The Twisted Beauty of Death

NO MORE

1BBY; Coruscant, level 937
01:07 . . .
chapter i: NO MORE

The nightclub thrived; music was booming, people were shouting and the atmosphere intense. Within the club, there was a huge verity of different races with one thing in common. They're all scum and criminal: thieves, mercenaries, smugglers, outlaws, gamblers, and con artists. The vast majority had their eyes on the dancing twi'leks or togrutas — Bogen's Elixir hired mainly these races as they were considered beautiful and thought it was alright to exploit that for their profit. The other seafoam green twi'lek and a golden tan togruta danced beside the turquoise, magenta kissed twi'lek. Morgana was talented and caught the eye of many by her looks and figure. When she actually tried with her appearance and attire, she looked stunning, just like the other dancers desperate for money. After another few minutes, the dance finished and the women took themselves out the spotlight with the viewers whistling with synchronised clapping. 

They went backstage; the togruta and second twi'lek going into a room together to get changed and tone down their makeup whilst Morgan went into another by herself. Feeling hot and clammy, she changed into a pair of black leggings, black vest top, a black jacket and a belt with a holster that wrapped around her leg whilst keeping the makeup on. There sat a DL-18 - a blaster pistol - for her personal protection. Before leaving, the young woman stuffed her clothes into a dark backpack and throwing it over her shoulder, holding the strap for comfort. Morgan was quick to get out the establishment with people recognising her by the distinct markings and the makeup she left on, especially one man in particular. However, she didn't care to know anyone, she just wanted to leave before she felt anymore overwhelmed or anxious about the sheer amount of people and noise. Her emotions were pent up inside her and she was desperate to escape her own life. She had enough of begging, living in an abandoned apartment complex and looking over her shoulder every time she stepped outside. Her life had been ruined ever since she was a child; no mother, no father, no brother. Only grandparents she was guilt ridden over. All morgana had to say was no more to the exploitation of her own body, steeping to low levels, in every sense, and dancing to please the eyes of drunken men for the money she desperately needed. 

At the back of the club on the side against a wall, a man sat with his head down for the most part but eyes secured on the twi'lek. He downed the rest of his whiskey, clanking the glass against the table, causing the ice cubes to jingle in the glass before getting out of his seat to track her in her own shadows.

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As the girl forced the doors open at the pannel, the man at the back of the establishment pursued her close behind without her knowledge — he fit right in with his gruff, muscular, scar ridden exterior. Beginning to make her way towards the nearest train station to board the Coruscant Elevated Maglev Train. On her journey, Dia'dinek slipped her hand in her pocket and rummaged for a pack of cigarettes and her cerulean lighter. Feeling for a smooth box, it was suddenly in the grip of an addicted twi'lek — there were seven left and the seventh was upside down in the box for luck. Leaving that one, she pulled out another before putting it back in her pocket. She put the cigarette between her lips before raising the lighter and other hand to wind guard and ignite the end. Once smoke began to rise, she put the lighter back where she got it and zipped the pocket back up. 

As the twi'lek manoeuvred her way down the long, dark streets towards the train station, she passed many terrible people. One man appeared in front of her, walking closer with her in his view. 

He looked the poor girl up and down before sniggering to himself, "what a pretty little tail-head. What I'd pay to have a slave that looked like you." He spoke, looking down over her with shadows cast around him, purposely causing them to go over her.

⠀⠀⠀The smaller twi'lek snapped back at him, showing no motivation to hide her anger. "May salt spice your wounds." She growled, attempting to move past him without luck.

⠀⠀⠀The larger man kept standing in her way, swaying side to side without letting her past. "Ah, ah, ah. I'm not done." He spoke in return in a darker tone of voice — maliciously.
With her heart racing, Morgana panicked as he progressively got closer to her. She dropped the cigarette out of her fingers and pulled her DL-18 out the holster on her leg and shot the skin on the side of his leg. It caused some skin to blast off and the skin around to burn in agonising pain but all she could do was push him out the way and run. She sprinted as far as she could before turning into an obsidian alleyway; there she couldn't be seen — or see anyone. Panting heavily, whilst trying to get her breath back yet trying to be as quiet as possible, she put her blaster pistol back. Slipping the straps of her bag down her arms, she placed it on the ground beside her. The woman closed her eyes, bowing her head with a tear slowly making its way down her makeup covered face. All she could do was think back to the man and all the possibilities to where she might find him again.

⠀⠀⠀The man Morgan shot in terror screamed after her, "I'll get you, karking slut!" He said watching her flea down the streets, her shadow growing smaller under the lights as he fell to his hands and knees. With adrenaline running through his veins, the pain wasn't as bad as it was going to be. He forced himself back to his feet before continuing the chase. He only managed to take one step forward before his throat was met with cold steel, feeling his body slam harshly into the wall behind. Out from behind them, a tall man appeared from the shadows, like a phantom — it was the same gruff, muscular man as in the club the twi'lek was dancing in.

His voice was deep, raspy and his tone could not have been more serious: "I'd threaten you about never hurting her again but would won't have a chance to heed it." Staring the man dead in his confused eyes, through his own singular functioning eye. Seconds later, the man put pressure behind the blade, slitting his throat.
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