EXPLICIT
Coruscant - 1313 - Avalon Business District

The force of a meaty fist slamming down upon the elongated, rectangular meeting table was significant enough to overturn glasses and ashtrays. Tobias, having long since become familiar with the escalating signs of his father's anger, had foresight enough to lift his tumbler of whiskey from the now resonating metal surface. The older man's ruddy face quivered with rage, espied from the corner of two very different colored eyes [one a transmorphic hazel, the other a rich forest green]. Tobias took a long drag from his clove-scented Chandrilan cigarra and then exhaled slowly, tinging the air with wispy networks of silvery smoke. No one else in the room seemed ready to address what promised to be the Avalon Syndicate's most trying rivalry to date. Shipments destroyed, enforcers murdered in droves, top-secret information plucked like daisies from secure databases; it was little wonder why he was livid.

The chair Tobias occupied creaked noisily in an otherwise silent-as-the-grave room, his tall and broad form rising to a casual stand. He stubbed his cigarra as his eyes scanned the impassive faces of his father's lieutenants. His head wasn't on the chopping block like these poor fucks and while he was usually entertained by the bloodshed that ensued after such an egregious mistake, he was infinitely more enticed by the prospect of infiltrating this new Underworld cult that threatened them.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" His father all but spat as he side stepped his chair and turned his back to the rest of the room. He began rolling up the sleeves of his starched, white dress-shirt; further exposing a multitude of tattoos that lined nearly every inch of his muscular form. He glanced over his shoulder at the man, observing the standoffish positioning of his hands braced on the table he'd previously struck.

"I'm going to do something about our problem. Who better to access the club than a ghost such as myself?" It wasn't really a question, implying a need for permission. He took measured steps out of the meeting room as punctuation and was not halted by more harsh words. Once he stepped into the lift that would carry him to street level, he leaned his forearm against the thermopane face of the elevator and cast his unusual gaze across the expanse of the dismal cityscape that was Level 1313. A younger, unknowing version of himself had once questioned a man's desire to rule over such a place. Now, he knew that power was everything and a man's appetite for it was only dampened by his lack of imagination. One day, he would overtake his father's empire of crooks, drug-dealers, murderers, and malice for himself. What he had gleaned from this challenge was not a slight. Oh no... it was opportunity.

Coruscant - 1313 - Cercle des Ombres, La Maschera

Music

Enforcers wouldn't set foot in the blockaded sector now, an array of glowing graffiti marking the territory of the new gang that had rolled in and claimed what was now designated as the Circle of Shadows. Armed, masked mercenaries oversaw the perimeter and maze-like corridors, eager to annihilate any of his father's men who breached their territory. Someone like Tobias, he looked as though he belonged. He passed right by with only a series of glances spared in his direction; a casual stride bringing him to the threshold of the district's premier spot, La Maschera. A credit chip was lost and a mask was purchased, the willowy creature selling them just outside generously helping him affix it to his tattoo speckled face.

The music thumped and blasted its way into his ears, prompting an appreciative smile. Digging his stylized fingers into his pants pocket, he withdrew his skull adorned cigarra case and flicked it open with his thumbnail, sliding one of the sweetly flavored stems between his lips. Replacing the case, he tapped his other pockets for his lighter. His brow furrowed beneath the mask and then he recalled one thing he'd left on the meeting table. Eyes of opposing colors rose, seeking out assistance with his unfortunate lack of fire.