellian exclaimed, as he felt the unknown substance seeping into his trousers.

With a growl of frustration Adiara pushed back the chair and stood up, taking the moment to glance around the nightclub and glare at almost everyone present. He did his best to ensure his wrath was not sent in the direction of the staff, men and women he had known for over a decade now and had come to respect in some small way.

"Has this whole place been turned on its head?" He could practically feel his eyes bulging, and the gabaki stick in his mouth was crushed under pursed lips. Never in all his years of visiting had the spacer seen the Rugger in so dire a state. Shady folks dotted each booth and corner, some sporting similar tattoos and others with hoods covering their features. A tension clung on the air, tugging at him until alarm bells began to ring in his mind. He had not felt this on edge since his days of chasing after Jedi on the battlefield to see that they didn't get their heads blown off. A certain danger, that was what he was sensing, and he didn't like it one bit.

Not in my home he internally grumbled, as he drank the remnants of his drink and dropped the ruined stick into the glass. Then he pulled another free from his pocket and this time lit it up, drawing a long stream of the calming smoke it produced. His trembling hand began to lessen, but for good measure he shoved it into his pocket and began to move back toward the doorway which led up to the apartments.

From the corner of his eye he witnessed a verbal altercation nearing breaking point, as one of the antagonists reached for a weapon. Oh, Sinnat would not like that one bit. Especially since the one sat in the middle of them was a regular to the club. Mess with anyone but the regulars, that was one of Ari's few rules... And the Gossam wasn't one to forgive and forget such offenses.

"Now there's a face I haven't seen in a while," he said, as he approached the booth and looked the regular square in the eyes - completely ignoring the two bruisers in dark cloaks, "How's it going, Jarzak, all good over here?" Was the guys name Jarzak? Not even likely, he wasn't someone Adiara had ever actually spoken to before but that didn't mean he didn't recognize him. "Are these glitbiters bothering you?"

The astute among them might notice the lack of weaponry on the man, Adiara was a lover not a hater - he had seen enough war to last fifty lifetimes - but that didn't mean he was going to stand idly by and watch his favourite haunt descend into complete and utter chaos.

Ari would never let him live it down.

[member="The Slave"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Arken Lussk"]

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Standing between the two men, Adiara was somewhat outmatched. The larger of the two stood almost a foot taller than he was, and offered nothing but a sedentary growl as he intervened, while the one who reached for his weapon seemed somewhat more on par in terms of pure stature. Glancing towards him, the man who shared somewhat of an equivalent nature with him furrowed his brow and spoke in a quick, inpatient tone;

“Something you need, Old Man?”, he said with a bit of venom he’d hope would stick.

“Why don’t you go find a place to sit; we’ll deal with you in a moment anyway.”

With that, the bigger of the two who had said nothing rested a massive hand on Adriara’s shoulder, peering down on him with the pressure of a star destroyer. It was suddenly obvious in his other hand was a custom made crushgaunt, a small oriental like design gracing the back of it. Obviously just flashing the mandalorian like weapon was enough of a threat, but they didn’t make a move just yet; as if they were waiting for something.

Perhaps him to make the first move.

[member="Adiara Drelas"]

 

[Tan'yill Vizsla]

C'mon! Wander off! That's it... Ignoring the spit landing by her feet, she was realy not in a mood for a second fight this night. By its menacing appearance she knew a one-on-one fight with this thing would mean more than just being thrown out of the club. Meeting its gaze she was prepared to either draw the KYD-21 blaster that hang in its holster at her right hip or getting into a brawl with it, most likely having to dig up her vibroblade to have a chance. Awaiting its next move and taking yet another step back, increasing the distance and in the same time the advantage of having more time to react on whatever move the cyborg would make. She felt her heart begin to pump once more just before she observed [member="Noatyr Moldmerr"] in the corner of her eye, it seemed like the guy wanted to give her back up if it would come to a fight. Then, the cyborg suddenly wandered off and she could take an internal sigh of relief, watching it leave...

She straightened herself up again from being in a slightly kneeing position, prepared to fight. The tip of her lekku resting on her chest arched itself a little in another sign of relief, the other lekku hanging on her back. Without saying anything she gave the ginger haired young lad a look up and down before turning to head for the bar. Now, she realy needed a drink!

Glancing up on a holoscreen with one of her more eroticaly clad kindred keeping the viewers company until the clock turning the night into a new year. It was always interesting seeing other women wearing such attire by their free will, working for a holostation Tan'yill guessed she had a choice. Unlike the many others being taken as slaves, mostly from Ryloth. She was lucky she had never been in such situation herself, for years instead having to tough out with the life in Coronet's Blue Sector.

[member="The Slave"]

 

[Noatyr Moldmerr]

Noatyr stood there for a few moments, realizing not only had he made himself look like a fool, again, he had basically just been ignored. He wasn't sure how to feel about this.

He may not have done anything worth anything, but a simple, ''Thank you for the silent support.'' Would have been nice.

Sighing, in both relief and in annoyance, he basically followed the Twi'lek to the bar, ordering himself two glasses. He lifted one up to his lips and took a swig, and then slid the other glass towards [member="Tan'yill"], who seemed to be fascinated with one of her fellow Twi'leks, who was one of those ''Entertainers.''

He snickered reflexively. It was amusing to watch one watch another of their own species do something like that of their own free will. He had learned long ago to not question others choices in life, just to accept them.

Running his hands through his hair, Noatyr wondered if his hair was really that noticeable, it had always felt rather dull to him.

​''I may need something stronger.''​ He thought to himself, ordering another round for himself.

 

[Tan'yill Vizsla]

She easily made her way cruising through the crowd that digged and bobbed their heads to the heavy beats in the locale. A moment after arriving at the bar, leaning with her arms crossed on the counter, the guy that had seemingly been willing to aid her in the close-to-be fight reappeared beside her. She glanced quietly at him while he ordered two drinks, in the dark club her eyes leant more to the green side and faintly shifted its tint whenever a strobelight or flash hit them.

As one of the drinks were slided over to her she kept her glance on the guy, he looked quite young... What considerations had he made before deciding to show up and eventually aid her? What made him think he could fight that friggin' thing? It was sweet, though! Her glance flicked down to the drink before laying a gloved hand around it, before turning her head and raising an eyebrow at the guy.

''So... What have I done to deserve a personal 'bodyguard'? And a drink on top of that?'' she asked, the sarcasm shining through and a slight smirk finding its way to her lavender lips.

[member="Noatyr Moldmerr"]