Noire
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Apr 29, 2014
- Messages
- 602
- Reaction score
- 27
NABOO // THE MARINA DISTRICT // SUNSET
Bypassing security was a headache Alak Qel had not adequately prepared himself for.
The security measures were discrete, easily missable by an untrained eye, but far and wide. The Marina District was teeming with a variety of exuberant faces, milling about in their wardrobe's best, and shuffling into Club Foomba as flashing lights crossed to and fro in the nighttime sky. Of course, Alak mused as he observed the socialites from a stone balustrade overlooking the greater section of the District. He could not fault the Naboo for whisking themselves away and enjoying their dreamland regardless of how much of an inconvenience it was to the task at hand. This was, after all, a scene of normalcy for the Naboo. A galaxy swept into chaos seemed a distant concern on a planet so exceptionally gorgeous and comforting.
If circumstances were different - starkly different - perhaps Alak would have whisked himself away too. But there was a war on. One that, since Chandrila, Alak had deliberately found himself inching closer and closer towards, and one that he could not so easily ignore. As he began his journey down a spiraling staircase his gaze fell upon a luxury starship descending from the clouds toward a landing pad atop Foomba.
Omas would be onboard.
Though Alak could never quite explain it - not well at least - he could sense Omas's presence just as distinctly as he could the presence of his Chitlik versus his Voorpak. Regardless of how small or subtle the difference was it was there. It existed. At the last step, Alak became one with the ebb and flow of the crowd, blending in as though he were of their creed. He wore simple fabrics, certainly agreeable with the taste of the socialites around him, but not expensive enough to regret by morning's light. It was at the door of Foomba where trouble reared its ugly, ugly head.
"You won't be entering tonight without a special invitation," said the more 'meatier' of the two guards. For every word that left his lips, it was as though the scars that crossed his face mocked him, moving in a manner that Alak hadn't quite had the displeasure of witnessing before.
"And who's handing those out?" Alak asked, grimacing as he spoke, and peering at the name across the man's chest. "...Korto is it? Yes, Korto. That's a nice name."
"I don't have the time nor patience to deal with scum like you. Please, move aside." Korto ordered. The folding of his arms signaled that, yes, he meant business.
"I was only joking. Please, here." Alak said as he offered a thin card. Korto, warily as a Loth-Cat, accepted the card and inspected for a fraction of a nanosecond before a frown spread across his face.
"This is clearly fraudulent. And from that glint off your belt, I can see that you're trying to enter Foomba armed. You must take me for some kind of fool."
"Oh," Alak muttered. "Now where would I have gotten an idea like that from?" The muscles in Korto's jaw clenched, his eyes becoming small and beady as they narrowed at Alak, his frame looming over the smaller man like that of a shadow as he took a step forward. Great, Alak thought, taking a step back.
@Relent
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