All Aboard the Chalice

[Sinister]

The Alabaster Chalice was the pride and joy of Vorba's burgeoning little empire. A bright gleaming jewel in the endless black of space. His greatest glory. This would be her grand return to the galaxy at large, and the timing could not have been better. There was panic in the air on the edge of new hostilities. People would be ready to gobble up armaments by the millions, and he was just the Hutt to get it for them. But first, he needed to announce himself once again to civilization. He needed to appear strong enough to not kill outright, but not so strong that potential buyers were frightened off. If anything, he needed to create an air of great wealth and means, but only moderate competence.

It had been a week since Vorba had sent the advertisement out over all the holonet stations that he could manage. Nothing too conspicuous. Just a gathering of classy individuals who want to enjoy a luxurious few days on one of the most exclusive pleasure yachts in the galaxy. They had been given coordinates deep in former Hutt space that hadn't been entirely reclaimed as of yet. That would keep most of the riff-raff away. Many on the list caught his eye. A Sith expatriate, Exchange reps, and who knew who some of these others were. Vorba was not a name known to many outside of Nal Hutta, but many knew of his mother Bravma, understated as she was at times. That was what he must be as well. Understated.

He looked across the main floor of the casino that served as the main entrance into his vessel. It was bathed in neon lights in all directions. Purples, greens, yellows, blues. It was hypnotic, as was the rhythmic music pumping through the area to go along with the sounds of gambling machines all booting up and coming alive as they prepared to receive their guests. Male and female human and Twi'lek dancers scattered about, prepared to engage an elaborate routine. Holograms projected images of patrons winning big, getting comforting massages, and watching exciting pit fights. Vorba stood in an area where all who came in could witness him alone, and without his normal retinue of bodyguards. It was important. A show of either power or carelessness. Either perception benefited him. Though he did spare one glace up to the balcony where his bodyguard Igcho was no doubt hoping someone would try something. Crazy rodian was a bloodthirsty bipedal if he ever saw one. When at last the doors opened from the airlock zone and guests came forth, he greeted them with a show of mirth and excitement, his voice booming and arms wide!

"Ohhh ho ho ho, friends! Welcome! Welcome to the Alabaster Chalice! Make yourselves at home in my home! The facilities are at your disposal! I am at your disposal! Eat, drink! The night is ours!"

[Rugs]

Io’an had never set foot on the Alabaster Chalice and yet it felt remarkably like home as he strolled aimlessly across the casino gaming floor.. ‘Home’ being a casino created that effect when visiting other gambling dens, he supposed. After all, the Blind Eye — unique though it was — was far from the only such place in the Galaxy, or even the Nal Hutta system, for that matter. The Chalice’s casino was very different from the Blind Eye of course, despite some similarities that were surely universal to all casinos.

Regardless, the bright, beeping machines and friendly card dealers at pazaark tables were window dressing, as far as the Sephi was concerned. Living in the Eye both made the offerings on display significantly more routine to his eye, and ingrained one immutable law into his skull — the house always won, in the end.

Rather than set his credits on fire, Io’an used what little money he’d come with on a few drinks, and was working on his second one--some vivid purple cocktail that was significantly more potent than it appeared. Io’an suspected he’d not be drinking much else for a little while.

He was, after all, on business as an Exchange representative. Vorba the Hutt, the Chalice’s master, was the gracious host of the current affair, and it wouldn’t do for Io’an to make a fool of himself. Not while the Exchange worked so feverishly to strengthen its hand on Nar Shaddaa, right under the Hutts’ noses.

So instead he put on a good show, making pleasant, pointless conversation with some woman in a gaudy outfit that he suspected was trying to pump him for information. That exchange ended with a too-sweet smile when she realized his lips weren’t as loose as she’d like--after he said for the fourth time that, no he’d not answer her questions, but if he could speak to Vorba, he might be more willing to talk — and Io’an found himself alone again.

Vance was around, somewhere. He had been specifically invited, while Io'an tagged along with him. Io’an supposed it’d be wise to find him. He set off, leaving his empty drink glass on a countertop, and wondered if they’d be able to meet the Hutt himself.

[Fromikeable]

Vance was quickly developing a distrust for pleasure cruises. He hadn’t been much of a fan to begin with, granted; they seemed exorbitant, and frivolous, and if he could be just a bit judgemental for a moment, tacky. Perhaps it was the Jedi upbringing, or the Sith pragmatism (not that the darker Order had ever passed up chances to be flashy and dramatic), or just the grimy Nar Shaddaa outlook.

Maybe it was that he’d only been on two cruises as a passenger in his lifetime, and the last one was waylaid by pirates, and this one was run by a Hutt.

And yet, somehow less likely to get shot at on this one. Sipping his drink, Vance took stock of the crowd buzzing around him, smiles and coy looks all around. This Vorba seemed to know what he was doing, security in the wings, crowd loose and happy, but not too loose. Slots were ringing and glasses were tipping; the perfect environment to learn things no one should know and say things that weren’t true.

A veritable paradise for brokers of information.

Not that he’d been offering much. He was technically the name on the Exchange’s invite, after all, though bringing Io’an as his plus one had been more than welcome. He must have talked to two dozen different “entrepreneurs” and “clientele” since they were let into the main hall, and even without telepathy, most had been easy to read. Carefully selected words. Loaded questions. Flirtatious and sometimes downright horny mannerisms for some. Flashes of credits and signs of affluence from others.

Sex sold, and money bought it, he supposed.

Finishing his drink, Vance caught sight of Io’an wandering by. Seizing the opportunity to reconnect, he lightly smacked his glass on the tray of a passing server before weaving through the crowd, quietly grateful for his height. Reaching Io’an and tapping his shoulder, he sighed quietly through his nose.

”Next time, your name is going on the guest list.” Leading Io’an to a small standing table in the middle of the main room, Vance glanced up toward the Hutt. ”The next person to mention the word ‘opportunity’ to me is going to get one, I swear.” Motioning with his chin at the party’s leader, Vance’s tone became quieter.

”Good cop bad cop?” Vance’s reputation as an enforcer tended to precede him. If Io’an made the first move and was friendly about it, the dynamic might work.