Barrett Haskins
Smuggler Extraordinaire
@[member="Ven'Rain Sekairo"]
Club Vox- Coronet City, Corellia
The rhythmic basslines pounded away at the hours, hours soon became nothing more than a social construct. This deep in the night, monsters of all varieties came out to play, and their playground was Barrett’s cash cow, the smuggler sitting behind the teat with his typical glass of Corellian Whiskey. He was doing what predators do, he was hunting, not for a victim or to cause harm, no, he was hunting for credits. It was the same every time he stopped in at Vox, the Coronet nightlife flooded his bank account with credits, the Corellians so thirsty for his high grade spice at ground prices. He had come with a cargohold full of spice and sold all of it before he even finished off his first pint of whiskey. He of course dipped into the cooking sherry just a little, only enough to keep himself social and not tire with the winding night.
It was now close enough to the climax of the night that he could taste the drugs and booze in the air, each passing woman a more beautiful version of the next, and each pour of his fine whiskey tasted sweeter than the last, thus was the effect of Vox, it drew you in with its hypnotizing beats and scantily clad patrons of both genders, keeping you till you were nothing but a husk of a bank account sitting drunk on the streets with only enough money to get back home. That was how clubs like this worked; either you were the predator, or the prey. It seemed far less moral to outsiders, but once you worked with Hutts long enough you were willing to squeeze the credits out of those richer than you. Same with Hutts and Corellians alike it was eat or be eaten, and Barrett was practically full.
He had his VIP seat at the top of the club, a gift from the owner for introducing so much high grade spice to his club now that Omega Pyre was in control again. Honestly it was how he avoided falling victim to the same seductress the rest of the patrons fell for, spending his credits in a fevered frenzy, he would send one of the personal waitresses that worked the top floor down to get him whatever he wanted. He had it made every visit to Corellia, though he had to space them apart far enough to cause a need in the citizens again and to avoid detection by the Protectorate.
Tonight was different however, tonight he wanted to spend his credits the right way, he had to leave the club in the next hour anyways to make it back to Nar Shaddaa in time to meet his contact for his next drop on Alderaan. Taking a leave from the gaudy VIP section, the semi-drunk smuggler descended to the pool of people below. He honestly as fiending for a cigarette and they didn’t allow smoking on the top floor, but down on the dancefloor, everything was fair game. Lighting up the cigarette, he approached the bar and ordered a couple shots, taking one of the few available seats.
Club Vox- Coronet City, Corellia
The rhythmic basslines pounded away at the hours, hours soon became nothing more than a social construct. This deep in the night, monsters of all varieties came out to play, and their playground was Barrett’s cash cow, the smuggler sitting behind the teat with his typical glass of Corellian Whiskey. He was doing what predators do, he was hunting, not for a victim or to cause harm, no, he was hunting for credits. It was the same every time he stopped in at Vox, the Coronet nightlife flooded his bank account with credits, the Corellians so thirsty for his high grade spice at ground prices. He had come with a cargohold full of spice and sold all of it before he even finished off his first pint of whiskey. He of course dipped into the cooking sherry just a little, only enough to keep himself social and not tire with the winding night.
It was now close enough to the climax of the night that he could taste the drugs and booze in the air, each passing woman a more beautiful version of the next, and each pour of his fine whiskey tasted sweeter than the last, thus was the effect of Vox, it drew you in with its hypnotizing beats and scantily clad patrons of both genders, keeping you till you were nothing but a husk of a bank account sitting drunk on the streets with only enough money to get back home. That was how clubs like this worked; either you were the predator, or the prey. It seemed far less moral to outsiders, but once you worked with Hutts long enough you were willing to squeeze the credits out of those richer than you. Same with Hutts and Corellians alike it was eat or be eaten, and Barrett was practically full.
He had his VIP seat at the top of the club, a gift from the owner for introducing so much high grade spice to his club now that Omega Pyre was in control again. Honestly it was how he avoided falling victim to the same seductress the rest of the patrons fell for, spending his credits in a fevered frenzy, he would send one of the personal waitresses that worked the top floor down to get him whatever he wanted. He had it made every visit to Corellia, though he had to space them apart far enough to cause a need in the citizens again and to avoid detection by the Protectorate.
Tonight was different however, tonight he wanted to spend his credits the right way, he had to leave the club in the next hour anyways to make it back to Nar Shaddaa in time to meet his contact for his next drop on Alderaan. Taking a leave from the gaudy VIP section, the semi-drunk smuggler descended to the pool of people below. He honestly as fiending for a cigarette and they didn’t allow smoking on the top floor, but down on the dancefloor, everything was fair game. Lighting up the cigarette, he approached the bar and ordered a couple shots, taking one of the few available seats.