Glasses clinked. Attire glistened in the low lighting. Droids rolled around serving hors d’oeuvres and beverages. Every manner of human and alien appeared to be attending, all in the newest, flashiest fashions. There was, in fact, such an abundance of shiny, sparkling, or sequined surfaces, that the entire room would serve as an excellent reflector for a galactic cruiser. The smell of shellfish and expensive wine hung so heavy in the room, one could almost taste it. Plates of expensive, vibrantly colored spice were being circulated.Waiters bustled around in formal suits and, taking center stage, was a quartet of stringed instruments playing a melodic tune.
——
Sweat poured down Pidge’s face as she stood, unmoving, behind a corner. It was definitely not one of her best hiding spots, but she was desperate. Clattering of silverware and the ringing of voices could still be heard from dinner happening in the luxurious room down the hall. The whole place was a fancy, formal den of thieves and criminals. There was a stereotype on Coruscant that the less savory folk only occupied the lower levels. As Pidge had learned, it was only that those on the upper levels tended to be wealthy and powerful, and could therefore hide their vices more easily. Not that she was one to judge the business of others, being the main slicer for the Crymorah Syndicate. Most criminals of the sparkling upper city were renowned business men and occasionally even philanthropists. This dinner was, however, not for charity. It had been planned rather suddenly, only two weeks prior. The gathering was hosted by Gorrow Brighton, the owner of a questionably legitimate pharmaceutical spice plant which got the majority of its sales from street dealers and junkies. The enigma was that a Coruscant Police Chief for the sector was the guest of honor. Completely unphased by the illegal activity surrounding him, he appeared to be enjoying himself greatly.
A shadow passed her by and she relaxed. Although Pidge had a (forged) invitation, she would certainly be under suspicious if someone found her snooping about. Stepping lightly and quietly towards the door the host and guest of honor had disappeared through, she leaned her earcone against it. If there was bribery going on, she would need to notify her Syndicate. The whole situation was ripe for blackmail.
——
Sweat poured down Pidge’s face as she stood, unmoving, behind a corner. It was definitely not one of her best hiding spots, but she was desperate. Clattering of silverware and the ringing of voices could still be heard from dinner happening in the luxurious room down the hall. The whole place was a fancy, formal den of thieves and criminals. There was a stereotype on Coruscant that the less savory folk only occupied the lower levels. As Pidge had learned, it was only that those on the upper levels tended to be wealthy and powerful, and could therefore hide their vices more easily. Not that she was one to judge the business of others, being the main slicer for the Crymorah Syndicate. Most criminals of the sparkling upper city were renowned business men and occasionally even philanthropists. This dinner was, however, not for charity. It had been planned rather suddenly, only two weeks prior. The gathering was hosted by Gorrow Brighton, the owner of a questionably legitimate pharmaceutical spice plant which got the majority of its sales from street dealers and junkies. The enigma was that a Coruscant Police Chief for the sector was the guest of honor. Completely unphased by the illegal activity surrounding him, he appeared to be enjoying himself greatly.
A shadow passed her by and she relaxed. Although Pidge had a (forged) invitation, she would certainly be under suspicious if someone found her snooping about. Stepping lightly and quietly towards the door the host and guest of honor had disappeared through, she leaned her earcone against it. If there was bribery going on, she would need to notify her Syndicate. The whole situation was ripe for blackmail.