The Cayan Club

[Sanya Tagge]

Rotunda Zone - Senate District - Coruscant

There were many reasons people went to the Cayan Club. Whim or chance was not one of them. It's dimly-lit and deceptively low-key doorway was guarded by bouncers under strict instruction allow entrance to only those with a sufficient level of clearance, of a kind that was not easily bought. It's clientèle were officers of the Imperial navy, former senators, visiting politicians and dignitaries. Men and women of taste and influence.

Though it was not widely known, Gallus Tagge had once been a frequent visitor to the Cayan Club (“...best Port this side of Bespin,” he'd said). Sanya, one the other hand, had visited only once at her brothers command, as an surprise birthday outing four years earlier (“...got to let your hair down sometime!”). The doorman did not budge as she approached, a small smile on her glossed lips and companion for the evening on her arm.

“Need to see some ID,” he grunted, in a manner that Sanya thought was a little to brusque for an establishment which prided itself on having a high quality of care for its customers.

[Zeri Kasajian]

:: Zeri stepped forward with an impossibly large grin that was a genetic trait she shared with Sorsha, and held up her ID for the doorman to scrutinize ::

"Alright." he grunted, annoyed at having to let her pass. She bobbed her head at Sanya, and waited for her to be let in.

[Sanya Tagge]

He didn't recognize Sanya, but when she held up her ident card for inspection there was a momentary flicker of a grimace on his features as he realized who she was. Wordlessly, he grunted again and jerked his head sideways towards the doorway. Sanya gave a saccharine-sweet smile and passed on into the club.

The decor of the Cayan Club was all dark, smooth leathers and metals. Like some officers club to the Imperial elite, the walls were adorned with stylized images of propaganda from years gone by, lionizing the brave soldiers of the Imperial military or reducing well-known enemies of the Empire to bumbling caricature's.

Sanya took the lounge in with a glance; it was large enough to seem suitably busy without being crowded. There was no dancefloor, per say, with the patrons (who seemed to be largely middle-aged in appearance or at least in attitude) mostly sat around tables or stood in conversation at the bar, their words indistinct beneath the faint strains of some exotic music. It was not rowdy, it did not smell and she could hear herself think – Sanya was satisfied, for now.

“So, Zeri.. what would you like to drink?”

[Zeri Kasajian]

"Anything you're having." she replied, more taken in by the music than thirst. She'd work up to that soon enough.

[Sanya Tagge]

Already, Sanya could see Zeri's body responding to the music. Though there was only a handful of years between them, their interests were quite different. Her upbringing and experience had jaded Sanya against the sweaty, feckless nightlife that was so prevalent, though she thought no less of Zeri for enjoying it.

The bartender smiled politely as she approached. He was immaculately dressed, better in some cases than the bars patrons, and spoke in a refreshingly well-mannered accent. Idly, Sanya wondered if he wasn't a washed out military recruit, given how he almost stood to attention as she drew near. “How may I help?”

“Could you make something.. special to drink, for my friend and I?”

[Zeri Kasajian]

:: Zeri grew restless ::

"I'll be back!"

:: Before Sanya could turn around, she was in the center of the floor grooving to the music ::

[Yeart Quenn]

He didn't like the bar stools. They were half-cupped, ovoid white shells of plastisteel on single chrome legs bolted to the floor. They were too hard, too deep, and too close to the bar. And he kept having the urge to cross his legs in them, so as to stop this infuriating idea of looking like a roosting nuna that he kept having.

The hellish concoction he was nursing in a glass that looked like a miniature, crimson version of his chair was as sour as his mood was. He'd been ordered to this hellhole of a planet to attend the wedding of her royal kriffing emp-tiness Miranda the false cireatch from Doldur and that bratty milkfaced Tagge guy, and then apparently been forgotten. Not that he hadn't tried to sneak off the planet, but apparently she'd left some special orders to keep him on the frigging planet for whatever reason it should be.

He almost howled out in frustration just thinking of it; but instead took another large mouthful of the sour liquid and gulped it down before his tastebuds could make him spit it out again. Although it would probably make an interesting spectacle in a place like this; probably be in tomorrow's headlines all over the cityplanet "Moff of Kuat spits on the Empress!"

Yeah right, if that was her in the next seat he might actually do it just for the fecking hell of it. Or maybe not. Fat chance of it being her, though.

Sourly he lifted his eyes up to his surroundings. Which was when he noted the Tagge brat's snobby sister standing next to him. She was dressed in something that made her bones stick out all in the wrong places. He'd forgotten what it was she was doing around here.

And even though he'd just overheard her ordering a drink, he shouted out at the barkeeper - lazy fraggort - that he wanted another drink. Immediately.

[Sanya Tagge]

The sound of the man beside her barking for service made Sanya start with shock. She turned slowly to regard him, slumped as he was over the bar, with an expression of faint pity and distate. He had a disheveled world-weary look about him, which seemed completely at odds with the mellow air that surrounded most of the Club's patrons – yet it was not this fact that made Tagge take a second glance in his direction. He had the kind of face that wasn't soon forgotten, for better or worse.

“Excuse me but... have we met?”

[Yeart Quenn]

He was about to snap off a reply to that when the belated realisation hit him that the cireatch had made her sister-in-law the acting minister of truth. It might not be a good idea, therefore, to start off on the wrong side with this woman.

His sour grimace instantly turned into a leery, oozing grin.

"We certainly have! Just now! I call that a fortunate event, Miss ...?"

[Sanya Tagge]

“Tagge.”

With a prim smile, she offered out one gloved hand to the gurning stranger.

“And you are?”

[Yeart Quenn]

"Charmed. Very charmed."

He took her offer of a hand, and pulled it to his lips. Before breathing on it in the Imperial-style imitation of a kiss, he made sure to look into her eyes for a few seconds - noting their blueness, then kept eye-contact while placing his puckered lips a few millimeters from her gloved skin.

"Quenn. Yeart Quenn."

He gave her his best grin, and kept holding her hand in his for a few moments longer, in the space between them. Then he gave her a faked speculative look.

"Tagge, as in Tagge Corporation?"

[Sanya Tagge]

“Yes.”

It was such an inane question, but exactly the kind of inquiry one had to expect in such places. It had been a long time since the ranks of the Empire had been peopled solely by it's noble houses. Now, the so-called nouveau riche were in greater number than ever and if there was one thing they prided themselves on it was their airs of superiority and indifference. Fortunately, Sanya was well practiced in playing along with their word games.

“I'm told everyone who frequents the Cayan Club is fantastically important... what do you make of that, mister Quenn? Are you fantastically important?”

[Yeart Quenn]

This woman was the most perfect impersonification of Imperial hauteur that he had ever seen - much more than her wannabe-Empress sister-in-law; it was glorious.

He flashed her a wicked grin: "Of course!" Then he leaned forward with a conspiratorial wink and whispered: "Actually, in here we all pretend we're not, and it's considered terribly vulgar to speak of it."

He put a hand out and patted her knee with as much condescension as he could muster, and continued to whisper: "But since you're new here, we might just overlook it this once."

In actual fact, he had no idea how the bar's clients behaved in here, and he didn't give a phelinx' ass about it either, but he figured it was as good a way into her panties as any. Not that he really was sure he wanted to get in there yet, but he certainly wanted to open himself the doors to it. Just in case.

Seeing that they'd left him alone so far and no one had tried to deny him the right to be in here beyond the doorman's check of his credentials, it might as well be true. What worked for Kuati nobles would probably work for Core World nobility, too.

He relished the thought of keeping her guessing at his importance.

[Sanya Tagge]

The hand at her knee conjured fleeting feelings of embarrassment, both for her faux pas and the thought that someone might chance a look in her direction and mistake the gesture as something more than what it was. Mercifully, the bartender arrived with a trio of potent concoctions to keep their hands and tongues busy for a moment.

Sanya sipped from her tall glass - the contents almost making her eyes water - and glanced over the rim towards where she thought she heard Zeri give a playful shout. Part of her wanted to join in whatever mischief the young Kasajian was getting up to, but a more willful part of her was more interested in learning who and what Yeart Quenn really was. Licking away the taste of alcohol from her lips, Sanya maintained an air of nonchalance, her gaze wandering lazily here and there.

“My brother comes here quite often, or so he tells me. Perhaps the two of you are acquainted.”

[Yeart Quenn]

So she really was guessing.

Eeeeexcellent!

Supressing the bilious thoughts that threatened to plunge him back into his previous state of the evening - thoughts of the Tagge brat getting the prize bantha in the game - he was about to answer her in a satisfactorily unctious way, when his inebriated mind snuck a different idea onto his tongue.

"Certainly not! I've always made a point of not making his acquaintance."

He wasn't quite sure whether this was a good course of action or not, but something about this stuck-up prissy tart literally screamed of discontent, and if recent events were anything to go by.... she had good reason for it.

His gut feeling rarely erred. This cireatch needed someone to vent her sour mood on, and he was going to make sure it wasn't going to be him.

He just hoped his gut feeling was correct in assuming that outing himself as her bratty brother's opponent - not strictly true, but hey! who cared? - was the best course of action to do that.

[Sanya Tagge]

Her immediate reaction was to be offended – no, outraged on Gallus' behalf, and yet...

Sanya felt no urge to leap to her brothers defense, nor any guilt at the absence of such chivalrous intentions. There was only a cold hollow where bile should have been frothing. Perhaps she was simply growing too accustomed to the bitter, hateful remarks of critics to care. What did one man's opinion matter? After all, he couldn't be that important, if he wasn't close to Gallus... could he?

“How terribly unfortunate for both of you,” she replied at last, hoping her words didn't sound as sour as they tasted after another sip of her drink.

[Yeart Quenn]

He thought he saw a brief flash of anger in her eyes, but this woman was every part cool conceit and there was no assurance of it.

After a moment of watching her for any other reaction, he took her lack of it as a good sign. He considered slipping his hand back onto her knee - which, for some reason, now looked disturbingly alluring to him - but her answer distracted him.

Too clipped. But then again - she was still sitting there....

He put an unconcerned grin on his face, and spoke with as much nonchalance as he could muster: "Oh not at all for me."

This, he hoped, would confuse her some more about his importance in the scheme of things. Which wasn't all too wrong - he was the CEO of KDY after all, not just some stupid Moff, and the Tagge brat probably could profit in some way from knowing him, but there'd been no contact between them.

And then, even as handicapped as his current mental state was, he had a sudden revelation:

Since she hadn't known him by sight, nor by name, nor had any clue about his status - this opened two possibilities, both advantageous to him: One possibility was that the Tarkin cireatch had never confided in her beloved husband or her Minister of Truth that she'd been accosted by one Yeart Quenn before her coronation (what the possible ramifications were of this, he wasn't quite sure though) and the other possibility was that she'd told her husband but neither of them had told dear Sanya - which hinted at there being some kind of rift. Which was now to his advantage, no matter what else might lurk around the corner.

"I'm glad he didn't come to accompany you here tonight," he said, his unctuous grin widening. That was sure to sting her a bit. Meant as a simple flirtatious comment, it might bring whatever sourness her brother's absence had caused out into the open - if there was any.

[Sanya Tagge]

There was something they could agree on. Gallus had a habit of stealing the spotlight wherever he went, now that everyone knew he was the Imperial consort. Not that her present companion didn't draw an eye or two herself – but the eyes that clung to Zeri Kasajian's young body weren't the kind that Sanya was interested in attracting. Yet, in spite of the faint distaste she felt at watching men old enough to be her grandfather leer at Zeri, Sanya still found herself playing innocent and pandering to Quenn. Old, ingrained habits died hard.

“Glad? Whatever for, mister Quenn... unless you mean to have my company all for yourself”

[Yeart Quenn]

"Glad that - " he replied with another wink " - through his absence I get to meet his much more charming sister. If he were here now, where would be the chance of that? I'd be doing my best to ignore you along with him."

There hadn't been any outward reaction to his little sting. Either this cireatch had more facial muscle control than half the Imperial Military's stiff-lipped upper echelons together, or she'd not got his meaning. He figured it was the first.

His loins gave an appreciative tingle.

"Ah but what would I want with your company?"

- not that I'd mind; TaggeCo is a profitable business after all -

He flicked his tongue over his lower lip.

[Sanya Tagge]

“What indeed.”

It was difficult to decide whether or not she hated him. He was revolting, of course, in the same way that all men past a certain age were – but that was more a fault of human nature than any personal character defect. It didn't help that he was probably drunk, in spite of his articulate manner of speech.

“I can leave you to your drink, if you like,” she added, slender fingers taking hold of her own glass as if she meant soon to rise from her chair. There were plenty others who would be glad of her company, she thought smugly. Others who wouldn't be so secretive and guarded...

[Yeart Quenn]

She had him by the balls, in a manner of speaking. True enough - she could simply let him sit there to stew in his malcontent alone. There were plenty of others whom she could possibly see as more interesting than him, so if he wanted to keep her amused, she'd need some more details.

But not yet. Something told him she'd not gotten her post as minister for Truth by not being unrelenting enough when it came to extracting information - in one way or another. She'd shown her curiosity before - chances were she was just trying to hide it now.

So he happily plunged on.

"Ah but why would I like such a charming young woman to leave me alone? Quite to the contrary. B'sides," - he gave her another wink and put his hand back onto her knee - "I'm sure you can, but you don't want to, just the same."

With that, he let his hand wander a few inches upwards, curious how she'd react.

[Sanya Tagge]

“Mister Quenn,” Sanya gasped, her voice low yet urgent. Her eyes touched upon his hand and then swung up to meet his own leering gaze. The Sub-Adult Group had instilled in young Sanya Tagge values of morality and chastity, stressing the importance of the family unit as the foundation of Imperial society. Promiscuity, whilst widely practiced, was not spoken of and certainly not conducted in such public arenas by women of her standing.

“I am sure this is neither the time nor the place..”

[Yeart Quenn]

"Oh reeeally," he drawled, his voice now nothing but a low growl. "Then why don't you remove my hand?"

Indeed, for all her attitude, her skin felt quite flush with heat underneath his fingers. So he, with a grin turned salacious leer, let his index and middle finger take a gander further up her thigh, not giving a damn what time or place it was. It was as good a time and place as any - the Club was quite used to public displays like this, as he'd witnessed before. He held her eyes in his gaze, burning into hers, as the movement of his hand also brought his entire body, especially his face, closer to hers.

[Zeri Kasajian]

"ahem!"

:: Out of nowhere, in awnser, Zeri grabbed Yeart's offending hand and dug her nails in, hard ::

"Leave my friend alone before I yell sleaze." :D

:: She interposed herself between Sanya and Yeart, and the grin on her face was a dare ::

[Yeart Quenn]

"Your girlfriend?" was all he remarked, in a mildly amused way. He leaned sideways to do it, aiming his words at Sanya instead of the new arrival.

But on the inside, he seethed. Not only did the scratches on his hand hurt - made all the worse by his own actions, since he'd snatched it out of the girl's pincer-like grip and left a bit of skin underneath her sharp fingernails - but it smarted much more to get his approach interrupted in such a way. It took considerable control over himself to keep from pulling the vibroknife he carried hidden underneath his shirt, and cutting the girl's face up a bit. The sight of blood always helped calm him down a little.

Unfortunately this wasn't his homeworld where that kind of action was acceptable.

"I wouldn't have pegged you for that kind of woman," he added, totally ignoring the girl between them.

[Sanya Tagge]

The accusation soured Sanya in an instant, the corners of her lips twisting ever so slightly. Her eyes flicked to Zeri - who will still bubbling with all the energy of the dancefloor - then back to Quenn. The Sub-Adult Group taught the abhorrence of same-sex relationships, and to be even so much as implicated in such an affair could be the end of an Imperial politicians career.

“And I thought you couldn't be any more presumptuous... how very vulgar of you.”

[Yeart Quenn]

He tsked at this, turning his sneer into not quite a grin.

"Ah but how presumptuous of you, my dear - it's perfectly normal for females on my home world to share their bed with males as well as with females. I would never consider it vulgar."

The former statement was a downright lie, but she had no ways of telling that. The latter wasn't - he found watching two females extremely stimulating, as long as he was along for the ride. But she had no need to know that - yet.

For now, it simply gave him pleasure to make little Miss Prim-and-Proper Tagge uncomfortable.

"You cannot fault me for thinking this fine young girl attached to you - why should she not, since she is so protective of you? I've seen many females form bonds you would consider vulgar, starting with such innocent gestures."

It would be quite comical to see if the prudish minister's imagination would take the sting he put into that and apply it to whatever her relationship with this young woman was.

[Sanya Tagge]

Sanya looked dryly at her companion for the evening and spoke as if Yeart Quenn was no longer in their presence. “He's quite perverse, isn't he? I suppose when you're so vulgar, friendship must become an unknown quantity.”

Her eyes rolled back to the Moff, a venomous little twist of a smile on her lips. She took another little sip of her cocktail, failing to notice that the drink was already going to her head. For all her protests, however, Tagge found herself still sitting where she was, taking some strange pleasure in trading blows with the slimeball.

[Yeart Quenn]

He simply sat back in his chair and watched the two of them together. It would have been good if that little, long-nailed cireatch had left them, but since she was so attached to his new friend at present.... he could wait.

It was rather amusing that she was still there. For all he'd cozied up to her, she was still sitting in that same chair. It was enough incentive for him to stick around.

With an affable smile, he pulled his own drink towards him, and sucked some of the oozing liquid through the pipe. He wondered if he should play footsie with her.