Burn Our Fingers & Change Our Names [OPEN - Jedi/Rebel]
Aug 10, 2018 22:28:26 GMT -5
Akio Kahoshi, Lilliana Contarus, and 1 more like this
Post by Kilia Tharen on Aug 10, 2018 22:28:26 GMT -5
"I have often-times found that the safest place to hide, is in plain sight. Those in power often become complacent and it's easiest to blind-sight them from the places they think are most secure..."
Her grandfather's words rang true, Kilia Tharen thought, as she slipped through the crowded nightclub - right past a group of human men in civilian clothes, who's regulation hair cuts and stiff-spined postures told any observant stranger that they were Imperial service members of some ilk or another. The clientele of The Indigo Club were surprisingly mixed - it was one of the very few clubs in Coronet City that allowed non-and-Near-Human clientele. Of course, non-human customers were strictly regulated to the oldest and lowest level of the club...and that's exactly where Kilia was headed.
The Last Level, as it was called, was darker, seedier, and (if it was even possible) louder than the other three, human-only levels in the Indigo. It could only be accessed from an unadorned, and rather dented, durasteel door in the club's sub-basement access off of a poorly-lit side alley. In the event that she was followed, Kilia made a token show of entering into the club on it's fourth level, which was, by no means, the most lavish and exclusive level of the club. The fourth level, however, catered mostly to Coronet's City young, twenties-to-thirties single crowd, and consisted mostly of corporate and government workers, with a healthy dash of off-duty Imperial personnel thrown in for good measure. Like all of the levels, the fourth was a mix of several dance floors, a restaurant or two, a gigantic bar that dominated the central gathering hub, and a collection of small rooms around the perimeter of the afore-mentioned spaces that provided a modicum of privacy for conversations and group games (mostly of the card variety).
It was a weekend and walking space was at a premium. Kilia wove her way deftly through the crowd, though, toward an exit door just behind the bar and slightly to it's left down a short hallway that also included doors that lead to two spacious 'freshers for respective genders. She'd already spent some time at the bar, pretending to drink and flirt with a (admittedly cute) off-duty lieutenant from Coruscant. She'd told the young officer (who could have only been a year or two older than her) that she was going to the 'fresher - anyone watching her would have reason to think the same, since the exit access was supposed to be triggered for emergency-only alarm.
But, the hidden beauty of the Last Level, was that it also served as an excellent gathering place for dissidents, insurgents, rebels, and any being harboring anti-Imperial, anti-Sith sentiment. Kilia's family had made good use of the Last Level in the last ten years, when a rebel sympathizer took over ownership of the Indigo. Jeffdari Sanrick kept his political affiliations well-hidden, but the right beings - like Kilia's grandfather, Korbin - knew the truth of Sanrick's private beliefs.
It was that whole "hiding-in-plain-sight" modus operandi that Korbin Tharen swore by...
And thanks to Sanrick - and his equally rebel-sympathetic Chief of Operations - that the fourth floor exit door, did not trigger an alarm...when they knew that certain individuals might have need of it at specific times. Kilia, and right now.
The fourth floor exit opened onto an old fire escape that had seen better days and was, in truth, horrifically outdated. But, it was located on the right side of the nightclub and with a little dexterity and a certain fearlessness toward heights, could be taken down to the narrow side-ally that lead to the Last Level's only entryway. Kilia paused in the shadows beneath the fire escape, once she had climbed down, and fished a small scrap of cloth out of a pocket inside of her prized bantha-leather flight jacket. She quickly tied it around her eyes - and for all anyone would now know, she was a Miraluka, not a human.
It was a sly trick that Kilia had picked up from an old bartender on Ord Mantell - a bartender with an interesting past and former career, to say the least. But, with the right layers of colored tulle, the eyes could be completely hidden. And it was easy to copy Miralukan styles...it wasn't the easiest disguise to use in a dark alleyway, or a dim nightclub, but Kilia had the Force to guide her. Which, again, wouldn't surprise anyone who might be around and on guard for Force Sensitives. Miraluka were naturally so and couldn't see without the Force to begin with. Like Mirialans, Miralukans could be Force Sensitive, without most beings jumping to conclusions of the "Jedi" variety.
She had dyed her hair, too - her hair was naturally dirty-blond, but tonight (and the foreseeable future) it was a coppery shade of red. And her name...well...she'd come up with something between now and when she met her contact.
Kilia slipped through the Last Level's door and in the dim light, looked for all the world like any average (Miralukan) woman walking off of the street. She was dressed in a simple white tunic, matched with dark pants, dark boots, and a dark jacket. Except for her hair, when the light hit it just right, there really wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her. And thanks to the absence of eyes and the obscuring of a good quarter, if not half, of one's face, most Miraluka were hard to remember on facial features alone. It was disguise that had, and probably would continue, to serve Kilia well.
She made her way - again - through the decidedly more diverse crowd, toward one of the private rooms to the left of the entrance. Kilia felt her heart pound as she practically danced around other bodies toward her destination. She was to meet one of her grandfather's contacts, who would then escort her on a mission that would hopefully serve as a sort of Trial - the kind that would make her worthy of finally becoming a Jedi Knight.
Her grandfather's words rang true, Kilia Tharen thought, as she slipped through the crowded nightclub - right past a group of human men in civilian clothes, who's regulation hair cuts and stiff-spined postures told any observant stranger that they were Imperial service members of some ilk or another. The clientele of The Indigo Club were surprisingly mixed - it was one of the very few clubs in Coronet City that allowed non-and-Near-Human clientele. Of course, non-human customers were strictly regulated to the oldest and lowest level of the club...and that's exactly where Kilia was headed.
The Last Level, as it was called, was darker, seedier, and (if it was even possible) louder than the other three, human-only levels in the Indigo. It could only be accessed from an unadorned, and rather dented, durasteel door in the club's sub-basement access off of a poorly-lit side alley. In the event that she was followed, Kilia made a token show of entering into the club on it's fourth level, which was, by no means, the most lavish and exclusive level of the club. The fourth level, however, catered mostly to Coronet's City young, twenties-to-thirties single crowd, and consisted mostly of corporate and government workers, with a healthy dash of off-duty Imperial personnel thrown in for good measure. Like all of the levels, the fourth was a mix of several dance floors, a restaurant or two, a gigantic bar that dominated the central gathering hub, and a collection of small rooms around the perimeter of the afore-mentioned spaces that provided a modicum of privacy for conversations and group games (mostly of the card variety).
It was a weekend and walking space was at a premium. Kilia wove her way deftly through the crowd, though, toward an exit door just behind the bar and slightly to it's left down a short hallway that also included doors that lead to two spacious 'freshers for respective genders. She'd already spent some time at the bar, pretending to drink and flirt with a (admittedly cute) off-duty lieutenant from Coruscant. She'd told the young officer (who could have only been a year or two older than her) that she was going to the 'fresher - anyone watching her would have reason to think the same, since the exit access was supposed to be triggered for emergency-only alarm.
But, the hidden beauty of the Last Level, was that it also served as an excellent gathering place for dissidents, insurgents, rebels, and any being harboring anti-Imperial, anti-Sith sentiment. Kilia's family had made good use of the Last Level in the last ten years, when a rebel sympathizer took over ownership of the Indigo. Jeffdari Sanrick kept his political affiliations well-hidden, but the right beings - like Kilia's grandfather, Korbin - knew the truth of Sanrick's private beliefs.
It was that whole "hiding-in-plain-sight" modus operandi that Korbin Tharen swore by...
And thanks to Sanrick - and his equally rebel-sympathetic Chief of Operations - that the fourth floor exit door, did not trigger an alarm...when they knew that certain individuals might have need of it at specific times. Kilia, and right now.
The fourth floor exit opened onto an old fire escape that had seen better days and was, in truth, horrifically outdated. But, it was located on the right side of the nightclub and with a little dexterity and a certain fearlessness toward heights, could be taken down to the narrow side-ally that lead to the Last Level's only entryway. Kilia paused in the shadows beneath the fire escape, once she had climbed down, and fished a small scrap of cloth out of a pocket inside of her prized bantha-leather flight jacket. She quickly tied it around her eyes - and for all anyone would now know, she was a Miraluka, not a human.
It was a sly trick that Kilia had picked up from an old bartender on Ord Mantell - a bartender with an interesting past and former career, to say the least. But, with the right layers of colored tulle, the eyes could be completely hidden. And it was easy to copy Miralukan styles...it wasn't the easiest disguise to use in a dark alleyway, or a dim nightclub, but Kilia had the Force to guide her. Which, again, wouldn't surprise anyone who might be around and on guard for Force Sensitives. Miraluka were naturally so and couldn't see without the Force to begin with. Like Mirialans, Miralukans could be Force Sensitive, without most beings jumping to conclusions of the "Jedi" variety.
She had dyed her hair, too - her hair was naturally dirty-blond, but tonight (and the foreseeable future) it was a coppery shade of red. And her name...well...she'd come up with something between now and when she met her contact.
Kilia slipped through the Last Level's door and in the dim light, looked for all the world like any average (Miralukan) woman walking off of the street. She was dressed in a simple white tunic, matched with dark pants, dark boots, and a dark jacket. Except for her hair, when the light hit it just right, there really wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her. And thanks to the absence of eyes and the obscuring of a good quarter, if not half, of one's face, most Miraluka were hard to remember on facial features alone. It was disguise that had, and probably would continue, to serve Kilia well.
She made her way - again - through the decidedly more diverse crowd, toward one of the private rooms to the left of the entrance. Kilia felt her heart pound as she practically danced around other bodies toward her destination. She was to meet one of her grandfather's contacts, who would then escort her on a mission that would hopefully serve as a sort of Trial - the kind that would make her worthy of finally becoming a Jedi Knight.
