(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
The Black Glimmer speeder hummed to a stop, its undercarriage lights casting lazy shadows over the curved landing pad of Sommer Dai's penthouse. High above the smog-choked glamour of Nar Shaddaa, her cliffside sanctuary loomed — a Malibu-style palace of quiet elegance, usually lit like a jewel at night.
But tonight?
Dark.
No glow from the hallway sconces. No hum of security turrets. The massive windowpanes blinked back the starlight — opaque, silent. Not even the twin path-lamps lining the koi-step entrance flickered.
Sommer stepped out of the speeder, golden heels tapping on marble with the same poise she used to cross stages and corpses alike. Her holographic key flickered once, unlocking the door with a soft chime.
The door slid open.
Black.
Cool air met her with too much stillness. Not silence — there was a hum, too faint to be the air system. Something… low. Waiting.
She paused.
Her instinct screamed — spine stiffening, heart flipping sideways. Her eyes swept the room. Her hand hovered near the hidden blade in her silk clutch.
Something's wrong. Someone's been here.
Sommer stepped forward — two paces, maybe three — and then—
"SURPRIIIISE!!!!"
The lights exploded on in a synchronized shimmer, a wall of sound crashing down on her like an airstrike of joy.
Music blared — pounding electro-haze laced with sensual brass. Confetti cannons popped near the ceiling. Glimmering dancers emerged from behind the false-wall in her lounge, already spinning in circles. Alien faces and familiar bodies poured from the alcoves — fellow performers, Gilded Veil dancers, Black Sun affiliates, spice traders, secret admirers, ex-lovers, and one guy who just always shows up at parties and no one knows how.
In was there, already glowing, wearing Whisperskin and balancing a drink on her shoulder for no good reason.
Kael was there — shirtless, probably mid-dive into the rooftop pool with a Zeltron on each arm.
One of the Veil's kitchen droids skated past with a tray of drinks marked:
FOR SOMMER ONLY: Drink Responsibly (but not really)
Sommer blinked in the center of it all. Her heart was still pounding — but now for entirely different reasons.
Then she laughed, loud and honest and nearly ugly — the kind of laugh that only came from being seen. Not as a queen, or boss, or goddess on a pole — but just as Sommer. Her. The mess beneath the perfume.
She snatched a glass of something neon blue, drank it in one go, and another followed before she was even done chewing the ice.
"You bastards," she crooned to no one and everyone, "You scared the stars out of me."
The bass dropped. Someone lit fireworks — inside.
But tonight?
Dark.
No glow from the hallway sconces. No hum of security turrets. The massive windowpanes blinked back the starlight — opaque, silent. Not even the twin path-lamps lining the koi-step entrance flickered.
Sommer stepped out of the speeder, golden heels tapping on marble with the same poise she used to cross stages and corpses alike. Her holographic key flickered once, unlocking the door with a soft chime.
The door slid open.
Black.
Cool air met her with too much stillness. Not silence — there was a hum, too faint to be the air system. Something… low. Waiting.
She paused.
Her instinct screamed — spine stiffening, heart flipping sideways. Her eyes swept the room. Her hand hovered near the hidden blade in her silk clutch.
Something's wrong. Someone's been here.
Sommer stepped forward — two paces, maybe three — and then—
"SURPRIIIISE!!!!"
The lights exploded on in a synchronized shimmer, a wall of sound crashing down on her like an airstrike of joy.
Music blared — pounding electro-haze laced with sensual brass. Confetti cannons popped near the ceiling. Glimmering dancers emerged from behind the false-wall in her lounge, already spinning in circles. Alien faces and familiar bodies poured from the alcoves — fellow performers, Gilded Veil dancers, Black Sun affiliates, spice traders, secret admirers, ex-lovers, and one guy who just always shows up at parties and no one knows how.
In was there, already glowing, wearing Whisperskin and balancing a drink on her shoulder for no good reason.
Kael was there — shirtless, probably mid-dive into the rooftop pool with a Zeltron on each arm.
One of the Veil's kitchen droids skated past with a tray of drinks marked:
FOR SOMMER ONLY: Drink Responsibly (but not really)
Sommer blinked in the center of it all. Her heart was still pounding — but now for entirely different reasons.
Then she laughed, loud and honest and nearly ugly — the kind of laugh that only came from being seen. Not as a queen, or boss, or goddess on a pole — but just as Sommer. Her. The mess beneath the perfume.
She snatched a glass of something neon blue, drank it in one go, and another followed before she was even done chewing the ice.
"You bastards," she crooned to no one and everyone, "You scared the stars out of me."
The bass dropped. Someone lit fireworks — inside.
