Public You Can Find Me in the Club [Open to All - Especially Criminals!]

[Kinley Pryse]

Coruscant - Club Halo​

At the heart of the entertainment district, bass thundered through the durasteel bones of the city as Club Halo pulsed with life. Neon lights bled across the crowded dance floor, painting the air in shifting blues, violets, and toxic greens. The music was loud enough to rattle teeth, a relentless electronic rhythm that kept hundreds of bodies moving in time. Young beings from every corner of the galaxy packed the floor, humans, Twi'leks, Mirialans, even a few daring off-worlders fresh from the spacelanes and swept up in the intoxicating chaos of the night.

Objective 1: Get Jiggy With It. Dance to the music!​

Glowsticks flashed on the dance floor. Glittering drinks spilled. Small capsules and powdered stimulants changed hands in the shadows with casual familiarity. Laughter mixed with the pounding music as dancers moved in tight circles beneath hovering light rigs, the air thick with spice smoke and the sharp tang of expensive synth-liquor.

Objective 2: Bar fight! Hang out and drink or join the fight!​

Near the main bar, bartenders worked like combat medics in a war zone, sliding glasses across the counter, dodging reaching hands, and pretending not to notice the discreet transactions happening inches from their elbows. Down a narrow corridor off the main floor, however, the night had taken a different turn.

Shouts and crashing furniture spilled out of a side room where a bar fight had erupted. Two Rodians were grappling over a table already littered with shattered glasses while a Nikto swung wildly at anyone within reach. Someone had already been thrown into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster. A few spectators cheered the chaos while others wisely backed away. The club's security droids were on their way, but no one seemed particularly eager to stop the entertainment just yet.

Objective 3: It's just business. Get your deals signed, sealed, and delivered!​

Above it all, far removed from the sweat and noise of the dance floor, sat the upper lounge. Up here the music was muted, the lighting soft and expensive. Private booths overlooked the main club through smoked transparisteel windows. Wealthy patrons, syndicate representatives, and political fixers leaned over low tables, their voices quiet but their conversations heavy with credits, favors, and secrets.

Down below, the crowd danced and fought like the galaxy might end tomorrow. Up above, a handful of people were quietly deciding who might survive if it did.

 

[Rolcor Wildstar]

Objective 2
Main Bar

The doors to the side corridor slid open with a hiss.

Sound hit like a shockwave.

Shouting. Furniture splintering. The sharp crack of a bottle breaking against someone's skull.

Rolcor Wildstar stepped through the threshold as if he had just wandered into a quiet cantina on some forgotten frontier world.

Two Rodians crashed against a table beside him, rolling across it in a tangle of limbs and curses. The table collapsed under their weight, scattering glasses and liquor across the floor. A Nikto swung a wild haymaker at another patron and missed entirely, his fist smashing into the wall hard enough to split the plaster.

Rolcor walked straight through it.

Unhurried.

Unbothered.

The pirate captain's long coat shifted slightly with each step, revealing the familiar grip of the Westar-88 resting at his hip. His eyes moved calmly through the chaos the same way a man might watch weather roll across the horizon.

A Rodian stumbled backward into him.

The alien froze the moment he realized what he'd collided with.

Rolcor didn't raise his voice. Didn't shove him. Didn't even break stride.

He simply looked down at him.

The Rodian quickly found somewhere else to be.

Another fighter was hurled across the room, skidding across the floor and crashing into a nearby stool. The stool flipped end over end and clattered harmlessly against Rolcor's boot before settling at his feet.

Rolcor nudged it aside and continued walking.

The bar itself was somehow still functioning despite the warzone surrounding it. Bottles rattled along the shelves behind the counter as the bartender ducked a thrown glass and kept pouring drinks with the weary efficiency of someone who had seen worse.

Rolcor reached the counter.

He rested one gloved hand against the polished surface while a chair sailed across the room behind him and shattered against the wall.

"Whiskey."

The bartender looked up.

Recognition flickered across the man's face for half a second before he reached for the bottle without asking another question.

Rolcor took the glass when it was offered and turned slightly, leaning one shoulder against the bar as if the riot unfolding around him were little more than background noise.

He took a slow drink.

Across the room another body slammed onto a table.

Rolcor didn't even glance at it.

His eyes had already moved elsewhere.

Up.

Past the smoke and flashing lights.

Toward the upper rotunda, where the real game was being played.

Behind smoked transparisteel windows, silhouettes leaned over quiet tables where voices carried far more weight than fists ever could. Syndicate men. Brokers. The kind of people who bought and sold entire star systems while the rest of the galaxy fought over scraps.

Rolcor watched them for a moment, the corner of his mouth tightening into something that wasn't quite a smile.

Then he pushed away from the bar.

Whiskey glass still in hand, the pirate captain began moving toward a shadowed private table along the edge of the room—stepping calmly around the wreckage of the fight like a man walking through tall grass.

Anyone paying attention might notice something strange.

Nobody tried to hit him.

Nobody blocked his path.

The chaos of the brawl seemed to bend around Rolcor Wildstar the way storms bent around a mountain.

He sat down, rested the glass on the table, and leaned back slightly in his chair.

His gaze drifted upward once more to the rotunda above.

Quiet.

Calculating.

Waiting.

Because the fight downstairs was just noise.

And Rolcor Wildstar had come to see who upstairs might be worth doing business with.

 

[Ashé Fenn]

Location:
Objectives: OBJECTIVE 1 dance:
Tags: OPEN

Fenn had already conducted the business she had intended on today, she had spoken to an old friend in the Black Sun and exchanged the information that he needed. He had been suprised to see her, and even more suprised that she already had the information he was looking for, but he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, and Ashé was an associate of his Vigo, so she could be trusted.

Could she? Trust was such a strange concept, she could be trusted not to intentionally betray anyone, but as a women wrapped in fate and planar complications, was any of what she did intentional, it was a very grey area, fitting really.

Her hands swirled with dark smoke as she danced, echos of the parts of her nether self, but as far as anyone was concerned it was just a pretty force effect in keeping her monochromatic ensemble.

She looked around, there was someone here for her, and she would dance with them, she but who, and what would they bring? Some like company, an enjoyable liason, a new business oppurtunity? Perhaps even a malevolent intent towards her, now wouldnt that be fun. She supposed she could look and find out, but sometimes she played a different game. So she danced.