Oh, What A Night!

[blingdenston]

This thread is for tales leading up to, happening during, and dealing with the aftermath of 'A Night to Dismember'.  Feel free to either wait for the event to happen, or post preparations and other delights leading up to the Bargesplosion!

The night was a scarlet haze impregnated with neon glare and an animal buzz; the combined sounds of traffic, machinery, and the unceasing roar of sentient activity created a vibration that seemed to radiate across the moon entire, bleeding from the air through clothing and armor and playing the nerves like the fingers of a jittery violinist.

Or, maybe, that was just how Hamrish O'Vrotel felt.  He didn't like the Smuggler's Moon...and he didn't like his job.  He'd signed up with Dawn Star because it was a way off the protato farm other than marrying the daughter of the durasteel plant manager or dying in a harvester accident. 

Hamrish had scraped and toiled and fought to make a new life for himself OUT THERE, in space...and, as a reward for his hard work, had been planted on the filthiest, most dangerous planet he'd ever heard of.  And to do what?  To oversee a bunch of loader drones and jawjack with delivery boys.  And most of the delivery boys were Dawn Star personnel!  They should be more than capable of dealing with the loader drones without him!

He ran his hands through the reddish stubble on his shaved head, sighed, and put his hand on his blaster again.  A squat little Toydarian in Dawn Star livery much like his own nodded to Hamrish and buzzed off, his little wings allowing him to fly up and over the massive bulk of the Dancer's Retreat without needing to use a turbolift or speeder.  O'Vrotel sighed, envied the little guy's ability to simply leave it all behind, and wondered what he'd do next to get out of THIS situation.

"Night's pearl-censered requiem...'tis for us!  What joys run, then - bright in your eyes..."

From somewhere down one of the warren-tunnels that permeated the docks on the Promenade came a wisp of singing...almost in-tune, feminine, but with a whiskey-tinged edge that made the hairs on Hamrish's arms prick up a bit.  He frowned, looking down the poorly-lit tunnels, and was nearly frightened to death when a bright, monocular forelight suddenly lit up as a repulsorlift delivery vehicle sped up to the Retreat's loading dock.

Hamrish fell back, hand descending first to his blaster in surprise, then to his datapad...he wasn't expecting a delivery at this time.  A pair of humanoid droids dismounted the vehicle, one moving to open the boot and reveal their delivery, the other holding up a codecaster at the loading drones.  The drones sat restive a moment, then began shuffling forward to gather the delivery.

Hamrish flicked through his entries, searching for this delivery and finding nothing.  He didn't even recognize the company logo on the delivery vehicle...a stencil of a black wrench with the word 'DELIVERIES' scrawled in Aurabesh beneath it.  He walked up to the driver-droid as the drones began loading their pallets up with the delivered goods: a few masscrates labeled '20 Ct. Vysint (Black-Label) Crate HANDLE WITH CARE, Mythos Distilleries, Vysburg'.

O'Vrotel cleared his voice, put his most authoritarian tone into it: "Hey, bolts...I ain't got a delivery scheduled for now."  The droid turned its orange-glowing photoreceptors on him, and said, in a high-pitched voice, "Programming doesn't lie, sir.  These are meant to be here now."

Hamrish frowned, shaking his head and pulling out the datapad, showing the delivery-droid the timeblock on his scheduler.  "Look...nothin' here, nothin' for at least twenty minutes.  An' that's 'sposed to be a bunch o' carpet-repair solution...not no fancy vysint."

The droid nodded, peering at the 'pad.  "Payment has already been received...these are meant to be here, now.  Destination is clearly labeled as 'the Dancer's Retreat' in my program."  Hamrish shook his head again, then started.

"Wait, are you SURE it's 'sposed to be here?  Maybe this's for the Dancer's PALACE...that's the new place!  I think you was prob'ly misprogrammed, clanko."

The droid moved its head from side to side, its closest approximation of a headshake.  "Impossible.  My programming is clear...it is, perhaps, yours that is faulty.  I suggest you check your records again."  It pointed at his datapad, receptors unwavering.

Hamrish was about to start chewing the droid out when, again, from somewhere in the tunnels, singing issued forth: "What flower-spangled amores...pull at our hearts...what flower-spangled amores...fill our desires..."  The man looked quickly to the tunnels, brow creased with confusion.  Unobserved, the second droid turned its codecaster at Hamrish and depressed it again.

Seeing no one about in the tunnels, O'Vrotel turned his attention back to the droid, which was still pointing at his datapad.  Frustrated, he brought the pad's scheduler up to display for the droid again...and saw, suddenly, in the current timeblock, an entry...a delivery of high-grade vysint, precisely the count currently sitting on the drone's pallets.

Hamrish blinked, squinted at the datapad, then looked up at the droid, which said (and not without a frisson of self-satisfaction): "I was correct...yours was the incorrect programming.  Please cease your hindrance of our task and perform your function."

O'Vrotel backed away, frowning at his datapad and getting a sudden feeling of having his chain pulled, like some disobedient akk dog.  "OK...well, let's have a look at this delivery, then.  Have to make sure that my function's fulfilled, y'know."  Hamrish stuck his datapad under his arm, fishing his scanner-controls out from his utility belt...the device which allowed him to access, utilize, and receive data from the Retreat's powerful sensors.

He stopped short...there, leaning against the crates, was a figure he'd never seen before.  A lean, almost dessicated looking figure, dressed in a dancer's motley which was partially torn and, where once had gleamed gilt and jewel, was covered in rust and filth.  The whole thing left her skin exposed...revealing the crawling sores and suppurating flesh standard of a sufferer of Underrot.

"Well, well, well...look at the handsome.  I love a man in uniform," the whiskey-edged voice issued forth from a face made up of large, bloodshot eyes and drawn, dry lips over teeth that were only slightly stained from lack-of-care.  It was the singer's voice...but how had she gotten so close without him seeing?  His mind refused to move...everyone knew the vectors of Rot transmission...exchanged bodily fluids, exposure to the sores...her kind wasn't supposed to be ALLOWED on the Promenade!

The droids stayed still as the shrunken figure pushed herself off of the crates, moving towards Hamrish with a parody of a slink.  "Tell me, handsome...you wouldn't happen to have anythin' to drink, would you?  I'm awful parched...just a sip of that vysint would do, if you could spare it..."  Hamrish backed away as she moved towards him, fearful...this wasn't what he'd signed up with Dawn Star for...he didn't want to end up hiding in the slums, with the Evocii and the Vrblthrs, dying of thirst and fever, his flesh drying out and then cracking and falling off...

He yelped, "I've nothin' for you!  Open the docks, open!"  His voice rang out, and the ship's dock opened.  He quickly moved around the once-lush creature, pushing ahead of the drones which, dutifully, began moving their pallets in alongside him.  The dock's door had just enough time to let the drones in before it shut, and Hamrish's voice issued forth from the loudspeakers: "Nothin' for you, here!  Got deliveries to take...get, or I'll call the enforcers!"

The two delivery droids looked to the sickly woman, still standing on the docks, and then entered their craft and departed.  The dessicated figure remained a moment and, then, singing, departed: "Night's pearl-censered requiem...'tis for us!  What joys run, then - bright in your eyes..."

Hamrish watched the humanoid wreck drift away into the tunnels, and then leaned against his monitor, taking a deep breath.  That was enough...he'd put in for a transfer, or he'd quit.  Boredom, maybe, he could stand...but this Moon was just too much.  The nearby drones turned their querying heads towards him, and he waved them off, heading upstairs to get a drink himself before the next delivery could come...and some security droids, as well.

The infectious dancer walked away into the tunnels that permeated the Promenade's lower levels.  She passed out of sight under a glowglobe set into the wall, and a different figure emerged on the other side...a perfectly healthy slave-dancer, brushing off the rust and filth of her garb and singing, to herself: "What flower-spangled amores...pull at our hearts...what flower-spangled amores...fill our desires..."

The Clawdite stopped, a ways away, and pulled out her own commlink.  She hit the report button, waiting for a reply, and then smirked as the reply flashed along the readout of her communicator:

'We're in.  Party to commence as scheduled.'

[Joshmaul]

Caradell can handle my "children" just fine, as can her lackeys on both sides...but I wonder how the Erinians will react, especially with our Jedi Princess as their "protector against the evil Empire". I'll have to speak with Lexicanus; these vysint-guzzling "neutral" scum will soon learn that we are not giving them a choice. They will submit, or they will die. Hmm. Maybe we can get Thrax in on it too, with his "Dark Reaper". We'll see how well they thumb their noses at us when we burn their capital to the ground...

Walking through the Lower Promenade, Darth Malagant was thinking on his little "chat" with Shaantil on the deck of the Dancer's Retreat, his voice sounding insanely giddy even in his thoughts. He had grown heartily sick of the pompous Erinians' open defiance of the Emperor's will, and the fact that Quarasha had not protested more strongly towards the government's refusal to turn over the native savage who had attacked the Imperial servants proved that she had fallen from the Emperor's dark grace, too. Alien bitch only deserves to be in shackles, he thought. It's all Twi'leks are good for. Getting zapped by shock collars, cleaning our messes, and dancing in skimpy clothes. Harkun, Emperor rest him, had the right of it...

A commotion, people running to the outside deck of the Promenade, distracted him from his thoughts. Malagant frowned, wondering what all the hubbub was. He walked outside...and raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he saw the barge detaching from the dock. He ran (aided by the Force to prevent unnecessary muscle strain) up to the speeder landing on the Upper Promenade and pulled his macrobinoculars from their case at his belt, zooming in on the deck. The security system is active, he thought. Stasis fields and ray shields! Did some drunken moron start a firefight, or... He could then see the Ugnaught workers and Tae-droids swarming from the lower decks...and a massive holoprojection of a Hutt.

Emperor's blood! They hijacked the barge! He grinned. And very nearly with me on it! Truly, the dark side is watching out for me...but who all is there? He zoomed in as far as he could, before the barge moved too far out of range. There's Keyis and his Jedi concubine...Karmic, of course, playing the hostess...and - well, what do you know. Kieran's pet general stuck in the mix too. I wonder what the slug has in mind for these people? He laughed to himself. I hope it's slow and painful, whatever it is.

He lowered his macrobinoculars and watched the barge recede with his own eyes. Of course, blind luck has odd ways of intervening to prevent such rightful fates...

[Seraphie]

Minnette walked along the top of Dancer's Retreat, smiling at and welcoming patrons, enjoying the sensation of the air on her skin. She was happy she'd chosen something a little more revealing for the first time tonight, as hostess. She paused for a minute at the edge, looking back through the crowd. It certainly was a full house this evening, including Sith lords and even high nobility, she thought, as she spotted Prince Keyis across the barge.

She turned for a moment, just a second, to look out over the skyscape of Nar Shaddaa. She blinked. Suddenly the skyscape was... fuzzy. She frowned and turned back towards her guests. Her eyes went suddenly wide as she saw cybernetically modified gizka everywhere on the barge, surrounding the guests. She tried to yell, but no sound came. The guests seemed blissfully unware, appearing to continue to mingle among themselves, though she heard voices no more, only a loud, drumming beat.

She reached down and pulled her blaster from its concealed holster in her boot and shot at a gizka. She watched in horror as the gizka died, then exploded, and the guest next to it vapourized instantly. Other blaster shots began taking out more gizka, each one then vapourizing the guest next to it in the ensuing explosion. She tried to yell to whoever was shooting to stop, but again no sound came from her throat. She looked around, and realised her own blaster was still firing at the gizka. The remaining guests seemed unmoved as one by one they disappeared in a cloud of sparks and smoke from an exploding dying gizka, shot by her unwilling hand, until only she remained, in the middle of the deck, surrounded by gizka.

The deck suddenly opened up and swallowed her and the gizka, leaving her in the middle of a dark, mangled engineering room below deck. Her blaster, which she could not stop from firing before, would suddenly fire no more as the gizka began to close in on her.

A hole appeared, in the ceiling above her, the bright neon Nar Shaddaa light almost blinding. She made out the shape of a dark ship. Shapes dropped from it and suddenly she found Seculus, Nethri and Jesika surrounding her, lightsabers outstretched towards the gizka, which they began to slice through. Suddenly, surrounded by Sith, she felt safe.

As the gizka died and exploded one by one, she heard Seculus' smooth voice from behind her. "Drink up, my dear. I would very much like to see what you're like as a drunk hostess." She looked down and her hand no longer held her blaster, but a tall glass of deb-deb brandy. "Drink up," he purred again, "I'm a Sith lord and what I want I get, don't you know that?" She turned to answer him only to see two new dark robed shapes where he had been. His voice again came from behind her, "Drink up, and you can join me. I think you already know my slave and my apprentice." The terror built up in her as the robed figures dropped their robes. She saw her brother, Neako, dressed as a slave and bearing burn scars all over. The other was Stell, wearing next to nothing, eyes glowing red, her skin taking on a reddish tone. Stell grinned at her, "See what you helped turn me into?" Stell suddenly unleashed a flash of lightening at Neako. Minnette closed her eyes and tried to scream, though again, her throat was silent.

All went silent and she opened her eyes again. She was once again on the top side of the barge, with the guests somehow all there, intact, with no gizka in sight. Karmic smiled at her, "Good evening, dear. You're just on time for the feast." Karmic turned and Minnette's gaze followed where Karmic looked. She tried to yell, but her voice was still muted. She saw a flying, cybernetically enhanced rancor swoop down and scoop one of the guests up in its mouth in a single gulp. The guests seemed to not notice and remained where they were as the rancor swooped down for a second mouthful. She turned back towards Karmic who grinned at her, "Don't worry, dear. It's only eating the Republic. You've done enough to be counted with us." Karmic pointed and Minnette turned as Prince Keyis was the next to disappear into the flying beast's jaws, "See. The king of the Republic is dead. Long live the Emperor."

As the rancor swooped down yet again, something flew into it, sending it careening down into the city below. Minnette looked up as the flying creature flew towards her and set down. The pink-skinned, green clad figure of Nieran stepped down with a smile, holding a hand out to her. "Don't worry. The Jedi will take care of this." As she looked on deck, the guests were all still milling about calmly, those who had been eaten somehow back on deck with the others, even Prince Keyis. Surrounding the deck were brown robed forms, holding blue lightsabers at ready.

With a smile and a sigh of relief, she turned back towards Nieran. A droid version of Nieran smiled back at her, taking her hand with his mechanical one, "See, no need to panic." She stepped back in horror, the question stuck in her throat. The droid version of Nieran gave its best immitation of a smile and a shrug, "All those emotions became too frustrating. This is much better." She looked around again, the deck now empty of guests, only the brown robed figures, holding their blue lightsabers at ready remaining. She remained transfixed as the brown robed figures dropped their hoods, one by one, each one revealing a droid. She turned back, desperately to Nieran, who now bore a wide slash through his torso, revealing circuitry and wires. He still smiled, "Well, the least you could do is pass me a change of clothes." She turned, in a daze, finding the two of them suddenly alone in her appartment and mechanically went to her drawers to pull out some clothing. She turned back. Gizka surrounded a seemingly unaware droid-Nieran. Finally, sound came from her throat as she screamed.

Minnette's scream carried into her waking as she bolted up in her bed, her sheets drenched, her breathing ragged. She looked around the room wide-eyed, her brain taking a brief moment, that felt eternal, to register that there were no gizka with her, nor rancors, nor droids, nor Sith, nor Jedi, nor patrons. She got out of bed and headed for the refresher. Maybe she should ask the owners what kind of holidays she was entitled to.

[Karmic]

Karmic shook her head, as if that movement would help to free her from all the sensory input she was getting not only from the world around her through the Force, but also its people.  It was a testament to her mental acuity (or perhaps of traumas survived) that even among the heightened perceptions of others there was enough of her mind setoff to be amused at her own head-shake and its pointlessness. 

She'd had to quickly drain a few Ugnauts in order to put enough Power behind her Force-Push to try and push the barge off course.  Not enough to even come close to pushing her limits on control; but quite enough to upset the delicate balance she maintained in the emotional shields between herself and the rest of the world.

Her efforts, and that of others, had actually worked... up until the giant mechanical whateveritwas appeared and pushed them back on course for The Palace again.  At least in the destruction of both behemoths, the Palace had been spared any damage.

She gazed up into the night sky of Shaddaa from the Dancer's Palace's balcony, watching the last hunks of The Retreat falling down towards the lower levels of Shaddaa, taking the giant ... contraption... that attacked them down with it.  For a moment, she felt a lurch in her chest - her heart up in her throat - as she watched the beloved barge in all its flaming glory break apart and fall out of sight.  She blinked back tears, surprised at her own emotional reaction in watching something inanimate get destroyed; chalking it up to the adrenaline and Darkside Force energy pulsing through her right then.  She got herself under control quickly and looked to her Apprentice.

"Master...  are you alright?" Ardeshir moved along side of her, putting a hand on her shoulder.  He felt her emotional turmoil through their bond and saught to help calm and comfort her.  It helped.  The physical contact allowing her to more easily focus on his mental state than the feed of everyone else's around them.  As long as he stayed calm himself.

"Yes." She noded back to him. "Thank you... that helps.  I'm fine."  She looked around, seeing everyone accounted for and the injured getting taken care of.  She nodded to Minnette, and spoke to her as much as to her Apprentice when she said, "C'mon. We have to go.  Find Cas..."

Ca'ssan's feed had gone out.  He'd fallen off the Barge towards the end but managed to land safely, if quite injured - she was sure of it - on the ground.  He had spoken to her briefly, to let her know he had made it but then contact had gone silent.  All communications met with dead air.

Her Apprentice was right behind her as she jumped back into her speeder-car.  A gift from the gifted slicer Goddott, a former companion of hers, the automated speeder-car was built to hone in, and be controlled by, a small circlet on her wrist.  It had come in handy in several occasions such as this; her being able to call it to her location from her ship or wherever it was parked proving invaluable in emergency situations.

Within minutes she had centered in on the location of Ca'ssan and within a few more minutes landed near where he was suppose to be.  She hoped out quickly, releasing her Darkside energy to scan and seek throughout the plaza and streets where they had landed, sensing for any sign of Ca'ssan.

They found it only a handful of seconds later; but it was not what she was hoping.  They found only his HUD eyepiece.  Cas' had left it recording and they both watched as a robed, older man, came and drug him away into the backstreets of Shaddaa.  Karmic immediately looked everywhere, her Force sense spanning out looking for any sign of which way Cas had been taken or where he was being held. 

She found nothing.  No trace.  Just this video to show that he had been alive, and been drug off.

Her eyeridges furrowed as her breath came faster, her concern and fear for Cas suddenly welling up inside of her.  Again, a part of her brain held separate from the rest observed and remarked on the physical and emotional reaction she was having.  The rest of her just suddenly sat.  Her knees folded and she just sat on the wet street where they found Cas's eyepiece.  As stupid and silly as she knew it was right then, all she wanted to do was scream... or cry.

"Master! Please.. how can I help..."  the voice of her worried Apprentice. 

She felt his concern and fear for her easily, which only served to heighten her own state of worry.  She felt bad, felt guilty, felt worried for him.  She had not had time to explain fully the toll her abilities took on her and hadn't prepared him for what happened when she had to use them.  He had done well that night, even with her sudden shifts and him searching to figure out what she needed.  He didn't question her orders to make sure everyone else was off the barge and safe before they jumped themselves.  He didn't try to force her off the barge to save herself, or (thankfully) run to save himself.  He'd stayed and done everything she had asked of him.

She shook her head again, for the same pointless purpose.

"Yes... Ard.. just stay calm.  That's how you can help.  Stay calm...  no matter what you feel from me."  He nodded and she immediately felt his control descend over his emotions.  They grew distant to her, until all she felt from him was the calm, soothing, nothing, she needed to focus on.

She took his hand as she stood, nodding. "Thank you.  This is not the time, nor the place...  and I don't always have the best control over my emotions when I'm like this."

"Anything, Master?"

She shook her head and sighed heavily, "No.  All trace of him is gone.  We'll get his video analyzed, see if it tells us anything.  I'll get the word out for him among my contacts down here..." she looked around the lower levels of Shaddaa again, but nothing changed.

"C'mon.  Let's get back to my ship.  I need to rest and get somewhere more secluded.  And we need to talk..."

He nodded to her and she took his arm as they walked swiftly back to her speeder-car.

((Apologize for "speeder-car", mind farting I can't think of what they are supposed to be called... ))

[blingdenston]

Yai Kodahu, Nal Karlo

She gave her very best smile to the various capos and vigos as they stepped from the breezy pavilion's shade into the bright shine of the yellow-white star around which the throneworld orbited.  Each of them looked slightly drunk and slightly sick, and the smell of charred flesh not entirely unlike that of a barbecued slig wafted out on the exhaust breeze of the beachside retreat's air-circulating network.

The Clawdite passed the mobsters, nodding to those she recognized and counting their numbers to see which one had tried it this time.  She had settled on a few possibilities just as a pair of uniformed troopers carried a smoking Gamorrean corpse on a litter between them.  Oh, Jergryd, she sighed internally, you should have just taken the loss like a good little piggy...

Inside, taking up a side of an octahedral card table (a game of Horansi at its final stages in play upon it, never to be finished), was a huge man in a straw hat and a loud Zeltron tropical shirt, tapping the barrel of a disruptor pistol against a crystalline goblet half-empty before him.  His face, shaded by the hat and framed by a silvered appliance that extended all the way to the back of his head, looked thoughtful.

As she took a position across the table from him, he flicked his eyes to her reptilian face, placing down the disruptor and sitting back.  "Five turns ago he wiped his comrade out of the game.  If he'd just held trust a few turns more, they'd have been able to take me."  Mercellous shook his head.

The Clawdite cocked her own head.  "...you shot him because he didn't beat you at cards?"

The man shook his head.  "No, I shot him because I'd calculated that he had a 97% chance of being the one who's been stealing spice-base from our Kessel operations.  I'm merely commenting on his essential flaw...his lack of loyalty."

Mercellous stood up, picking up his goblet and taking a drink.  "Plus, if he'd kept winning, he'd have lived 'til we could finish the game.  As it is, I simply couldn't abide either his poor gameplay or his betrayal any longer.  Now...tell me about what went wrong on Nar Shaddaa."

The two of them moved to a couch overlooking the mauve sands, with the Pieah Ocean lapping up against it.  She noted that he left the pistol behind, which she knew meant he had several other ways of dealing with her should the meeting turn that way.  She was unperturbed...she knew her value, and had a few appeasements in mind already.

"The Black Wrench worked superbly...the plan was nearly a complete success.  Reports indicate that the Dancer's Retreat is a total loss, along with stocks, crew, and supplies.  Apparently, though, the clientele provided...greater resistance than expected.  Most of them were able to escape, and we've confirmed no kills amongst the targets aboard...in fact, most of them weren't even present."

Mercellous removed his hat, twirling it between his fingers and listening.  The sunlight bounced off of the waves and formed a dazzling reflection, beautiful from some angles and blinding from others.  The sparkle caught on Mercellous' outboard cognition device, muting the lights and glowing circuits and making it difficult to look directly at him.  He took a breath, and spoke:

"That's disappointing.  But not outside of potential parameters...the incidence of Sith Lords, Jedi Knights, and other wild talents was taken into account when the expenditure was approved.  The important thing is that the message is out there...Dawn Star is toxic.  Touch them, and you'll catch the rot.  The writing is on the wall...so on, so forth.  We'll follow up with them on a more personal level, immediately...our inside source has slipped us some information on a disruption in their activities."

Mercellous turned to the Clawdite, eyes slightly distant, as though he was seeing another world overlaying the realm of sunlight and charred flesh they were dwelling in.  "This one...you should take very seriously.  I'd hate to have to modify the parameters of my future endeavors to make up for your replacement, kaae hhontmahh."

The Clawdite nodded, controlling her skin's urge to change color, tamping down her immediate reaction to run, far away, and never return down the Pabol Hutta to this place.  "I'll give it my every effort, Glorious Mercellous."

With that, the man-Hutt flicked his eyes back to the sea.  Knowing she was dismissed, she left him to his calculations and ruminations.  Her protean skin crawled with the idea that, somehow, she had become an integer in his formulas...that she could be altered, subtracted, and replaced as easily as the dead Gamorrean who was, even now, likely being recycled into protein-paste for the slave pens...

[Karmic]

((woops, I totally meant to post this as an addendum to mine))

@blingdenston ::

Pehn would receive a short message from Karmic the morning after The Barge Destruction.  A Very Short message:

When you go after him for this, I want to be there.  I'd best be there. --K