A gambler’s den of the Vertical City’s greatest bettors, Club Vertica is a casino reserved for the wealthiest of Nar Shaddaa. Cardshark droids are used exclusively to deal hands to those willing to risk their credits at the sabacc tables. Cheating is rendered near impossible under the surveillance of the droid's six photoreceptors. That of course does not stop the downtrodden from accusing others of being a fraud, which can often happen before someone receives a blaster bolt between the eyes. The few that have able to use skiffers undetected are counted as some of the best swindlers in the Galaxy.

Cerulean lights illuminate the tables, making concealment during a game difficult. Seated around most of the oval tables are a mix of gamblers from different species, succumbing to their addiction for the ultimate prize—the sabacc pot. Credits are tossed onto the tables forming mountains that draw in fierce competitors with deeper pockets and faster wit than the usual patrons.

Behind the games of sabacc, drinks are being served from the alcove of a small bar. Most of these are a shade of blue in color, expertly mixed to dull the senses of all but the hardiest individuals. Onstage, a local band sets the mood of the venue with an upbeat number that deafens out most conversations. The stakes are always high at Club Vertica.

"True Sabacc," Tisto said, revealing his hand to the table.

It wasn't a special hand in the least, a ten, a nine, a seven, a five, and a pair of two's were played out on the table. The other players groaned and tossed down their hand. The biker chuckled and scooped up the main pot, nearly six thousand credits for ten minutes of gambling. Tisto got up from the table, unwilling to risk the credits he just pulled from these hardened gamblers. The biker waltzed over to the small bar, sliding the credits into a pouch on his belt.

"I'll take a Port in a Storm," Tisto said, willing to take the high octane drink after a win like that.

The bartender nodded and poured a glass of the wine, handing it to the biker. Tisto handed over enough credits to cover the drinks and tip before taking the drink. The drink was one of the few things in the bar that wasn't colored blue, as the reddish amber color wouldn't take the blue dye. The Odanite took a sip of the wine and forced it down.

"Still feels like drinking a damn supernova," he muttered to himself.

He felt someone put a hand on his jacket, hearing a gasp as it happened. Tisto turned his head to see an orange-skinned woman with green hair and put the drink down. He was about to say something when he noticed the gold line of a qukuuf on her. A pit began to form in the bikers stomach. He batted her hand off of his jacket and took several steps away from the woman. His eyes darted, looking at her to try and figure out who she was. He felt his chest pounding at the thought of another Kiffar touching him, knowing what his own kind could do.

"D..D-don't do t-that," he stammered out at her, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"That jacket sure has seen a lot," the Kiffar woman said. "But I couldn't see anything that would be so terrifying to want to hide. I'm Diyrain by the way, nice to meet you Tisto."

Diy took a step forward as if going to introduce herself, stopping as she saw Tisto raising his hands in a defensive position.

"I said d-don't," Tisto replied to her. "Don't touch me like that."

Emerald painted lips parted to speak, the words lost in the distance between them to the rehydrated band’s boisterous jizz starting up once again. The woman seemed to realize he hadn't heard and moved to close the distance. Weary still, despite her friendly demeanor, Tisto found himself backpedaling. Well, until he collided into a particularly broad Herglic. His luck seemed to side with him, however, as the fellow club patron just righted the smaller being with a grunt, air gushing through the blowhole atop of his head, before passing along.

That could have been worse — wait, that woman!

Hazel eyes darted back before him, his crimson brown dreads arcing in a flowing mane with the movement, and a curse escaped his lips. Blue-green eyes, uncannily alike in shade of what New Tython’s seas once were, locked with his merely centimeters away from his face. The urge to recoil was smothered when Tisto noted how this Diyrian was positioned. The woman leaning into him had taking care to clasp her hands behind her back, and although her very forward posture, she seemed to be minding his concerns of touching — almost mockingly.

“Care to share a drink, swoop-man?” she hollered over the music, that wide smile pinning the golden clan tattoos within her dimples. “I think we may have similar business interests, well, other than the gambling, ya know?”

“And w-what business is that?” the Odanite heartbeat still pounded behind his ears, but he could sense an opportunity to turn this awkward situation around. Raising a dark auburn eyebrow, he stood still.

“Uh-uh, not right here!” Diy tsked, wagging a finger, clearly forgetting her means to keep it behind her. In nearly the same swift motion, she reached out to grasp his hand to guide him away. His knee moved faster than his mind could follow, knocking back the tanned hand and cracking the joints of said digits. Tisto’s own arms raised defensively before his torso and he glared through the gap between them. The Kiffar woman seemed taken aback, then she seemed annoyed, really annoyed. Strange image to see with a slight grin still on her face.

“This is getting ridiculous. A Kiffar who’s so afraid of psychometry, he can't be touched by another?” Diy shook her hand once before pulling out the two blaster pistols from her belt, leveling one in his direction. “Must be why you prefer to lay with the lek variety--oops, guess the Nexu is out of the bag on what I did see—”

A growl escaped through Tisto’s throat and he launched forward, forgoing any of his normal control methods as the old hole in his chest flared to life again. Extending his right arm into a punch towards her face while his left moved to knock away the blaster pistol, he was surprised to find her dodging in the opposite direction. Diy bashed the butt end of her gun against his outstretched fist while dropping her previously aimed arm lower and towards his abdomen. A warning outcried against his nerves and he willed the Force to his calves, dodging the blaster bolt that pierced through the space he once had belonged.

Cries arose from the card tables behind them. The crimson bolt finding a home in a human man dressed in a rumpled suit and t-shirt, his deceased body slumping upon the table. What little cover from the too animated music had dissolved almost instantly. The instruments ceased their notes, the singer neglected her voice, the cardshark droids halted with the plastifilm rectangles half sticking out. All eyes and sensors turned in their direction.

“What a way to ruin a good night for everyone, Tisto.”

"Like this is the first time someone has been killed here," the biker replied. "Besides, I'm not the one who doesn't listen."

Tisto called on the Force, sending it through his forward moving hand. The telekinetic shove clipped Diy's shoulder, causing her body to jerk to the side, smashing into the bar. The club patrons began to give the two quarreling Kiffar space, some rushing out of the building while the more hardened gamblers began to bet on the fight. Voices jockeyed even as those who were staying stepped towards the end of the room, near an abandoned table.

"Seventy credits on the woman!" "One Hundred on the one with magic" "Everyone calm down! Let's make this official. The betting is 3 to 1 for the male. The Woman clearly has blaster, he doesn't. I'll take all comers."

Diy pulled herself from the bar, feeling the left side of her hip swelling from the impact. She took a second to take in the gambling and shook her head. "Well, I guess you didn't ruin the night for everyone," she said, getting her blasters back up. "It is a shame we can't get in on this."

Tisto brought his palm up in response, concentrating on the Force. He glared at the woman, forming a barrier just a several shots launched from her blasters. The blasts dissipated as they neared him, and caused the gamblers to stop their betting. Nearly a dozen more followed, slamming into the barrier, the last shot breaking it, though Tisto showed no signs of the barrier having been broken.

"New odds. 4:1 for the woman."

Diy stopped firing at Tisto, keeping hold of her blasters. "Oh, that is just cheating. Fight fair for the gamblers sake if nothing else."

"Shut it!" Tisto said, his anger persevering over his fear. "You should have listened."

"Or what?" Diy responded. "You are like no other Kiffar I have met."

The biker seemed to ignore her, so Diy continued. "Besides I thought I should have only seen something recent but that wasn't so recent, was it? How old is that jacket that I could stumble on what is clearly an old wound to you? Just calm down so we can talk--"

Diy stopped talking as an unseen force began to press against her throat, lifting her off the ground. She took another look at Tisto, seeing his hand in a grip, moving upward. She struggled against it, moving one of her blasters in line to shot the biker but felt the pressure increase, cutting off her breath.

"Drop the guns," Tisto said as his hand tightened. "Then I will release you."

Diy dropped them hesitantly, dropping once they clattered to the ground. She fell to her back, catching her breath, and heard metal scrape across the floor. She looked up to see her guns in Tisto's hands. The biker seemed to look her over, then shook his head.

"I'll forget this and discuss business," he said. "Understand that you can't touch the jacket. I don't care about me or anything else. It has seen too much to be safely seen through that. You will get these back when we are done talking."

Karking woman is gonna end up killing someone else!

The screams had halted his assault from before, his boots planted firmly on the duracrete floor as his eyes darting from the unfortunate scene back to the other Kiffar. It's not like Nar Shadaa residents were great people, but this trash of planet was Tisto’s home planet and like hell he was going to let some deaths occur on his hands. No more rushing in, no control, just subdue the target.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pair of shock gloves. A salvo of red bolts flashed outwards from the chrome plated pistol interrupting his donning of the gloves — causing him to drop the second one. The Force leapt to his aid, pulling haggardly at the scar of his presence in it as a barrier drew before him with an arc of an arm. It easily disrupted the plasma before the translucent energy rippled and shattered. The biker launched forward.

Diy’s grin slipped away, her arms thrown in front of her with the blasters between them in a stance similar to his own. She struck out defensively, butt end of a pistol followed by the opposite elbow — aiming to cause him to pause while meeting in the middle. The surprise was evident on her face when Tisto bulldozed through the metallic blow, his small grimace and slight cringe in his shoulder the only signs of pain before he smacked the second hit away. His exchange was dodged just barely, the glove’s plates so close to her face that the sparking arcs highlighted her qukuuf.

“Too close, mista!” she spat out, green-blue eyes darting to their increasingly growing crowd as if looking for some aid.

I don't think so, Tisto narrowed his eyes. This smelt like more trouble brewing than he wanted to handle by himself.

With augmented speed, the biker slipped between her outstretched weapons — the triggers clicking as they fired at empty space — and cracked the shockgloves fist against her abdomen. Diy convulsed into him before rolling into a ball on the floor and blinking, stunned. Mumbles and groans voiced from the crowd, but were drowned out by a deep bellow.

“Uh-uh! Not in this club! We don't shoot the carddroids!” A large, dark form paced from behind Tisto, towering above with beady eyes. The Herglic from before. “I had one hundred thousand credits resting on that last deal!”

Bulging muscle coiled back to deck the Kiffar across the face. It never made its descent. Instead, a smoking hole appeared directly aligned with the man’s blowhole. Tisto blinked before turning back towards Diyrian. She shrugged and winked, although immediately grimaced afterwards as she clutched her stomach.

“I still have a deal to talk to you with, been fun, Cinnamon.”