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

[Sommer Dai]

doors to the Continental Conference hissed open.

"Duke Canto," Sommer said, voice velvet-smooth. "Your compliments on the dishes are overdue."

No response.

She took two steps forward. The light struck the side of his glass — untouched since the foie was served — and the remains of the charrwing liver still sat glistening with heat. A trail of golden sauce clung to the edge of the plate.

The Duke was slouched slightly, his head tilted too far to the right — an unnatural lean for a man of posture and pride. His eyes, once sharp with entitlement, were now unfocused, mouth slightly parted as if mid-thought. Still. Silent.

Sommer's smile faltered.

Her eyes dropped to the plate.

To the liver.

To the sequence of service.

She was careful. Her orders were always followed.

And yet...

"No," she whispered — not in horror, but in the controlled realization of a system failure. She stepped closer and pressed two fingers to his neck.

Nothing.

Just then, the ceiling sensor lights shifted — indicating bio-scan irregularities. The droid near the door blinked with confused yellow optics.

Sommer straightened.

Her comm reactivated.

:: —Status check: Duke Verlo Canto has— detected cardiac failure. Alerting internal med drone. ::

Sommer raised a hand and silenced it. Immediately. Her expression was stone. Her mind, calculating.

She turned slightly toward the holo-sconce and tapped into the kitchen feed. Her eyes narrowed.

"...That wasn't the order I gave."

She exhaled once. Slowly.

The scent of ghost-spice lingered too long in the air.

 

[Lismand Bripear]

Main Lounge

The energy inside the Gilded Veil's main lounge was fluid and alive — music pulsed in velvet ripples through the walls, lighting painted seductive shadows, and dancers moved like living poetry beneath the chandeliers of hanging auric-thread glass.


Lis, seated at a corner booth bathed in soft violet hue, had just been served her Nebula Eel Sashimi — translucent cuts shimmering with bioluminescent streaks, nestled in a cradle of seafoam crystals. A visual marvel.


Across from her, the waiter —The rakish young man PAX , with a crooked grin and eyes too earnest for Nar Shaddaa — leaned with casual confidence.

"You know," he started, voice a little too smooth, "if I had a credit for every stunning customer that ordered sashimi in a club where most folks can't spell it… I'd have enough to retire with you somewhere less grimy."

Lismand tilted her head. Her lips curled in amusement as she picked up the chopsticks — not biting just yet. Her eyes studied him with that quiet, disarming charm she'd honed in her former life.

"And if I had a credit for every icebreaker that started with fish, I'd own this place," she purred. Then, more softly: "But I appreciate the effort."

She took a delicate bite, savoring it. The tension in her shoulders eased, the taste genuine and expensive. It felt like the first real pleasure she'd allowed herself in months.

"Pax, was it?" she asked, eyes sliding over him like silk. "You flirt well for a man who probably memorized that line in front of a mirror."

Pax chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Ouch. You wound me."

"I haven't even tried yet," she replied, raising a glass of glimmerdew spritz to her lips.

But as she sipped—


A subtle shift in the room's energy.


Several security personnel passed through the lounge more briskly than before. A pair of black-suited guards peeled from their usual stations near the bar and moved with silent urgency toward the VIP hallway.

Lis noticed.

And more tellingly — she didn't ask why.

Instead, she pressed her heel discreetly to the floor under the table, shifting the angle of her commlink bracelet. A reflex born from years of hiding. Observing. Surviving.

Pax glanced toward the hall. "VIP exit," he said casually, covering a flicker of discomfort. "Probably nothing."

"Nothing," Lismand echoed, eyes still on the corridor. "Happens fast around here."

She placed her chopsticks down with grace, not panic. But her pulse had picked up. The Hutt Cartel hadn't found her, she was sure — but the twitchy, electric air of something gone wrong in a high-end establishment made her skin crawl with memory.

Lismand wiped her hands on a napkin and smiled up at Pax again, brighter now.

"Be a dear and bring me a second round. I think I'll stay awhile longer."

"Same drink?"

"Surprise me," she whispered.

And with that, Lismand slowly leaned back in the booth — poised like a guest, but ready to move like a shadow.

The last time she saw guards move like that, a Hutt lost his tongue.

 

[In Rhan]

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.

Dancing had always been fun. Even when In had done it to pay her bills, she'd enjoyed it. The physicality, the spectacle, the sensuality of it all. She was not the sort to surrender to the music, In was too mindful to truly 'lose herself' in something. Piecing together the vibe of a song and playing her body like an instrument beside the chords and harmony was how the Pantoran woman tended to approach these things, and it worked out well for her.

A warm touch, a parting kiss, and encouraging words. More than enough motivation. Independent of everything else going on - the job offer, the vibe of the club, the warmth of the drink coursing her veins? Sommer Dai whispering compliments and offering to dress her up like a doll would have likely been enough to motivate In to get up on stage for the night. The money was a nice way of ensuring that she came back, though. As Sommer pulled away, In let her hand trail from Sommer's hip and along her arm, the two parting as though the tides pulled them slowly apart. Sommer's dramatic turn and the intensity of her gaze contrasted with In's exuberance, the energy with which she pulled a tie out of her long white hair and let the waves fall over her bare shoulders.

Security had already been notified. In strode into the back room to get ready, to find what had been left for her to wear, and within twenty minutes made her debut on the stage of The Gilded Veil as the newest - or, arguably, most seasoned - dancer in the house. Her mission; to provide atmosphere, allure, and excitement. To meet with the wealthy and powerful and give them a reason to keep coming back, a person to spill their secrets to. And, of course, to make loads of money.

 

[Sommer Dai]

And as she danced like it was her last...... X2

 

[Sommer Dai]

She danced and danced ... XD

 

[Sommer Dai]

Tag: In Rhan recieved 166 UC

 

[Velzari Tharn]

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​

​

"I only flatter those who are deserving of the praise," he assured Sommer as she led him through the Gilded Veil's less public areas. Velzari observed everything keenly, walking a half-step behind the club's proprietor to afford himself second looks at anything that caught his attention.

Of particular interest was the vault, which she assured him was soundproof and impenetrable as far as slicing attempts would go - no digital footprint, no surveillance, and so on. While it has the potential to become a problematic blind spot, Velzari knew he'd overcome the weaknesses of forgoing holocamera feeds with the use of personal bodyguards, which he personally selected himself for the job.

As they reached what he suspected was the end of their tour, Velzari slowed his pace and came to a stop to face the Veil's owner. Sommer had an allure that he couldn't quite place, a particular sharpness that reminded him of a fine paring knife that slices cleanly the bitter bits from the treasure. He believed she wanted Black Sun's business as much as he wanted to offer it, and thusly, he said, "My organization does, indeed, need central hub from which the web expands. I see no reason why the Gilded Veil should be passed over as a contender - and if I may add, there are few others that come close to your... amenities."

"There remains but one question, my dear: what is it that you seek in return? No one does Black Sun favors without expectations, and we certainly do not enter blind transactions. What are your wishes?"

Tags: Sommer Dai | In Rhan
​

 

[Sommer Dai]

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​

​

"I only flatter those who are deserving of the praise," he assured Sommer as she led him through the Gilded Veil's less public areas. Velzari observed everything keenly, walking a half-step behind the club's proprietor to afford himself second looks at anything that caught his attention.

Of particular interest was the vault, which she assured him was soundproof and impenetrable as far as slicing attempts would go - no digital footprint, no surveillance, and so on. While it has the potential to become a problematic blind spot, Velzari knew he'd overcome the weaknesses of forgoing holocamera feeds with the use of personal bodyguards, which he personally selected himself for the job.

As they reached what he suspected was the end of their tour, Velzari slowed his pace and came to a stop to face the Veil's owner. Sommer had an allure that he couldn't quite place, a particular sharpness that reminded him of a fine paring knife that slices cleanly the bitter bits from the treasure. He believed she wanted Black Sun's business as much as he wanted to offer it, and thusly, he said, "My organization does, indeed, need central hub from which the web expands. I see no reason why the Gilded Veil should be passed over as a contender - and if I may add, there are few others that come close to your... amenities."

"There remains but one question, my dear: what is it that you seek in return? No one does Black Sun favors without expectations, and we certainly do not enter blind transactions. What are your wishes?"

Tags: Sommer Dai | In Rhan
​

Sommer regarded Velzari with an expression that walked the line between poise and predator—soft around the mouth, calculating behind the eyes. She leaned lightly against the threshold of the private corridor, arms crossed in casual command, one heel cocked behind the other like a woman entirely at ease in her dominion.


"The Veil doesn't deal in favors, darling. We deal in futures."


She let the word hang, her voice like dark velvet, then stepped forward just enough to draw the distance between them taut like a well-tuned string.


"I'm not asking for charity, and I'm certainly not seeking protection. What I want is alignment. When the tide shifts—and trust me, it will—I intend to be at the helm of more than just the party. There are… situations... developing across several sectors that are going to need sharp minds and sharper knives. The kind of hands that don't ask questions, just move the goods and cut the silence."


Sommer brushed an imaginary bit of dust from his lapel, the gesture intimate but calculated.


"There's spice moving through the Mid Rim soon. Something new, high-end, traced to no cartel. No fingerprints, no name. You'll get access before anyone else. But I need someone in your ranks I can call on when the deal hits atmosphere. Someone reliable. Someone whose loyalty bends to you, but whose actions serve me."


She produced a credstick from her sleeve with a flick of her fingers, the transaction amount glowing in bold crimson script:


₡ 500 — Black Sun (Initial)


"Half now. The other half upon successful delivery. 1,000 cred. Not a bribe. A gesture. An offering of mutual ambition. What you do with it… depends on whether you're ready to stop watching and start building something that lasts. Love a spicy challenge?"

Her voice lowered, lips brushing close to his ear:

"Because you and I? We could make the stars bleed gold. Think about it. But don't wait too long Mr.Tharn."


Then she drew back, the promise lingering behind her smile like the smoke of a slow-burning fire.

 

[Velzari Tharn]

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​

​

Velzari's ridged eyebrows rose slightly. "Spice, you say..."

The Mid Rim was slowly becoming Black Sun's largest market of the stuff. Many worlds in the region fell under Republic or Alliance territory, if not under the Mandalorians; getting quality spice to the former two was growing increasingly difficult as word spread of the syndicate's presence, driving prices - and profits - through the proverbial roof.

If there was a new cut on the market, Velzari would make sure that Black Sun moved in on it quick and took hold of the operation. He'd absorb the spicers if he could, or kill them if he couldn't. It was always cheaper to retain employees, but if whoever these people were didn't want to play ball, well... Black Sun had deep enough coffers to field a new team.

"I have just the agent," the Underlord offered with a nod. "I'll provide you with his dossier. Tell me if he meets your needs, and if so, I will dispatch him to complete the job. He's one of my finest, a recent acquisition years in the making; I believe you'll be pleased with his ability to... how did you word it? Serve you."

Velzari was referring to none other than Thayne Tameron of the recently absorbed Crimson Dawn organization. He was an ex-Jedi assassin who specialized in hunting his former brethren for the highest bidder. Thayne was skilled in marksmanship, as one would expect, but also in the realms of slicing, infiltration, and sabotage. He was an excellent field agent, one Velzari depended on frequently these last few months.

He would serve Sommer Dai very well in this endeavor.

Tags: Sommer Dai | In Rhan
​

 

[Sommer Dai]

Sommer's expression shifted into something almost feline—sharp, pleased, and darkly amused.


" Thayne Tameron ," she repeated, letting the name curl across her tongue like a vintage liquor. "The Jedi-killer turned syndicate ghost. I've heard whispers. Faint ones—too clean, too clean to be rumor. But if even half of what they say is true, he'll do beautifully."


Her smile deepened, not soft, but steeped—the kind of smile that came just before a very deliberate strike.


"I'll review the dossier, of course, but I already like the sound of your recent acquisition. You've done well, Velzari. And if this mission proves as fruitful as I expect, we'll both be carving new routes through the stars before the quarter's end."


She stepped close again—close enough for the scent of nerf leather and dry spice on her skin to meet his breath, her voice dropping to a rich murmur.


"Tell him this isn't a hit. It's a handover. Subtlety matters. We're not rattling sabacc chips here—we're building a dynasty."


Then, with the grace of someone always ten steps ahead, Sommer straightened, composure coiled tight again, but her tone gentled by sincerity.


"You'll excuse me now—I have matters to attend to. Tonight's not finished dancing, and neither are the players involved. I trust the next steps are in your capable hands."


She offered a final nod—half regal, half conspiratorial—and turned on a heel that glinted like a dagger under starlight, walking down a corridor with the effortless command of a woman whose personal empire was just beginning. As her hips locked with her precise movements, she would wink back at him.

 

[Sommer Dai]

The air was still.


The smell of seared foie still hung faintly, a delicate smokiness curling beneath the heavier perfume of high-end synthsilks and scented oils.


But the Duke — Duke Verlo Canto — was slumped back in the silken curve of his lounge seat, his eyes glassy, mouth slightly agape. Dead. Silent. No sign of a struggle. The dish before him: half-eaten Seared Charrwing Foie Stars, the last item that wasn't supposed to be served yet.


Sommer Dai stood frozen, framed by the polished obsidian archway of the private room.


Her heels clicked across the marble-tile in slow approach. Every step elegant, but heavy now. She crouched beside the Duke, brushed her fingers across his wrist.


No pulse.


The scent of zir-tree oil and glimmergold nerf fat was still warm on his breath — but no life remained in the body. And yet — there were no convulsions. No symptoms of poison. No black veins, no frothing, no spasms.


Sommer's comm crackled.

:: "Chef confirms dish order was altered by mistake — but no poison." ::

She didn't answer.


Instead, she turned, eyes sharp. Her usually calm voice sliced the room.

"Get the sommelier. The security feed. Everyone who handled that dish. Now."

---

Staff Quarters, Minutes Later

Sommer paced slowly before a line of stunned staff.


Three chefs. One server. Pax. Her assistant Chala.


All eyes were wide — the silence broken only by the hum of surveillance monitors overhead.

"I don't care if he choked on his own ego," she said. "I want to know who tampered with my sequence. Who moved that dish."

"Chef Amuru swears it was in line," Chala said nervously, datapad shaking slightly in her grip. "No tampering. And Pax didn't bring it. It was routed through the VIP service rail."

"Sommer, I swear, I didn't even touch the foie dish," Pax added. "I was still in the lounge. I—"

"Then what killed him?" Sommer asked, voice now low.

---

Medical Droid's Report – Projected Scan

A soft ping broke the silence.


A hovering med-droid floated into the room, projecting a blue-tinted scan of the Duke's cranium.

"Subject exhibits extreme synaptic overload. No biological toxin. No chemical imbalance. No physical trauma. Brain activity terminated via neuro-electrical burnout… cause: unknown."

Sommer's brow furrowed. Her jaw set.

"That's not poison," she said quietly.

"It's not," the droid confirmed. "It's as if his mind was shut off like a terminal. A surge. Too controlled to be natural."

Something in her gut coiled.

---

Observation Balcony

Sommer stepped away from the room and stood above the lounge — her eyes scanning the crowd like a hunter in satin.


Was this for her?


If so… they'd failed. Or worse — it was just a message. "We can touch your world, your clients, your empire, at will."


A disturbance in her comms… A dish served out of turn… A corpse with a burned-out mind.

"This isn't poison," she whispered to herself. "This is Force."

But not Jedi. Not anything light.


Something ancient. Something… ritualistic.

 

[Zori Galea]

Observation Balcony

Sommer stepped away from the room and stood above the lounge — her eyes scanning the crowd like a hunter in satin.


Was this for her?


If so… they'd failed. Or worse — it was just a message. "We can touch your world, your clients, your empire, at will."


A disturbance in her comms… A dish served out of turn… A corpse with a burned-out mind.



But not Jedi. Not anything light.


Something ancient. Something… ritualistic.

Zori Galea — cloaked in a hood of midnight red, her face adorned with delicate Sith sigils like forbidden jewelry — watched from one of the high balconies, half-shadowed, a flute of black orchid wine held in her gloved fingers.


The Queen of Korriban. An Empress in exile. A practitioner of forgotten Force sorceries.


And tonight, she was merely another ghost in Sommer's kingdom of music and illusion.


She didn't blink. Didn't move.


Only smiled.

 

[Lismand Bripear]

Soft crimson lighting washed over the velvet-draped alcove. Lis sat alone at her table now, the last bite of Nebula Eel Sashimi untouched, her drink slowly sweating in her hand. She could feel it — a shift in the air.


The club hadn't stopped moving. Music still thumped beneath the floorboards. But her instincts, honed by years of survival under Hutt chains, whispered that the room was different now. Eyes lingered too long. Pax was no longer joking. Staff passed her with tighter lips.

 

[Sommer Dai]

Flanked by two of her private security guards — sleek, silent, and dressed in shimmering dusk-blue armorplate. Sommer wore no expression, her posture still graceful, poised like a queen at the apex of a sabacc tournament.

She stopped directly across from Lismand's table.

"You're a hard woman to track, Ms. Bripear."

 

[Lismand Bripear]

Lis looked up slowly, resting her glass on the table's edge. Her lips parted with a breath—soft, deliberate, unhurried.

"Do I sense an accusation?"

 

[Sommer Dai]

"The Duke is dead," Sommer continued, voice cold but restrained. "No toxins. No struggle. Just... lifeless. And you're the only ghost in my club tonight."

 

[Lismand Bripear]

Lis tilted her head gently, lashes low. There was no panic in her. Only the slow stirrings of exhaustion beneath the surface.

"I didn't come here to haunt anyone. I came to breathe. I came... because this place is the only one where people like me can sit still without a blaster at their ribs."

 

[Sommer Dai]

One of the guards quietly placed a holotab on the table—surveillance images. Lismand arriving. The kitchen staff is adjusting their orders. The moment the VIP room lights flickered, mere seconds before Duke Canto's collapse.

"So why now?" Sommer asked. "Why tonight?"

 

[Lismand Bripear]

Lis looked at the photos, then slowly pushed the holotab away. Her expression was unreadable. A stone polished too many times.

"Because I had a dream two nights ago. A woman in red robes and black eyes. Said I wouldn't make it through the week unless I found cover in shadow and silk. This club... is both."

 

[Sommer Dai]

"You want sanctuary," Sommer said skeptically.