Anakin once visited Coruscant’s underbelly, as an escort for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s secret visit. Festering within the 2685th level of Coruscant, it is a feeding ground to the best and worst criminals—bureaucrats among them. Slaves and contraband are bought and sold on the hour, while others gamble with their lives or ill-gotten gains on the roll of a chance cube.

Others are content to seek entertainment, watching holographic projections of exotic dancers in various states of undress—the likes of which will no doubt be traded as slaves in exchange for credits or other services. Games of chance are often obscured under the sheer volume of patrons gathered around the game tables. Smaller round tables serve for social or business gatherings, with more discreet booths tucked into alcoves along the walls.

Having undergone unfinished renovations at some point, the ceiling has been raised to resemble that of a warehouse. Smoke gathers among the durasteel supports, making a buffer for the intense red and violet beams lighting the cesspit below. Zeltron perfumes are among the most common smells in the establishment, while the rolling of dice cubes make for the most recognizable sound above the music. Fights don’t often break out, and violence is often dissuaded at the sight of armoured bouncers several heads taller than most humanoids

“Ah, C’m ooon, Gen’ral!” Jon slurred, swinging one arm over Zentru'la’s broad shoulders. “Your not even tryin’ to have a good time here!”

Zentru'la grimaced at the touch, but the pirate/spy either failed to notice, or deliberately ignored his displeasure; with Silvon, you really never could tell, or at least Zentru'la hadn’t learned to.

“This,” Zentru'la growled, gesturing to the room full of blinking lights, pounding music, and drunken patrons irritably, “Is not my idea of ‘fun’, Captain.”

“But, come oooooon,” Jon said, patting the general’s chest. “The Empress, long may she, uhm, raid!” Jon shouted, giving a sloppy attempt at a salute. “She, she explicitly ordered me to see to it that you relax tonight! Your daughter cares about you a lot, you know? She has such a big heart…”

What my daughter has, Zentru'la thought to himself as he eyed his “companion” with distaste, is a sadistic sense of humor.

After a while longer of enduring Jon’s drunken company, the good general was finally pulled out of his brooding when Jon grabbed him by the arm and started pulling him to the stage at the center of the bar.

“Jon, what is the meaning of-” Zentru'la froze upon seeing the words holographically projected over the head of the stage.

“DANCE-OFF COMPETITION, ALL COMERS WELCOME!”

By the time the general had snapped out his initial shock, he realized Jon had already paid the attendant and registered the two of them.

“...No.” Zentru'la said simply before turning to walk away.

“Yes!” Jon laughed, grabbing Zentru'la’s arm. Before Zentru'la had the oppurtunity to crush his fragile windpipe, the music started.

Zentru’la aggressively snatched his colossal arm away from the clutches of Jon’s much weaker hand. He had heard stories of Captain Silvon from those under his command, the quirky human, with his eccentric behaviour and carefree approach towards life, had been called many adjectives ranging from fool to lunatic. The General finally understood why.

“I said no, Silvon,” he growled to Jon. Zentru’la had absolutely no interest in this dance-off competition or the establishment. He had wasted enough time in his life already, now he was 62 and had things he needed to achieve before he became too old, this was a waste of time he couldn’t afford to waste… and their argument had begun to draw unwanted attention. Had Silvon not been useful to the Empire, he’d have slammed him into the floor by now.

Zentru’la’s eyes, constantly scanning for threats, caught the sight of the bouncers taking a close look at the two. It didn’t help that a clearing had formed around them, club patrons spreading from the growing tension between the exuberant human and the giant armoured twi’lek mountain.

Jon, however, was neither taking the General’s ‘no’ for an answer or relenting with the unwanted physical contact, responding to Zentru’la retracting his arm by grabbing him by the opposite shoulder. Zentru’la’s reactions kicked in, and his arm moved across to push Silvon’s away. Silvon made to grab on the other side, and again a powerful twi’lek arm brushed his attempt to the side. “Now you’re getting into it!” Silvon laughed, making more grabs at the General as he became progressively irritated. “Make those shapes!” He made to grab both of Zentru’la’s shoulders. “Give me a Y!” He baited Zentru’la’s guard central and downwards. “M!”

Jon carried on like that for several more minutes. Each time the esteemed general attempted either to leave or to strike at his “dance partner”, the fool captain would find a way to turn it around into some other kind of dance move instead.

And, to Zentru'la’s chagrin, the crowd was loving it.

“C!” Jon cheered, twisting Zentru'la’s attempted chokehold into a (very) rough “C” shape.

I am going to kill this man, Zentru'la thought to himself. Slowly, and painfully.

“See General?” Jon said cheerily, as he ducked under one of the general’s swings, grabbing his arm in the process, before hoisting it into the air. “We’re winning!”

“Silvon, I don’t care what my daughter says, if you don’t release me this instant, I will kick your-”

“A!” Jon (and the rest of the now applauding crowd) shouted, positioning himself and the general in such a way that, indeed, it did look like the two of them formed and a large, if wildly lopsided, “A”.

With a lightsaber, Zentru'la snarled inwardly. Right through his-

“YYYYY-M-C-A!” Jon sang along with the audience. “It’s fun to stay at the-”

“TIME!” a droid’s voice boomed from the speakers above them, as the music and lights cut out. “ALL CONTESTANTS, PLEASE VACATE THE STAGE! FINAL JUDGING WILL BE ANNOUNCED SHORTLY!”

Zentru'la seized the opportunity and stalked off the stage, dragging Jon by his collar. Once the pair reached their original table, he practically through Jon into his seat.

“I certainly hope you had your fun,” Zentru'la growled. “Because we’re leaving, and once we reach Imperial space I’m going to-”

“You don’t even wanna stick around to see if we one?” Jon asked innocently, already reaching for another glass that had been left on the table.

“Silvon!” Zentru'la shouted. “Enough! Your little joke is over!”

“Almost.” Jon replied.

“ANNOUNCING THE WINNER’S OF TONIGHTS ALL-AROUND-THE-GALAXY-DANCE-COMPETEITION!” the same mechanical voice from before called. “BY UNANIMOUS, AND OVERWHELMING DECISION: JON THE BOMB, AND GENNY-ZENNY!” The patron instantly erupted in applause and cheering that made the room shake, and Zentru'la’s head pound. Or maybe that was the rage.

“Now the joke is over!” Jon chuckled, and the look in his eye was just a little too… clear for Zentru'la to truly to believe he was really as drunk as he acted.

Yeah, definitely the rage.

Zentru’la wished he could pick Silvon up and slam his face onto the club floor. But through the rage he was a consummate professional and this wasn’t the time or the place to be making a scene. Besides, as eccentric and crazy as Silvon was, he was a talented individual and useful to Scholae Palatinae. Instead, he just grabbed him firmly by the collar. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Jon tried to pull away from the General’s grip, but he was too strong. “Come on Genny Zenny! The people want more!”

“Now.” Zentru’la repeated firmly, tightening his grip and dragging the Privateer across the club like a bouncer escorting an unruly drunkard. “You’ve had your fun, it’s time to go.” He wasn’t taking no for an answer this time, and pulled Jon out of the club through the crowd of people, ignoring their protests and calls for more of Jon the Bomb and Genny-Zenny, not stopping until they were outside in the cold, fresh air.

Outside, and away from the commotion of the nightclub revellers, Zentru’la lifted Jon by the throat, slamming him against the wall back-first and holding him there. “War is coming!” the General shouted in his face.

“Relax Zenny! Everything will be fine, lets have more drinks,” Jon tried to squirm out of his grip.

“This isn’t a joke Silvon!” Zentru’la readjusted, holding him still with raw power. “Our enemies are gathering strength! Meraxis destroyed both our star destroyers! The Collective are up to something!” He let Silvon to the floor. “You’re a good fighter and a good pilot. The Empress needs her best men to be at the top of their game in the war to come.

Zentru’la turned and walked away. He had said everything he needed to say. This excursion had been a total waste of time for him, and now it was time to get back to training to prepare for the war.