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The Vagrant Victor
Nar Shaddaa
Purgatory
Theme
Nighttime on Nar Shaddaa. Didn’t much matter where on the moon you were when darkness fell—on the streets, beneath the streets, above the streets—everywhere was just as dangerous as anywhere. Beyond the thief, beyond the rapist, beyond the murderer, the Hutts ruled this world, the Hutts ruled this space, and the Hutts were the biggest crime family in the galaxy. They were born, bred and built for this kind of work, but they weren’t alone. He was born, bred and built to work for the likes of them, at least until the job was done. Afterward, it would be time to walk away with a smile, a big gun and a fistful of credits.Nar Shaddaa
“Here you go, handsome.”
Vintar smiled, accepting the glass of Gralish liqueur with a wink of thanks and something else that sent the Falleen waitress walking away with an exaggerated sway to her hips. The thought was tempting, but there were plenty of others just like her around here, if not quite just like her, and Vintar reminded himself that he was here on business first and foremost. Maybe I’ll see you later, sweets. Just keep passing that tray around meanwhile. Lifting his glass to his lips, he finally looked away, letting the blue-green liquid slide down his throat as he sat back in his seat and watched the clubbers as they clubbed.
Purgatory was the place to be on a night out on Nar Shaddaa. Well, it was one of the places to be, anyway, amid a sea of dancing, drinking, drugging nightlife on a moon that catered to all of the above and then some. Of course, depending on what kind of trouble you were in or what kind of trouble you happened to get in, it was also one of the worst places to be. Here Hutts roamed, here Hutts roved, here Hutts ruled. They didn’t much rave, because they couldn’t much move, but they did much, much more merely by maintaining a measure of malice, malevolence and a million miles of meanness. Fortunately, Vintar was no mercenary who had found himself on the receiving end of that. Rather, he was here to receive his fortune. That probably meant killing someone at some point, which made him less than unordinary. How many of these folks around him were killers themselves, and how many were killers in dresses? Vintar wore no dress, but he hoped he was as inconspicuous in profession with his white leather jacket, black pants and maroon boots. Just a man as ordinary as any other, looking for a good time in Purgatory.
The club had six levels, the first four of which were connected by open staircases, the remaining and top two by inner stairwells given their walled interiors, though a balcony at each level oversaw the rest of the club. The second level contained the club’s main entrance, bars and public tables and booths, while the third level was different only in that most of its lounges required reservations. The first, fourth and fifth levels, meanwhile, were the primary dance floors. At the first, space was entirely open, allowing for great clusters of dancers. The fourth level was a mixture of dancing space and tables, while the fifth level was fitted with dancing poles, cages and smaller, elevated platforms. Last but not least was the sixth level, reserved for VIP access only. The sixth level entertained a similar setup as the others, sporting a dancing floor, bars and lounges, but most importantly, it held the dais of the club’s owner, one that could both oversee the outside club below and the breadth of the VIP level. It was a throne large enough, Vintar had heard, “for the fattest blob of slug’s ass to plop itself down.” Given that this establishment was owned by a Hutt, that statement did little to tickle his imagination.
Thinking on it, Vintar took another sip to take the taste away. He would probably need a thousand more to get the image out of his head, but unfortunately, he wasn’t here to drink his credits away so much as make them. On the third level, he had claimed a lounge at the corner of a platform; a VIP spot that had been reserved for him by management itself, though he had been sure to place it under the alias of “John Shepard”. Seemed like an ordinary enough name. “Go to Purgatory”, his contact had told him. “Arrangements will be made so that you can speak with the owner. He should be able to provide you with some intel to get you on the right track.” Vintar hadn’t thought much to or spoken much about that, save for the thought of being able to add a little pleasure to his business after all. The waitress that had just brought him his drink was since lost in the crowd before him, but there was plenty of other eye candy about in one of the most popular clubs in the area. He could see why. So much ass, so little time. Time that was, yet, on his side. He had received his invitation to the club, but he had yet to be invited to the sixth level. That was okay. He could spend some more minutes drinking, ogling and bopping his head back and forth to the beat.
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