Way Over Limit

[Vic Starfallen]

The Boreal Galaros was decent for a space station, Vic thought as she looked throughout the window of her hotel room. Her ginger locks cascaded past her pale shoulders as she stood naked before the window, having stepped out of the fresher only moments ago. She was soon headed out to explore the station properly, but after the long space travel, she had needed to clean up. Her crew were scattered across the station as well, mostly headed towards the lower levels, some elsewhere, planting seeds for the future, and getting to know the locals while some remained aboard her ship and ensured proper maintenance happened.

The Tainar Corsair was always glad to get an excuse to get out of her home system. She was fiercely patriotic, and not just because of her lineage; but because she loved the culture and the open-mindedness that flourished among her people. What she enjoyed as a Corsair was the thrill of adventure but also the role of emissary that allowed her to either properly represent her people in limited capacity; or at least scout for new contacts and new places where traders and politicians might travel to later.

The Boreal Galaros was just another pit stop for spacers on the surface; but for whoever who knew how to see beneath the surface, it was a black market hub, for spices, gems, fabulous art forgeries, and that was without counting the mercenaries, bounty hunters, thieves, prostitutes that populated it. Having been formally trained as a courtesan by the inimitable Countess Tel'kharn, knew the value of a talented and cunning whore. Many civilizations looked down upon sex workers and that was both a mistake for them and a tremendous advantage for those who knew better. Rare were those immune to body heat and sexual services, and it remained a practical avenue to manipulate many souls, especially those with money or information.

Vic was here for a few days to check the place and explore possible opportunities for the Corsairs and by extension the Tainarian System. Black market was a good income source after all.

Finally turning away from the window, she padded towards the large bed and began getting dressed into a comfortable but curve hugging attire. She chose to keep her locks free for now. What she liked about shadier areas was that carrying weapons wasn't much of a big deal. Unarmed combat was something she was good at; but a good blaster and especially a good knife made her happy. She strapped the holster so it would stay around her leg properly, and slid her blaster into it. On the other side, she carried a sheathed dagger. One of the things she had learned when studying under the Countess was how to train to be as ambidextrous as possible, and it was a skill she had carried into her combat training over the years.

With a last look in the mirror, she winked at her reflection, and headed out of her hotel room.

[Denver Torres]

The rhythmic chimes of his spurs were swallowed up by the pulse of the live music pouring out of the seedy cantina he entered. He paused long enough for his dark eyes to scan the crush of patrons from beneath the wide brim of his gambler hat before continuing his confident stride in the direction of the bar counter. Once there, he held up two fingers to redirect the attention of the bar tender and sidled in between two stools; one occupied, one kept open. The familiarity of this place could only be attributed to his Kiffar roots, having glimpsed the exact layout and accompanying faces by means of psychometry. He knew in about five minutes time, the stool next to him would no longer be empty and it wouldn't be much longer after that things would begin to get truly interesting.

Denver Torres ordered a tumbler of bottom shelf whiskey and propped his left booted foot atop the bottom rung of the stool next to him. A gloved hand shot out and caught the glass slid towards him, promptly lifting it to his scruff lined lips and drawing deeply from the contents. A burning scoff left him at the strong flavor but he managed to polish off the entirety of the glass's contents, ordering another immediately after. Anyone who actually knew Denver, and he doubted there was a single person on this station who did, knew that he had a penchant for fast women, copious amounts of liquor, and a high stakes game of sabacc. Even now, he could feel the draw to the table in the corner, currently occupied by an assortment of alien races and laden with credit chips that denoted a fiery round was in progress. No, he had business and the score promised to be better than what the round had to offer.

Reaching up, he unsnapped the first few fastenings of his black leather jacket to reveal a swath of sun-bronzed skin and the prominent jut of his collar bones; white scars bisected the flesh there in a swooping pattern that rose and banded near his throat. One of the many badges of survival the mercenary could boast, certainly not the worst of them. Rather than reminiscing, he downed his second serving and then turned just in time to connect eyes with the one he'd been waiting for. The corner of his mouth lifted in a devilish smirk and he used his pre-propped foot to push out the stool in invitation.

"Hermosa, it is unacceptable to find you without a drink in your hand. Come, we shall remedy this, I think." He offered, his heavily accented voice deep but somewhat roughened by too many cigars and cheap whiskeys. He waved down the bar tender again, who filled his glass and then waited for her order.

[Vic Starfallen]

The place was a hive of filth and danger bubbling right beneath the barely decent surface of the menial dealings happening. Vic could relate so well. As much as she belonged to a Royal House, venom, curses, and toe-curling ministrations ran out of her luscious lips with equal power and wicked magnificence. It was hard for her to fathom that other planets had stuck up nobility or assorted rules that only sought to limit one's pleasures in life. Morals were not attached so clingfully to petty limitations where she had grown up.

A courtesan, a lady, a pirate, a killer, a lover, she was all of this and so much more; but truth was that she thrived under situations repelling to many people in the galaxy, such as the den of villainy she had just stepped in. She had little interest in sabacc or dejarik, preferring other types of games. Yet she would likely hover the area sooner than later, because observing the actual players could be not only enlightening but outright entertaining.

For now, she felt a pull towards the bar, longing for a strong drink, her favorite kind.

Under thick lashes, her piercing gaze fell upon the leather-clad man next to an available stool. It appeared he was expecting her, which could either be a bad or a promising sign. Vic knew not what to make of it; but she wasn't one to live in fear, and as too brash as she could be, she planted her curvaceous ass on the offered seat.

"I'll have a supernova," she said curtly, her accent difficult to place for the many unfamiliar with the Tainar system.

She returned her attention to the man, quirking a brow at him, flashing a grin.

She recognized his facial markings as Kiffar. It wasn't that many roamed in her neck of the stars; but she recalled a client she had worked for when training under the Countess. He had said very little about his people' talents; but Shasati had actually told her more, which had explained how good in bed they could be, given their psychometry. She found it fascinating, really.

"Were you merely expecting me to have a drink, or did you already have glimpses of more?"

She rested a hand on his knee, still holding his gaze, although she had caught sight of the scars on his exposed flesh. She was curious to see how low they ran. She liked a forward man, and she wasn't really known to go for the good ones. She loved perverting good girls, for they tended to have greater potential than good guys, who scared more easily than they wanted to admit. Or were so keen on putting women on pedestal they forgot to toss them onto their back or knees.