First Reply Welcome to The Gilded Veil!

[Sommer Dai]

The Gilded Veil

(Menu and layout thread)


"Where secrets shimmer and danger dances"

“Tonight, we unveil more than a club… We open a threshold. A threshold to indulgence, to freedom — to power. The Gilded Veil is not just where you drink, dance, and forget. It’s where you make moves in the dark, while others sleep in the light.”

[She steps to the balcony’s edge, surveying the crowd like a queen over her court.]

“Every secret you carry, every deal you dream of, every risk you’re willing to take… it belongs here now — behind the veil. So drink deep, dance hard, and remember one thing…”

[She raises her glass.]

“Nothing in here is what it seems… and everything comes with a price.”

[The crowd erupts as music swells and the lights ignite in gold and crimson.]

(OOC ... The club is now OPEN! Come one , come all! Eat! Wine and Dine! DANCE! Just be mindful of --------------------------------------- )​

 

[Sommer Dai]

“Tonight, we unveil more than a club… We open a threshold. A threshold to indulgence, to freedom — to power. The Gilded Veil is not just where you drink, dance, and forget. It’s where you make moves in the dark, while others sleep in the light.”

[She steps to the balcony’s edge, surveying the crowd like a queen over her court.]

“Every secret you carry, every deal you dream of, every risk you’re willing to take… it belongs here now — behind the veil. So drink deep, dance hard, and remember one thing…”

[She raises her glass.]

“Nothing in here is what it seems… and everything comes with a price.”

[The crowd erupts as music swells and the lights ignite in gold and crimson.]

The music hadn’t stopped, but Sommer had. From the one-way glass in her private office, she watched the crowd below shimmer like a living, writhing jewel — beautiful, chaotic, profitable.

Behind her, the click of heels and the hiss of the secret door announced her crew.

They entered one by one:

Vex, her scarred Devaronian security chief with eyes like polished obsidian;

Nyla, a slicer from Nar Shaddaa with fingers too fast and a mouth too sharp;

Grent, her silent logistics man — former Imperial quartermaster turned fence;

And Kael Viren, her wildcard pilot… and wildcard everything else.


Sommer turned, her silhouette lit by the city lights bleeding through the tinted glass.

“Were doing good tonight. The club’s alive. The credits are flowing.”
She walked slowly to the central table — a holomap of The Gilded Veil glowing in low blue.

“But let’s make one thing clear — this isn’t just a club. It’s a front. A trap. A weapon.”
She tapped the table, highlighting key zones: VIP booths, spice vaults, back room labs, escape tunnels.

“We sell fantasy upstairs. Down here, we run intel, trade heat, move spice, and listen. Everything. Every whisper. Every threat. Every opportunity.”
She paused, locking eyes with each of them in turn.

“If you’re here for fun, get drunk and stay out of my way. If you’re here for power, good. But betray me, and I’ll make your last drink your last breath.”
No one spoke. Not even Kael, who usually couldn’t resist a smirk.

She nodded once.

“We run silent. We run clean. We run rich.”
She reached for a crystal glass filled with Dai’s Kiss, and raised it slightly.

“To the Veil — long may it shimmer.”

 

[Sommer Dai]

Shadows in Velvet

​

A discreet chime at the office door. Vex’s voice filtered through the speaker.

“You’ve got a guest. Said you’d know the name: Aran Vos. From Mygeeto.”

Sommer’s brow arched. She hadn’t heard that name in two cycles.

“Let him in.”

She was already pouring two glasses of Starfall Elixir when the door opened and Aran Vos stepped in — tall, draped in a long charcoal coat lined with polished synthbone buttons, a subtle saber hilt visible at his hip. His eyes, pale violet, scanned the room like a predator memorizing escape routes.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Dai,” he said, accepting the glass without hesitation. “Better than last time I saw you — on that melting rock outside the Mid Rim.”

“I wasn’t the one with a vibroblade in my thigh,” Sommer said smoothly, gesturing to the velvet settee near the balcony.
He chuckled, low and cool. “Fair point.”

They sat. The hum of the club below provided a rhythmic backdrop. Aran swirled his drink and studied her.

“You know why I’m here.”

“I know you didn’t come for the decor.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees.

“You’re moving Vanta now. Quietly, efficiently. Better than the Kintar Ring ever did. I want in — as a partner, not a buyer.”

Sommer didn’t blink.

“I don’t take partners. I take suppliers, I take clients, and occasionally… I take fools off my list.”

He raised a brow, amused. “You’ll want me on the inside when Crimson Dawn starts sniffing. Word is they want Nar Shaddaa back.”

Sommer set her glass down, eyes narrowing.

“They had their chance. Now it’s mine.”

Vos nodded. “Then we make it yours. You handle the veil — the image. I’ll handle the supply chain. We push out the Hutts and carve up the Rim piece by piece.”

There was a long pause. Sommer stood, walked to the window, and stared down at the shifting crowd.

“You burn me, Vos… and there won’t be a rock in this galaxy you can hide under.”

He smiled, finishing his drink.

“Darlin’, I only burn what’s in my way.”

Sommer turned, her voice cold velvet.

“Then let’s make sure we’re pointed in the same direction.”

She extended her hand.

Vos took it.

A partnership sealed in silence, over glittering poison and mutual ambition.

 

[Sommer Dai]

The doors slid shut behind Aran Vos with a hiss, and the hum of music and laughter returned to a dull throb behind the walls.

Sommer stood still for a moment, glass untouched in her hand, letting the silence stretch around her like a cloak. Partnerships were currency — but trust? That was fantasy.

She stepped through the hidden panel behind her bar, down a narrow hallway lit in deep blue. The walls muffled even the pulse of bass that filled the rest of the Veil. This was her sanctum — the Chamber.

Inside, cool air hissed as retinal and bio-sign scans confirmed her identity. A soft chime, and the door slid open.

The room was minimal — steel floors, velvet accents, a bed tucked behind a curved divider, and a massive, transparent control wall displaying a silent grid of surveillance feeds from across The Gilded Veil.

Sommer flicked her fingers over the interface. Cameras spun silently from the VIP booths to the vapor lounges, then to the dancer quarters. Her eyes scanned the feeds with practiced precision — looking for gaps, for ghosts.

Then she saw it.

Camera D13 — Dressing Corridor 2.

A dancer — Kali T’rell, the Zeltron fire-spinner from the midnight show — leaning in close to a well-dressed Bothan with jittery hands. They exchanged something small. The feed didn’t catch the detail, but Sommer didn’t need the detail.

She tapped the footage. Zoom. Enhance. Pause.

A vial. Sleek, black, unlabeled — not from her stock.

Her expression didn’t change, but her fingers stilled.

“So… you’ve been selling your own shimmer,” she murmured.

She rewound again. Kali’s posture wasn’t cautious — it was confident. Like she’d done it before. Like she didn’t think she needed to hide.

“Vex,” she said, pressing a hidden comm embedded in the desk. “Wake up the dancer. Don’t make a scene. Bring her to Room Nine. Strip her comm and scan her pockets.”

“Understood.”

Sommer leaned back in her chair, eyes locked on the frozen image of Kali mid-deal. Her voice, though quiet, cracked through the stillness like a vibroblade against glass.

“Nobody steals from me… not under my roof. Not under my veil.”

She stood and crossed to the wall safe. The panel slid open with a hiss. Inside: a simple chrome injector, a stunner, and a black choker lined with paralytic threading.

She took only the injector

 

[Sommer Dai]

Kali T’rell knew better than to trust shadows, but credits? Credits spoke louder than any club owner’s rules.

She moved through the staff corridor with practiced grace, sweat still glistening on her skin from the midnight set. Her fire-dancer outfit — obsidian leather, mirrored chains — clung like a second skin. The Veil loved her. The crowds watched her like she was art. But in the dark… she was business.

The vial in her palm was warm. Red Dust, high-end shimmer laced with something… extra. Not Sommer’s blend — but Kali’s. Cooked through an old recipe from Zygerria, passed down by a friend who disappeared the same week Crimson Dawn took out three clubs on Malastare.

“Just enough,” she whispered, slipping it to the Bothan with a flick of the wrist. “Double dose next time if your nerves don’t fry first.”
She winked, and he vanished into the neon fog.

Kali leaned against the wall, eyes half-lidded. The Veil pulsed around her, hypnotic and loud, but her mind moved faster than the beat. Sommer Dai had power, yes — but Kali had access. The back halls, the dancer booths, the trust of guards too busy watching hips and rear ends to question side-glances.

She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t reckless.

But she was ambitious.

Just a few more weeks, she thought. A private fund big enough to disappear. A ship. New codes. Maybe Ryloth. Maybe Zeltros. Some place where dancers don’t bleed glitter for someone else’s empire.
She adjusted her neckline and started down the hall, heading toward her locker. The corner turned — and stopped.

Vex.

Massive. Red-skinned. And very much not smiling.

“Kali T’rell. With me.”
“Problem?” she asked, instantly masking herself in honey-silk tone. She even tilted her head just slightly, like it was all a misunderstanding. Like she didn’t already feel her blood freeze in her veins.

“Room Nine. Now.”

The guards behind him stepped in closer, forming a triangle. She felt the static hum of a scanner pass over her — detecting metal, electronics, trace organics.

The vial was already gone.

But the data? Her comm… her contacts…

“I haven’t done anything,” she said quietly.
Vex’s expression didn’t change.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
As they turned toward the private wing, away from the neon and noise, Kali’s spine stiffened. She knew what happened in Room Nine. Not rumors — whispers. You went in if you were lucky.

If you weren’t lucky?

You didn’t.

 

[Sommer Dai]

The door sealed behind Kali with a quiet hiss, more ominous than thunder. The lights in Room Nine were low — not for drama, but for psychology. Cool blue above, steel floor below, and a single chair beneath a narrow spotlight.

No restraints. Not yet.

Kali stood still, her heartbeat steady by force of will. She knew the game — don’t give fear the stage.

Across the room stood Nyla, leaning against the wall with a datapad flickering in one hand. Grent sat at the terminal, silent and cold as ever. Neither was security, but both were lethal in their own way.

“You’ve been busy,” Nyla said lightly, tapping the screen. “Five off-record interactions in the last ten rotations. Unscheduled dressing room detours. Vanta variant compounds not on our logs.”
Kali didn’t respond. Silence was safer than denial.

Nyla smirked. “Relax, you’re not in trouble yet. We just want to know who’s paying you.”

Kali narrowed her eyes.

“I’m not—”

“Spare it. We’ve got biometrics, Kali. Microtension spikes during every transaction. Pulse shift. Gaze drift. You’re good, but not that good.”
A pause.

“So… who is it? Black Sun? Local street crew? Crimson?”

Kali blinked — just once. Nyla noticed.

From above — in Sommer’s chamber, behind the one-way holoscreen — Sommer watched every tick, every twitch.

She didn’t need chains or threats to get the truth. She needed patience. Let the subject breathe, and they’ll show you their cracks.

Back in Room Nine, Grent finally spoke, voice low and dry.

“We traced one of the shimmer blends. Spice laced with miraleen extract. That recipe’s signature comes from the Scour Markets on Zygerria. Crimson Dawn’s pet chemist used to run that route.”
Kali’s mask faltered — just slightly.

“I don’t know anything about Crimson.”

“No,” Nyla said, stepping closer, “but you know someone who does.”

A subtle tone chimed in Nyla’s earpiece — a single ping. Authorization.

From behind the mirrored wall, Sommer had given her signal.

Nyla pulled a small device from her belt — a thin neural stim-rod.

“Let’s make this easier. No scars, no blood. Just… discomfort.”

Kali’s breath hitched, but she held her ground.

“You really think I’m your biggest problem?” she hissed. “There are people inside your supply chain already. Vos isn’t clean. And neither is your vapor room steward. You think I’m the only one working angles in here?”


Back in the chamber, Sommer leaned in.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“End the session,” she said into her comm. “Bring her to me. Alone.”