Lismand Bripear
Character
"I want peace. And maybe a place to work where I don't have to wear chains under my dress."
Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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The Guilded Veil (Guest starring: Duke Verlo Canto) DJ turn it up!!
- Thread starter Sommer Dai
- Start date
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer studied her for a long beat.
Lismand Bripear
Character
"Or terrible," Lismand replied softly. "You think I killed a man I never even saw face to face? I don't kill strangers, Sommer. I survived them. And I've survived worse than your suspicion."
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
There was something so resolute in the way she said it that even Sommer felt the truth hum against her ribs.
She straightened, folding her arms across her chest.
She straightened, folding her arms across her chest.
Lismand Bripear
Character
"You'll hand me back to the Hutts," Lismand finished for her, wryly. "Noted."
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer turned, her guards flanking her again. She hesitated only once at the door, glancing back at Lismand.
And then she vanished back into the corridors of her domain, the hum of the club swallowing her once more.
Prince of the Underworld
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 shall make the arrangements,” he said, then turned to continue his exploration of the private chambers. The Gilded Veil would certainly do nicely for Black Sun. It was a neutral location, in a decent part of Nar Shaddaa. Those factors alone would alleviate any unnecessary stress felt by the syndicate’s cohorts.
He passed by the sealed room that would serve well as an office space for the Prince of the Underworld, a small home away from home where events better left… undocumented, could occur.
Yes, the Gilded Veil would make a fine nexus. And Sommer would make a fine Vigo…
In Rhan
Space Trucker
In couldn't help but take note of Velzari Tharn departing. He was known to her, of course - how could he not be? One didn't make her way as a low-level smuggler without knowing the ankles between which she safely scuttled. Given how many of them were affiliated with the Black Sun these days, it would've been harder NOT to be aware of him.
Even In had considered bending the knee and paying dues to secure her safe passage through Black Sun ports, recently. They were making moves, and after a certain point it only made sense to invest a bit in the name of safety. Especially when the only other options were to risk being stepped on or swerve away from lucrative contracts. In could hardly pay her bills with a disdain for slavery, after all.
That Sommer had been meeting with a man like that meant she'd decided to make a statement, get her hooks in. Like it or not, in her capacity as a dancer at the Gilded Veil, In was now affiliated. She decided it'd be best to tread lightly.
The Pantoran woman had, of course, not been involved in the conversation between Sommer and Vezari. A decoration in the peripherals, a streak of blue in the bouquet, In had been one of about a dozen young women close enough by to serve as equal parts advertisement and enticement for the wealthy Underlord, a promise of what the Gilded Veil had to offer both professionally and personally.
Of those dozens of dancers, though, In was perhaps the only one to make more than a brief note of Velzari's passage - giving him a considering, shrewd glance entirely at odds with her gyrations on the stage. A wealthy man would always pull glances from the dancers, but In was the only one actively trying to not look like she was sizing up a feral nexu and appraising how dangerous he was.
Should Velzari make note of the Pantoran dancer, In would avert her eyes quickly. She couldn't police her expression very effectively, but she could look away and try to seem like she hadn't been glaring. She had to remind herself that the best way to remain safe wasn't to look harmless - because she effectively WAS harmless in this environment - it was to be beneath notice. Though that was a little difficult when you were on stage, dancing your heart out.
Velzari Tharn
Sommer Dai
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Command Alcove Surveillance Suite
The hum of silent processors and filtered air hissed softly inside the Command Alcove, a secured, obsidian-glass tech room nestled high above the Gilded Veil's atrium. No dancers, no bartenders, no patrons made it here. Only Sommer, and those she trusted to know everything.Sommer Dai stood before a wall of crystalline holoscreens, her sharp features glowing in pale blue relief. Her cape was slung over one chair, her gloves folded neatly beside a data-slate. Hair coiled high, posture rigid, she radiated tension restrained only by calculation.
The Veil's resident surveillance technician — a wiry Codru-Ji woman named Iven Lorr, who operated multiple consoles with all four arms — nodded once.
Sommer didn't smile.
The first feed played: Duke Verlo Canto stepping from his luxury stretched transport, met by his guards and Veil security. Reporters snapped images. He waved once — gracious, smug — and entered through the private corridor.
A few seconds later: the kitchen cam. Wontons plated. The Glimmergold Nerf-shoulder rested perfectly under Zirtree oil. But—
The first feed played: Duke Verlo Canto stepping from his luxury stretched transport, met by his guards and Veil security. Reporters snapped images. He waved once — gracious, smug — and entered through the private corridor.
A few seconds later: the kitchen cam. Wontons plated. The Glimmergold Nerf-shoulder rested perfectly under Zirtree oil. But—
On screen, a junior chef—a pale Rodian youth—pauses before plating the final item: the Seared Charrwing Foie Stars. But his eyes go glassy for a moment. He stares at nothing. Then out of sequence, he reaches for the dish and plates it first, not last.
The realization pulled Sommer's attention hard.
She watched again, slower this time. A second screen lit up, this time from the mezzanine above the main floor—barely within surveillance grid range.
She watched again, slower this time. A second screen lit up, this time from the mezzanine above the main floor—barely within surveillance grid range.
Pixelation cleared… and there, silhouetted against the fiery light of the "Velvet Heaven" chandelier, stood a female figure. Cloaked. Hooded. But unmistakably watching.
Sommer walked forward, scrutinizing the static image.
The cloak's hem had a Korriban sigil — subtle, nearly invisible in the folds of crimson.
Sommer exhaled sharply through her nose.
The cloak's hem had a Korriban sigil — subtle, nearly invisible in the folds of crimson.
Sommer exhaled sharply through her nose.
The name left her lips like ash.
Sommer narrowed her eyes.
She turned back to the console and activated her personal encrypted comm.
Iven hesitated.
The lights dimmed around her, blue light spilling from the screens like distant stars.
Prince of the Underworld
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 business had concluded. An arrangement was made, the owner had excused herself to attend other matters, and the Underlord had agents to contact. He could do so from his ship as he traveled to his next destination in the old Dark Imperial ramparts, but Velzari decided to make his calls from the upper lounge. The volume was far more comfortable there, the view of the dancers was immaculate, and another glass of Emberlene Reserved sounded divine.
He stepped with a calm precision up the glass stairs like a regal prince climbing his tower, bold and determined in his movements. Those who despised the syndicate would say he’s exerting dominance in strange places, but those who knew Black Sun would assure that Prince Velzari Tharn didn’t need to make a show of anything.
His reputation preceded him everywhere he went.
Velzari lowered himself into the same chair that Sommer had found him in when she greeted the Underlord. Not a moment later, the bottomless chalice she ordered for him arrived. A waiter placed it in his already-open hand, satisfying Velzari’s expectations. He brought it to his lips and sipped, peering over the rim of the glass toward the stage; he thought, for a moment, that one of the women had taken interest in his presence. Maybe it was fear, maybe she was a spy, or maybe he was too many Emberlenes in and needed a sparkling water instead.
He withdrew a compact holoprojector and raised his assassin over comms. The blue holographic form of
Thayne Tameron
appeared with arms crossed and a hip cocked out, as if he were leaning against a wall.“Yes, my lord?”
“I’ve a contract for you. Non-lethal, discrete. Are you available?”
Thayne nodded. “Send the details to the dead drop on Boz Pity.”
“You never disappoint me,” Velzari replied with a roguish smile. Thayne bowed his head, fading into static and scanlines before the line was cut.
All the while, the Underlord never looked away from
In Rhan
on the stage. Whatever she was, he noticed her.In Rhan
Space Trucker
This was a potentially horrible situation. In had inadvertently looked too long, too hard - and curse her honest face, because
Velzari Tharn
had caught her doing so. Disastrous. Reclined in his seat, the Faleen may as well have been upon an ivory tower looking downward. In had a balance to strike. If she pretended she didn't notice and poured the gas on, she risked being requested to his service. If she performed poorly, she'd give away that she knew she'd been made. The wisest move was to ignore the crime boss staring her down, and In was keenly aware that to a certain kind of man that sort of treatment was either catnip or rhydonium on an open flame. The absence of an easy way to disengage did not present itself, aside from finding an excuse to leave the stage in the middle of her set. A course of action she could not conscience. Cowardice was no option.
In dropped her hips with the beat and cast her gaze upwards, meeting the eyes of one of the more powerful men on Nar Shadaa. The Pantoran woman gave him an intense, smoky look before grasping the pole behind her and all but throwing herself into a flag position. In only held the pose for a moment before extending her long blue legs upwards, using her thighs to keep herself suspended in the air as she spun in a slow circle - undulating to the beat, her silhouette enhanced and thrown across the club by the strobing stage lights behind her. The dancers to her left and right kept pace with In's movements -
Sommer Dai
didn't hire bad dancers, after all - but they were In's support, her backup, their movements made to highlight and echo her highly technical, physically demanding work. Fleeing would get her noticed. Glaring had gotten her noticed. But a powerful man in a club like this was no doubt well accustomed to women making eyes at him from all corners, each looking for a slice of the power and wealth that came with his regard. To such a man, In figured, a few smouldering looks from the stage during a relatively routine set would make her all but invisible.
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
From her private perch above the central floor—her throne, really—Sommer Dai sipped from a tall crystal flute, absinthe laced with something stronger, darker, and not entirely legal. The Gilded Veil pulsed below her like a living organism—heartbeat thudding in rhythm with the bass, sweat and pheromones laced through scented fog, and the stage a temple lit in strobes and motion.
But it was In—not the club—who had Sommer’s full attention.
She hadn’t meant to watch her. Not like this. Sommer prided herself on detachment, on the art of desire without vulnerability. She curated lust in others, played it like a maestro. She didn’t get dragged into it.
And yet...
There was something about the sharpness in In’s transition from hesitation to poise. The split-second of tension that bled away into pure, electric dominance. Sommer had felt it before she saw it—the pivot from discomfort into calculated control, from hunted to hunter.
She watched In’s legs extend upward like a ritual offering, the light carving out her silhouette in harsh, hungry strokes. That flash of power—of choice—cut straight through Sommer’s ribs like the tip of a vibroblade.
Sommer didn’t just see a performer—she saw a woman fighting her way through the moment, bending it to her will.
She leaned forward, lips parting ever so slightly. Her pupils dilated. Her grip on the glass tightened as In’s hips undulated in time with the music, each rotation of her body sending her spinning through an aura of pure blue-lit command. A goddess wrapped in skin and sweat and the ghost of danger.
“That’s not fear,” Sommer murmured to herself, lashes lowering like curtains. “That’s strategy.”
And there—Sommer saw it. Velzari Tharn watching too, like a lizard sizing up a flame.
Sommer’s stomach turned, sharp and cold.
Mine.
The word wasn't spoken aloud. But it rang in her chest like a chime strung with blood-red thread.
She leaned back, the calculated curve of her lips returning like a blade sheathing itself. In had taken a risk. And survived. Not just survived—thrived.
Sommer wouldn’t interrupt the show. But she’d be waiting in the wings.
After all, a woman who could hold the gaze of
Velzari Tharn
and live to spin on it?
Deserved her attention.
Deserved her protection.
Deserved her hands on those thighs, after the lights went down.
Tag:
In Rhan
But it was In—not the club—who had Sommer’s full attention.
She hadn’t meant to watch her. Not like this. Sommer prided herself on detachment, on the art of desire without vulnerability. She curated lust in others, played it like a maestro. She didn’t get dragged into it.
And yet...
There was something about the sharpness in In’s transition from hesitation to poise. The split-second of tension that bled away into pure, electric dominance. Sommer had felt it before she saw it—the pivot from discomfort into calculated control, from hunted to hunter.
She watched In’s legs extend upward like a ritual offering, the light carving out her silhouette in harsh, hungry strokes. That flash of power—of choice—cut straight through Sommer’s ribs like the tip of a vibroblade.
Sommer didn’t just see a performer—she saw a woman fighting her way through the moment, bending it to her will.
She leaned forward, lips parting ever so slightly. Her pupils dilated. Her grip on the glass tightened as In’s hips undulated in time with the music, each rotation of her body sending her spinning through an aura of pure blue-lit command. A goddess wrapped in skin and sweat and the ghost of danger.
“That’s not fear,” Sommer murmured to herself, lashes lowering like curtains. “That’s strategy.”
And there—Sommer saw it. Velzari Tharn watching too, like a lizard sizing up a flame.
Sommer’s stomach turned, sharp and cold.
Mine.
The word wasn't spoken aloud. But it rang in her chest like a chime strung with blood-red thread.
She leaned back, the calculated curve of her lips returning like a blade sheathing itself. In had taken a risk. And survived. Not just survived—thrived.
Sommer wouldn’t interrupt the show. But she’d be waiting in the wings.
After all, a woman who could hold the gaze of
Velzari Tharn
and live to spin on it?Deserved her attention.
Deserved her protection.
Deserved her hands on those thighs, after the lights went down.
Tag:
In Rhan