Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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The Guilded Veil (Guest starring: Duke Verlo Canto) DJ turn it up!!

(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
"Luxury is the mask. Power is the truth."

In the heart of Nar Shaddaa, nestled between the shadows of syndicates and shimmering skywalks, lies The Gilded Veil — a palace of spice, music, secrets, and the calculating gaze of its enigmatic owner, Sommer Dai.


The Club is Alive.
And it wants to know what you're worth.

Will you rise within the Veil, or disappear behind it?


"All Eyes On The Veil"

The doors whispered open before her — not from the press of her heel, but from presence alone.

Sommer Dai stood at the threshold of her kingdom, haloed by the blush of neon and the deep hum of low synthwaves pulsing from within. The Gilded Veil was not just a nightclub tonight. It was theater, power, and trap — all in one.

Tonight wasn't ordinary.
A known noble — Duke Verlo Canto, emissary from the Siskeen aristocracy — had confirmed his arrival. With him, the galactic entertainer Nyx Azalein and their entourage of pleasure-chasers, scandal chasers, and rumor-hounds.

One slip, and the whispers would devour her.

Sommer's heels clicked across obsidian tile as she entered the main floor, eyes scanning like targeting lasers. Her crystal blue gaze landed on the nearest security post.
"Tighten every entry point," she ordered without pause. "No randoms. Everyone gets scanned twice. I want bios read clean, and if you see someone trying too hard to blend in? Flag them. I don't care if they're wearing credits on their collar."​

A flash of pink light bathed her form as she turned toward the central console — where floor managers monitored every sector of the Veil through tinted holos.

"Food service—status."
"Drinks—are we running with the Emberline Reserve for high rollers?"
"Where the hell are my dancers?"​

A staff member, flustered, approached with a datapad in hand. Sommer took it, reviewed, and handed it back with a flick of her manicured fingers.

"I want Elyna on the aerial rings and Kai Vell front-stage. Rotate the new girls to the mezzanine — but only if they've passed visual. No stumbles tonight. If they fall," her smile sharpened, "they fall out of my business."​

Her voice remained cool — but her eyes sparked like twin sapphires laced with fire.


She walked toward the bar, her presence alone causing the staff to snap into sharper form. Bottles lined like soldiers, lighting synced with her movements — even the music adjusted subtly, as if the club's soul was syncing to hers.

"Let the DJ know: no hard tempo before midnight. I want allure, not assault. Save the drops for when Duke Canto starts drinking."​

She stopped, finally, by the balcony that overlooked the entire floor.


Below, The Gilded Veil glowed — violet lights, serpentine shadows, bodies already in motion — but tonight it had to do more than glow.


It had to dazzle, disarm, and dominate.


Sommer raised a glass of Glitterstim Whisper, its surface catching the reflection of her own perfect smirk.

"Let's give them a night they'll never recover from."​

And somewhere, in the hazy blue of her gaze, a storm was waiting — carefully coiled behind glamour and grace.


Allyson Locke Allyson Locke Valery Noble Valery Noble Velzari Tharn Velzari Tharn
 
Prince of the Underworld

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B L A C K - S U N - S Y N D I C A T E
T H E - G I L D E D - V E I L


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Emberlene Reserve?” Velzari asked the waiter after taking a sip. He knew it must have been, but it’d been such a long time since he enjoyed a glass. The waiter nodded, measured and careful. The Underlord smiled and passed him a far more sizable credit chit than the drink was worth.

Do not let my cup run dry,” he half-mused, though he was entirely serious. The waiter nodded again, appending a curt, “Yes, Your Grace,” to his gesture before stepping down into the crowd below.

Thanks to the hospitality of the Gilded Veil’s owner, Sommer Dai Sommer Dai , Velzari was perched in a reserved lounge above the main floor. Aside from a few accompanying Vigos and a discrete security detail, the section was empty, allowing him an uninterrupted view of the club. He took another sip of Emberlene, holding it on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. The flavor profile was nearly as vibrant and exciting as the Gilded Veil.

Below, a young woman stepped to the front of the stage. A disembodied voice introduced her as Kai Vell, who Velzari presumed to be the Veil’s best performer. As she began the show, he leaned back in his seat. In his right hand, he gently held the fluted glass, twirling it gently to aerate his drink. He rolled his manicured nails from pinky to pointer, rhythmically tapping against the armrest.

The night was young, but already, Velzari was impressed. All he needed now was to meet Sommer personally before he decided that the Gilded Veil was his home away from home on Nar Shaddaa.


Tags: Sommer Dai Sommer Dai
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
A ripple in the air caught her attention — not through the Force, but through instinct honed in velvet danger.

Her eyes tilted upward.

From her vantage point, she spotted him instantly. The lean poise, the tailored silhouette, the subtle armor of status — Velzari, a name as wrapped in hush-money and holonet gossip as in threat.

The Underlord of three sectors… already sipping her Emberlene Reserve.

Sommer’s smile curved with precision. Of course, he recognized the taste.

Meryn,” she said to her floor without turning, “Ensure a bottle of the ‘92 Emberlene is uncorked, air-charmed, and brought to the Upper Lounge. No delay. Tell the chefs I want spice-seared fireberry prawns, gold-pollen risotto, and tempura nerf marrow cigars. Small plates. Visually perfect.”

The Twi’lek nodded and vanished into the corridor of back-channel staff tunnels.

Sommer turned slowly, her fingers trailing the polished obsidian rail. Her reflection shimmered along the black stone, fractured by strobes of plum and gold. Below, Kai Vell spun into her performance — graceful, kinetic, a tether of silk and sinew. The crowd leaned forward.

Good girl, Sommer thought. Keep their eyes low.

She ascended the private stairwell — no guards, no fuss — just a trailing hint of perfume that blended starflower and danger.

Your Grace,” she purred, the title sliding off her lips like honey stirred with smoke. “Forgive the delay — I had to make sure the entire club was worthy of your second sip.”

She moved across the threshold like water poured in moonlight.

Wearing a flowing black-gold ensemble, cut to accentuate her every movement, Sommer stopped just within arm’s reach — not closer, not farther. The lights above caught the icy cut of her features and the gleam in her eye.

I’m Sommer Dai,” she said with a soft smile, extending her hand palm-down. “And you, my lord, have just raised the bar for everyone here tonight.

She leaned in slightly — just enough for only him to hear.

But let’s be honest… none of them can match your taste.”

A server approached, placing the bottle and platter without a word. Sommer’s eyes didn’t break contact.

Shall we enjoy the show together?” she asked, motioning to the seat beside him, voice velvet and venom laced. “Or would you prefer a tour? The Veil has secrets… especially for those who command a shadow.

Tag: Velzari Tharn Velzari Tharn
 




In hadn't been to one of Sommer Dai Sommer Dai 's parties in awhile - but she was in the neighborhood for this one, and there was no way she could have stayed away. After splitting from the pirate crew she'd grown up in, In had gone legit. She'd had a talent for moving and a natural rhythm - she'd eventually found her way into dancing to pay the bills. She'd been working at Sommer's place when she'd gotten enough together to buy her ship and go from part-time courier work to full-time driving . A part of her missed the glitz of the club, the glamor of it all, having all eyes on her as she coaxed the credits from her customers. She even still had some of the outfits.

She hadn't worn them tonight, though. The long-legged Pantoran woman had settled for a white miniskirt and a loose yellow top made of tiny golden scales that shimmered in the right light, heels enough to put her above being overlooked. Not as glitzy as most of The Guilded Veil's target customer base, but In was fine with that. Most clubs were willing to bend a few rules to get women in the door, anyway - you needed a garden full of flowers if you wanted honeybees to harvest from after all.

Once inside the club, In found it hard not to bop a little. The thrum of the bass, the beat in the deliberately slower, enticing music. The scent of perfumes and liquor in the air. It wasn't home anymore, but once it had been. It was hard to keep a smile off her face. In wandered over towards the bar and signaled for a Coruscant Fade - tipping generously.

After all, it was the last drink she planned to pay for tonight.


 
Prince of the Underworld

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B L A C K - S U N - S Y N D I C A T E
T H E - G I L D E D - V E I L


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Velzari's gaze seemed more reptilian than mammalian when his eyes shifted lazily from the dancers to Sommer as she approached him. Her perfume filled the area, subtle yet distinct, just like him. He smiled when she introduced herself.

"The pleasure is mine, Miss Dai," he said smoothly. "I didn't mind the delay. It gave me an opportunity to enjoy your girl's... talents."

He polished off the last of his drink, setting the fluted glass on the table beside him before rising to his feet. He offered a manicured hand for Sommer to take, and if she did, he would raise her hand to his lips and place a small kiss on her knuckles - a sign of deep respect for Falleen, and especially for the Underlord. He held Sommer in high regards and had many plans in which she could take part. She was an asset, and he hoped through working together that she would become a compatriot, too.

"I've seen plenty of dancers in my day, however. I'd like to see more of your establishment, if you're offering. A tour of the facilities." If Black Sun were to route activity through the Gilded Veil, using it as a meeting place for business, he'd want to know it like the back of his hand. Where could he station guards, where would the informants perch, what angles did the security cameras have.


 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
In hadn't been to one of Sommer Dai Sommer Dai 's parties in awhile - but she was in the neighborhood for this one, and there was no way she could have stayed away. After splitting from the pirate crew she'd grown up in, In had gone legit. She'd had a talent for moving and a natural rhythm - she'd eventually found her way into dancing to pay the bills. She'd been working at Sommer's place when she'd gotten enough together to buy her ship and go from part-time courier work to full-time driving . A part of her missed the glitz of the club, the glamor of it all, having all eyes on her as she coaxed the credits from her customers. She even still had some of the outfits.

She hadn't worn them tonight, though. The long-legged Pantoran woman had settled for a white miniskirt and a loose yellow top made of tiny golden scales that shimmered in the right light, heels enough to put her above being overlooked. Not as glitzy as most of The Guilded Veil's target customer base, but In was fine with that. Most clubs were willing to bend a few rules to get women in the door, anyway - you needed a garden full of flowers if you wanted honeybees to harvest from after all.

Once inside the club, In found it hard not to bop a little. The thrum of the bass, the beat in the deliberately slower, enticing music. The scent of perfumes and liquor in the air. It wasn't home anymore, but once it had been. It was hard to keep a smile off her face. In wandered over towards the bar and signaled for a Coruscant Fade - tipping generously.

After all, it was the last drink she planned to pay for tonight.
The bartender caught the shimmer of gold scales before the credits even hit the counter.

He was a tall Zabrak with a single gold ring through his left horn and sleeves rolled high enough to show the Sithspawn runes inked on his forearms — tattoos that glowed faintly in the club's low light. A permanent fixture behind the bar, he moved with the ease of someone who'd worked this place longer than most marriages lasted.

A quick glance. A knowing smirk.

"Coruscant Fade, huh?" he said, already reaching for the liqueurs, shaking the chilled mixer like second nature. "Classy. Dangerous. Little sweet, little sharp."

As he poured the iridescent drink into the tall, curved glass, he arched a brow and slid it across to her with a practiced flick.

"You've got that look," he said, voice low enough to blend with the thrum of the synths in the background. "Like someone who knows these lights a little too well. You from around here, or just revisiting a past life?"

His gaze was curious, but not prying — the kind of question asked by someone who liked hearing stories, not collecting secrets.

Across the lounge...

Sommer Dai hadn't moved, but she had noticed.

In the Veil, nothing glinted under lights without her permission. And In? That shimmer in gold and white had caught her eye the moment the Pantoran crossed the threshold.

She sat elevated, a galaxy of bodies between them, but her gaze tunneled through it all like a beam of icefire. No smile. Just quiet recognition.

It wasn't the outfit — though it flattered.

It was the energy. The rhythm.

Sommer remembered.

Not just the steps, but the fire behind them. A dancer who left trails, not footprints. She hadn't expected to see her tonight — not in the crowd, not sipping old ghosts in a corner. But Sommer was never one to ignore omens.

A quiet command flickered through her earpiece, barely a breath:

"Send her a second round. House tab. And a message."
The bartender's comm chirped. He glanced down, then grinned slightly as he reached for a second glass.

He slid it next to In's first — this one layered in three hues like a sunrise trapped in crystal. No words, just a slim black napkin tucked beneath it. On it, written in elegant silver script:

"If you're only visiting — don't make me regret it. - S.D."

Tag: In Rhan In Rhan
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
.Sommer accepted his hand with a grace, after speaking briefly in her comms, that was neither submissive nor resistant — a neutral strength wrapped in silk and heat. The kiss upon her knuckles earned the faintest of smirks from her, a flicker of something dangerous beneath her eyes. Not mockery. Not dismissal. A recognition of the dance.

The Underlord's show of respect was noted — and returned in kind.

Her eyes, rimmed in smoky gold, didn't leave his as she responded, her voice honey-drenched with something colder beneath the sweetness.

"You flatter me, Your Grace. But I suspect you're not the kind of man who comes just for flattery."

She gestured with her free hand — a subtle, fluid motion — and a low-tone chime rippled from her bracelet. Down below, security quietly shifted positions, like pieces on a board being realigned. Nothing obvious. No disruption. Just the Veil preparing itself for scrutiny.

"A tour, then." She turned, not waiting for him to follow — assuming he would. Her steps were slow and measured, her hips moving with elegance rather than exaggeration, her gown catching just enough of the strobe light to reflect violet iridescence in waves.

As they moved through the upper corridor, she began the introduction.

"The Gilded Veil is three floors, two illusions." Her voice was soft, meant for him and him alone. "What you see from the outside — the club, the dancers, the drinks — is just the garden." She looked at him over her shoulder. "The real roots grow below."

She led him to a private lift, guarded by two suited Zabrak sentinels. They stepped aside without question.

"Downstairs, you'll find a soundproof vault lounge with no digital footprint. No surveillance. Good for handshakes and... things worth not recording." (She paused for a moment). "Upstairs, there's a mirrored chamber for vetting new clients — layered acoustics, pulse sensors, and a glass bar stocked with truth serum for the overly ambitious."

They descended.

She turned to face him fully inside the lift, letting the blue interior lights kiss across her high cheekbones and collarbones.

"I don't pretend to be a warlord, Velzari. But I know how to build sanctuaries. For secrets. For power. For creatures like us."

Her eyes narrowed slightly — not out of suspicion, but anticipation.

"So if you want your web to spin from here, let me show you where the shadows gather best."

Tag: Velzari Tharn Velzari Tharn
 




A good-looking bartender who could still chat somebody up while making one of the finer cocktails In had had in a long time. It was clear that Sommer Dai Sommer Dai still refused to compromise on quality employees. That, in and of itself was respectable - an admirable quality independent of the fantastic nightclub. In leaned on the bar, flashing the Zabrak a grin that was slightly too broad for her face. In had always had an honest (or honest-looking) smile. She'd used that disarming smile to great effect in clubs just like this. The right femme fatalle could open any door, but the slightly dorky girl next door often had her own tricks.

"I came from around here, but I don't think of this as a past life." The Pantoran woman chuckled warmly, nursing her drink. "We're all the summation of our parts. I'm still the person I was when I danced for Sommer before, and maybe someday I'll be back up on that dias" In's tone was comfortable, nearly languid. Her eyes flit over to a raised stage where a dancer was working the crowd, smiled a little, then turned her attention back to the bartender.

A second drink. A napkin. In considered the message, her eyes briefly scanning the area. Balconies, cameras, one-way mirrors - there were dozens of places Sommer might be looking from. In had no doubts that the woman was busy. Running a club like this took supernatural levels of activity, so it wasn't like she thought she'd get an extended one-on-one reminiscing session with her old boss. But it WAS a little gratifying to know that, at least for a moment, Sommer's eyes were on her.

Humming cheerfully at the thought, In asked the bartender for a pen. The free-spirited woman continued to jive as she wrote, hips bouncing to the beat of the club as she scribbled a simple message - her comms number, in case Sommer didn't have her updated digits, and a single word framed by In's lipstick by way of a quick kiss.

'Never.'


In left the message with the bartender, finished her first drink, and then promised to return for the second - after she did a little dancing. The Pantoran left message and cocktail with the Zabrak, bouncing her way off to the floor to dance with the rest of the flowers in Sommer's garden.

 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.




A good-looking bartender who could still chat somebody up while making one of the finer cocktails In had had in a long time. It was clear that Sommer Dai Sommer Dai still refused to compromise on quality employees. That, in and of itself was respectable - an admirable quality independent of the fantastic nightclub. In leaned on the bar, flashing the Zabrak a grin that was slightly too broad for her face. In had always had an honest (or honest-looking) smile. She'd used that disarming smile to great effect in clubs just like this. The right femme fatalle could open any door, but the slightly dorky girl next door often had her own tricks.

"I came from around here, but I don't think of this as a past life." The Pantoran woman chuckled warmly, nursing her drink. "We're all the summation of our parts. I'm still the person I was when I danced for Sommer before, and maybe someday I'll be back up on that dias" In's tone was comfortable, nearly languid. Her eyes flit over to a raised stage where a dancer was working the crowd, smiled a little, then turned her attention back to the bartender.

A second drink. A napkin. In considered the message, her eyes briefly scanning the area. Balconies, cameras, one-way mirrors - there were dozens of places Sommer might be looking from. In had no doubts that the woman was busy. Running a club like this took supernatural levels of activity, so it wasn't like she thought she'd get an extended one-on-one reminiscing session with her old boss. But it WAS a little gratifying to know that, at least for a moment, Sommer's eyes were on her.

Humming cheerfully at the thought, In asked the bartender for a pen. The free-spirited woman continued to jive as she wrote, hips bouncing to the beat of the club as she scribbled a simple message - her comms number, in case Sommer didn't have her updated digits, and a single word framed by In's lipstick by way of a quick kiss.

'Never.'


In left the message with the bartender, finished her first drink, and then promised to return for the second - after she did a little dancing. The Pantoran left message and cocktail with the Zabrak, bouncing her way off to the floor to dance with the rest of the flowers in Sommer's garden.

She let In feel her before she saw her — that subtle shift in air, the weight of presence. When In turned, Sommer was already near, one hand lifted in amused acknowledgment of the woman's sway.

"Still dancing circles around everyone," Sommer said lowly, her voice velvet over vibrosteel. "And you leave 'Never' on a napkin like I won't come ask what that means."

Her tone wasn't accusing — it was teasing, warm, amused. Her gaze flicked to In's drink in the distance, then back.

"I liked it better when you delivered your messages with a look instead of ink."

She took one step closer, close enough for the perfume to shift — a heady blend of Naboo florals and electrospice, uniquely her.

"You're still the person you were when you danced for me… but I wonder," Sommer tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, "if you're the same person I'd hire again."

Then a pause.

"But you did say 'never'." A smile — small, mysterious, edged like a crescent moon.

"Want to walk with me? Or would you rather show me what else hasn't changed?"
 




In turned, and there she was - Sommer Dai Sommer Dai in the flesh, come down just to see her. The Pantoran woman's face lit up with a beaming smile and she halted her exodus to the dance floor long enough to take Sommer's hand and spin once with her. "It's WONDERFUL to see you, too!" In laughed.

When Sommer stepped in, In did not step back - though her composure did slip a little. Dorks would be dorks. "I can't say for sure that you'd hire me - my price has gone up in the past couple of years." In replied languidly, cradling her cocktail in a loose grip with her arms folded. She'd had her nails done before coming - Sommer's club was a pamper-worthy event. She might've taken her life in a more blue-collar direction, but In wouldn't have shown up to a place like this without putting every effort in to look her best - and the blue-skinned woman knew how to dress and pose herself.

"But. 'Never.' I'd like to think that I've never left you regretting my presence, or regretting my place in your life." In replied, giving her former boss a smoky and slightly inscrutable look. With her wide smile, yellow eyes, and knowing expression In could be downright sphinxlike when she was of a mind to be. It came and went, a mask she'd cultivated while performing for customers. Her hips reeled them in, but her smile made them wonder what she knew - what she saw in them that was so very amusing. "If I haven't left you with fond memories, why are you even here?" In asked warmly.

It didn't last long. In couldn't help herself from laughing a little. Stepping in, the Pantoran woman dropped her hips in a pendulum sway to the beat while lifting her arms - as clear an invitation to play as could ever be. "Oh, I can't keep standing with music this good! Dance with me, Sommer - it's been too long!" In invited eagerly, gushing. "Or walk me around - I'll be your arm candy if you really want it - anything's preferable to standing here trying to not act like I'm thrilled to pieces to see how successful you are." In laughed.


 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer didn't resist the spin — she let herself be caught in the moment, her fingers brushing against In's as they turned together like they had years ago. But her eyes never lost their gleam — smoky, assessing, warm beneath the surface but with a fire too controlled to flare recklessly.

As In spoke, Sommer stepped in closer again, not quite touching, but near enough for her perfume — spice-laced and kissed with exotic citrus — to weave between them like a secret. Her voice dropped, soft as crushed velvet and edged with an unmistakable purr.

"You've never been cheap, darling," Sommer murmured, amber eyes glinting beneath the dim shimmer of club light. "But there are three kinds of gold in this galaxy — the kind you wear, the kind you count… and the kind you are." Her gaze swept over In with a slow, deliberate admiration. "And you, In, have always been all three."

She leaned in, her lips just beside the Pantoran's ear, her tone dipped even lower — private, but not secretive.

"Thirty creds a night." A pause — calculated. "Double on weekends. And that's just for gracing the stage. You and I both know the real money comes in the drift. Tips from men who don't know how to look away. Women who want to know what it's like to be you. And me?" Sommer drew back slightly, her expression coaxing and deliciously smug. "I've got both kinds lined up already."

Her fingers brushed the glass in In's hand — not possessive, but tactile. Electric. "You said 'never,' but that tells me you were always mine, even when you were gone. So…" Sommer's mouth curved slowly, a dimple flashing like a loaded weapon.

"Dance with me now — and then come backstage after. I'll have a new costume sent to your ship by the time your second drink is finished."

She extended a hand with courtly flair, head tilted, lashes half-lowered. A queen offering an invitation — not a command. But her presence said: refusal wasn't in the cards.

"You lead, In. But don't pretend you don't miss the spotlight."


Tag: In Rhan In Rhan
 
The sky above Nar Shaddaa was choked with traffic lanes and neon-lit haze. Holosigns flickered across kilometer-high towers like forgotten gods, each selling pleasure, power, or escape. Somewhere in the underbelly of this moon, Lismand Bripear stepped off a rust-patched public transport, her hood drawn low, eyes sharp beneath it.

Her boots met the rain-slick permacrete with quiet confidence, but her heart was racing.

She'd made it.
From Zeltros to here. From velvet cages to shadowed alleys. From the stage to the street.


Her arrival on Nar Shaddaa wasn't dramatic. No fanfare, no one waiting. Just a former entertainment slave turned information broker carrying everything she owned in a worn shoulder bag and half a dozen fake identi-tags buried under her collar. Her last connection on Zeltros had said this place could be sanctuary—"Go to the Gilded Veil. Sommer Dai protects her own."


Lismand didn't know if it was a lie. But she didn't have any more options.

The Gilded Veil rose from the district like it had no business existing in the slums surrounding it. Its entrance was a dream carved into steel and smoke: arched columns dressed in cascading gold-thread banners, light panels that pulsed gently to the rhythm of the music inside, and a subtle perfume in the air — floral, spiced, luxurious.

Two guards at the door. Zeltron and Kiffar, both in sleek tailored uniforms. Their eyes locked on her the moment she crossed into the Veil's spotlight.

"Invitation code?" the Kiffar asked, voice clipped.

Lismand didn't blink. "I was told to speak with your manager. Tell them… Lis' Bripear has arrived. From Zeltros." Her voice was steady, almost too calm.

The Zeltron guard tilted his head, curious now. A soft buzz echoed from his earpiece.


Then a pause. A nod.


"You're cleared for walk-in. But keep it clean."


Lismand stepped past them, crossing the threshold.


And into another world.


Inside, The Gilded Veil was less a club and more a kingdom of elegance and danger wrapped in synth-beats and soft crimson light. Laughter rolled like thunder between private booths. Dancers moved like silk across aerial rings above the marble bar. Exotic drinks shimmered in glasses designed to catch the light, not just hold liquid.


She took a breath, deeper than she needed. The air here was different — not just filtered, but curated.


All around her were whispers and stares. Some people noticed her; most didn't. And that was perfect.


Her fingers traced the edge of the thin silver earring she wore — a voice modulator, disguised. If the bounty hunter from Zeltros was here, if any of her past owners had caught her scent, this was the moment they'd strike.


But no alarms. No running footsteps.


Only a glimmer of gold from the balcony above.


Sommer Dai Sommer Dai
Watching her? Maybe. Maybe not.


Lismand moved toward the bar, slow and smooth, back straight, every step like she still belonged on a stage. Not to perform — but to rise.


Nar Shaddaa wasn't a sanctuary. But maybe, just maybe, The Gilded Veil could be.
 
She spotted a quiet corner booth with a velvet crescent seat and slid in like a shadow melting into place. Her eyes swept the room with that old habit — exits, patrons, security placement — before they settled coolly on the elegantly lit menu projected in holograph just above the table's surface.

Nebula Eel Sashimi.
Rare. Cold-prepped. Expensive.
And very Zeltros.

She selected it with a flick of her fingers just as a server approached. He looked like trouble with dimples — lean, tousled hair, sleeves rolled just enough to show faint tattoos coiling up his forearms. His eyes were a little too observant, a little too quick, and his smile… well, it landed somewhere between genuine warmth and practiced charm.

"Well hey," he said, voice easy and rough like gravel under silk. "Did it hurt when you fell down from Coruscant High Society? Or did you just get that glow naturally?"

Lismand arched a brow but said nothing. Her smirk, however, was permission enough.

"Right," he chuckled, tapping the menu. "Nebula Eel Sashimi. Not a lot of people have the taste — or the stomach — for that. You sure you don't want something safer? Like… I dunno, flirting with the waiter who's clearly underpaid but deeply passionate about seafood and regret?"

She gave him a lazy blink, then tilted her head. "I prefer my fish raw and my men cooked. But by all means, bring me both."

He grinned like she'd handed him a trophy. "Alright then, sashimi first. Emotional complications later."

As he turned to leave, he glanced back. "Oh, and I'm Pax, by the way. If you need anything else… a drink, another round, galactic escape route — I know all three."

Lismand watched him go with a faint smile tugging the corner of her lips. Charming. Predictable. Dangerous, if he wasn't careful.

And oddly… refreshing.
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer stood framed by vertical beams of golden light, her silhouette etched against the club's vast atrium. She sipped a chilled flute of Alderaanian fireblossom nectar — a showpiece drink, meant more for aesthetic than intoxication — and watched the slow ballet of her empire in motion.


Below, dancers shimmered, bartenders spun bottles in well-rehearsed grace, and her patrons — the rich, the powerful, the dangerous — swam in the nectar of luxury.


But her eyes weren't on the guests.


They were on the kitchen display monitors mounted in a discreet panel beneath her mirrored ledge.


:: NEBULA EEL SASHIMI — PLATE 12 ::
:: DUNE SEA TRUFFLE WONTONS — PREP FOR VIP ::
:: PRIMARY ORDER: "DUKE VERLO CANTO" ::
GLIMMERGOLD NERF-SHOULDER, DRIZZLED IN PINK SALT & ZIR-TREE OIL
CAVERN MUSHROOT AUROMARINE PUREE
SEARED CHARRWING FOIE STARS
BLACK ORCHID BREATH INFUSION (PAIRING)


Everything was on time. But timing wasn't enough. The presentation had to be flawless.


"Table Lead," she murmured into her comm, her voice like rich velvet with a blade under the surface. "Make sure the gold foil isn't stamped too soon. I want the nerf shoulder glowing when it hits the table. Not before. Understood?"


:: Affirmative, Lady Dai. Final garnish in 8.4 minutes. ::


Her eyes narrowed just slightly. Duke Verlo Canto wasn't just any guest. He was press-lined royalty, and more importantly, leverage. His favor with the Mid-Rim banking guilds and his whispered ties to the Crimson Circle made his presence both a prize and a liability.


A buzz at the door sensor drew her gaze toward the street-side holofeed now streaming live onto her mirrored screen.


The Duke had arrived.


A stretched silversheen transport, long as a pleasure yacht, pulled up curbside in front of the Gilded Veil's VIP façade. Flashbulbs from half a dozen press droids lit up like fireworks as a lean, regal figure in a floor-length obsidian coat stepped out. His high collar swept behind him like a cape, and jeweled signet rings glinted from both hands as he adjusted his gloves with ceremony.


Two of Sommer's best-dressed security officers, clad in matte black synth-armor lined with glimmering amethyst piping, approached smoothly.


":: Duke Canto, your entrance is prepared. This way, please. ::"


He did not smile at the cameras — only turned his head to offer them a brief, imperial glance — then swept into motion behind the guards, vanishing through a gilded side panel door meant only for her most protected clientele.


Sommer turned slightly as her servant droid, VEL-8, appeared beside her with uncanny silence.


"Vel," she said softly, not breaking her gaze from the screen, "escort the Duke personally to the Velora Room. Adjust lighting to soft starlight hues. And alert Inari. I want her performing immediately after his entrée hits."


":: At once, Lady Dai. Shall I initiate the scent cycle for crushed violet and starbloom? ::"


Sommer smirked faintly. "Yes. And have the drink cart follow two minutes behind. The Duke prefers his ice broken before the conversation."


She placed the flute down and straightened her bodice, the quiet tension of the moment curling deliciously around her spine.


Time to charm royalty.
 






"Thirty creds a night." A pause — calculated. "Double on weekends. And that's just for gracing the stage. You and I both know the real money comes in the drift. Tips from men who don't know how to look away. Women who want to know what it's like to be you. And me?" Sommer drew back slightly, her expression coaxing and deliciously smug. "I've got both kinds lined up already."

Her fingers brushed the glass in In's hand — not possessive, but tactile. Electric. "You said 'never,' but that tells me you were always mine, even when you were gone. So…" Sommer's mouth curved slowly, a dimple flashing like a loaded weapon.

"Dance with me now — and then come backstage after. I'll have a new costume sent to your ship by the time your second drink is finished."

There'd been a couple of times where In had questioned if she'd made the right choice, going into the black. A part of her missed dancing, missed the glitz and excitement of being an admired bird in a gilded cage. It wasn't something she'd considered very much or very often, but the thought occurred.

In took Sommer's arm and was happily led the dance floor. She was happy to take the time to think on Sommer's offer, to focus on being a flower in the bouquet of the mistress of the house. Because she already knew how she felt, and worse? Sommer knew how she felt. Knew that In couldn't resist the call of a stage forever, or the luxury that came with it. Her soul belonged to the stars, but In had enough room in her life for more than one true love. She always had.

The Pantoran woman threw her all into dancing - she always did. Lost in the frantic pulse of the beat, the joy of motion, the chance to entrance her partner and be entranced. It wasn't the same as being on a stage or a pole, more improvisational, collaborative. Just as fun, though. More fun, maybe, because the focus was more on building a moment with another person and less about putting on a show. In's radiant smile never faltered - not when she and Sommer danced closely enough to whisper in each other's ears, not as the lunatic tempo drove her to hop and twist with ecstatic delight, not as she drew herself against Sommer as though a newlywed bride sharing her first dance.

The dance was answer enough, probably, but as they wound down In felt the need to make it official - a gesture of respect. "I can't promise I'll be here always, but when I am? Yes." In murmured breathlessly, glowing. "I'll be yours. Dress me up and set me loose."



 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer's laughter danced in time with the music, a low, velvet sound pressed close to In's ear as they twirled one final time. She moved like silk through fire, each motion deliberate, made not for the onlookers but for In alone. The room, the rhythm, the blur of color and motion—it all faded into nothing beside the weight of those words:

"I'll be yours. Dress me up and set me loose."
Sommer slowed with her, holding In steady by the waist as the beat thinned into breathy synths, wrapping the moment in something private.

Her gaze searched In's face, luminous and struck still like she was witnessing a star falling backwards into its place in the sky. Then her lips curved, knowingly—fond, indulgent, but touched with the gravity of someone who did not take such vows lightly.

"Then we'll make each time count," she said gently. "No chains. No cages. Just silk and stardust and a place on my arm, if you want it. You're not a possession, In… you're a presence."

She kissed In's cheek—not timid, not chaste, but with a reverent heat, a seal of both affection and acceptance.

Then she slipped back, still holding In's hand for a beat longer.

"You know where to find me when you're ready for the next costume change," Sommer added with a wink, her voice trailing like smoke. And with that, she turned—her gown whispering secrets as she vanished into the crowd and the shadows of the Veil, leaving In to revel in the night that still sang around her.
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
A gleaming stretched transport, dark-chromed and embossed with House Canto's crest — a twin-winged sun perched over a crowned moon — settled into position beneath a golden overhang. Reporters pressed forward in their holoframes, capturing every angle as the side panel hissed open with smooth finality.


Duke Verlo Canto stepped out slowly, wearing a layered cloak of iridescent blue satin and black scinter-wool. He was tall, silver-bearded, with features carved in deliberate arrogance. Behind him, a slim protocol droid held a carbon-fiber folio sealed with a biometric lock.


A pair of Sommer's elite guards, dressed in matte obsidian synth-leather and trimmed in gold-threaded sashes, moved in formation, escorting him swiftly past the crowd. A private entrance opened like an iris at their approach.


Inside, the Duke was led through a biometric hallway that shifted hue based on his DNA — deep violet blending into pale indigo — until it unfurled into the Continental Conference, the Veil's most exclusive VIP enclave.


A sunken seating arena wrapped in chroma-glass, plush gold-thread cushions, and a soft-ambient ceiling that mimicked Hyperspace drift, the room was a masterclass in luxury-meets-security.
Floating menus shimmered above each private booth. Hidden holocorders scanned every breath. And at the center table, his name blinked in gentle luminescence:
"Welcome, Duke Verlo Canto — Your Discretion is Our Standard."

A host droid bowed.


:: Your meal is in final plating, my Lord. Chef Nayar sends her most respectful regards. Miss Dai will join you momentarily. ::


The Duke smiled without warmth and removed a black-glass datadisc, placing it onto the embedded reader by his seat.
 
Back on the main floor, Lismand Bripear stirred her cocktail slowly, the cool sheen of the Nebula Eel Sashimi before her glittering with bioluminescent garnishes and paper-thin translucent slices.


Pax — leaned in with a lopsided grin as he refilled her water.


"Careful with that eel, darlin'. Last time someone stared into it too long, they swore it winked back."

He chuckled at his own joke, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. His apron bore a gleaming "Gilded Veil" sigil, but his voice was more barkeep than server — roughened by experience and oddly sincere.

Lis looked up, eyebrows raised but amused. She tilted her head, letting a golden curl fall along one cheek. She dabbed at her lips with a cloth napkin, leaned slightly forward with intent — not enough to give anything away, just enough to sharpen curiosity.

"If the eel did wink, I'd wink back. Might be the most honest conversation I've had all month."

She took a sip from her drink, her tone velvet-smooth and low.

"What's your REAL name, waiter-who-flirts-with-rogues?"

Pax blinked — pleasantly surprised — and smirked wider.

"Just Pax like i said.. And you? I'd ask what brings you here, but I've seen that look before. You've escaped something."

Her smile didn't fade, but it shifted… deepened.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just here for the eel."

She picked up a sliver and let it melt on her tongue with dancer's elegance, never breaking eye contact.

"But keep checking on me, Pax. I'm not done being watched yet."
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Continental Conference Room
The lights within the Continental Conference dimmed slightly as the final stage of service commenced.


On a floating server tray lined with obsidian trim, the chef's final flourish was wheeled into place:
Seared Charrwing Foie Stars — tender cuts of rare charrwing livers, delicately seared and garnished with burnt orange zest and ghost-spice microdrizzle. It was intended to be the second course, not the final.


A server droid placed it before Duke Verlo Canto, whose demeanor remained impenetrable. He barely glanced at the reorder of dishes. He assumed — arrogantly — that the staff had bent to his preferences.


"Presentation is passable," he muttered to no one, slicing into the foie with a blade-fork as silent as a whisper. The aroma was rich — intoxicating even.
He took a bite. One. No reaction.

Another.

Then—

The lights in Sommer's suite flickered once. Her comm device, built into a thin gold choker, issued a glitching pulse — a hiccup in the data stream.

:: —mmmmmmer...re... shhhhkk ...Chef Nayar repor— ::

Then clarity returned, the voice continuing normally. Sommer brushed her fingers across the device, brows furrowed in irritation, but ultimately unconcerned. Minor interference. It happened, especially on Nar Shaddaa.

She turned toward the corridor and walked elegantly, heels tapping like rhythm on glass, making her way into the VIP suite.
 

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