[darth vader]

it's a nuclear show
and the stars are gone

You can always tell when it's someone's first time on the Citadel, no matter how they try to hide it. The tourists with stars in their eyes and gaping mouths are better off, in a way, protected by the innocence that marks their utter lack of anything of worth to steal. She can usually lift twenty, fifty credits or so from their pockets, maybe a chip if she's lucky--spending cash for their big vacation to the Citadel. Enough to get her fed a night or two, and maybe squirrel something away.

It's the ones who act like they're too good to be here, walking with stiff shoulders and guarded eyes, uncomfortable and out of place and desperate to hide it, that are the prime meat.

She's been tailing this human for a little over two hours, watching as he bumbles his way through the Wards toward Purgatory. Pity she's not a quarian, based off the magazines he browsed at a shop earlier, but once he's drunk enough she supposes his tastes will be a little more flexible. He keeps cutting his eyes side to side like he expects to be followed. Or maybe it's just planet-sider paranoia. They think every spacer is some kind of con out to slit their throat and empty their wallet.

She herself would never do anything that vulgar. She's not so rich that she can afford to be buying clothes after every mark to replace the bloodstained ones. Just the wallet will be enough.

Her target enters the club and she waits a moment, another moment, and slips in after him into the crowd, the lights strobing wildly in pulsing beat to the music.

♔

[gojira]

He doesn't know what to say or do the moment he's pushed downwards, a fist an inch away from his face. Bottles clatter and they sound horribly loud in his ears. Something shatters. He doesn't recognize what it is. Doesn't have to chance to discern it, either, because the fist clocks him right in the jaw before it comes from the other direction. The second blow is harder. Not any less painful than the first, too.

For some reason, there's a crowd around them. No one challenges the authority of the person hitting him, and it's then that he realizes that he probably fucked up some unknown rule. The club is new to him; the Citadel in general is new to him. The crowd cheers. He braces himself for a third blow and sure enough, it comes, striking him swiftly. His assailant revels in the excitement and encouragement. His unfocused vision tells just enough for him to know that a fourth blow is coming.

The music grew louder as it launched into a new, wilder mix. More people swarm the dance floor, but they were all keen to mind their own businesses. Emboldened by the brief slack from the hand grasping his shirt, he pulls himself free and pushed off from the ground. -- on his feet. He knows he needs to be on his feet. Get to the exit, or at the very least, the bar. He pushes through the crowd, doesn't look back.

He hits a wall. That's no bar. There's nothing of the fabled exit he sought.

Shouldn't have done what I did, he thinks to himself as something sharp sinks into his side. He doesn't want to know what it is.

darth vader

[darth vader]

it's a nuclear show
and the stars are gone

The fight wouldn't mean anything to her, except that her mark drifts with the crowd, blending in with the mass that's growing, circling the fight like a kettle of vultures. Some of the turians actually look like enormous birds, in truth, and the thought sparks a white-hot flare of amusement. But her face is blank as she slips through the press of bodies. He's not even paying attention as she slips a hand into one pocket, and then the other, divesting him of both a wallet stuffed thick with credit chips and bills, and a folded piece of paper. Odd, that last one, in the era of datapads. But she tucks it away regardless and darts away.

At the last, she bothers to spare a glance for the actual brawl that's taking place. Maybe brawl is a generous term. "One-sided incident of someone getting the shit kicked out of him" would be more accurate. She turns away again and pushes through the crowd again before stopping. She doesn't really want C-Sec busting in here and throwing their weight around. Is it worth drawing attention to herself? Maybe.

She steps into the space cleared by the crowd, and grabs the man currently winning the one-sided incident of shit-kicking by the upper arm. He snarls and turns on her, other fist swinging, and she weaves back.

"Get a hold of yourself," she hisses, low enough that the crowd surrounding them can't hear. She doesn't recognize the man, and she doubts he knows her, but she settles on using a name any spacer should recognize. "C-Sec is already watching this place for any hint of trouble, trying to pin Vosque, and if you get them swarming in here you'll have them and the Blue Suns after you. Murder people somewhere else."

He looks at her for another moment, eyes flashing, and then turns away to melt back into the crowd. She stands and watches, folding her arms. He doesn't come back.

gojira

♔