Mo' Than Money in Moneylend

[Lamar Starworth]

Muunilist was the helm of finances. Over the years it had gained notoriety amidst it's indigenous people as the capitol of the Galaxies cash flow, despite the rather far distance from the Core Worlds. Over the years it had taken the title as holder of Inter-Galactic Banking Clan and creditor of Imperial credits in the Empire's reign. It was a strong hold of the Empire, and with that it needed protection.

Lamar was just another face called in. He had been stationed there for up to two weeks and was already being tasked with rudimentary task and clean ups. Not a single re con had taken itself on his list, and he was certain there were vermin out there despite what was said otherwise.

The planet held power amidst the Empire's stance, why wouldn't the Rebellion attack it? It was a strategic location of the Galactic Empire, and was open for assault. The very reason of the Imperial Army and Stormtrooper's presence was to ensure security, but they did very little. Lamar rarely was governed by foolish superiors, but on this occasion he was. It sickened him as he sat in his quarters, eyes locked on the numerous posters he had collected over the past few months.

Imperial COMPNOR posters hugged the walls, while his bunk lay pressed against the wall. Old stormtrooper's helms from the earlier days lay across tables, while his private goodies lay underneath his bed. It was not very personal room. There was always the chance that he could be requested for a transfer to another base. The Empire was forever on the move, and finding a home was unlikely for anyone on active duty. Locations just became locations, there was no infatuation or love for people's placement in the galaxy. Most people that Lamar had encountered were simply happy to be alive under the conflict of the Galactic Civil War, and he was no different.

However his face was in the battlefield. He had yet to see true action, but there had been a few simple dog fights out on the outskirts of numerous planets during his listing. Unorganized rebellions, aiming to leave an onslaught of bombs or blaster bolts on a nearby Imperial garrison. He was always there to throw on his suit and add the funk to the party.

Over time the fallen, dead faces just became a clump of nonsense in his head. War had drizzled his affection in the pounds, and Lamar could not remember the last face that he killed. There was not many on his list, but there were enough to be sickened by. At least for a normal human being.

"So, I'm off today, huh?" He murmured to himself as he glanced at his datapad. The young trooper had only recently woke, but he was already to business. Attire in his jumpsuit, he let his hand slip over his zipper and slide it down a little to expose his plain shirt underneath. He would not be in need of much more than his Imperial insignia to go where he wanted to.

Grabbing up something from underneath his bunk, he headed out. There was a time to play, and a time to work. Lamar had managed to combine both. He was on his way to the gym.

[Lamar Starworth]

Most citizens of Harnadian dealt in business, marketing and other work without the hands. The city was riddled with decorated with angelic structures. Adorn with lights, and other technology, the blend of cultural architecture and advance components provided a deep contrast in the night. A perfect soliloquy sung in harmony with the trickle of traffic. Speeders murmured a long, their engines howling at the moon above as their drivers headed home from long shifts.

Lamar was amongst the mused music of the night. Pressed against the fine leather of the back seat, he watched at the Lannik taxi driver headed onward. The roof was gone, leaving the trademark ears of the Lannik to flap in the wind as he pushed on the accelerator. Dashing through traffic, he evaded oncoming stop signs before they finally caught up with him and he took to an abrupt stop.

Glancing over his shoulder, the Lannik left only a friendly smirk before he dribbled his way into a conversation.

"Hey, big Imperial hot shot. Whatcha gunna be doing in the gym?"

The young Imperial shock-trooper could only hold back a smile of appreciation at the man's voice. The Lannik spoke with dry, hoarse voice, but his words were cluttered in a clear slur. Lamar was always one of the very few that valued the little difference, especially in such a repetitive lifestyle.

"Just going to do some basic work. Move around," Lamar called. The speeder was back on the move again, and the sound of the accelerator played the catalyst for his voice to jump in volume. The taxi was definately modified, but he did not mind. This was his day off, it was best to relax in the glory. "It is my day off, ya know?"

Before they knew it, the conversation was quickly slided into the war. Much had happened to the Lannik since the outbreak, and he held a hatred for the very existence of war. Despite his heritage, he had not been occupied by military views. All people, from small to tall had been affected by the barbaric nature of the war. Some would never see their brother or sister anymore, simply because of a crave of power. Lamar at times thought it was only right to punch at the mirror. He was apart of it all.

Leaping out the taxi, he paid his tab and was on. For some reason he did not want the Lannik's name. Heading inside, he carried his bag. There was much on his schedule to do.

[Lamar Starworth]

The caramel skin was awash in beads of sweat and blown with the continuous heaves of breath. Stormtroopers were renown for their rigorous training schedules, from the days within Caridia and beyond. Lamar was no different, his fit body clutched onto by the weighed wife-beater. The steam of the warm room cluttered the young man's mind as he stared forward through in the solitude. A murmur mused into his ear as one of the training droids floated past. The advance droid was not a long amidst the quarters, for the muses ricocheted throughout the chambers.

Lamar had faced the stings of their blast repeatedly, but more often than not he avoided them. Dashing from side to side, he sped up his steps as time went on and his mind fastened itself in for the numerous flips. Much had changed since his young years, when the only exercises he gained was from the dashes through the space station. All had changed since he took up arms, even his strengths.

A darkness omitted all light, leaving only a sparkling glare of the polished droids to peer through only ever so slightly. Lamar found himself at ease, within his habitat, as the hours within the room had gotten him used to the dimmed lights. Before he could relax, he was back to surging his legs with power and leaping off. Springing toward the wall, he relieved himself of limitations and pressed forth to the nearest glare.

The crunch of defeat rung in Lamar's ears as his feet smashed toward the ground with a discomfort. A snarl wrinkled his mouth and nose, the ferocity of his spirit taking display. Within a sensation burned through him like no torch or sun could. His body to reflex and quickly spun about as the screech of a bolting blast took to his ear. Lamar hand reached for his waist, but stop short as an unchanged wind blew it into his grasp.

The Force...

Is what he would have thought, but time did not stand still for even the slightest glitch in his brain. Before he knew it, the ignited blade was swung up in defense and the blast jumped back in sudden fear. Returning to it's releaser, the explosion splashed over the room. The mixture of the buzzing, orange blade and crimson explosion turn the room into a ceremonial sanctuary for only a second. A nostalgia set in as he sat there amidst the darkness, only his blade providing him life. The situation had never happened before, but he felt it like deja vu.

The day's training went well...very well.

[Lamar Starworth]

A chill perculated in the dull room. Lamar had taken refugee there for hours on end, avoiding his "so-called" friends in the mess hall. Even though none of his rooms throughout his duties were personal, the dorms were becoming more of a fondness in him. He much rather sit in his room and go over datapad entries, and holobooks instead of divulge conversation with his comrades.

The Civil War had brought him into a shell of his own, and set a blockade for most who followed him in battle. He no longer chuckled a long with his friends. All he did was read, flipping through some of the most prestigous of journals and biographies. Philosophy became another large topic on his shelves of holobooks and datachip stacks. Some of his superiors frowned upon such behavior, but isolation was not against the law. At least when one wasn't classified as a planet.

Lamar had frequently found himself in need of will to turn his head from his packs of info to refocus on the world around him. Even during lunch, it took time for him to retrain his mind on the food before him. Life just became different since the Emperor's death for everyone.

Even as he sat alone, head pressed against a pillow, he read. It was an old Encyclopedia Galactia, dated around the time of the Clone War's outbreak. Very few were still around, for one reason or another, but much of the information was outdated. However, it made sense. Lamar could only sit in fascination as he leered at the oncoming information, taking it in one big gulp. History played its way into his mind, linking event after event.

He smiled. Reading was far better than talking with those jokers down stairs. Most of them did not even know what a holobook was, much less the difference between a Duro and Neimoidia.

[Lamar Starworth]

"...Abo. They are always annoying us. I god a good mine to blast one of them to the sky."

Lamar stood at his post, his team squabbling on about the recent mishaps at the base. Numerous Muun and civilians alike had come across the area near the outskirts of the capitol only to be warded away. Stormtroopers did not want to deal in their foolish situations, nor meddle in their language.

Most troopers across the galaxy took to new planets with an interest in the abo's girls, and if that was not good enough booty for the legal pirates they raised their blasters at the first specimen they saw. Many of the troopers weren't raised like that, but the Empire did that to people. Just did not manage to do so to Lamar.

The braids dangling from his neck banged against the interior of his helm as he scuffled to the wall. Grabbing up his holobook, he placed his E-II rifle nearby and reclined as best he could. Leaning against the stronghold's wall, he indulged in his reading. Ever so often he glanced up, but managed to ignore the chatter of his squad over the intercom. Rarely did they have something intelligent to say on duty, and it seemed even less off duty. So, he isolated himself in thought as he continued on with his reading.

"Lamar.

Lamar. Lamar!

LAMAR!"

Lt. Winfield's head eased up, his darkened visor piercing forward. There was not a man of his platoon around, but the voice he recognized. The man was one of his superior, and his tone indicated he was not patient nor happy.

"Check in. We have a routine inspection to go over. Over and out."

And with that Lamar pulled up his blaster and gone off from his shift. The platoon had long left, and he had been left straddling behind as had become the usual recently. He isolated himself, and his minions cared less. They just continued on with their blabbering.

[Lamar Starworth]

The lights of the corridor shined through, providing a steep contrast to his caramel skin. Holobook to his side, he only allowed the sounds of his feet beating against the cool, smooth surface to ring in his ears. An eased breathing escaped from his lips as the young Lieutenant continued forth, carefully glancing about.

Lamar had been requested for an inspection, however his superior was obviously unspecific. Such occasions were not irregular though. People commonly found themselves coming in, carried in for promotions and other orders of business without merit. Albeit the man claimed it was routine, nothing was routine about the Galactic Civil War. Most scheduled happenings quickly shifted as times of need beckoned for other situations.

He could only frown behind the white bucket that masked his displeased features. An unusual feeling crept in his throat, warning him as he came nearer to the room. Something was wrong about the whole thing, and it edged him on the return to his dorm at the least.

Yet he proceeded on, denying his instincts control as he finally reached the room. With a grab, touch and cast to the side, he stepped forward. The door automated to the slide as his presence was felt from the sensors only to be welcomed by an elderly man and a black fitted figure that stood off to the side.

This was an inspections, but a personal one. Not another one of his comrades were in the room.

"What am I doing here?" Lamar inquired.

[Lamar Starworth]

Days later Lamar sat in his room, his eyes distant as the glow of the lamp touched his face. It had only been moments since he entered the room, but the day's schedule had consumed his mind and body. Along the numerous muscles that bulged under his garb rested an ache that he refused to succumb to. Although the agony pressed in his brain, he did not let out a single trembled breathe.

All he could do was think, and think hard. The past settled in his mind, but it was recent. The inspection had still shimmered in his mind like a jewel, but he had not spoke of it since his exit. An uncomfortable taste rested in his mouth when he left that cold room, and even to the date he could not spit it out.

They had done irregular things with his body. Droids spun back and forth from numerous directions, running swabs and other products across his body to examine every aspect. A sense of helplessness resigned in his mind during the whole experience as he stood exposed without clothes. All the armor he carried in had been stripped as a few women dashed in to activate the droids.

Despite the clear discomfort that distorted his features during it all, the two men continued to speak very casual about the procedures.

Although Lamar pestered them with an answer on the objective, they alluded such subjects and stayed on topic. Instead they rather converse about recent behavior, trips into the city and other abnormal conversation pieces for fellow employees. To Lamar none of it was their business, but an uneasiness parked itself in his stomach, so he responded.

Answering their questions honestly, he managed to evade the more studious observations he expected. Yet now, he was still uneasy, still in his room, and still alone.

Not much had change, and he hated that fact.

[Lamar Starworth]

Nuna breast, Aldeeran stew, air cake and numerous other smells tattered the room's atmosphere as the Imperials bundled into the mess hall. The smells of beverages and food compounded with the horrific fragrance of unwashed men. Oils gripped the air's aroma from the mechanics that rarely left the hangar bay for much more than sleep, while the heat of blaster burns could still be felt in the atmosphere from troopers.

Although rarely the troopers found themselves with direct conflict, they usually used their ammo on something. Even a few of Muunilist native species scattered about the capitol's outskirts fell to the blaster burns, only to be laughed at. Most of it was pathetic immaturity, or a product of boredom, but it happened frequently.

Lamar was just a spectator of it all, just as he was in the mess hall. A celebration, but he could not collaborate with a single comrade in the joy. Instead, he simply watched in sheer confusion. No one had asked once about his routine inspection, and though he was a soldier, he did have feelings. Most of his men could care less, and it affected him largely.

However, he kept it in. As his fellow troopers walked past he flashed them smiles, grins and other elements of his facade. Hopefully he could keep it up for a few more hours until the small party was over. Then he would back to his lonely room for another slumber.

[Lamar Starworth]

"Yah!"

"I remember that. The nuna dashed a--"

"No!"

"Oh yeah! He jumped up and then my blaster ai...."

The cadets could be heard going on about their simple adventures on duty. All of it was routine, and rural for more of the superiors, and Lamar seemed to blend in with the crew. War torn faces sat a long the bar area as the mess hall was ravaged with the continuity of duty stories. Although the young Lieutenant had not experienced a long term in the Galactic Civil War campaign, he had grown tired of the usual.

Overcoming the terror of normality was just another task to the big struggle mistaken as life. Lamar could only stare in his cup of ice and remember in nostalgia the days when such pressure did not collapse on his shoulders. The days when everything seemed to come free, and he called on his parents for assistance. Everything now was overwhelmed with responsibilities and unnecessary troubles. Problems came at every term. If it wasn't business, it was the troopers. There was always something to do, and rarely did he find the time to enjoy respite.

Rest was always something that was standard. It was a necessity to carry out the duties of the next day. No longer could he simply drop down on his bed and take naps. The youth couldn't even enjoy slumber.

"Pathetic," he mused. Beside him a gray haired man's eyes darted off into the distance and back over to Lamar. A slight snarl rumbled over his lips, but Lamar did not display any reaction. Instead he flashed another one of his usual smiles and carried out his drinking. Hopefully he could drown away the sorrows of the war, boredom and problems of his life.

But he knew better than to rely on a drink for such things, and all he tasted was some fresh Jawa Juice trickling down the back of his throat. Refreshed, he allowed a genuine smile to wrinkle his frequently neutral expression.

"So, any plans after this?" He said, dropping his eyes on the man beside him.

"Yup. Going to work on changing our darn uniforms." The old man's eyes drifted off into the mist of gray and black that ran over the room. It was customary, but what was truly troubling was the format of the attire.

All of it was dry and unfashionable. Loose fitting shirts and tightened pants. Nothing about it was attractive. No wonder people threw roses at the Empire during parades. They were just hoping to spice up the uniforms.

Lamar only responded with a laugh, but he waited courteously for the man to carry on.

"Seriously. We need a change, and soon."

Lamar agreed.

[Lamar Starworth]

The time for watching pleasure had come, and past. Lamar had come to observe, to blend, but it did not work. Although his facade he been perfected, he knew it was noticeable. His presence was not employed and purposely ignored. The time for smiles were behind him, like the door to his chambers.

"I can't stand this," he spat. A fury pressured his eyebrows into a furrow. An unrestrained agitation tattered his youthful features as the steps of oncoming traffic eroded the silence of the corridor. Agony drizzled over his body as he placed his hands in his pockets.

Attire in casual wear, he left the Imperial uniform back at home. The dark shades of his garments juxtaposed his persona to perfection, as his dull, distressed features were contrast by his hopeful eyes.

Outside there would be something...there just had to be.

"Finally," Lamar mused as the cadet sped through the corridor without a single wave. The Lieutenant had been commonly isolated. Everyone felt the vibe he sent requested such behavior, and at times it did. However, the young ranked official was still human. People transgression affected him, at least slightly. With a snort, he was down the way and out to a rented speeder.

Hopefully he would not be on Muunilist long, but it wasn't like he got the chance to enjoy the world. Rarely to he drift into the city, even on his days off. If it did not involve a commission or a work-out, the Muunilist cities were a foreign world to him. He had not once encountered a Muun open for conversation, but the native were not welcoming. Although the officials amidst the planet's head nodded with certainty at the Imperial presence, the planet's children resented him and the Empire. They were a symbol of oppression, and nothing Lamar could do would change that.

All he could do was enjoy his night as best he could, and he hoped he would. So, he surged the repulsor lift and sped into Harnaidan. Maybe the capitol could put a smile on his face. Nothing else was.

[Hiach Rl'yeh]

As the former headquarters of the InterGalactic Banking Clan, it seemed only fitting that Harnaidan should radiate a sense of wealth. For the city had taken a beating from Republic artillery during the Clone Wars, its skyline remained majestic – a vision of pale columns and grandiose monuments. It was enough to fill any good Imperial citizens with an abundance of pride.

The night was cool and crisp, the streets lit by floor-lamps that somehow lent even diminutive trees an air of majesty. It was early, yet, and crowds of people still paced to and fro. Unlike the rich societies found in the Hub, Harnaidan's population reflected a fairly narrow selection of species. Amongst the coal-black Iotrans and the anti-social Muun, Hiach Rl'yeh stuck out like a sore thumb – his alabaster skin almost luminous in comparison.

The Chev moved through the thinning crowds with martial stalk. There was purpose in his stride, not unlike that military gait with which the Iotrans moved. They were not so dissimilar, both rather brutish in their appearance, and so Hiach felt no animosity from them; nor from the Humans, with whom he shared enough genetic coding to be spared their xenophobia. In truth, he couldn't have cared less which among the eyes falling on him was judging him. He was here for one reason and one reason alone, the same reason that the bankers were here – money.

[Lamar Starworth]

Haphazard switches moved Lamar through traffic, as his hands took over the wheel. The speeder's acceleration wasn't enticing one bit. All of the movement and display of dexterity was amongst the many things he did to keep his thumbs from twiddling about. Purposeless feelings began treading through his soul as he gazed intently about. An anguish blanketed his content, youthful eyes until they were a blackened ball of anger.

A world about him jumbled with happy, fulfilled crowds spilled over capitol's streets. People paraded about with a joy that Lamar could not easily describe. Such days of the past could only correspond with glee. War, battle and the trooper armor had vacuumed all the bliss he retained. Now he tried desperately to capture those moments that passed him by.

Hovering effortlessly over to a nearby club, he came to a stop in the parking lot. A few vermin sprinkled over by cars, mouths hanging with ciggra and kids hands gripping on death sticks. They seemed to be slythmonglers, but off duty he could care less.

Still, if they made even the slightest move in the wrong direction they would be space dust.

[Ragnarok]

Muunilist, nicknamed "Moneylend" at the beginning of the Galactic Civil War, had gone from being a CIS stronghold in the Clone Wars to financial center of the Sovereign Galactic Empire. The InterGalactic Banking Clan ran things here. Despite the death of Chairman San Hill at the end of the Clone Wars, the IGBC managed to stay afloat in the galaxy by becoming the creditor of Imperial credits. Their power, however, diminished with the Imperial decrees that favored the Human-controlled and dominated banking organizations, which limited Muun power over the Imperial economy. But the Muun and the Iotran managed to scratch a living out regardless of the Empire's subtle dislike of all non-human species.

Ragnarok found it impossible to blend in with the Muunilist natives. He was tall, standing at a height of seven feet. In bad light and from a distance he could be mistaken for a Muun, but once someone got a better look they could see that his shoulders were far too wide and his body too bulky to be a Muun. And then he was too tall to pretend to be a Iotran. Despite this making him stand out like a Wookie among Gizka, he was determined to finish his goal here on Muunilist.

Shrouded in a black trench coat and a wide brimmed hat, he stepped out of the alley he had been hiding in and did his best to melt into the crowd. He failed horribly as he towered above most of the pedestrians. At least the clothing hid his shiny metallic body from the rest of the world. Everyone turned their heads subtely and looked at him out of the corner of their eyes. He knew not what they thought when they saw him, but their bored expressions revealed that they really didn't care. Some, though, little a little afriad and quickened their pace to distance themselves from the giant.

Ragnarok could only shrug and continue to walk, his every step bring his heavy body down in a step that sounded like a bantha stomping on a tin can.

[Lamar Starworth]

Life as a stormtrooper was not exactly glitz and glamor. There was always a problem with one's uniform. Dirt just would not come out, or the boots were not polished enough. Nothing seemed to be perfect. There was always dirt on even the cleanness armor. Superiors always were there to nag, brag and demoralize people. Much of it was like being an sub-adult again without the sense to snap-back, deatstick craze and fun.

Very few liked their chief, but like parents they had to be dealt with. However, there were some positive things about the life of a trooper. Lines were just one of the few topics that came on the list.

Before someone could utter in rebuttal to his escape of the traffic, he was at the head of the line with an I.D. Normally on his escapades he dressed in his uniform, but this time was different. Uniform was always a perfect choice. Subtle and attractive, yet this situation was different and merit problems. People were not fond of braided humans barging through the line. Even bouncers.

"Your kind of young to be an Imperial..." The large Rodian hassled.

"Oh please, just leave me in. Don't waste my time," He spat. Before the Rodian could deny him, the off-duty trooper retracted his I.D and headed past him. Not much could be done, despite the frustration and embarrassment that coated the Rodian's scaled features. If the man was an Imperial the wrong step could leave him back on Rodia in the hunt.

He would just have to keep his mouth shut and continue on with the other annoyances of the line.

[Hiach Rl'yeh]

A prudent first step in any hunt was to scope out the local terrain. There were always hot-spots and almost certainly there were bars, clubs and cantina's whose shadowy booths and dance floors played host to those on the wrong side of the law. It was simply a matter of following the natural flow of the city. Like a river can be followed to the sea, people can be followed to corruption.

It wasn't long before a group, already on their way to being paralytic, stumbled by – one almost walking into Hiach. Through their slurs and sneers, the Hunter picked up that they were planning on going to the 'best club in town'. One of them grunted something about the 'damn Imperials'. That was all the convincing that Rl'yeh needed. He waited until they had moved a little ahead, before he slowly began to follow. Soon he found himself within sight of a snaking line of people, all queuing for admittance to one little dark door.

[Lamar Starworth]

Clouds of people trickled at the entrance. Lamar had never had the pleasure of crowds. Beside the graduation ceremony back at the University of Coruscant, all the crowds he was apart of equal squads. Everything about his social life had been orienated with something militant. Even as he glanced about, he took careful scrutinty as thought he was on reconnisance. All the working had managed to phase his personality out a bit.

A snort soon returned him to normal. Cautiously treading through the flock of beings, he managed his way to the bar. There he could maybe rest before jumping into the dance routine about.

Socializing could be heard from afar. Unique pitches of voice compounded into one fling of conversations. A few words there and here could be deciphered. Everything seemed like a jumble of words for the most part, but somehow Lamar enjoyed it. The pleasure of life was a lot better when accompanied with other sentients. Although he did not grasp the conversations, the segments were certainly amusing.

People just made him laugh, especially civilizans.

[Ragnarok]

Crowds; a pain in the tin butt if you wanted to get somewhere. They had a habit of slowing down when you wanted to go fast and speeding up when you wanted to take your time. If you valued your flesh then you would move with the changing tempo, or risk getting knocked down and crushed underfoot.

This was not the case for Ragnarok. He kept the same speed regardless of everyone else. If he wanted to go faster then people got out of his way, if he slowed down then people flowed around him like water around a rock. His head never moved, his internal sensor equipment was functioning at it's highest level, scanning for something. Eventually he detected it, a strong trace of Mustafar Obsidian steel, a compound not found often on a planet like Muunilist.

He turned off the street and down an alley, the trace signal got stronger as he moved towards it. Eventually a sentient creature stepped out, hood and cloaked, with a large card of metal, Mustafar Obsidian. Despite the sentient's cover, Ragnarok scanners picked up that it was a Muun. He ignored the fact and pulled a rod of Kashyyyk Wroshyr wood, "What information do you have for me? The Muun shuffled it's feet, in nervousness no doubt, "The target was last seen entering a local bar a few streets down. The bar is heavily populated tonight. Bouncers guard the entrance and they will reject the entrance to a character such as you. You would do best to wait till he leave and cap him then."

"Your concerns are noted, and don't tell me how to do my job, ever," the Muun visibly shrank back at the words, despite their lack of emotion. Ragnarok turned away and headed out of the alley, and back into the flow of foot traffic.

[Lamar Starworth]

Cathar could be heard hissing about, as Anx unique voices echoed throughout the crowds. Lamar had kept his face far from such diverse crowds, but it was hard to ignore the senses. Moment by moment his eyes switched about the wildly lit room. A struggle between different hues blasted through the dimmed chambers as people motioned about.

Music ravaged the crowd of it's spirit and possessed the flock. Many moved with the touch of the beat, while others sat at the bar and tapped their feet.

Lamar would rather enjoy the later, but with a quick snatch and grab he was on the dance floor with the rest. Despite his resent, the Cathar female had done her best to claim his eyes. He followed her, waiting for a genuine smile to replace the nervous one upon his face.

[Hiach Rl'yeh]

The queue was full of oddities. A night out on the town was an excuse to get dressed up and strut your stuff. Compared with what was on show, Hiach seemed relatively normal. Had his tattoos been visible, they would have only helped him to blend in. The bouncer ushered in the Chev without a second glance. He stepped inside, and the music hit him.

It was like a drill, a jackhammer bass shuddering up the spine. Ducking under a smoky arch, Rl'yeh found himself in the club proper. It was a mass of undulating bodies, all sweating and out of their minds on one substance or another. Hiach navigated the sea of flesh, finding his way to the bar. It was the best place to size up the rest of the club from. There were hundreds of faces to sort through. He had to get started right away if he was going to find his mark.

[Lamar Starworth]

Tide of beings swung about in exotic notions. Craze of humanoids clustered about, their flesh sparkling with alternating lights. All of it was a little too much for Lamar, so before he could be drained any further he danced his way away from the Cathar as a train of people motioned his way.

Blending amidst the profusion was not hard. Evading a lusty Cathar's eyes was. However, a bit of expertise in the field gave him the necessary haste to dash over to the bar he was retrieved. Hopefully he could take a breather until he returned to the sweat patch mistaken for a crowd.

"A Fizzy-Pop," he requested. Not an eye was casted his way, but it was not unusual. Besides the bartender, not many people could hear him amidst the yelps and music.