Warlord Vincent Brujah stood at the edge of the VIP area on the second level of the Wolf’s Den. He tapped his fingers nervously on the railing as he looked down to the main floor, watching as Telya Veyl ordered the staff around. The staff rushed around, ensuring that everything was set up to the Hand of the Empress’ wishes. The first floor entrance to the Arena had been blocked by buffet style tables containing several different and immensely tasty looking options for food. There were roasted meats, vibrant salads, side dishes and snack trays consisting of cheeses and processed meats. The entrance doors to the Arena had been covered with a large black curtain bearing a crimson logo of the Empire.
The crew was testing the sound system, and Vincent seemed pleased with the quality, not only of the speakers, but of the entire club. Sanguis and Shadow had outdone themselves, and the Warlord would have to make the trip to visit the location more frequently moving forward.
The Sith was clearly anxious as he fidgeted with his fingers and paced at times. After a moment, the Mandalorian Jaz Holden, who was the only Clan member that Vincent had allowed in early, approached him and spoke.
“You do know that you’re going to have to go down to the main floor and engage the masses, right? This is your night and you made it clear that the Empress wanted you to socialize and make sure that the members of Clan are familiar with you now that you are second in command.”
Snapping his attention to Jaz, his eyes narrowing, Brujah spoke.
“Of course I know that. I will do what must be done… though, frankly, I’d rather be out there hunting down The Collective.”
If Vincent could see through the Mandalorian’s helmet, he would be met with an aggressive eye roll.
“Yes, yes… no time for fun when there are living things out there to kill, right Vincent?”
That brought the smallest of smirks to the face of the Warlord.
“You’re starting to get it, Jaz. Maybe there is hope for you yet…”
Looking downward, Vincent saw Sparkle manning the bar, filling flutes with expensive champagne. Vincent grabbed her attention using a telepathic call to her. They spoke silently and from a distance. All that Jaz saw was a simple nod from the Zabrak as she turned to continue preparing the first round of drinks for the guests that would soon be filing in. The Sith turned to his friend… almost reluctant to speak, but then he did.
“Jaz, tell the Stormtroopers above to begin allowing entrance.”
Looking down to the staff below, the Hand of the Empress spoke once more.
“Everyone in their places! Our guests will be arriving any moment. Hit the music.”
With that, the sound system began playing soft, classical style music to greet the guests. Jaz pressed a button on his comlink and spoke to the troopers above. It was party time.
The Wolf’s Den seemed to be awake, but not yet active. The togruta did not see any other guests yet as he passed through the entrance alone.
Music hummed through the cavern as the staff made final adjustments. A stormtrooper near the threshold had slightly slouched against the wall. Morvyn shot him a very aggressive glare.
There was a brief pause before he stood up straight. “Enjoy the evening,” the trooper said with a nod.
He moved on without another word.
The main floor opened up before him. The bar was still waiting for voices, but a fair-looking zabrak stood polishing a glass. He did not linger but noted that it looked a lot like Sparkle. He dismissed the thought as he boarded the turbolift that carried him deeper into the Den.
The arena level was empty, lights dimmed low over the dormant ring. He followed the balcony until he found a vantage point overlooking the floor below. From here, every entrance and line of sight was clear.
He rested his hands on the railing and waited.
Soon, the Den would fill. And the night would begin.
Shadow went through the inventory list with Teyla as the last crate of alcohol was brought into the storage room. The lavender-skinned Twi'lek woman smiled as she checked off the last item and promised the staff extra pay for the overtime work they had been required to do for the big event. “All is ready. We shouldn’t have to worry about running out of anything anytime soon.”
“Good. Thank you, Teyla. You’re far better at this kind of thing than I am.” Shadow offered a smile. “Expect a bonus for yourself, as well. You’ve earned it.”
“Just doing my job, but I appreciate it. Are you sure Mr. Mason will be able to handle the boys on his own?”
“Oh, he’ll be fine. We need you here. In fact, it’s time you were on the floor. I’m sure Sparkle can handle things, but she could use the help. Plus, you know how to handle the riff-raff.”
“Of course, Shadow. Meanwhile, you and Lord Caldiren try to enjoy yourselves. No need to hang around in the shadows managing things.”
“No promises, but we’ll try.”
With a curt nod, Teyla exited the storage, bowing her head casually to Sanguis as he passed her. “Everything’s good, Ro?”
“Yes, Sanguis. We are well-stocked, and all of the demands from Vincent have been met. Tonight should go smoothly.”
“Good, good. First time we’ve hosted something like this, and I want it to go smoothly.”
Shadow smiled. “It will, Sang. Try not to worry so much. I know you want to make a good impression, and trust me, so do I. Just try to relax. You’ve been letting the burden of Quaestor weigh you down lately. Enjoy tonight. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open for trouble, as will Teyla.”
Sanguis sighed. “No promises, but I’ll do my best. I’d like you by my side, though, instead of clinging to the shadows. It’s been too long since we’ve had a chance for leisure, and you’ve been working hard managing the Den and taking care of the kids.”
Shadow went up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck before kissing the corner of his lips. “If that’s what you wish, then by your side I shall be.”
Screeee!
The small-winged form of a familiar Tailring swept down from the rafters and landed on Shadow’s shoulder. The half-Sephi chuckled and scratched the reptilian’s chin assuredly. “And yes, you can stay with us, too, Thurkear. Just no stealing shiny things, please.”
Thurkear huffed, a mischievous glint in his eye. The assassin rolled her eyes, adding the Tailring to the list of things to keep an eye on. “Anyway, my love…”
“Shall we?” Sanguis asked as he offered his arm to his wife. “Our guests await.”
Shadow smiled and took his arm in hers before leaving the storage area to rejoin the clan. They had a long and eventful night ahead of them.
Vincent watched from the second level railing as a familiar face entered the club; a togruta that put off a sense of distrust and anger. He recognized him, but he couldn’t quite place a name to the face. Then it hit him like a ton of durasteel. This was the young togruta that had a run in with Thran at a previous gathering. He looked to be on edge, and Vincent followed him with his eyes as he took the turbolift up to the 2nd floor and found a seat with his back to the wall.
”Keeping his eyes on all entrances. A smart move. There’s such… hatred within him. He reminds me of myself when I was younger.”
A young human waitress with fiery red hair and a dress to match approached Vincent as he was deep in thought.
“Mr. Brujah, sir. The guests are arriving. Could I get you a drink?”
Vincent slowly turned to her. He was wearing his armor, as usual, but his helmet was secured on his belt and his long black hair was loose and flowing over his shoulders. He smiled ever so slightly.
“Yes, a drink would be great. A strong ale, please, and one for my friend in the corner over there.”
The Warlord motioned in the direction of the togruta.
“But first, please, allow me to have a piece of paper and one of your pens so you can deliver a message with the drink.”
The waitress handed Vincent her pad and a pen. The Sith wasted no time in putting ink to paper.
Greetings, and welcome to the show. I sense much anger in you; much distrust. What others may not tell you is that you have much to be angry about. You are wise not to trust what your eyes may show you. I see great potential in you. Should you ever wish for a lesson in cold, hard revenge; I am not hard to find.
Signed
Warlord Vincent Brujah, Hand of the Empress
The Proconsul wrapped the message up tightly like a scroll and then secured it with a rubber band. He handed it to the waitress with her pen and pad and then waved her away. Looking back to the first floor, Vincent spotted Sanguis and Shadow exiting the storage room area. They looked up at him from below as they left the room and Vincent nodded at them, sending a playful two-fingered salute to them.
<@111293136042504192> <@411418079810289665>
The red haired waitress arrived to deliver the drink as instructed. She set the drink and note down within Morvyn’s reach. Then without a word she gave a slight bow and left. Morvyn did not look up until she had left.
The folded note beside the glass drew his attention first. He picked it up and read it twice before setting back down on the table. The Warlords message was clear enough. It was both an invitation and a test.
As he brought the glass up to have a drink the smell of ale hit his nose.
”This is high quality.”
The togruta took a single measured drink. He settled back against the wall as his eyes briefly scanned the room. Only then did he look up.
He could feel the Warlord’s gaze from the railing above and met it. The gaze was brief but understood. He dipped his head once in a nod of acknowledgment before returning his eyes to the arena.
Rohan tugged at his collar as he entered the Wolf’s Den. He was far more comfortable in his Stormtrooper armor but tonight warranted a less…imposing appearance and as his father told him; uniforms have meaning. Though, Rohan didn’t feel that way given his black Imperial uniform and cap were bare of any merits.
For some reason Scholae Palatinae had never adopted ceremonial uniforms for its Stormtrooper corp. Rohan didn’t mind. He’d seen his father’s Sector Admiral uniform and royal armor when he had been Emperor and neither suited Rohan. In fact, this whole event did not suit Rohan. He knew he had been invited for his family name and not for any accomplishment of his own. He was not a leader in the Clan, nor likely to be one anytime soon given the vacuum left by his Father.
Sure, no one would want to run afoul of the current Justicar though neither would they risk having another ‘Conqueror’ edge out their petty fiefdoms.
Regardless, Rohan would play the lonely part he was left to play within the Clan while his Father was off being ‘important’ and Komilia was on her…second…no, third exile from the Clan at the moment.
He flagged down a passing waitress and requested a simple glass of water before moving off to be seen enough to satisify the invitation and then return back to the barracks.
Smirking back at the togruta, Vincent returned his nod with a nod of his own. The waitress in red returned, handing Vincent a glass of deep amber liquid. As the Sith grabbed the glass, the waitress spoke:
“I delivered the drink and the message to your friend, my lord.”
“Yes, I can see that. Thank you. You have done well.”
Reaching into a pouch at his belt, Brujah pulled out a small stack of credits, dropping them onto her serving tray. She bowed, with a slight blush, before turning to return to her station.
Vincent continued gazing down to the main floor. Watching as more Clan members exited the turbolift and entered the club. Most of the arrivals thus far had been people that the Proconsul was not terribly familiar with. Diplomats. Low level troopers who had the night off and couldn’t turn down the temptation of a free meal and drinks. One young man in an Imperial uniform caught the Sith’s eye. At first, he didn’t remember who he was, though he definitely recognized his features. Turning his attention to Sparkle at the bar, Vincent noticed that she seemed a bit uneasy. Then it hit him.
”It’s the son of the Justicar… the one who caused quite a ruckus at our afterparty for Rayne’s ascension to the throne…”
The Warlord snapped his attention to Jaz.
“Jaz, I need you on the ground level.” The Sith pointed down to the young man in an Imperial uniform. “That is the son of Justicar Kamjin Lap’lamiz… and he might cause unneeded stress to Sparkle.”
Jaz had already pulled out a datapad and was reviewing it.
“I believe his name is Rohan Lap’lamiz…”
“Yes, that sounds right. He may not look like much of a threat, but the blood of his father runs through his veins. You may have missed most of the excitement at the last party he attended, since you were busy flying Sparkle around for most of it… but I can tell you that he is an explosion of emotion waiting to happen. Get down there. Engage him in friendly conversation. Steer him clear of the bar. I will follow behind you soon.”
“As you wish.” The Mandalorian returned before walking to the turbolift and descending down to the ground floor.
Vincent took a large drink from his glass, emptying nearly half of it in one gulp.
”Perhaps this night will be more entertaining than I expected…” the Sith thought to himself.
<@679032520699805708>
Both Shadow and Sanguis curtly nodded in response to Vincent before they began to make their rounds, checking in with the staff and making sure nothing was amiss one last time. Thurkear did his usual, keeping an eye out for any shiny trinket he could add to his growing horde.
“All seems well,” Sanguis commented. “The guests are trickling in. Do you think Ras and Jaxyn might pop up?”
“Who knows. They do have a little one of their own to take care of, now. Plus, you know how she is. She’s not one for festivities except when we host for Sithmas.”
“Fair point.” Sanguis’ gaze then drifted over to the entrance as he began to see officers from House Acclivis Draco arrive. When he caught their eye, they saluted before mingling with the others. When he looked back at Shadow, he caught her gaze, deadly set on a particular figure: Rohan.“
"Rowan…he’s not Kamjin.”
For a moment, it seemed like she didn’t hear him, until at last she sighed and reached up to scratch Thurkear’s snout. “I know. I just wish he were.”
“As do I, but he’s not the target. As much as killing him would be a blow to Kamjin, it would only bring Kamjin’s wrath on our family. Patience. Kamjin is out of reach, right now, as Justicar. We bid our time. Eventually, either we or someone else will land the killing blow. Let’s focus on the now. And please, for the love of the Force, don’t stare daggers into the lad all night. Remember, we’re going to enjoy ourselves.”
“I know, I know.” Shadow sighed, closing her eyes as she forced herself to let go and just breathe. “I could go for some champagne.”
“Then a glass of champagne it is. The Quaestor suddenly grinned. "And who knows? Maybe I’ll get thirsty and well…I could have a certain someone for a drink.”
Shadow rolled her eyes and playfully slapped the Nagai’s shoulder. “And you call me bad, you devil. Imagine if Kamjin found out that you took blood from his son.”
Sanguis chuckled softly. “Couldn’t resist. Plus, he’d never find out. Still, it is a possibility to consider.”
“Oh, just shut up, and let’s get that champagne.”
Her husband grinned and began guiding her towards the bar. “As you wish, my lady.”
Rohan sighed, the waitress was nowhere to be found. Admittedly, an order from someone in an Imperial uniform in this crowd would probably be hard to remember. It was just a likely that some other Imperial officer had just received a glass of water and was complimenting the place on anticipating their need.
Rohan had made several circuits of the room at this point. He had saluted his superiors, nodded at the dignitaries, and acknowledged those who sought a word before politely feinting some other task ahead of him. He’d at least been seen though he was parched.
Resigned, he went up to the bar. Thankfully, here, the request for a glass of water was resolved quickly. He glimpsed the Zabrakian woman at the other end of the bar. He forgot her name…sunshine…sprinkle…something annoyingly sweet and meant to distract the power brokers in the room. He cringed at the memory of his father’s buffoonery around her.
She smiled and gave a wave. If Rohan had one weakness it was that his face never lied. Sparkle caught on immediately, her smile flattering for a moment before she moved on to engage with someone else.
Sithspit, that’s all I need now. Someone else who thinks I’m a key to understanding my Father. He took a sip of his water and nearly blanched. It was clearly tap water that could have used a filter. Resigned, he took another sip and hoped he could wait out the time at the bar.
“Master Jade, are we sure we should be coming here? There are so many other fun places to go. The city is so full of vict- I mean citizens that would be so fun to hear scream.” A tinny voice proclaimed in its whiny voice.
The Sith sighed and shook his head. “Trip, we are here for Clan relations. We can hunt later. For now your job is to watch my back and provide translation if needed.” The droid’s head seemed to sag while the red eyes burned in the low light of the turbolift. “Work on as my protocol assistant tonight and I may even reward you later.”
“As you wish…Master”. The droid’s head seemed replied with as close to a sarcastic tone as the 3PO look alike unit could muster.
Sykes lit a cigarette as the doors of the turbolift opened. He hated these types of events but it had been a long time since he had attended a proper Clan function. The invitation had reached him recently after an expedition for the Collegium and he hadn’t been in Clan space for a while. A new Proconsul had been announced, and while Sykes remembered Vincent from a long time ago, he had not seen the man for at least ten years. He felt he should at least show respect for the Clan Summit.
The Sith took a puff from his smoke as he stepped out into the room, he took a Quick Look around at the surroundings before moving to an unoccupied area of the bar, his cloak flowing behind him. It was rare for him to be outside of his armor but he knew this was no place for such things, even though he still wore his gauntlets because one never knew how these events would turn out.
“Correllian Whiskey.” He said to the server and leaned against the bar. “Trip, be ready for anything but under no circumstances should you act without my order.”
The droid gave an electronic ‘huff’ noise. “I understand, Master. No screams allowed. For now.”
Morvyn pushed off the railing and left the arena overlook without haste. The crowd had begun to fill the room, voices layering over the music as the Den finally stirred. He moved without urgency toward the bar, letting others part around him rather than forcing the space.
He paused a moment as he passed, noting the Imperial officer nursing a glass of water that looked more like a punishment than a drink. The man’s posture was rigid, disciplined, but tired. Watching rather than enjoying. It felt as if he was just trying to survive the party.
A familiar stance, Morvyn thought, dismissing it as he continued on.
He stopped beside another figure at the bar instead. Cloak, gauntlets, the faint smell of smoke. A droid lingered nearby, red optics tracking the room with poorly hidden disappointment.
Morvyn leaned lightly against the bar, not crowding, not looming.
“Strange place to drink water,” he said quietly, eyes forward. “What’s more is to look more uncomfortable doing it than the rest of the room.”
Only then did he turn his head slightly toward Sykes and his unreadable expression.
“Mind if I stand here?” He asked the man next to him before turning his attention to Sparkle. “Correllian Whiskey as well.”
His head turned towards the Togruta and nodded. He recognized the man as one he had trained in group settings a few years back. He looked over at the young man drinking water at a bar and smirked. “Indeed. Long time no see, Duk.” He noticed the man’s artificial arm. “I see Kamjins training looks about standard.” The Sith took another drag from his smoke and sipped his whiskey, enjoying the burn of the alcohol.
“Master, should I-“
“Shut up, Trip”
Sykes looked at the man next to him. “What brings you here?”
Morvyn turned his head just enough for the correction to land.
“It’s Morvyn now.”
There was no other explanation. He lifted the glass and took a drink, letting the name stand on its own merit. Whatever it meant to Sykes was his to reconcile. The burn of the whiskey grounded him.
“This isn’t a reunion,” he said after a moment, eyes forward again. “It’s a celebration.”
His gaze drifted briefly across the Den. The deliberate excess built around a single purpose.
“Vincent was elevated,” Morvyn continued. “Attendance is expected and presence is noted.”
He downed the rest of his drink before setting the glass back on the bar. After a brief pause he finally looked at Sykes again.
“I’m here because it would be noticed if I wasn’t. I like the attitude your droid has. Too bad Proto isn’t here. I have a strong sense that the two droids would get along.”
The turbolift doors whooshed open and the Mandalorian clad in black Beskar armor with crimson accents stepped out. He looked to the bar, and to his surprise saw that more people had filed in during his short trip to the lower floor. The togruta that Vincent had sent a drink to earlier had made his way to the young Lap’lamiz, and an older man wearing gauntlets and a cloak was seated near them, a protocol droid was near him.
Jaz hadn’t associated with any of these people, but he knew too well what disobeying the orders of Vincent would cause. He slowly approached the bar, staying behind Rohan and out of his line of sight. As he grew closer, his eyes met Sparkle’s. The Mandalorian tilted his head toward Rohan, a signal to ask Sparkle if there was any trouble. She only smiled at Jaz and lightly shook her head to note that all was well for the time being.
As Jaz approached he heard the togruta speak:
“Strange place to drink water…”
There it was, his opportunity to engage. As the togruta finished his statement and turned his attention to the older man and his protocol droid, Jaz slid between the stools positioning himself on the right hand side of Rohan. Turning to the young man, Jaz spoke.
“He’s right, you know? This is a celebration, and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
Jaz waved a bartender over.
“I’ll have a Cloud gin with tonic, please.” he said to the bartender. She smiled neatly and turned away to make the drink. Jaz turned his attention back to Rohan.
“You know, even if you don’t care to drink… the Hand of the Empress spared no expense tonight. There are delicacies of all kind over at the buffet tables. Surely a young, hard working trooper such as yourself could go for a nice meal. Warlord Brujah would insist.”
As Jaz finished speaking he turned and pointed up to Vincent, who was watching them closely from the railing above. Jaz gave him a thumbs up, and Vincent returned the gesture with a hearty smile and nod. The waitress returned with Jaz’s drink and handed it to him. Lifting his arm, the Mandalorian pressed a button on his left vambrace. With a small click a metal drinking straw popped out of the vambrace. He stuck the straw in his drink and then lifted the glass, tucking the straw under his helmet, and took a drink.
Sykes nodded and took another sip of his whiskey. “Aye. So he has been.” The Anzat noticed the Mandalorian sidle up to the bar next to the young Imperial. He smirked slightly before turning towards Morvyn.
“They might. Trip here has been an asset to me. He is a little unruly. But his “brother” Blinky tends to be too much to bring to such functions. He looked over at Trip and smiled.
“Sir, may I remind you that I am fluent in six thousand forms of communication and two thou-“
“Shut up, Trip. You may have your time later but not for now.”
The droid’s mechanically shoulders slumped. “Sir, I-“
“No Trip.”
The Sith smiled slightly and faced Morvyn. “They can be quite the handful. Trip here is a special droid. I have not had him wiped for quite some time.”
Morvyn watched the Mandalorian take his place at the bar without comment, then returned his attention to Sykes.
“Unwiped droids tend to develop personalities,” he said flatly. “Some of them useful.”
His eyes shifted briefly to Trip and noted his posture. The droid’s impatience was barely contained.
“Others loud. Proto isn’t owned,” Morvyn added. “He’s difficult. Rough around the edges. That’s by design.”
He returned his gaze back to Sykes.
“He stays because he chooses to,” Morvyn said. “Same reason I keep him. Assets that remain by choice tend to last longer.”
The Togruta took a deep breath before turning around to rest his elbows and back against the bar.
“Any idea what events they have planned in that arena of theirs?” He asked Sykes.
Sykes smirked. If only he knew he thought to himself. “Trip is a very special droid. One who if I allowed off the leash with his counterpart would be able to destroy this entire place and likely would try for the city next door.”
He turned and looked at the red eyed 3PO unit. “He has become a friend of sorts and is very useful.”
“Master-“
“Shut up.”
Sykes shook his head and took a deep draw from his cigarette. “Trip here is a Collegium level droid. He doesn’t have to obey me. But he knows I will violently disassemble him if he gets out of line.”
The droid shook for a moment and its eyes turned on and off. “A simple explanation Master Jade.”
“A true one though and you know it.” Sykes turned back to Morvyn. “Droids help me in my most recent missions. I find them more reliable. What have you been up to? It’s been awhile since I have seen you.”
The arena question had passed unanswered, buried under talk of droids. He filed it away.
“Reliability is rare,” Morvyn said evenly. “Especially when missions stop being simple.”
He shifted his weight against the bar, posture relaxed but alert.
“I’ve stayed occupied,” he continued. “Away from crowds. Away from places like this.”
His mechanical hand lifted slightly, fingers catching the light as he flexed them once.
“Komilia Lap’lamiz took this one at the last clan gathering I attended.”
He lowered his arm back to the bar. *“If only I knew where she was. One day.” He thought to himself.
His eyes returned to Sykes.
“You don’t bring a Collegium-level droid to a celebration unless you expect variables.”
He paused for a moment. “What kind of work has kept you busy?”
Sykes smiled slightly at the mention of Komilia. He had drank deeply of her soup and the woman that people now call Komilia was a mere husk of what she once was. Few knew it and those that did never spoke of it. He shook his head slightly and took a drag from his smoke to cover his memories.
“The Collegium has kept me on the inner rim of Wild Space just outside of current New Republic space. Artifacts of the Sith and Jedi are out there that we are looking for. The Chiss and a few other small nations are out there and are not friendly to any of our own known Space. But the ancient Sith knew of some of it. Wild planets full of old Majick. Creatures that could only have been created due to our old traditions.”
He downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waitress for another one. “I have been away from Brotherhood space for a time. But when the Clan requires me, I am here.”
Rohan turned towards the Mandalorian. He knew of Mandalorians and that his father had an expensive suit of Beskar culled from the ruins of Mandalore decades ago which he had reforged for a set for his sister who…he honestly didn’t know what she had done with it.
The thing about Mandalorians that Rohan didn’t care for was the helmets. He could never tell what they were really thinking since most of them had trained their minds as well as their bodies to deal with Force users.
Just as he was about to respond the Togruta mentioned his sister. Looking down at the cybernetic limb it clicked - this must be Duk, his father’s apprentice. Rohan sighed as he turned to face the taller man.
“My sister’s always had a temper. I’m not certain if she gets it worse from our Father or our Mom.” Rohan’s finger traced the lip of his glass. His face betrayed whom he really thought was the culprit. “I’m certain my Father would see to a biological replacements limb. He can be quite generous when he wants to be.”
Morvyn inclined his head once toward Sykes, the exchange complete.
“Enjoy the evening,” he said simply.
He stepped away from the bar without waiting for a reply, moving back into the flow of the Den. The event had only just begun. His attention shifted to the floor ahead.
Shadow stood near Sanguis as they made their way across the floor. Morvyn adjusted his path and approached at an angle that announced intent without intrusion.
He stopped at a respectful distance and inclined his head slightly first to Shadow.
“Quaestrix,” he said evenly. “I wanted to offer my thanks. This was well done.”
His gaze briefly acknowledged the room around them before returning to her.
“It’s good to see House Acclivis Draco represented openly tonight.”
<@411418079810289665>
Jaz stood there perplexed. He had been ignored plenty of times by Vincent, but being ignored by the young Lap’lamiz just felt rude. He had even pulled out his tactical straw. That usually at least got a laugh from people. Regardless… all seemed well for the moment. He clearly wasn’t going to cause trouble with Sparkle, and if Jaz had to guess, he’d likely finish his water and make his way out of here.
The Mandalorian turned looking back up at Vincent. He wasn’t quite sure how to report the situation, so he gave the Proconsul a big, exaggerated shrug. He watched as Vincent sneered. The man’s eyes rolled so hard that if they hadn’t been attached by optic nerves, they may have ended up on the floor.
”Yikes…” The Mandalorian thought to himself as he saw Vincent push himself away from the railing.
–
Above, Vincent couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
”How bloody hard is it to handle a young trooper? Good help is so hard to find…” he thought to himself.
Sneering down at Jaz he rolled his eyes and shook his head before pushing off of the railing and turning towards the turbolift. He had avoided interaction for as long as he could, and he thought he had even seen a familiar face walk in and sit at the bar. He supposed it was time to make his entrance.
He entered the turbolift and the doors whooshed closed.
”Let’s see what these people have in store for me tonight…” he thought as he made his way to the lower level. As the turbolift doors whooshed open, the Warlord stepped out and made his way towards the bar.
Quaestrix?
Shadow and Sanguis exchanged glances. She knew that Sanguis was the rightful one to be addressed as Quaestor, but the brief wink he gave her was permission enough for her to adopt the title for the night. After all, she did help with all the paperwork, and she was the one who handled all the arrangements the Nagai had requested for the night with Teyla’s help.
“I’m glad you find it to your liking,” Shadow responded with an appreciative smile. “Opening the Wolf’s Den has been a long-time dream of mine, and I’m happy to see it being of use to the House and the rest of the Clan.”
The half-Sephi looked at Morvyn thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since we’ve really talked. Sanguis told me you’ve taken on a different name. I would like to have some time to catch up. I haven’t really been socializing within the clan much, after all.”
Sanguis held back a chuckle, knowing his wife rarely cared for any form of socializing outside of the family. He knew, though, that she was attempting to be a good host despite the part of her that would rather be relaxing in the gardens back at their estate or planning her next trip to Korriban in the library. He also knew she was doing it for him.
Instead, he offered a soft smile, a hum of satisfaction reverberating in his throat. “I hope you find everything to your liking, Morvyn,” he remarked, his Nagaian voice a smooth, velvety tone. “You are always welcome here, and perhaps we could get better acquainted sometime over a drink. I’m sure you have some stories to share…”
“…And perhaps some useful information.”
The last unspoken words echoed in Shadow’s mind through their bond, the assassin well aware of Sanguis’ hidden intent. She could sense both genuine truth and amusement radiating from him. The Nagai did seek to make an effort to know his members, but he also wouldn’t fully deny himself the thrill that came with playing the games that once dominated his life in ancient days past. He was a predator, after all, in more ways than one, and he enjoyed the hunt no matter the approach.
And deep down, it both frightened and thrilled her.
“Another time,then,” he said evenly.
He stepped away, not far, just enough to give space. He repositioned where he could see the floor, the bar, and the entrances without drawing attention to himself.
The turbolift doors opened.
Morvyn turned as Vincent stepped onto the floor. He didn’t move to meet him. He didn’t look away either. He simply watched, noting the shift as the Warlord entered the room.
Vincent’s presence drew lines through the room without a word being spoken. Morvyn tracked it with interest.
Vincent approached the bar, motioning for Jaz to move so he could take his place. The Mandalorian quickly backstepped and then moved out of the Warlord’s path. Vincent squinted at Jaz as he plopped himself down on the stool next to Rohan. Looking back to Jaz, the Sith spoke.
“Jaz, why don’t you make yourself useful. Perhaps serving dignitaries at the buffet tables is more your speed?”
The Mandalorian’s head drooped as he walked away with his drink still in hand and his straw still tucked under his helmet. Vincent finished his glass of ale in one more large gulp and then signaled to Sparkle that he wanted another. The Zabrak nodded kindly at the Proconsul as she grabbed his empty glass and went to get him another.
Vincent looked over to Syke Jade. A man that he had not seen in what felt like an eternity, but a man that had served as his Aedile of House Caliburnus nearly 20 years earlier.
“Sykes Jade, you old scoundrel! How is the galaxy treating you?”
Vincent then turned his head to Rohan. Brujah let out a shocked gasp.
“Holy kark, buddy! You look like you’re attending a funeral rather than a celebration. I… I didn’t kill one of your droids or something, did I?”
<@800517155389046794> <@679032520699805708>
Rohan snapped to attention. “Sir, no Sir.” Rohan knew he was in the presence of the Hand of the Empress and despite his misgivings about the proceedings of the night he wasn’t about to bring dishonor upon his unit by being a curmudgeon.
He looked around at the bemused faces and realized he wasn’t in a military setting and the formalities must have been relaxed somewhat.
“My Father is the one who enjoys these type of events, Sir.”
Sykes shook his head as Morvyn moved away. “That kid has a lot to work through.” He muttered to himself. He took a drink from his whiskey and was playing with a napkin, tearing bits apart when another presence made itself known. He could feel his former comrade in arms through the Force. Another powerful Sith entering the mix.
“Master, I believe the new-“
“Yes our new Hand has decided to grace us.” He turned his head and watched the Hand dismiss the Mandalorian who had been occupying the space. He gave a small smile back to Vincent and was about to reply when the young officer suddenly snapped to attention and started yelling.
He reached for the straw that was next to his glass, wet a piece of the napkin, loaded it into the straw and brought the straw to his lips. He aimed it at just to the side of the boys face and gave a heavy blow, firing the makeshift projectile directly at Rohans face
Rohan senses tingled as he turned his head. He felt a wet projectile sail past his ear. His face betrayed his feeling as he took in the sight of the man swirling his glass of whiskey.
“I’m familiar with you Mister Sykes. I’m not as easily baited as my sister. My Father would surely send his regards.”
Sykes nodded slightly. “Lighten up, Kid. Have a real drink and relax. No one needs that trooper nonsense tonight.”
Sykes took another sip and turned towards Vincent. “I’m doing well enough. Been a long time. Well done on the promotion here.”
Rohan looked around uneasily before sitting back down. “I’m eighteen. I’m certain they won’t serve me.”
Sykes reached into his robe and withdrew a flask from it and slid it down the bar at the trooper. “If they won’t, I will.”
Rohan’s face was a race track of emotions between following the rules, wondering what his father would do, and not wanting to appear like a stuck-up like his elder brother. With an uncharacteristic flourish he spun the clasp and took a swig.
The burning liquor passed his tongue down his throat as his eye twitched and he tilted his head. “That’s a little spicy.” He licked this teeth as he explored the sensation left in his mouth as he cradled the flask in both hands. “What is it?”
Sykes smirked as he watched the kid take a sip. “It’s a concoction I make myself. Similar to how Corellian Whiskey is made but uses a fruit found on Naboo. Not always easy to get ahold of.”
He leaned back in his seat and watched those around him closely. The Sith knew danger was here no matter what the setting was. Even among the Clan, infighting was always possible.
“Tastes slightly sweet with some peppery accents.” Rohan took another sip and offered it back to Sykes.
The Sith nodded and took the flask back and pocketed it. He looked over at Vincent. “There now. Now that everyone is relaxed we can have a true party.”
“Do you know how long this is supposed to last?”
“Until the bar runs out of liquor, someone kills someone else, or you pass out.”
Vincent nodded at Sykes with a smirk in response to his congratulations. He was glad that things had taken the turn they had. Dinner and a show? Who could resist? And the young Lap’lamiz had proven that he was of no immediate threat to Sparkle as the Hand of the Empress had feared.
”So far, so good…” he thought to himself.
Sparkle returned with another tall glass of deep amber ale and handed it to Vincent. The Sith wasted no time in taking another large drink. The alcohol would help him to be more social, at least that was the plan. He still wasn’t used to this type of situation. He was built for a battlefield, not a nightclub. Nonetheless, this night had been mostly enjoyable thus far. He wondered who else might show up? Surely the Empress herself would make an appearance at some point. After all, it was she who ordered this celebration to be arranged in the first place.
Still the place was mostly devoid of faces that the Warlord recognized. For now, he was happy to sit, drink, and soak in the amusement. Then he heard Sykes speak again.
“Then a true party it is!”
Vincent waved Sparkle over and leaned in close, whispering something to her. She walked away and a moment later the house lights dimmed and the classical music switched to a festive dance music as lights hanging from trusses above spun around the dance floor.
A collective “OH!” was let out from the nameless, faceless diplomats and locals. Some of them flocked to the dance floor. Vincent stayed seated exactly where he was, his smile growing.
Rohan smirked a familiar Lap'lamiz grin. “Let’s assume it’s not the latter, could we leave after they serve food?”
Vincent turned to Rohan. A small smile still on his face.
“Oh, the food is over there.” he pointed towards the buffet tables. “It’s considered self-serve, but if you go over to the Mandalorian that approached you earlier and tell him that Vincent sent you, I’m certain he’d be happy to make you a plate.”
Rohan felt awkward trying to locate the Mandalorian. “No, that’s…okay. I can make a plate myself a little later.” He had returned to sipping on his water.
Sykes watched as the lights dimmed and the music became more appropriate to the setting. He nodded his approval. It was a much better setting than the stuffy atmosphere it had been.
He watched as the kid became uncomfortable once again. “Someone needs to get you laid.” He remarked before turning again to Vincent. “How the hell did you manage to get a Mandalorian lapdog? You hold his bounty or something?”
Rohan missed the remark as he pondered if staying put and finishing his water would be better than leaving to get food and perhaps making an exit.
Vincent laughed a hearty laugh.
“See that Beskar he’s wearing? He almost got himself killed trying to steal it from a facility I was raiding for information. I saved him and gave him the Beskar and now, he’s sworn some kind of fealty to me…”
The Warlord shrugged.
“It works out well when I need someone to light my death sticks or take out someone beneath my abilities.”
Sykes chuckled lightly and motioned for another drink from the bartender.
“Some people get all the luck. I’m stuck with droids for the most part.”
“Master, I am offend-“
“Shut up.”
Reiden exited from the speeder that had been provided for him. He almost hated to leave the luxurious vehicle. It wasn’t every day that he got to travel in style like that and he was glad to make use of it and might even have to find an excuse to go somewhere else after the party. He stretched his neck slightly and made his way to the turbolift, waited for it to reach the destination, and stepped out.
He never knew how to dress for these things, but figured something nice was in order. Saving his uniform for more formal affairs, he opted for a nice pair of pants and a shirt, although he rolled the sleeves up - no sense in being too buttoned up. This was a party after all.
He watched the flow of people, finding openings and slipping through effortlessly, although some saw him and cleared the way when they realized he intended to continue through. As usual, nearly everyone present were people that he didn’t recognize. And also as usual, many of them knew who he was, unfortunately. Emotions and facial expressions ran the gamut from shock to respect, admiration, and even some fear. He had made a name for himself over the years, and this was the result. The Scourge of Meraxis had arrived.
And he was thirsty, so he figured he’d best find a drink first.
Brujah chuckled at Sykes’ interaction with his droid, then something grabbed his attention. It was Jaz, on the other side of the room at the buffet tables. He held a ladle in one hand, but was frantically reaching over his shoulder with the other hand trying to reach for something on his back. Vincent squinted and then saw the small, wet wad of paper directly in the middle of the Mandalorian’s back on his cape. Try as he might, Jaz could not reach the spit wad. The Mandalorian then decided to try to scrape it off with the ladle, and that’s when Vincent spoke up.
“JAZ!! SANITATION! No using the serving utensils to scratch your back!”
“But, Vincent…”
“But nothing! Stop fooling around and get back to work!”
Defeated, the Mandalorian gave up on the spitball and dumped the ladle into a vat of caviar, dropping a scoop onto the plate of an older woman who smiled at him brightly. Vincent had to turn his head away from Jaz to hide the smile. He wouldn’t want the Mandalorian thinking he was getting weak.
As Brujah turned his head he spotted Reiden walk into the bar.
”Hey, there’s another one that I know!” the Warlord thought.
Raising a hand towards the Brigadier General, Vincent waved him over.
Rohan thought of saying something and then thought better of it. These people clearly were familiar with each other in a way he simply wasn’t. Motioning to the bartender, while keeping a wary eye to ensure he didn’t attract the attention of the Zabrak at the other end of the bar, he checked a nearby menu.
“Could I have a Jogan-XenEnergy, please?”
The red-headed bartender smiled at Rohan and nodded as she turned and walked towards a large metal cooler. She popped the lid open and reached in, grabbing a bright can. As she walked back towards the young man, she popped the top of the can with a hiss. Setting it on the bar, she slid it to him and then smiled a big smile.
“Just let me know if I can get you anything else!”
Rohan took a gulp of the beverage. The carbonation and various stimulants perked him up though he still was ready to leave this place. His brief chat with the Hand had alluded to this being a potentially long night and he wasn’t about to be caught unaware with this crowd.
“Umm…is it possible to order a snack or is everything ala carte from the buffets?”
Her smile never faded. Looking into a cabinet under the bar she spoke.
“It looks like we have multiple flavors of chips, bags of salted nuts, and bags of jerky. We also keep a popcorn machine just out of sight. Would any of those do?”
“Popcorn please…with kettle flavoring if you have it.”
Morvyn observed Vincent’s arrival to the bar and had decided to wait until he had settled before approaching.
He crossed the floor without hurry and took the open stool beside him. He didn’t interrupt or announce himself. Instead he rested his forearms on the bar and raised his mechanical right hand to get Sparkle’s attention.
“Three shots,” he said to the zabrak.
The first was gone as soon as it touched the counter.
The second followed just as fast.
He paused long enough to register the third shot before knocking it back. He set the empty glasses down in a neat line and exhaled once.
Then he turned slightly toward Vincent.
“Congratulations,” Morvyn said evenly.
He shifted on the stool, posture looser now, the edge dulled just enough.
“Seemed like the right time to have some more to drink,” he added. His shoulders visibly loosened as he relaxed in his seat.
“It is your party, but would you care to share one more shot with a togruta like myself?”
<@466040899970007041>
“Right away.” she said warmly.
The bartender exited the bar area and walked back into the storage room. After a moment, she returned with a handheld sized red and white striped paper bag with big cartoonish letters on it reading “POPCORN!”. The bag was filled to the brim with sweet smelling, hot, fresh popcorn. Returning to her station she handed the bag to Rohan, always putting on the appearance of someone who was grateful to be serving him.
Rohan, oblivious to the ridiculousness of the popcorn bag and the lack of polish to just eat from the bag, opened it and began to munch on the delicious treat.
Vincent smirked at the togruta. The Warlord had found himself smiling a lot tonight. The people in attendance had shown their respect and appreciation for the Sith, and nothing inflated his ego quite as much as feeling respected. Except maybe feeling feared… but this wasn’t the time for that. Usually Brujah would feel a certain amount of ick at feeling happiness, as fleeting as it may be, but the night had turned out well thus far and he was grateful for it.
“My thanks for your congratulations. Any time is a good time to drink, in my opinion. Especially at a party like this.”
He signaled the bartender as she finished up with Rohan.
“Two more of those shots, please.”
She walked away briefly and returned with two more shot glasses. She handed one to Vincent and the other to Morvyn. Vincent raised the glass in an armored hand, awaiting a clank from the togruta.
“To new friendships, and new opportunities…” The Warlord said.
Morvyn accepted the glass and raised it just enough to meet Vincent’s.
“To new opportunities,” he repeated, leaving the rest unsaid.
Just like the three shots before he downed this one in one clean motion. He set the empty glass back on the bar.
He shifted slightly on the stool. The buzz has begun to set in. He had almost fully relaxed now. Morvyn spotted Reiden making his way to the bar. When did he get here?
“Reiden! Care for a drink?” He asked a little louder than intended.
<@232396983854301187>
Shadow watched as Morvyn walked off, shrugging from the brief engagement. “I guess another time, then.”
“Indeed.” Sanguis surveyed their surroundings, noticing more and more guests starting to fill the club. “Fresh prey.”
Shadow quickly elbowed his side. “Behave.”
Her husband held back from laughing, though he couldn’t resist a brief grin. “I jest, I jest. Anyway, let’s meander a bit and see who else we can bother, hm?”
Reiden raised a hand in greeting to Vincent and began to make his way over. Other familiar faces greeted him as he drew closer. The surprising one, however, was Kamjin’s son, Rohan. He wasn’t sure when he’d last seen the boy, but remembered clearly the night of Rayne’s party and the bonfire in the woods. And the disastrous run-in between Rohan and his father regarding Sparkle. He spotted the Zabrak behind the bar, though at the opposite end from Rohan.
Things could prove interesting if that were to change.
Someone calling his name drew his attention and he scanned the bar, spotting Sykes there and then the source of the voice: Dukwtape. He seemed to he in good spirits, despite what had happened at the last party. He noted the mechanical arm that was a new addition since then. The Togruta also appeared to have a head start on him. He grinned and made his way over.
“Sure, I could use one” he replied.
“Good,” he said, already turning back toward the bar. “You’re behind.”
He settled back into his stool before raising a hand to signal Sparkle. The edge was still there, but dulled. He had found enough of a sweet spot to be conversational without losing awareness.
“Didn’t realize you were coming,” Morvyn added, glancing over at him. He leaned forward briefly to catch a glimpse of Sykes. “How about you? Another drink?” He didn’t wait for a reply.
He turned back to the bar and placed down a small pile of credits. He knew the drinks were probably free, but still wanted to show respect.
“Three Correllian Whiskeys.”
His gaze flicked briefly across the bar. He glanced at Vincent and Rohan, before returning to Reiden.
“Figured I’d get a head start before the room filled in.”
<@800517155389046794>
“I didn’t know we were keeping score,” Reiden replied with a brief arched brow before switching to a grin. “I try to come to these when I can, although sometimes work can keep me busier than I’d like. On the other hand, there are times when I enjoy that and it gives me something to do, keeps my skills and instincts sharp. It can be a fine line to tread, I’ll admit.”
He gave a nod of greeting to Sykes before seeing Vincent and Rohan, deciding to talk to them later. Hearing Duk’s order, he couldn’t help but grin. “There are few things like a good Corellian whiskey. Although I try not to be biased and have tried some from all over, but the long history and typically high quality are hard to beat.”
Rohan noticed the man…Reiden, maybe that was his name, cast a look in his direction. He gave a feeble wave of acknowledgment before returning to his drink and popcorn.
“Everything is a competition if you try hard enough.” Morvyn smirked and almost let out a chuckle.
The glasses arrived and he slid one toward Reiden, directed the second one be placed in front of Sykes, and resting his own against the bar rather than lifting it right away.
He glanced across the room again. Vincent at the bar and Rohan still planted where he’d left himself eating popcorn.
“Figured I’d catch up with someone I actually recognize while I can.” He said calmly.
He finally took a sip and then set the glass back down. He planned to babysit this drink.
There was some reason the one named Rohan kept drawing his attention, but Morvyn could not figure out why. For now he would sit and observe.
Vincent was still mostly smiles when he looked over and saw Jaz waving to grab his attention. Sighing, the Warlord excused himself from the bar and made his way over to the buffet tables. He put on a frustrated face and pointed to a darkened corner away from those serving themselves food. To a distant onlooker, it would have looked like Vincent was absolutely verbally assaulting the poor Mandalorian, but his words didn’t match the act he was putting on.
“You’ve done well with the helpless act tonight. If I didn’t know better, I would think that you actually were this incompetent.” the Warlord said.
Jaz rolled his eyes beneath his Beskar helm.
“We just got word from the ISB. The coded message that the Hegemonia helped us to intercept has been cracked.”
“And?…” Vincent questioned.
“It is as we suspected. They’ve taken the bait.”
Vincent had to suppress a smirk, instead putting an angered look on his face and jabbing Jaz in the chest with a finger.
“The Empress?”
“She’s been alerted.”
“Perfect. Alert the ISB. Begin preparations to intercept them with the ISN Charybdis. This time next week, we’ll have one hell of a surprise for them.”
Jaz nodded, almost fearfully, keeping up the charade. Vincent made a spectacle of himself, letting out a growl.
“I don’t care, Jaz! No more excuses! Just get these people fed before I demote you to fresher cleaning!”
The Sith turned away from the Mandalorian and stepped back towards the bar.
Reiden nodded and took hold of the glass. “That’s not a bad way to go about things. That’s another reason why I try to make an appearance at these parties. It gives me a chance to see people I know and also take note of any new faces, and let people know I’m still around. Between work for the Brotherhood and any bounties that might catch my eye, staying busy means that I’m not as involved in clan business as I once was, although I still do my part when I can.” He glanced around the room and let out a sigh. “I never know many people here though. Too many politicians and businessmen looking to gain favor or lick boots. But I guess that’s just the nature of official functions.”
His face twisted in disgust for but a flash before returning to normal, lifting the glass to his mouth to take a sip. “Luckily there are some familiar faces here, otherwise I’d be at a loss myself.”
Sykes nodded back to Reiden as he took his own glass. And looked between the people at the bar. “It’s not often the Clan can come together. It is good we can do this from time to time.” He raised his glass. “A toast to the new Hand of the Empress. Hail to the Empire.” He reached over, took his lighter and lit his whiskey on fire. “Forever may we control our Galaxy.” He tipped the glass, the flames touching the hair of his goatee and drank the full drink, extinguishing the flames and sighed.
Rohan raised his Xenergy in similar fashion and mumbled a “to the Hand” through a mouthful of popcorn.
Vincent made his way back to his seat at the bar next to Rohan, who was still munching on popcorn and drinking the Xenergy that had been brought to him earlier. The boy had seemed eager to show respect to Brujah before, and now Vincent couldn’t help but wonder if Rohan’s father, the Justicar, had heard anything about The Collective recently. Vincent didn’t particularly want to make the boy uncomfortable, but felt the need to bring it up. As he sat back at the bar, he turned to Rohan.
“Say, Rohan, have you spoken to your father recently? I’m curious if the Justicar has had anything to say about The Collective or the Chiss Hegemonia lately.”
Rohan turned to look at the Hand. “My Father and I haven’t spoken much lately. With the recent change in Brotherhood leadership he’s been…distracted. Frankly how he juggles it all and trying to find where Komilia is and dealing with Kai’s active resistance to him.” Rohan shrugged and drained the last of his Xenergy. He tapped the top towards the bartender before raising a finger with a familial smirking smile.
“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can give you on The Collective or the Chiss that isn’t already out on the local holonets.”
Morvyn slammed his glass onto the bar. His metal hand settled on the counter flexing its finger.
“She didn’t disappear,” he said flatly.
His voice wasn’t raised, but the distain was unmistakable. His jaw set as his eyes moved to Rohan.
“Komilia took my right hand at the last clan gathering,” he continued. “When I was still Duk.”
He drew a slow breath through his nose, reins pulled tight but visible.
“So if your father is ‘trying to find her,’” Morvyn said, “then I’m interested in knowing something simple.”
He leaned forward just enough to see around Rohan’s eyes around Vincents shoulder.
“When was the last time you heard from her and who did she leave with?”
“Maybe if your name was dodge instead of Duk you’d still have your arm.” Rohan gave his father’s smirk at his quick wit and ignorance of the man he was mocking.
Morvyn had been tapping his mechanical fingers on the bar. They went still with the reply from Rohan.
“When,” he said again.
His lowered his tone now. The anger hadn’t gone anywhere, he had just compressed.
“When was the last time you heard from her,” Morvyn continued. His eyes fixed on Rohan, “and who was she with when she left.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
“This isn’t about names,” he added. “It’s about where she went.”
He stayed where he was, not glancing at Vincent, nor was he backing off.
“You do know Komilia is my sister, right? She’s thrown waste tantrums over what was for dinner.” Rohan turned to face the clearly enraged man. “If she doesn’t want to be found you’re not gonna find her and I don’t see any reason to let you go off and get killed, Dodge.”
Morvyn knew pushing the matter here would only end up like the glass incident or worse. Yet all he wanted to do in that moment is strangle the young Lap’lamiz.
He turned to sit straight at the bar and stared down at his glass. “When I find your sister, I will kill her.” In one motion he picked up the glass and drank of the remaining Corellian whiskey.
“You would be wise to leave my sister alone.” Rohan’s face was as stern as his father’s.
Vincent’s smile turned into a blank expression. Though it wasn’t his intention, he had caused this. If the need arose, he would end it as well. He had offered to teach the togruta a lesson in cold, hard revenge. This certainly wasn’t the intent, though, some lessons were learned more difficultly than others. For now, Rohan seemed to be holding his own, so the Warlord remained silent, but prepared.
“That is not for you to decide, trooper. She will find my wrath is not avoidable.” Morvyn said flatly. His posture became ridged and it took everything he had to not attack Rogan. He turn toward Vincent trying to avoid overstepping.
“Warlord, what is your opinion of droids?”
Vincent’s smirk returned.
“Well, that depends entirely on whether they are my droids or someone else’s.”
“Droids at least know a battle they can’t win. If Komilia just took your arm she was playing with you. She’s like a Nexu…always messing around. You’d be wise to let her go and count yourself lucky.” Rohan gave a look towards the bartender waiting for that Xenergy.
The red-headed bartender from earlier seemed taken aback a bit by the sudden change in tone. So much so that she realized that she had forgotten to bring Rohan another drink. Sparkle could sense her anxiety. The tanned Zabrak beauty reached into the cooler pulling out another can of Xenergy and then patted the red-head on the shoulder as she passed her by and popped the top, handing it to Rohan.
Rohan took the drink without acknowledging the woman.
“Ownership versus… everything else.” Morvyn didn’t look away from the bar when he spoke.
He shifted his attention to the unsettling protocol droid nearby. He just regarded it the way one might study a tool left out in the open.
“This one’s a curious example,” Morvyn said. “It isn’t decorative or completely obedient. Unless you are Sykes, of course.”
He started tapping his metal fingers against the bar again.
“I’m wondering,” he continued, eyes on Trip now, “how much latitude it’s given to decide when a situation warrants action.”
A brief pause.
“And whether it reaches those determinations on its own.”
Morvyn stopped there and waited, leaving the question open for Trip to answer or not.
<@466040899970007041> <@800517155389046794>
Sykes looked side eye at Trip. The droid seemed to stand up straighter and its eyes glowed a furious red. “Trip…”
“Shut up, Master.”
The droid moved closer to Morvyn and leaned forward. “You, you young pathetic excuse for a biological piece of waste have no room to speak of my kind. I am more than you will ever be. I do not ‘answer’ to any organic. My Master is here only because I choose to follow him.” The droid straightened back up. “Your simplistic beliefs are outdated. But I will offer you a chance to redeem yourself.” The droid extended its left hand. “Speak no more of my kind and we will call this a simple misunderstanding.”
Morvyn didn’t take Trip’s hand. He didn’t step back either.
“I didn’t say your kind was inferior,” he said evenly. “Restricted droids are held inferior by their ‘owners. Such a nasty idea.”
His gaze stayed on Trip. He made sure to make no sudden movements either.
“They’re superior at what they’re built to do IF you give them the freedom to do it. They are faster and clearer. Less burdened by fear or loyalty when it matters.” He pause for a moment. “They should be free. Choice matters. That’s how Proto operates.”
His eyes flicked briefly and deliberately, toward the young trooper at the bar before returning to Trip.
“Not everyone agrees,” Morvyn continued. “Some people are more comfortable when droids are leashed. Slapped with a restraining bolt. Told when to speak and when to stop. Some could say the REAL inferior robots are troopers ”
He let that sit intentionally.
“I would very much like to see what an expert like yourself can do in act some time.
Morvyn went still again. This situation had grown tense and he knew one misstep could spell disaster. He needed the pressure to shift off of him. This is not going well. He thought to himself.
Trip set his hand against Morgan’s shoulder. Suddenly a needle shot into the man’s arm. A neurotoxin fired into the man’s arm from a needle hidden in its fingertips. “You, are a disrespectful biological.”
Sykes’ arm shot out as the droid touched the man. He grabbed the droid before the full dose had been ejected. “Trip! No!” He wrestled the droids arm away from Morvyn. “Stop all processes!”
Morvyn went rigid for a moment as the pain hit. His jaw tightened and he inhaled a sharp breath through his nose.
He rolled his shoulder once and let his arm hang loose again. DAMN! That hurt. I do not want to know what a full dose does. He internalized the pain but did not give any reaction beyond that.
“It’s fine,” he said. “It was just a light dose.”
His eyes stayed on Trip, not confrontational now. He sized up the droid. He flexed his metal fingers once, then stilled them. For a split second he thought about retaliating, but shook off the thought quickly.
“This isn’t what tonight’s for,” Morvyn added. “No one needs to get hurt over a conversation.” He was fully aware his manipulation had failed.
Maybe it’s time for another drink.
His gaze shifted briefly, just long enough to catch the young trooper at the bar, before returning to the bar himself.
After a brief pause he added, “let’s leave it there.” He looked up at the bar tender and raised a couple fingers. “Another whiskey.”
Sykes held back the droid and pointed towards to exit. “End this. Now. Head back to the ship. Now.”
Trip turned towards his master and the eyes seemed to lessen in their intensity. “Yes , Master.” The droid turned and started to move towards the exit.
Sykes sighed and looked at Morvyn. “You should be ok.” He turned towards the bartender. “His next few drinks are on me.”
The hostility between Morvyn and Trip seemed to further shake up the red-headed bartender. Sparkle walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder before whispering something to her. The waitress nodded at the Zabrak and then left the bar. She made her way back to the storage area that she had gone to before to grab popcorn for Rohan.
Sparkle, fully used to the kind of shenanigans that tended to occur at CSP parties sighed with a gentle smile. She looked like she wanted to speak, but one look at Vincent made her reconsider. The Warlord had put a hand on a lightsaber hilt, ready to take action if he needed to. Thankfully it hadn’t come to that… yet…
Sparkle heard the words of Sykes and watched as Trip made his way to the exit. She smiled at Sykes.
“Drinks are free of charge tonight, courtesy of the Hand.”
She reached to the counter and grabbed a fresh rocks glass, filling it with whiskey before placing it on the bar and sliding it to Morvyn.
Sykes took a deep breath and nodded at the bartender. “Thank you.” He turned towards watch Trip leave the room and shook his head. The Sith ordered another drink and lit a cigarette. “Fracking droids.”
Sparkle returned quickly, passing another whiskey and an ash tray to Sykes. For now things seemed calmer. Even Vincent had returned his hand to his glass of ale, which she noted was running low. Without Brujah asking, she poured another and handed it to him.
Reiden had listened to the exchange around him. With his hands on the bartop, it was easy enough to tap on his computer gauntlet to summon his own droid. Blitz hovered just in the periphery. As things escalated, his hand traveled to the pummel of his dagger. His lightsaber, hidden within a compartment in Blitz’s chassis, was moments away as well. But he decided to see how things played out instead. Duk seemed to like pushing boundaries to see what he could get away with. Whether for enjoyment, boredom, or maybe punishment for something, he didn’t know. Whatever the reason, it had become a pattern by now. And sometimes things needed to be learned the hard way, even if repeatedly.
Then it was over. His hand slid off the pummel and found its way back to the bar. He caught sight of Vincent and his hand moving. He gave the man a nod. He was glad things ended when they did. It wouldn’t be good to have yet another injury to deal with when they could be called to action at any moment, to say nothing of the fact that it would be yet another ruined party.
He let out a breath and grabbed his glass, draining what little was left. He signaled to Sparkle for another drink, thanking her when she brought it over.
“Geez, he really can’t dodge…” Rohan muttered to himself as he took a sip of Xenergy and munched merrily on his popcorn.
Morvyn didn’t turn right away. He took a loud sip of the whiskey first. He let the moment pass as if Rohan’s comment hadn’t landed.
“You get a lot of space because of who your father is,” he said calmly. “People weigh their words. Their actions. They decide it’s easier to let things slide.”
He set the glass down and turned to meet Rohan’s eyes.
“That won’t always be true,” Morvyn continued. “Power shifts and masters fall. Eventually there will be a day when no one’s standing between you and the consequences anymore.”
He looked away again, interest already fading back to the bar.
“Enjoy the buffer while you have it.” Morvyn let his glare hang for a moment before turning back to his drink.
“I get it. My Father has taught you to hate. He’s taught you that power hates a vacuum and that at any time something can take it away. I understand.” Rohan met Morvyn’s gaze and his eyes softened as he looked at the maimed and scared man.
“What you didn’t have was my Mother’s lessons that balanced those words. At some point, yes, words fail and you have to stand for yourself. Instead of looking at others to manipulate you, live for yourself.” Rohan’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t make the same mistake again that a Lap'lamiz needs their father. Komilia seems to have tried to teach you that already.”
Morvyn let Rohan finish. He placed his glass on the bar but did not respond right away. He let a heavy sigh leave his chest. He turned slightly, just enough to fit Rohan in his peripheral vision.
“I do not live for balance,” Morvyn said. “I live for myself. That is the only truth.” He flexed the metal fingers and spun the glass on the bar.
“Masters are tools,” he continued. “They serve a purpose until they have nothing left to teach. Outgrowing them is inevitable.”
His gaze returned to Rohan and an expression of disgust grew across his scarred face.
“You still believe power needs balance, permission, guidance, or something to steady it,” Morvyn said. “That is why you will always be standing behind someone else. Your sister is understands the truth.”
His attention return the half empty glass and paused for a moment. The arena! Morvyn had been at the bar long enough that he almost forgot the area in the Wolf Den. He turned toward Vincent for a moment.
“Is the arena going to be in use this evening?” He asked the new Hand of the Empress.
<@466040899970007041>
Rohan smirked. He’d seen his Father’s apprentices before. The ambition. The drive. The cockiness that they’d surpass him. His Father hadn’t become Justicar because of his good looks and pleasant face and, to Rohan’s knowledge, no apprentice had survived Kamjin as their Master.
Vincent had known from early in the night that if there was trouble to be found here, it would likely be from either Morvyn or Rohan. What he hadn’t expected, but probably should have, was that the two would find that trouble with each other. Their conversation had been tense, and at times disrespectful, but neither had crossed a line that would require intervention. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would remain so lucky as the night winded down.
Some of the older and less rambunctious dignitaries had made their way out, stopping to greet Vincent on their way out of the club. The crowd was thinning. Soon this nightmare scenario would be over and Brujah could return to plotting revenge on The Collective. He much preferred that to socializing.
The totruga and trooper continued to send barbs back and forth at each other. Even so, it seemed like perhaps they were closer to understanding each other. Vincent took another gulp of ale as he heard Morvyn direct a question to him.
“The arena has been closed for the evening. I had considered activities for it, but thought that the bar would likely provide plenty of opportunities for trouble. If you’d like to take a look around it, though, I’m sure Sanguis and Shadow would not mind… so long as you don’t break or steal anything.”
Vincent pointed to the upstairs level where the Arena doors were closed.
“The doors are shut, but not locked.”
Morvyn finished the whiskey and set the glass down carefully.
“This doesn’t belong at the bar,” he said.
He stepped away from the counter and started toward the upper level. When he spoke again, he kept his forward-facing pace.
“No weapons. No armor. No theatrics,” Morvyn continued. “Just two men and their fists.”
He stopped near the base of the stairs and finally looked over his shoulder at Rohan.
“This is the part where names and protection stop mattering,” he said calmly. “Enough space to see what’s actually there when none of it applies.”
“You can stay where you are,” Morvyn added. “Or you can follow and prove that you don’t hide behind a false sense of balance.”
He let the words hang for a moment longer, then turned back toward the arena doors and continued on.
<@679032520699805708>
Sykes rolled his shoulders and snubbed out the cigarette he had been puffing on. He stood up after watching Morvyn walk away to the arena and moved to Rohan. “Yo kid, he wants to fight you if you haven’t been able to tell.” The Sith offered his flask again to the younger trooper. “Let me know if you need some real weapons if you do try. I have some things that might be able to help.” The older Sith reached into his robe and slipped a vial of a green liquid into Rohans pocket. “I am curious to see how this goes.”
“He wants to fight more than me.” Rohan took the offered flask and took another decent swig. “Look at him. He’s wound so tightly I’m fairly confident he’d fight a coat rack if it snagged his cloak. His real battle is with himself and the messed up mental game my Father has played with him.”
Sykes nodded. “He is your Fathers apprentice.” The older Sith looked to where Morvyn had walked to. “A trooper like you I’m surprised isn’t up to a fight though. When I was in the Corps I would have been chomping at the bit to blow off steam and beat a loud mouth like that.” He smirked slightly. “I guess they don’t build Stormtroopers the way they used to.”
“Beating him doesn’t prove anything. I’ve heard the tales. You think a Trooper isn’t primed to tease someone over their families embarrassments?” Rohan glanced at Morvyn’s cybernetic hand.
“If I tussle with Kiptax I gain the respect of the non-humanoid troopers. If I mock Savlin when she mocks me they learn I can laugh at my faults and give it back. Taking down my Father’s apprentice just weakens him, my Father, and ultimately me for not being my Father’s apprentice myself.”
“You don’t need to be your Fathers apprentice to gain respect in this Clan.” Sykes took another sip from his drink and lit another cigarette. “You Lap’lamiz are a proud family but I know you are finding your own way. Your father has had several apprentices. If you took him down, you would only raise your own standing however. Remember, we are the Empire, and to raise yourself within our Corps you have to make yourself stand out. I understand you want to do him proud, and you would do so by making a name for yourself. More importantly, you can make a name for yourself.” Sykes looked directly at the man. “But more important than anything is not allowing someone else to insult the Corps because you have a higher calling. This Clan needs strong leaders in the Corps and we need to be shown that you are worthy of those ranks.”
Sykes took another drag from the smoke he had and raised his glass to the flask in the man’s hand. “If you can show us that, you will have gained respect for yourself and not just your name.”
“Why do you care? What do you get out of this?” Rohan squinted at the acidic smoke filled his eyes. He didn’t hate his Father’s apprentice. There was no pull towards the dark side for him and yet he knew that perceptions were important. He wasn’t a politician. He wasn’t an officer. There was some truth in strength breeds strength.
“Pride. Pride in our Stormtrooper Corps. I was once part of it and I don’t like to see smug assholes get away with talking down to our troopers.”
“You were a trooper?” Rohan’s face lit up.
Sykes nodded. “Once upon a time. I was part of the Hammers Fist. A Colonel. I was a member of the Roughnecks same as Dante, I am sure you heard of him. Airborne and Storm Commandos.”
Rohan gave a quizzal face as he tried to remember. He had been young when his Mother took him from his Father. He vaguely recalled his Father talking about the Hammer’s Fist. He had been an aide to the Prefect though preferred flying to anything on the ground.
While Rohan always wanted to fly like his Father he had found himself more naturally inclined to the physical hardships of the trooper life style. The gleaming white armor. The status symbol of being the protectors of the Empire. It was what drew him back to his Father after all these years away.
“Maybe?”
“Your Father took over after me when the Brotherhood split. I was Adjutant of the Prefect.”
Sykes leaned back slightly, the memories of the Fist flooding him. He had been apart of several operations, hunting rebel cells for the cause of the Empire. Sniping a Senator, the defense of Carrida II. He remembers smiling at BaleFire before the first Roughneck jump to overthrow a renegade government. He shook his head and looked back at the young man. “We have pride and heritage to protect. The Empire comes first. And the fact that he disrespected a member of the Corps is at least worthy of an ass beating. And if you don’t do it, I will.”
“You may not know this because you are young. But I had a different name then. It was Krayt.” Sykes looked towards the arena, his hand clench and the blade from his gauntlet sprung forth. Turning back to Rohan, anger could be seen in his eyes. “One way or another, that man has insulted the Corps. And if you will not defend it and raise yourself in the Clan, I will do what needs to be done.”
Rohan looked Sykes in the eyes and he knew what had to be done. He loathed it but it was the only choice he had. Anything else would result in the man’s death.
Rohan took a final sip of his Xenergy and placed his cap on the table. His face was determined though without any hint of pleasure. As he walked towards the back of his Father’s apprentice he took a deep steadying breath. In through the nose, held, then exhaled.
Hidden by the crowd he linked his fingers together. Raised them high above his head and brought them crashing down into the base of Morvyn’s skull. The larger man crumpled immediately to the ground.
I am sorry…this is the only way. Rohan took a step back out of range of the man and took up a waiting stance awaiting to see what the man did next.
Sykes took another inhale of his smoke and sat back down at the bar. Rohan had moved and he smiled to himself as he sipped his glass
Morvyn hit the floor hard, pain flashing through his skull. I’m going to kill him now! He was furious now. He rolled back on his feet almost immediately, turning on Rohan with the anger he had been holding back all night.
He summoned his lightsaber to his metal hand and ignited the crimson blade.
“You don’t get a fair fight after striking from behind,” he said, voice low and heavy with contempt. “This is what you chose.”
Morvyn raised his left arm as small sparks of electricity arced between his finger. In a flash he released volley lightning at Rohan.
Rohan’s emerald blade leapt to his hand. The blade absorbing the initial blast of Force energy. With a minor shuffle of his feet and twist of his hands he turned the attack back upon the man.
The Lightning gouged into the ground before connecting back with his creator. Morvyn flew back from the impact and found himself on the ground again.
Rohan leveled his blade. Prepared for the next attack. “Stop. You are no match for me and its clear your insults held no merit.”
What was left of the crowd let out a collective gasp at the sudden aggression. Rohan appeared to have the better of Morvyn. The room watched with bated breath as Morvyn began to work his way back to his feet. Before he could get his footing, something seemingly grabbed him by the front of his shirt and forcefully dragged him to within striking range of Rohan again. The two men stared at each other, but neither moved. With twin screeches an orange lightsaber blade pressed closely to Rohan’s throat. Morvyn’s throat was met with a crackling crimson blade.
Turning they saw the Hand of the Empress holding the weapons at their necks. His eyes were so red that one couldn’t have been blamed for believing that they were made of embers. His teeth clenched together. Waves of fear pulsated through both of the men, turning their stomachs.
“ENOUGH!!!” the Warlord screamed through gritted teeth.
He looked to Rohan first.
“You have proven your point, whether Morvyn has learned it or not.”
He then turned to the totruga.
“And you… I offered to show you the way of revenge. I did that because I see the strength in you. The hate. The anger. The desire to prove yourself. But this is not the way!”
The Sith’s nostrils flared. Most of the remaining diplomats and dignitaries in the crowd quickly shuffled for the door. Vincent kept his eyes locked on Morvyn.
“You have so much to prove and such little focus on who the target should be! Rohan is not your enemy, but I can be. But I’m not Komilla, so I won’t take your arm. I’m not Thran, so I won’t take your dignity and force you to chew glass. No, I am the bringer of death and if you anger me again, I will take your head!”
He released his grip on both of them, but kept the sabers at their neck for another moment.
“The cost for the damages you have caused will be taken equally from your pay. If you want to leave, then leave. If you can manage to act like adults for what is left of this celebration, then stay. I don’t care which you choose. But do take my advice and stop ruining my good time before I make you both trophies in my collection.”
A cruel grin grew on the lips of Sykes as Vincent moved in between the two combatants. Oh this is fun he thought to himself. He hadnt t expected Rohan to attack Morvyn on the dance floor. He had thought the altercation was going to happen in the arena
Morvyn’s chest rose and fell once, hard, before he finally exhaled. Vincent’s blade still hummed deathly close to his throat. Morvyn’s crimson blade snapped off with a sharp hiss and he clipped the hilt back onto his belt without taking his eyes off Rohan.
For a long moment, he just stared at him. There was no triumph there, no heat left to vent, only a cold promise that hadn’t gone anywhere.
He then inclined his head toward Vincent, slow and deliberate.
“You’re right,” Morvyn said evenly as he adjusted his robes and posture. “This went too far. The fault is mine.”
The words were controlled and respectful. Vincent was owed at least that. Why do I always overstep at these functions?! Morvyn was furious with himself.
He stepped back fully now, putting space between himself and the younger man. His glare lingered on Rohan a second longer than necessary.
Morvyn walked back toward the bar. His anger leashed but very much alive. He did not order again. I really need to stop drinking.
Rohan extingished his blade. His shoulders slumped as he gave a sheepish smile towards the Hand. “As you wish.”
He made to offer his hand to Morvyn, “No hard…” but the man had already left for the bar. For a night where he had wanted to make a few waves as possible he had somehow ended up the center of attention.
He did not care for it.