SithLore

~Osarian, Osa-Prime, Solar Star Casino & Bar~

Hover vehicles of all shapes and sizes drove up to the large palace structure that was the Solar Star Casino. It was situated on the shores of one of the planet’s many crystal lakes, so that anyone looking out the windows or up at its spires couldn't help but be impressed. With the planet being situated along the Corellian Run, the casino saw patrons from all across the galaxy. Sentients came and went through the main entrance at the south face of the structure. The grand edifice was guarded by four SEP-1 security droids and a few Black Star security personal who ran the weapons scanners. Guests were required to relinquish their weapons and received a ticket which allowed them to collect their items at the security checkpoint after their stay.

A grand hallway led into the superstructure, columns dwlineatibg the walkway. The walls were lined with elaborate decorations and advertisements for shows and events that were taking place in and around the establishment. Guests entered into the casino proper where a stage was to their left (against the west wall) which usually hosted live bands from around the galaxy. To the right was the casino floor, where there were many tables and slots scattered through dimly lit establishment. On the south wall by the entrance was the counter were people could exchange credits for chips and vice versa. Farther along the south wall was the first of the establishment's bars, it was illuminated in green light which gave it the nickname Green Light Bar. Continuing eastward on the casino floor led to a stair to a mezzanine level where the high rollers usually gathered. On this floor that overlooked the main one was another bar that was decorated in the local style and stocked with local cocktails and liquors, it was nicknamed the Yellow Light Bar due to its illumination. Overlooking the entire casino floor was a glass dome that was the manager's office.

On the North end of the casino floor was a set of doors that led out to the beachfront garden and dock. Solar Star also offered trips on a sail barge that went out over the lake where VIP members could enjoy a more private setting for their games and drinks. The gardens were filled with flora from around the galaxy. Inside on the farther west along the north wall was a set of stairs that led to a quiet bar area where clients who wanted to get away from the busyness of the casino could go to relax. The bar was located just below the sea level and features a large glass that gave the guests a beautiful view of the crystal clear water of the lake, with occasional marine life that swam past. Keeping with the theme of the bar names this bar was nicked named the Blue Light bar due to the blue illumination. Between the main stage and the Blue Light bar was a door that lead to a theater that was showing all the latest in holo-dramas and often featured local productions. Lastly the palace structure held a hotel off is east wing for guests traveling the Corellian run. It was filled with luxury suites and featured a fine dining restaurant and a lakeside pool.

Underneath the palace structure was practically a bunker where the casino’s vault was located as well as a small barracks for the Black Star security teams. Also located down there was a large generator that powered the entire structure and a second one which powered a shield generator that could create a dome over the entire structure. With the threat of war always on the minds of locals it wasn’t hard for the casino to secure the licensing to house such a device.

Over all the Solar Star Casino and Bar could entertain anyone from around the galaxy for hours or days. Today the music was a widely known Bith Jizz band who were currently touring the Corellian run. The manager of the establishment stood in his office overlooking his entire operation. The manager was in truth a droid by the name of Nage who inherited the casino after its master Corran Vellar was killed over the sands of Tatooine. Nage was an advanced espionage droid who already practically ran it while the Corellian was still alive but has brought the establishment even more fame and money since he received full control.

Whether you are here for business, pleasure, or both, the Solar Star Casino and Bar had everything to offer.

Rook's Tailor Shop, Solaru City, Osarian

Jak took a prolonged sip of his Tevraki whiskey, pushing his top lip down on the glass so's to avoid meeting his teeth with the ice cube. It clinked in a dancing fashion on the glass table next to him where he set it. As the complimentary drink burned down his throat, two small holodroids spiraled about his form and scanned him top to bottom. He regarded them with mild contempt but kept his vision straight into the middle distance of the elegant haberdashery.

Rook, the old Rodian tailor who owned said haberdashery, sat on a burgundy velvet armchair holding a datapad that ticked with information on Jak's current build. Arthritis was cause for the droids - he was up until a year ago, one of the last tailors to utilize his hands in the process. The Nightshade grind was cause for some alterations, and though he operated in shadow he hoped to remained sartorially-inclined. Also, it was nice to see Rook; he remained a loyal charge to the dwindling Bexel family and had outfitted each of them in the past when they mattered. Coming back into money, Jak took this opportunity to blend in with the hoi polloi and visit his old friend.

"Have you seen my brother?"

Rook peered up from his busy datapad and shook his head.

"I was never known for my Imperial tunics."

Hours passed, and Jak parked his speeder at the valet just outside of the Solar Star Casino. Rook's work was unparalleled: the shawl-collared deep turquoise tuxedo cut a strong figure on the Corellian, the shirt crisp white and fitted with a tall band collar that rode up his neck but not uncomfortably so. Matching bloodstripes in a darker hue dotted his pants legs and disappeared into knee high officer boots that shined like obsidian stone. Resting askew on his lapel was a small pin of the two-headed vulpice aka the Bexel family crest. Weapons check was a breeze. Jak handed the Blackstar boys a small hold-out blaster he'd taken from a Mandalorian slaver several months ago, not wanting to arouse suspicion with empty hands. If things got tricky in the casino, he would have to rely on his fists and the environment. He did not mind, nor expect adversity from his contact.

From their first meeting, Jak had kept Kyramur Null's information for use at a later date. An ally was an ally, allegiances be damned. Now, it was time to cash in on a favor; he needed information only available through Imperial databases. It was not for the benefit of the Blue Star Pirates. This was a family affair. The Bexel clan had all but dissolved due to the expansive chaos throughout the galaxy, paved over by other opportunistic entrepreneurs and the Sith. With Jak's flitting in and out of public existence and inability to stay for long in Alliance space, contact with family proved difficult. It did not help that his brother Dev was deep in with the Empire and unwilling to talk. With luck, Kyr would either apprehend Jak or aid him on his quest.

Amidst the internal drama that swirled in his brain like an overturned slopsink, Jak had forgotten to take in the breathtaking sight of the casino, wandering through the entryway towards the Jizz Bands that called to him and hopefully, Kyr.

The door to the shop jangled as it was pushed open.

"Sorry, sir, but I'm afraid we're-"

Then Rook turned around, and saw an armored abdomen. Then he looked up.

And up and up and up.

"I can pay extra for overtime."

Hours later, Kyr growled as the bouncers searched him-they probably spent the least time on him than they had on any customer in their entire lives, such was their anxiety to move him along after he handed over his pistol.

No one could really blame them. Even in the simple shirt-and-jacket with suit pants combo, Kyr'amur cut an imposing figure, enough that he'd needed to have the whole outfit custom tailored, except for the boots. His boots were made from Krayt Dragon leather from one he'd hunted himself, once upon a time, and a cigar hung from his mouth and dog tags jangled from his neck. The impression was clear-a rich soldier or mercenary, eager to spend money, and likewise irritable at anyone or anything that got in his way. He'd been in deep cover for awhile prior, and had allowed his hair to grow out into a ponytail from the back of his skull.

He drew many stares-Zabraks tended to-but he paid them no apparrent mind, grabbing a glass of whiskey and heading for the Jizz Band, smoke trailing from the cigar.

The first rule of making contact-don't go to them, let them come to you.

With that in mind, he sat down, gestured to an attractive waitress for another drink, and took in the music, waiting for his next adventure to come and sit down next to him.

The Light Blue Bar, Solar Star Casino.

A breath left Salem Norongachi's nostrils, his body fighting to unknot perpetually tense muscles against the plush cushioned booth. His view helped, the refracted midday light filtering through the crystalline cerulean water just beyond the glass. Fish in a plethora of colour moved in lazy shoals, close enough to touch it felt like, until something startled them and then they were a shimmering blur of motion darting hither and tither in perfect synchronicity. Further into the blue were forests of swaying plant life, rooted into the inky depths of the lake bed below, grasping for the sun kissed surface above. Larger creatures moved in their shadows, only silhouettes from this distance but they moved gracefully and further settled his mind.

"Another drink, sir?" A waitress asked, drawing him away from the sights and he turned his gaze toward her.

"Another of those Bonadan beers, if its not too much trouble." he replied with a half smile and sat back in his chair, letting an arm rest on the tabletop while the other fished a cigarra from a silvered tin to his right hand side. He set it between his teeth, rolling it between them until it was comfortable and sent a spark of the Force to its end. It flared for a moment and he took three deep drags upon it until its end glowed in the soft lighting of the bar. A haze danced about his face, the smoke rolling across his age worn skin, seeming to pick out the thin lines of scar tissue that told a tale all of their own. A hand swept through his raven hair, resetting any stray strands, and he drew in another lungful of death and waited for his next beer as he watched the fish watch him.

Jade wandered around the bar, laziness on her stride. Relaxing was good after a bunch of escort jobs, but most hosts on the casino were mind meltingly boring. Besides, she was so underdressed at the side of some clients that they ignored her when she got too close to their liking. She smiled, remembering the conversation with Ryder about what "properly dressed for the occassion" meant on that particular context. Her plain negative to dress with anything apart of her usual work clothes and red topcoat had made him finally surrender, after making her promise she wouldn't bring weapons in. Getting a single of her blades had required a fair deal of negotiation and straight up bribing him, but it would most likely be worth it. Spending a full evening without something to do with her hands sounded like an unthinkable torture.

At that point she spoted someone fairly interesting. Old, but not too old. Scarred, but not maimed. Casual, but not relaxed. Surely someone worth spending an evening bothering. Asking a waitress for "whatever that guy is drinking with a bit of whiskey" and heading to his table, she sat nonchalantly on the other side of the board. Her stylet quickly appeared in her hand, the polished blade shining whle it spinned around her fingers, faster and faster.

-Oi, old man. Mind if I join you? Most hosts of this honored stablishment are so painfully average that bothering them is barely worth the effort. The name is Jade Rancorfang.

She extended her hand, waiting for a handshake.

A perturbed Twi'leki waitress addressed Jak, who ordered a Tevraki whiskey on the rocks. Better to keep the poison uniform, lest one gets sloppy. He dropped a credit chip on her tray amounting to 50% more than the whiskey itself. That perked her lekku up now that there was money involved.

"Keep the change," Jak hollered over the crowded pocket of the casino.

Jak drifted closer to the live band ahead of him, the music familiar if puzzling in an opulent place. Jak knew them well, as a lifelong fan of the genre. Sb'ijen Malak and the Saber Hilts hailed from the deep 1313 levels of Coruscant. Their sound was of a grungier lo-fi variety to what was widely accepted for years, a little more sonically aggressive and dirty but had a harmonic line and demeanor closer to "Mad About Me" than "Jabba Flow". Jak always dug it, and yet in this setting they felt uncomfortably dressed. There's something to be said for working bands, the same as all artists. The dividing line between art and commerce was subjective. Can't spend your life railing against a system that, for all of its nefarious underpinings, would reward you well for your hustle.

Jak nodded to himself at this entire assessment and pulled a long brown joint from his inner pocket. Snapping his fingers down on the activation tip, he took in a long pull of Wampa Breath as it was called. It was nothing close to the genuine article - hints of peppermint coupled with citrus notes. He released the hit from his lungs and felt the cool mint leave his lungs. The smoke billowed out into a thick pale cloud and snaked about the crowd.

For a moment, his shoulders relaxed and his breathing attained a level of consistency - a first time since undertaking this personal mission. Just for a moment though.

Kyr was here. He was always where he needed to be and in a place that would surprise you. How he did that at his height and stature was beyond Jak, but his handwave explanation was the Force. Had to be. Jak turned on a 180 to catch the spiked silhouette that somehow sat above the other patrons. Pretty wizard, he thought. The waitress handed him his whiskey as he cut a path toward his friend, who had seemingly been in the company of Rook as well. Jak nodded to the waitress and turned back, shifting his head slightly, to meet eyes with Kyr.

"He does good work, right?" He offered with a smirk, gesturing to the shawl lapel - constructed to a specific angle and depth as was the Rodian's trademark.

Kyr indicated that Jak should take the seat next to him with a casual wave of his cigar hand, as his other brought more whiskey to his mouth.

"He does indeed, but I warn you, if whatever your adventure is ends with blood on these boots, I shall be severely put out."

He spoke in a drawling Corellian accent, as though he were one of those Zabrak born off of Iridonia to one of their many wandering groups, and in a different way altogether than his usual cadence.

His manner and tone was also an act-he spoke as though in that affected tone of high-class breeding that mercenaries with aspirations towards a laugh of grandeur adapt, and his body language was casually arrogant while his eyes stuck to the attractive waitress passing by.

Only an attentive individual would catch the sharp gleam of alertness and danger that still burned in them.

After Jak was seated, Kyr leaned in and, in his usual normal tone, though without changing his body language, said "Good to see you, my friend. What troubles do you need the Beast of Iridonia to help with?"

His memory being perpetually hazy from too many near death experiences, Zechs didn’t really ever remember taking a real vacation, so he took one at a casino. It wasn’t forced or surrounded by eternal whines over nitpicks born from the finer details. No, as his temporary Rogue status had come to its inevitable end, he had demanded time off.

A casino sounded like the only illogical option as virtually everything he required from entertainment to polite faculties were available in one quaint location. He could have picked a nicer casino on Naboo or Jakku, but this one had an appeal to it. Maybe it was the distance it out between him and so much. Maybe it was the decor. Or maybe it was the first place that came up in his search. Not that any of that mattered. It’d all go down the same

Zechs made his entrance amongst the anonymous crowd off an overpacked transport. He wore low key garbs. His feet took him to the one place he needed to be more than the very air required for life: the Light Blue Bar.

The shinies. The fancies. The squiggles. It was all candy for the eye. Candy that might be a burst of flavor in the mouth but it’d be good for nothing in the long run. He needed something with a more lasting punch. He went straight to the bar, sat in a corner, ordered the special, and proceeded to regret it.

It wasn’t a bad drink, but it wasn’t the simple delight with rotten notes he was used to. Or that special corporate aftertaste that reminded him of how he smelt after a few too many hours in the cockpit. That was the stuff. The quite audible gag said it all.

Forthcoming as always, his Iridonian friend was. Not many people in the galaxy were, but Jak did not get his hopes up. He was about to stick his hands deep into a Karkarodon with this ask, with no clue as to how he would match the favor.

"Just a little favor," he demurred. "I don't know how versed you are in my family history, but there aren't a lot of Bexels left out there."

He smiled and clinked the ice cubes in his glass as they melted and re-formed around his whiskey. Drawing a sip, he placed it down gingerly and continued his point.

"My brother... he's on your side of the tracks. I can't get a hold of him. I'm trying to, but we are not speaking. Our relationship has always been... strained? I guess you could say strained with a capital S."

He chuckled and swished his renewable ice cubes about some more.

"We're twins. He used to tell me the doctors thought I was dead before we popped out, until they put me on the discard table and I woke up -- which, later, was verified as true so take from that what you will. He's not going to reach out to me, and in my time I've made and lost closer brothers, but I'd like to open the channel. To that end..."

From his pocket came a round emerald ring with a gold band.

"It's an old heirloom. A peace offering. I'd like him to have it."

Like chum in the water. No matter where he went, no matter how remote, one of his own ilk inevitably found him. He could smell the thrum of energy, taste the electric tang across senses unseen. Although, he thought, his eyes watching the fractured light ripple across a shoal of fish, it was barely a spark of power.

She spoke and he didn't respond. She sat and he continued to look beyond the plexiglass into the aquatic. It was only when he took another mouthful of poison did he meet her eye. The hand could have remained there until the suns burned out but he had no intentions of reciprocating. Norongachi took one last swallow before he finally spoke, "You're in my space, madame. Why."

The glass rose to his lips again- empty. It was as he glanced around for the serving girl that he saw the back of a man at the bar. Memory long forgotten lept to the fore but logic and good sense battered it back down. It couldn't be, he was long dead or long retired. Far from here and far from the ridiculous coincidences the Galaxy seemed to throw around like creds at a strip club. The waitress finally caught his eye and made her way over with a harassed but perfect customer service smile.

"I'll take a whiskey," she confirmed the order and off she went, dancing through the tables with honed choreography as the bar began to fill. "So?" he addressed the girl across the table from him.