- Joined
- Oct 19, 2011
- Messages
- 676
- Reaction score
- 128
The witching hour rain pounded down onto the blacktop mercilessly, the drops illuminated in little globes by streetlights. The smell of wet asphalt was thick in the air, and the hiss of the storm made it hard to hear anyone speak. Light occasionally rippled through the sky, followed by the crashing sound of thunder. The few people who were brave enough to be on streets as rough as these in a storm as harsh as this stayed huddled under umbrellas, stumbling drunkenly through the night and trying to get back to whatever hovel they deceived themselves into thinking of as a home. Occasionally, a hovercar would whiz by, headlights blindingly bright in the darkness of the late night.
Hareth clutched her robes close to her. It seemed as though the Force was playing a cruel joke on her; first she had been kidnapped and forcibly recruited by a bunch of psychotic terrorists, and next they sent her out on a mission to pick up a defector from the Sith that could be useful to them, who was apparently hiding out on the most miserable planet in the entire Galaxy. Her eyes wandered to the brutal, impersonal architecture of the tenement buildings surrounding her. This was perhaps the least welcoming city Hareth had ever seen.
Hareth's hair clung to her face in soggy strands despite the fact that her hood was up in an attempt to spare her the worst, her blinders adjusted to let her use the natural Arkanian infrared vision. She grumbled silently to herself. This just wasn't Hareth's... Well, it was close to half a decade now. It wasn't her half a decade. When she inevitably conquered the Galaxy, she would right the wrongs done to her. Bria would be first on her list for revenge. Oh yes. Bria would be forced to wear something stupid, like a pink and blue polkadot ballerina tutu, sitting at the side of her throne and Hareth would zap her with a shock collar whenever she got bored. She'd simply fire the Doctor directly into the nearest star. The rest, she'd convert into her loyal slaves. Yes, this seemed like the correct line of action.
"Hey, miss," said a Togruta man holding an umbrella. "Are you okay? You um... You look wet."
Hareth looked up at him, narrowing her eyes though the man could not see. "Yes, I am wet," she responded incredulously. Then, her eyes settled on his umbrella. I want that, she thought to herself.
A few moments later, the man had been thrown about 10 feet into an alley dumpster by judicious application of the Force, and Hareth had a pretty umbrella with birds on it. Based on the lack of groaning on the man's part, she assumed he was unconscious. This was good. She continued to slog through the rain, until she found herself at where she had been told she might find her quarry: Nightshade, a rave club converted from an old warehouse. The neon lights proclaimed it as such, as did the very long line of people in especially stupid and colourful outfits.
She moved forward, pushing past the line and moving to the door. The bouncer there, a powerful looking Zabrak man with a cybernetic left arm and glowing red eye in tank top clearly meant to show off his awful tattoo work and muscles glared down at her.
"Hey, kid," he said. "Back of the line is that way."
"Yes, I'm quite aware, and now that we've established we know where directions are, you're going to let me in," she said, not wanting to get into this little song and dance.
"No can do," he said. "And if you don't move to the back of the line, I'm going to force you."
Hareth cackled. "You know nothing of Force," she said. Then, the bouncer glared at her and stepped forward. She pulled free her lightsaber, extending the red blade right up into his face. The bouncer recoiled, the glow of the blade illuminating the sudden appearance of distress on his face. Every line could be seen.
"Uh, hohoho, wow, so you're uh, yeah, okay, one of those," the bouncer stammered. "Go right on in."
Hareth grinned and then stepped inside. Immediately, every sense was insulted. Lights flashed in all sorts of colours, forcing her blinders to try and adjust to compensate in rapid flurries until she was forced to simply pull them off and put them inside her robes. Loud music throbbed in her ears, and the smell of sweat as bodies ground upon each other in manners most perverse. Hareth, frankly, was disgusted. Such plain displays of the most base animal aspects of sapience. The outfits the people wore were ridiculous. Far too much skin showing for her liking, and way too much colour. What was wrong with black? It worked for her.
She pushed through the crowds, looking for a woman named Kendra. Every so often a person would bump her and she felt the need to shove them back from herself, her frustration mounting with each attempt. Her eyes scanned for a face that might resemble the one she had seen at the mission briefing, but so far, she had found none that were even remotely close. Finally, she came across a grown Zeltron male with a pacifier on a necklace around his neck and nothing on but tight glittery shorts. Tired of searching, she decided that she would instead extract answers from this victim. She beckoned for him to come closer, and he did, thinking this was cue to dance. It was not. She grabbed his necklace and pulled him in.
"I am looking for Kendra Ce... K... Kelly? It sounds like that," she said, staring into the eyes of the clearly frightened man. "You are going to tell me where she is or I will end your miserable, degenerate life."
The Zeltron stared at her. "Wh-" he said in confusion. "I don't know a Kendra! why are you threatening me?!"
"I would assume any sort of deviant that would... fester in a place like this would know each other," she said, grinding her teeth.
"Excuse me what," he said, his surprise and befuddlement eclipsing his fear. "No, I don't know everybody here. That doesn't even make sense! Why don't you ask the bartender?"
Hareth stared at him for a moment, considering what he had to say. Yes, this made sense. The bartender would have seen the most people, and perhaps he would even be on familiar terms with them. This would lead to much less work, perhaps. She looked back at the Zeltron, and yanked his necklace off of him, holding it up in front of his face.
"If you are lying to me, this is going inside of your nasal cavity," she said, waggling it, before stowing it in her robe and walking towards the bar. The Zeltron, for his part, mostly just stared at her and wondered exactly what the Arkanian's deal was. She proceeded up to the bar, finding that it was staffed by a bored human woman with a mohawk, wearing a pink halter-top with denim shorts and coated head to toe in tattoos and piercings.
"Hello," Hareth said over the buzz of the crowd. "I am looking for a Kendra..." She fumbled, pulling out a data-pad, and producing it to show to the bartender. It had her picture and everything. "Keyallihee or whatever. You are going to help me find her."
The bartender stared at her for a moment, then looked at the lightsaber on Hareth's hip. She rolled her eyes and sighed, pulling up a small intercom device and holding it up to her mouth. Suddenly, her voice cut out across the music. "Hey, uh, Kendra, there's like an angry garden gnome looking for you, or maybe like a humanoid shih-tzu? I dunno, anyway, come to the bar."
Hareth clutched her robes close to her. It seemed as though the Force was playing a cruel joke on her; first she had been kidnapped and forcibly recruited by a bunch of psychotic terrorists, and next they sent her out on a mission to pick up a defector from the Sith that could be useful to them, who was apparently hiding out on the most miserable planet in the entire Galaxy. Her eyes wandered to the brutal, impersonal architecture of the tenement buildings surrounding her. This was perhaps the least welcoming city Hareth had ever seen.
Hareth's hair clung to her face in soggy strands despite the fact that her hood was up in an attempt to spare her the worst, her blinders adjusted to let her use the natural Arkanian infrared vision. She grumbled silently to herself. This just wasn't Hareth's... Well, it was close to half a decade now. It wasn't her half a decade. When she inevitably conquered the Galaxy, she would right the wrongs done to her. Bria would be first on her list for revenge. Oh yes. Bria would be forced to wear something stupid, like a pink and blue polkadot ballerina tutu, sitting at the side of her throne and Hareth would zap her with a shock collar whenever she got bored. She'd simply fire the Doctor directly into the nearest star. The rest, she'd convert into her loyal slaves. Yes, this seemed like the correct line of action.
"Hey, miss," said a Togruta man holding an umbrella. "Are you okay? You um... You look wet."
Hareth looked up at him, narrowing her eyes though the man could not see. "Yes, I am wet," she responded incredulously. Then, her eyes settled on his umbrella. I want that, she thought to herself.
A few moments later, the man had been thrown about 10 feet into an alley dumpster by judicious application of the Force, and Hareth had a pretty umbrella with birds on it. Based on the lack of groaning on the man's part, she assumed he was unconscious. This was good. She continued to slog through the rain, until she found herself at where she had been told she might find her quarry: Nightshade, a rave club converted from an old warehouse. The neon lights proclaimed it as such, as did the very long line of people in especially stupid and colourful outfits.
She moved forward, pushing past the line and moving to the door. The bouncer there, a powerful looking Zabrak man with a cybernetic left arm and glowing red eye in tank top clearly meant to show off his awful tattoo work and muscles glared down at her.
"Hey, kid," he said. "Back of the line is that way."
"Yes, I'm quite aware, and now that we've established we know where directions are, you're going to let me in," she said, not wanting to get into this little song and dance.
"No can do," he said. "And if you don't move to the back of the line, I'm going to force you."
Hareth cackled. "You know nothing of Force," she said. Then, the bouncer glared at her and stepped forward. She pulled free her lightsaber, extending the red blade right up into his face. The bouncer recoiled, the glow of the blade illuminating the sudden appearance of distress on his face. Every line could be seen.
"Uh, hohoho, wow, so you're uh, yeah, okay, one of those," the bouncer stammered. "Go right on in."
Hareth grinned and then stepped inside. Immediately, every sense was insulted. Lights flashed in all sorts of colours, forcing her blinders to try and adjust to compensate in rapid flurries until she was forced to simply pull them off and put them inside her robes. Loud music throbbed in her ears, and the smell of sweat as bodies ground upon each other in manners most perverse. Hareth, frankly, was disgusted. Such plain displays of the most base animal aspects of sapience. The outfits the people wore were ridiculous. Far too much skin showing for her liking, and way too much colour. What was wrong with black? It worked for her.
She pushed through the crowds, looking for a woman named Kendra. Every so often a person would bump her and she felt the need to shove them back from herself, her frustration mounting with each attempt. Her eyes scanned for a face that might resemble the one she had seen at the mission briefing, but so far, she had found none that were even remotely close. Finally, she came across a grown Zeltron male with a pacifier on a necklace around his neck and nothing on but tight glittery shorts. Tired of searching, she decided that she would instead extract answers from this victim. She beckoned for him to come closer, and he did, thinking this was cue to dance. It was not. She grabbed his necklace and pulled him in.
"I am looking for Kendra Ce... K... Kelly? It sounds like that," she said, staring into the eyes of the clearly frightened man. "You are going to tell me where she is or I will end your miserable, degenerate life."
The Zeltron stared at her. "Wh-" he said in confusion. "I don't know a Kendra! why are you threatening me?!"
"I would assume any sort of deviant that would... fester in a place like this would know each other," she said, grinding her teeth.
"Excuse me what," he said, his surprise and befuddlement eclipsing his fear. "No, I don't know everybody here. That doesn't even make sense! Why don't you ask the bartender?"
Hareth stared at him for a moment, considering what he had to say. Yes, this made sense. The bartender would have seen the most people, and perhaps he would even be on familiar terms with them. This would lead to much less work, perhaps. She looked back at the Zeltron, and yanked his necklace off of him, holding it up in front of his face.
"If you are lying to me, this is going inside of your nasal cavity," she said, waggling it, before stowing it in her robe and walking towards the bar. The Zeltron, for his part, mostly just stared at her and wondered exactly what the Arkanian's deal was. She proceeded up to the bar, finding that it was staffed by a bored human woman with a mohawk, wearing a pink halter-top with denim shorts and coated head to toe in tattoos and piercings.
"Hello," Hareth said over the buzz of the crowd. "I am looking for a Kendra..." She fumbled, pulling out a data-pad, and producing it to show to the bartender. It had her picture and everything. "Keyallihee or whatever. You are going to help me find her."
The bartender stared at her for a moment, then looked at the lightsaber on Hareth's hip. She rolled her eyes and sighed, pulling up a small intercom device and holding it up to her mouth. Suddenly, her voice cut out across the music. "Hey, uh, Kendra, there's like an angry garden gnome looking for you, or maybe like a humanoid shih-tzu? I dunno, anyway, come to the bar."
