- Joined
- Dec 15, 2018
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The Tickled Pink
On the night of September ninth, not fifty-standard hours before Wayne Aldros’ wedding, his buddies took him to a strip joint on the vacation wold Zeltros. The club was called the Tickled Pink and it was famed among young men from backwater worlds for it’s gorgeous exotic women and watered down drinks. By midnight Wayne was drunk and hopelessly infatuated with eight or nine of the strippers. For twenty credits they would sit on his lap and run their hands through his hair, cooing about what a big strong man he was.
His buddies, with rowdy good humor, had attracted the attentions of an exotic Zeltron beauty who wiggled in an imitation of dance on their table, her ten-inch platform heels sparkling in the gaudy pink light of the club. The boys stared longingly at her luscious curves, hooting their appreciation and happily emptied their wallets of whatever credits they had.
Wayne took a moment to gather his thoughts, gazing at the pink skinned appieration before him, his eyes caught sight of an unlikely scene happening in the booth just beyond their table. A stunning blue skinned Twi-Lek was perched precariously on the arms of a lounge chair. She was bent fully from the waist over a flabby older human who’s face was obscured in her prodigiously enhanced bosom. It bounced salaciously in time with the music.
Wayne was immediately enamoured and emboldened, flagging down a waitress to bring him and his buddies yet another round. She flashed a sultry smile and dissolved into the darkness to fetch the drinks. The young insurance man smiled and returned his attentions to the gyrating form in front of him, hooting and hollering with his friends.
And then the screaming started.
The flabby old human who had been happily ensconced in the lounge chair and the sweet smelling cleavage of the Twi-Lek, stood up without warning; sending the young woman, who’s name was Alina, sprawling as he grabbed at his left arm cried out in a garbled voice then keeled over stone cold dead.
The effect on the patrons and staff of the Boobie Bungalow was immediate. The crowd surged for the doors, many not wanting to be there when the police turned up; lest they be found out by the law, the paparazzi or their wives.
By some cruel twist of fate, the table occupied by Wayne and his rowdy friends seemed to be right in the middle of the surging tide of people heading for the doors. They were unable to move, though that didn’t discourage the dancer who’s affections had dried up with the stream of credits. In seeming defiance of the madness around them, the Zeltron beauty swooped down, grabbed what credits she could off the table and sprang into the crowd. But it was not to be. As she made to dive into the crowd one of her shoes caught on the edge of the table causing her to slip, sending the offending foot, complete with dangerous footwear, straight into the side of young Wayne’s head.
He had a wonderful view of the dancer for a moment before his world turned black in a flash of ten-inch platform heel.
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Jacob Tagger had stayed late at his office. Not by choice, no, but the unintentional will of a dead man. Some washed up actress had decided to go and die while visiting family on Zeltros and the lackluster task of dredging up bits of her history to forge into a complementary obituary had fallen to Jacob.
Under no circumstances was he to write anything snide or cutting in this obituary, his editor, Elaine, had informed him tersely though sleepily over the comm not an hour ago. He didn’t have to wonder why. Elaine would only have pushed this on him with such dire urgency or with such uncharacteristic command if the deceased had in some way enamoured themselves to the network.
Shit always flowed downhill and now it rested squarely on his shoulders to dredge up some glowing facts about the sorry old hag so that bored people, thumbing through the news on their datapads over caf in the morning might feel some pang of sadness and say “did you hear that so-and-so died?”.
It was a sorry come down from where he had been several years ago, chasing down Hutt Cartel lords, writing exposes on the seemingly endless and soap-opera quality of corruption on Corellia. He sighed and glared at the not five lines of text he had managed to write in the last fourty-five minutes.
His commlink buzzed. He thumbed it off without a thought, probably Eliane again. He didn’t need her try-hard attitude. He knew what he had to do.
It buzzed again and again he thumbed it off, this time thinking ‘that girl is going to worry herself to an early death’.
His commlink immediately buzzed again and this time Jacob looked down to see who was calling. It was his friend Carlos, an inspector with the Zeltros Peace Corps. Immediately his eyebrows went up and he clicked the commlink on.
“Carlos,” he said wearily, by way of greeting, “how many times do I have to tell you that a dead junkie on government land isn’t newsworthy?”
“Hi, good to talk to you too Jake,” came the equally weary reply. “It’s always such a treat when you decide to take my calls only to jump down my throat.”
“I mean, it is one in the morning Carlos, I’m right to be grouchy. Elaine has me writing an obit for some washed up hag who used to be big in the holos.”
“Sounds thrilling,” said Carlos smoothly. “Front page for sure. I can see it now.”
“It’s rude to tease people.”
“Fine,” came the snappy reply. “How about a dead politician who had a heart attack while up to his neck in some strippers tits at the Tickled Pink”
Jacob didn’t even reply, he simply clicked the line shut, grabbed his coat and ran out the door. Elaine would write the obid when she didn’t have anything in hand by four.
@Black Noise
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