Private The Viper’s Den: Shadows at the Ruby Nexu

[Evelynn Ostium]

Location: Coruscant, The Ruby Nexu
Tags: Lysander von Ascania

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The incandescent glow of the neon-red sign—a stylized ruby-shaped Nexu—casts an ominous hue across the rain-slicked streets of Coruscant's less reputable sectors. The Ruby Nexu, perched on Floor 4120 and tucked just a few back alleys from Evelynn Ostium's headquarters, is more than a mere cantina; it is a labyrinth of vice, opulence, and power plays. Its ruby-and-purple-tinged interior pulses with whispered secrets, hushed deals, and the faint clang of automated turrets, all under the watchful eyes of Evelynn's ever-present "Scales."

Within, the bar forms the heart of the establishment: a circular counter adorned with patterns that evoke snakeskin and gemstone facets, encircled by twenty-two stools. The murmur of voices, the hiss of sabacc chips, and the faint strains of music from the performance stage create a cocktail of tension and allure. Performers—both contracted and involuntary—move through the dim light, their shows more than mere entertainment; they are testimonials to Evelynn's dominance. When required, the atmosphere shifts: tables clear, and the Auction section takes center stage, offering everything from rare collector's items to sentient property.

Step upstairs to the second floor, and you'll find eight private chambers, each outfitted with cushioned seating and a small stage—spaces reserved for VIPs, power brokers, and those foolish enough to believe they may outmaneuver the Viper. These rooms, however, are no sanctuary; each one doubles as a panic room—reinforced with steel and cabonite, resistant even to lightsabers and heat-based intrusions. Security is ever-present, with turrets both visible and hidden, and "Scales" patrolling, ensuring that any disturbance is quelled before it can erupt into chaos.

Evelynn "Viper" Ostium lounges in the plush seclusion of a back-lit booth, her fingers tracing the rim of a glass filled with the most exotic and expensive liquor the Outer Rim has to offer. The amber liquid swirls hypnotically under the dim violet glow, reflecting the serpent-like gleam in her reptilian eyes. At her command, a cadre of loyal Scales—her muscular, silent enforcers—stand stationed around the booth, their presence a living barrier that wards off any would-be troublemakers at her side, a hired assassin masquerades as a bodyguard—stoic, vigilant, and unnervingly still—ensuring that no undesirables dare approach. In this charged atmosphere, Evelynn is both predator and queen, surveying her domain with poise, patience, and the unmistakable promise of danger.

Evelynn's rise from a neglected child seeking solace among reptiles to the sovereign of a criminal empire is carved in pain and ambition. Raised and groomed by zanita "no name" Cimo, she inherited the mantle of power—and with it, a predilection for the primal over the synthetic. When disfigured during a violent deal gone wrong, she refused artificial eyes, opting instead for reptilian ones that surrendered to her truest self. Now, as the ruler of a sprawling underworld network spanning smuggling, spice trade, arms dealing, and slavery, Viper governs with cunning, deathly elegance, and an unending performance of control.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Evelynn Ostium​

It felt different this time around; the descent into Coruscant's atmosphere was a muted affair. There was no announcement, no entourage. But then again, Lysander had never needed spectacle to mark his arrival. Purpose was quieter than that, and most times, sharper too. The name of a peculiar establishment had reached him long before boots touched the planet city, one whispered in backroom trades, whispered over dealings in the underground, by the type of figures that rarely used the same name twice. Apparently, this was a labyrinth of both vice and velvet, a place where power was measured differently.

And somewhere within its coils, an elusive presence was rumored to be watching.

Brosi had been good to him, but Brosi was also small, still rebuilding after an invasion by the Imperial hordes. Expansion of Spore Industries demanded deeper currents, and this felt like a tide worth testing.

He was clad in attire more suited for a meeting with death itself; this was an intentional choice, shedding his usual second skin, the obsidian armor that seemed go wherever he went. Instead, he donned a tailored coat that hugged his lithe frame, a silhouette in the night. A high collared shirt added a touch of formality, while a clasp at his throat easily caught the neon lights all around. Rain lashed against the fabric; it beaded and rolled off.. never absorbing.

As he continued his path down the street, somewhere close, charred meat was vented into the night. A lure of its own.

The lift to Floor 4120 climbed slowly. Coruscant was always loud, a concrete jungle he’d grown to loath before descending into the dark. If there was one thing he learned among the Sith, it was that power so often preferred to speak in softer tones. And so, by the time the lift doors finally opened, the noise had thinned. Once, this quiet would have marked him as an outsider.

Now, it felt natural.

He belonged here.

The Ruby Nexu’s entrance struck him as a study in invitation and warning. He heard the familiar murmurs of trades, faint sounds of sabacc chips from a nearby table. With a brief pause, his emerald gaze swept the room, cataloguing exits, faces, the currents of attention. His fingers flexed once at his side, catching the trace of spice that lingered in the air like a forbidden perfume; it was like a hand cupping the senses, nudging him toward indulgence.

So he continued drifting forward, letting the hum and pulse of the place guide him, until a violet glow flickered in the distance through the haze.

 

[Evelynn Ostium]

Location: Coruscant, The Ruby Nexu
Tag: Lysander von Ascania

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The Ruby Nexu throbbed with the rhythm of the underworld, its walls steeped in the scent of spice smoke and the ever-present tang of desperation. Smugglers and slicers huddled in dim corners, voices lowered as they exchanged credits for contraband and whispered about the next big score. The clatter of sabacc chips punctuated the murmur of deals struck, while datapads slid across tabletops bearing codes and coordinates worth more than the drinks that flowed endlessly from the serpentine bar. Here, every glance carried weight, every handshake carried risk.

At the entrance, the brutish Scales performed their duties with habitual cruelty, dragging out patrons who had outlived their welcome. A Rodian, too drunk to count the chips he'd lost, was hauled across the polished floor before being hurled into the rain-soaked street outside. Another, a gambler who thought to bluff the wrong smuggler, stumbled after him, blood staining his tunic from a swift reminder that debts always came due. Such expulsions were routine—part of the ambience that warned newcomers to tread carefully.

On the main floor, the dancers were the Nexu's second heartbeat. Twi'lek, Zeltron, Human, and even rarer species adorned the stage, each one moving with calculated allure beneath violet and ruby lighting. Their performances were both art and weapon, crafted to distract, entice, and remind the onlookers that the Ruby Nexu offered pleasures for those who could afford them—and ruin for those who could not. Some were willing performers, others indentured, yet all danced under Evelynn's shadow, their beauty a living extension of her empire's reach.

Between the bar and the stage, spice runners whispered into commlinks, and arms dealers tested the weight of blasters passed discreetly beneath tables. The faint click of concealed weaponry blended seamlessly with the sultry music, giving the place a dangerous undercurrent that even the most inebriated patron could not ignore. Negotiations were sealed not with signatures, but with nods, encrypted chips, or the occasional bloodied handshake. The Nexu did not just host deals—it birthed them, raised them, and devoured those too weak to keep pace.

Amidst it all, laughter rose and fell in jagged bursts, a patchwork of intoxicated joy and desperate bravado. For every patron who stumbled out richer than they arrived, three more staggered into the night poorer, broken, or carried by Scales who had no patience for weakness. The Ruby Nexu was not just a den of indulgence; it was a crucible of survival, where power shifted as quickly as the music, and Evelynn Ostium's unseen gaze lingered over it all, ensuring that every sin, every deal, and every downfall was hers to claim.

From her shadowed booth, Evelynn's hand rose in a subtle motion, a signal her Scales needed no words to interpret. One of the enforcers leaned down to catch her quiet instruction, then stalked across the floor with predatory precision toward a weapons dealer who had been plying his trade a little too freely near the sabacc tables. The man paled when the Scale's heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder, but Evelynn merely gestured languidly with her glass. "Bring him," she murmured, her voice carrying the smooth venom of command. When the dealer was ushered before her, Evelynn offered him no more than a smile and a slow sip from her drink before instructing her Scales to escort him upstairs to one of the VIP chambers. A deal would be struck in her time, and in her way—on ground of her choosing.