Open Nar Shaddaa Nightfall: Work and Play

Lilith Vye

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The blue hue of the holographic dancers bounced off the walls, as did the booming music from the stage band who'd decided to do some free work to get their name out. The hangout area in Nightfall was packed. Barely any seats were left and it seemed like all the street girls decided to pack the shop tonight. They were on the stage, the floor, the tables, men's laps and well... everywhere they could fit. This was good for business, at least the front end of it. Although... Alais planned to focus on other things tonight it seemed like destiny choose otherwise for her.

Because it was so busy Alais choose to dress up a little. A black and purple dress clung to her pale alabaster skin, and a soft blush kissed her cheeks from the warmth throughout the building. Her hair was loose and somewhat messy, though a purposeful messy. Truth be told, she hadn't ate or touched much at all for the last few days, since she was so engrossed in her holonet work that she probably looked a little paler and thinner than usual. This was something she hoped that the lighting in Nightfall would hide.

Though she somewhat questioned the need for her to be on the floor, it was probably good for her. Alais grabbed a pink and purple drink from a server, smiled softly and took a sip. She wasn't exactly planning to serve anyone unless it was needed, but spotting someone worth mingling with wasn't out of the question. Things were falling into place and she was creating connections, but she needed more if she wanted to reach for the stars.
 

Jon Halleck

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Jon walked through the crowd, trying to find the server he had tipped to get him his drink. It had been an elaborate request, and it had been easier to explain it to her away from the almost indecipherable babble that surrounded the bar. Stepping up the bar might be quicker, but with how loud it was there he had no doubts that ordering anything more complex than a shot of whiskey would result in him getting the wrong drink. And he did not want the wrong drink, not tonight. It was one of those nights.

Firstly he was back on Nar Shaddaa, not ideal that. Bad memories, worse smells. He had tried his best to avoid the pile of trash for as long as he could, but in his line of work it wasn't really a possibility, sooner or later every Ranger got dragged here for one reason or another. And so here he was, having taken care of official business as quickly as he could, only to learn that he couldn't fly out for another day. The Rangers weren't particularly well funded, so cheap commercial flights were all that they could afford for inconsequential drunks like him.

So he had left his room in search of a drink, or a dozen, and ended up here. And for the past ten minutes he had been trying to find that elusive drink. The thirst was becoming stronger, and he was begining to get worked up. How hard was it to make one drunk? With a sigh he gave up trying to find the waitress and pulled out a cigarra, sticking it in his mouth and pulling out his lighter, only for it to splutter a few times and give out. "Frack." He muttered under his breath as he shook the lighter a few times before tossing it down on a nearby table that seemed to be unoccupied but piled high with empty glasses. He needed his drink and he needed a light, and neither looked to be on the horizon.

This was why he hated Nar Shaddaa.

@Dread

 

Raymond Reddington

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It wasn’t every day that Raymond Reddington was seen in a place like this, certainly not every night. A club, they called it, and there were certainly more types than one, each catering to certain types of clubbers and club-goers, all clubbing together until the word “club” clubbed the brain and rattled around in the skull amid the virtual dancers walking their way across the walkways and everywhere in between. Funny word, “club”. Why are words so funny when you say them over and over again?

That was a question for another time. Instead, as he sipped on amber whiskey that tingled his lips, he mused on how anybody could listen to whatever they were playing. “Dembe”, Red called to the man sitting beside him at a small corner booth. “Why am I sitting here listening to electrocuted jazz?” The two didn’t make eye contact, but while Red knew that Dembe was smiling, Dembe knew that Red was frowning.

“Electro-jazz, Raymond. And we are sitting here to meet the Freelancer.”

“Ah,” Red nodded, suddenly aware that he was tapping his fingers to the pulsating beats. It is on the upbeat side. I have to admit. Looking about the vicinity, he saw every member of the galactic household all gathered in one place: Twi’lek, Zeltron, Pantoran, Ithorian, Human, Shistavanen—so on and so forth. Each one was as much of an open book as a closed one, harmonized by virtue of enjoying the same substances together, from liquor to lekku, while inevitably on the verge of shooting and stabbing one another should the occasion call for it. It may not, but it does call for a man who has a particular habit for shooting and stabbing others, and I don’t see him.

Checking his watch, Red felt confident that his appointment was apparently late, and a second glass of whiskey was doing little to reassure him that further waiting was going to get him anywhere. Only getting me bored. And a bit concerned. “Dembe,” he inquired with some hesitation.

“Yes, Raymond?”

“How’s your juice?”
 

Armideea Vyalzokov

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Ah, good old Nar Shaddaa, it had been some time since Armideea had been back here, most of her travels these days took her around the Core or the inner rim, though she made sure to throw in a visit to where she became who she was today, from time to time. Today was one of those times, though she wasn't here on the smuggler's moon for fun or on vacation, no, she was there on business. It was always business.

As she stepped into Nightfall, a new place from her recollection, she glanced around and tried to evaluate the situation, trying to see if there was anyone out of the ordinary that might be worth her time in striking up conversation with.

The owner of the place, a young Freelancer, was supposedly someone whom you'd like to have on your good side, and who knew, perhaps she'd even meet someone else who she'd deem worthy of more than just her passing attention. Taking to the floor, she passed through crowds of dancing people and drunkards, had this been on Coruscant, or had she worn something other than her current outfit, she might have joined in, but, today was not the day, nor was she really in the mood to dance.

Once she reached the bar she waited for the bartender to take notice, and once she had her attention, she ordered a glass of Corellian brandy.

Now, with a glass in hand she glanced around once more, spotting someone who stood out like a Lightsaber among Vibroblades. She walked away from the bar with her glass and approached the duo sitting in a small booth. "This seat taken?" She asked, a rhetorical question as she sat down. "You here to meet the Freelancer?" She inquired, looking between the two men.

@Die Shize
 

Lilith Vye

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It didn't take too long for a customer to catch Alais' eye. He didn't have an expensive looking suit unfortunately, nor was he some sort of king pin in the area that was worth getting cozy with, but he was an unhappy looking customer. Alais sighed and supposed she should at least try to invest some time into making her patrons happy while she was out of her room. Putting down her drink, she leaned over the bar counter and plucked one of the many lighters from the stores stash. It was amazing just how many people forgot them, or drunkenly dropped them.

The young girls face dawned a soft smile to at least appear pleasant as she went over to the man. Holding up the lighter she lit his cigarra while it was still in his mouth, adding at the same time, "Needing a drink, I presume?" She turned when one of her serving girls caught the corner of her eye. "Tal'ia," Alais said loudly to get the girls attention. Of course the Nightfall only had two actually living servers so Alais was aware getting their attention was probably hard for regular customers on a night like this. That was probably part of the reason this man had a grumpy look on his face, so she went ahead and added, "Get whatever this man wants and put it on the top of the priority list, please."

She waited till he ordered, or didn't order, and then drummed up some small talk to pass the time. "So how did you find yourself around here? You come for or from the space docks? I'm assuming so since it's where we get most of our traffic."

@Wit
 
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Preef Callo

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The fat Twi'lek grinned and slid the modest pile of credits from the table, showing off the intricate symbols that were painted on her long nails. "Bad luck, Preef-" she said and decided to take a sip of her bright purple cocktail before returning the cards to her hands. "-want to go again?"

Her adversary, a young Rodian by the name of Preef, shook his head and let out an irritated groan. "No, two more rounds with you, Nissa, and I'd lose my ship." He complained, sliding off his stool while emptying his own glass of Sewer-riped Hutta Moonshine. The Twi'lek shrugged, "on top of your dignity?"

Putting his glass down and wiping his mouth, Preef looked like the stereotypical dimwit who was lucky he made it this far in his life..although, guess being an indentured member of the Crimson Dawn wasn't exactly what you call an accomplishment. "My what?" The Twi'lek Nissa laughed, "Exactly!"

Anger over being mocked almost made Preef draw his blaster right then and there..and he would have had this been the Moist Mirakula, but he wasn't sure to which outfit this place belonged and there were simply too many powerful gangster on Shaddaa to take the risk. Too many better shots, too.


 

Jon Halleck

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Jon had managed to acquire another lighter, and was in the process of attempting to light his cigarra when he was approached by a young woman who, if he had done his homework as folks in his line were normally wont to, he would would have identified as the owner of this particular establishment. But that fact soon became evident to him when she waved a server down, seemingly out of thin air and asked for her to take his order. As her luck would turn out to be, it happened to be the very girl he had given his order to not so long ago.

"Hmm."

A simple vocalization, but one that conveyed a great deal to him and the server, the one the young woman had called Tal'ia. He recognized the discomfort, and maybe even fear, in her eyes. So she probably had been avoiding him. Not that he blamed her for it beyond the annoyance he felt at not getting his drink. For her the message was simpler, she knew what he wanted, and he wanted it now. As she scurried off, Jon finally managed to light his cigarra and after taking a long drag, turned his attention back to the proprietor, he was sure that's who she was.

"Both." He finally said in response, and almost immediately regretting it. A simple to or from would have answered her question, but the truth left more to be explained. "Ship doesn't fly out for another day, stuck here till then." He took another drag as he felt another wave of irritation at the fact, he really should just buy a ship. Even some old hunk of junk would be better than waiting around like this. Only then did he realize that he had been careless with his choice of words. This might be a hell to be stuck in for him, but it was probably home for her. Well, he wasn't going to apologize, but he could try and move on from it.

"You run this place?" He asked as he looked around, really taking in the crowd and those gathered there for the first time. "Quite a clientele you've got here. Like this every night or did I pick the wrong day to get stuck here?"

And just like that he had done it again, he really couldn't catch a break could he? Hmm, went the voice in the back of his head, this time aimed at himself.

@Dread

 

Wesk

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The smell of engine grease and smoke was gone, mostly. Wesk had been trying to fix the hydraulic system that allowed the loading bay of his ship. It would only open half way. Wesk had yet to find the issue but had searched for a cause. Ultimately it had led to her wanting to take a break and come back with fresh eyes. Plus she was quite certain that her droid also had a clogged I/O socket and the hangout she was headed to might have the cleaning tools for delicate electronic equipment since her last set had been eaten by some hungry wildlife.

Finding her way to Nightfall the young redhead heard the sounds of excitement and the lively establishment well before she entered. She had a simple outfit of a shirt, jacket, and pants with work boots. The jacket had seen better days but at least the teenager did not have any marks of dirt. Then again she had been wearing coveralls before leaving her ship.

On her thigh she had a pouch which held most of what her jacket pockets could not fit. "Why do they not make female clothes with more space for pockets. Her eyes looked over to see a group of beautiful women having a fun time. Each of them had hand bags or small carrying devices for their personal belongings. "Capitalism." Hmm.

Being short, the pilot for hire could not see very well through the crowd of people. There was one man who was making conversation with female that looked about the same age as Wesk. The teenager would move into the spot next to them. She ordered a blumfruit cooler but knew it could be a minute.

"Are you trying to leave sooner than tomorrow?" She asked after hearing Jon and Alais. Wesk was not concerned with suddenly butting into their conversation. She did not know it would probably be considered rude in the first place. She was pushed by another person trying to get to the bar and jostled up against Jon. "Sorry." She said at normal volume despite the loud setting. "I didn't cause any spills right?" Her head poking around behind Jon to look at Alais.

@Wit @Dread
 

Lilith Vye

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Alias listened to the man. The woe in his voice over being here and then the comment about the rest of the patrons. The young businesswoman blinked first, then laughed holding a hand over her mouth to muffle it despite the fact hardly anyone could hear it anyway. Muffling her laughs was more instinct than anything, because she didn't always laugh at the most appropriate things...like someone insulting her customers. If your in the serving business though, you didn't always fall in love with every person that came through the doors. Especially not on Nar Shaddaa. Especially not if you lock yourself in your room for days at a time without any humanoid contact like she tended to do.

"We get a mix all kinds, though it's usually not this busy. A lot of ships must have come in tonight," she answered, tapping her bottom lip in thought. "I wonder if something is going on." It was probably not the best thing to say out loud, seeing as she didn't know this person but she didn't think he'd go out of his way to investigate anyway.

It was then that a girl bumped into Alais' patron. If his drink did tip, Alais would reach out and grab it to balance it, so it wouldn't spill on the girl. Another instinct, of sorts. "You're fine, ma'am," Alais said despite the woman looking younger than her. "You want something to drink and eat? On the house tonight," she added. Giving out food was probably not the best idea, but the young woman looked a little lost and out of sorts, and Alais had gotten in the habit of helping out strays. (@Wit @Darasuum)

On the other side of the cantina, one of the serving droids saw a Rodian look like he was going to grab for his blaster. The little droid sped to the man and shook it's harmless drink dispensing limb at him. "Sir, don't you dare! We do not allow killings in here! Too much mess to clean up!" the droid said to him. However, if the man didn't speak droid he'd only hear a bunch of furious beeping. (@Ecclessey)
 

Baymon Bluevynson

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OOC: Had to change some names lol

Zenke did little in way of answer the question besides taking the glass of juice to his lips and letting liquid cranberry slide down. Baymon wasn’t terribly sure how the man managed to indulge himself on such non-alcoholic tastes in a setting such as this one, particularly one with such thrashing and thriving music that all but demanded a beverage with a bit more bite. Between the two men, Baymon also wasn’t sure who was more suited to the scene, dress suit or not.

Zenke sat there in blue jeans and a black cotton jacket that all but contrasted with Baymon’s tan three-piece; white shirt and gold-dotted red tie. His fedora rested on the table before him, right beside a dwindling glass of whiskey that begged for a refill. He had half a mind for it when something else caught his attention. Words flew his way from the throngs and the masses; three of them ending with a question mark to form a catchphrase that could crumble the cosmos. The last time that Baymon had asked if a seat was taken, he too had not waited on an answer, and later he had left the table and the man still sat at it who he hoped would never share his table again. This is clearly no man. Who might you be?

Both men’s eyes were on the woman who had just approached and answered her own question. She was a stunningly attractive woman at that, especially in a venue like this, with piercing blue eyes and long blonde hair that framed her face. And she knows how to dress. It was her next question, though, that could truly tear worlds apart. Who, indeed, are you? There was only one ‘Freelancer’ that Baymon was here to meet tonight and, if this lady knew him, then probably it was no coincidence that she strolled up to this table of all tables. Because she probably knows who I am too.

Baymon smiled, lifting a hand to the booth and, namely, the woman already sitting in it. “Please, do sit!” He smiled in delight, tilting his head in observation. “And who might the Freelancer be? Is he or she or it a member of the band? The band itself? A droid drummer?” A rhetorical question as he continued in a tone whose sarcasm was not all that disguised. “I simply must meet the DJ. Something about the whole...electro...techno...you know...that just energizes my core!” And, frankly, makes my ears bleed.

@Danee
 

Hannibal Grayza

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Dressed in a reasonably sharp outfit consisting of black high-waist trousers and shirt and a beige long jacket, blaster strapped as usual to his right thigh and lightsaber concealed within a coat holster, Hannibal had managed to make his way before the crowd had become too overwhelming to find a seat. In a relatively small corner booth, a drink in one his left hand, small cigar between his lips, and sat between a pretty blue-skinned twi'lek and a horned devaronian 'entrepreneur' of some kind, he was quite enjoying himself. The loud music thrummed through him along with the drink, a lightly glowing Green Galaxy that he insisted upon at most places. The Nightfall was just his kind of place, full of the seedy dregs of Nar Shaddaa society and almost certainly the front for something illegal. He had been engrossed in conversation and indulgence for a couple hours with these two, and a few others, the twi'lek someone he had met and talked with before in a different establishment a few times.

The Devaronian needed something moved on a ship that didn't have nearly as many watch and inspection flags as his did, and the Twi'Lek just liked getting free drinks and flirtation without having to do anything more strenuous. He was practically soaking in it, taking in the noise and life around him, when he got something of a twinge of intuitive inspiration and the whispers of a nearby conversation. A harried looking man, a colourfully dressed young lady with pale hair, and a short freckled thing had gathered, and he distinctly heard the word 'ship' spoken with a measure of tired irritation. He also couldn't help but notice the pale-haired one giving instructions to the serving girls. What an opportunity! A cheeky grin spreading across his face, he smoothly flipped a contact card from inside his coat onto the table in front of the devaronian and hopped up in his seat, giving the twi'lek a parting pat on the cheek and a wink as he stepped directly onto the table in front of him, bypassing the booth seating entirely and stepping from table to floor barely changing stride.

Clacking boots quite hidden in the background bass, Hannibal swam his way through the crowd towards the small gathering, sipping his drink on the move. Grin at full blast he made his presence known, appearing somewhere behind the short one in overalls like an overly cheery ghost.

"I heard someone mention a ship?" He asked, brilliantly green eyes flashing over each of them and lingering on the pale-haired one with a clear love for shades of purple. "And drinks?" He added, his cigar having swapped itself from his mouth to his right hand somewhere mid-movement.

@Darasuum @Dread @Wit
 
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