Author's note: So, I don't know if you guys wanted this story or not, but here it is. The scene from Club Vertica that didn't make it into Family is more than Blood. It has champagne, fancy dresses, and an incredibly uncomfortable Aric Jorgan.

Club Vertica
Havoc Squad
Act 2 - Nar Shaddaa

If Nar Shaddaa had a classy place, Club Vertica would be it. The lavish, crimson rugs and wall hangings were probably worth more than Fynta's pension. Every twenty meters sported a large guard to keep bandits and other savories outside. No violent attacks in here, only under the table swindling allowed. The main floor held every type of game one could wish to lose money on, and given that the casino was run by the Hutts, she was sure a lot of money was lost.

Fynta smoothed down the front of her figure hugging red gown. Generally speaking, she preferred something a little more . . . durable. However, a full suit of beskar would be a bit too obvious. Weapons had been an issue too, but she'd solved the dilemma with a knife strapped to her thigh just above the knee height slit in her skirt, and a pen-blaster tucked into her cleavage.

Dorne went a more respectable route with a high necked light blue gown. It covered Havoc's new medic completely, but hugged her figure no less. The cascading material allowed the woman to secure a hold-out blaster against her ribs. Fynta had little doubt that was all Dorne was hiding. Jorgan had been the lucky one. A Cathar would be recognizable in a place like this, so he remained fully armed with helmet secured.

Fynta smiled as the three began ascending the spiral staircase leading to the elevator. Jorgan's reaction when the two women knocked on his hotel room door had been worth the expenses of the dresses. The Cathar had gaped at them, then demanded to know why such measures were necessary if they were posing as mercenaries to keep the Republic's name out of this op. Fynta had explained that mercenaries would absolutely not be allowed into the party, however, two heiresses. . . . The major spared him a glance. Even now, Jorgan walked with the stiff gate of a man who was extremely uncomfortable with his surroundings.

Stopping at the elevator, Fynta swiped the keycard that Balkar's slicer had managed to procure for them. "If I may, Lieutenant," Dorne ventured as they waited for the exclusive lift to arrive. "I would not presume to tell you how to do your job, however, a polite approach might produce a nonviolent attitude." When Fynta remained silent, she added, "The Empire is built upon knowing one's place, and the structure that comes from observing manners."

Fynta nodded in agreement, deciding to let Dorne take point. "It's your show, Elara. I'll follow your lead." Especially since Mandalorian society was built on who hit the hardest. Polite wasn't generally her go-to.

When the doors dinged open, it revealed a small room that was already occupied by a voluptuous woman in a low cut pink dress. Fynta snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing service droid and gave Dorne a shove into the elevator. Then, she put on her best Imperial accent. "Can you believe the nerve of that man, Elara?" She passed the sergeant a glass and hoped she caught on.

Elara accepted it graciously and scowled. "Some people reach too high." Jorgan shifted in behind the two women and stood silently, as was proper for a bodyguard. He'd been displeased with Fynta's plan, claiming they were soldiers, not SIS. Balkar had wanted this done as quietly as possible to avoid inciting a minor war on neutral ground. So, this was the best she could do in twenty-four hours.

"Being accosted by the local riffraff, are we?" The woman in the pink dress slurred. She had a good ten years on Fynta, and they hadn't been kind.

"Honestly, I don't know why father made us tag along." Fynta sighed dramatically, playing the part of a spoiled brat was easier that she'd thought, though the snort Jorgan managed over the comms didn't help. "At least he provided us with a proper escort this time." She smacked Jorgan's chestplate in retaliation, causing him to grunt.

The woman scanned the bulky armor, lingering on certain areas longer than others. "He is a fine specimen. Is he for sale?" Fynta had plenty of experience with Imperial nobility, but this woman's candor surprised even her. Dorne's face could have been carved from stone for all the emotion she showed, although she did take a longer sip of her drink than was strictly necessary.

Given their almost playful interaction mere moments ago, Fynta knew she'd have to apologize for this later. She stepped closer to Jorgan, pressing into his side. "Absolutely not," the major answered, rubbing her hand possessively over his chest. "He has certain . . . gifts, which I couldn't bear to part with." Fynta could sense the Cathar tensing, and this time, it wasn't funny. Off the clock teasing was one thing, but springing a situation like this, on a guy like Jorgan, was simply unsporting. However, sending him off with this woman would be a fate worse than death, so her refusal had to be convincing.

The elevator door opened, and the woman frowned at Fynta. "Well, if you're sure." She eyed Jorgan again, then grinned. "I can't say that I blame you." Whipping stringy black hair over her shoulder, the woman stepped off the elevator, and Jorgan let out a ragged breath.

"I am so sorry," Fynta began, stepping away from him quickly. "I'll buy you a drink after this is finished to make up for that."

The Cathar nodded. "All a part of the mission." He sounded much calmer than she expected, and worried that she might have put him into shock.

When the doors opened again, the two women sauntered down the hall towards the double doors at the end. They were propped open, and Fynta could see the people milling around inside. The officers wore Imperial garb, of course, but their families were in fancy dress, so the new arrivals only attracted minimal interest. "Come on, Dorne, let's go have a chat with the guy wearing the major's stripes," Fynta commented, nodding towards a man standing next to a large holopad. Dorne fell into step, with Jorgan following a respectful distance behind.

"Good evening, sir," Elara crooned as they approached, her posh upbringing showing through. Fynta would have mangled that introduction had she attempted. Fynta's talents leaned more towards the sensual, whereas Dorne simply came across as curious.

The major greeted them with a smile. "Ah, ladies, good evening. I am Major Zandres, how may I be of service?"

Fynta had always marveled at how polite Imperials could be. Had this been a Republic senator, he probably would have smacked her ass and offered her a ride home. Granted, Zandres might get around to that after he dispensed with the pleasantries. "Are we to assume you are our gracious host?" Elara went on, crossing one arm over her stomach, while she twirled the stem of her glass between the fingers of the other hand. Fynta sipped at her champagne silently, letting Dorne carry the conversation.

"I'm afraid I cannot assume that honor, I am simply here on business," Zandres answered. He was the highest ranking officer in the room, so Fynta pegged him as their target, catching Elara's eye and nodding briefly.

"How intriguing, what sort of business?" Fynta asked, her accent was a little rusty, but passable. It was clear that she wasn't nobility, but Zandres chose not to comment.

The major offered them both a paternal smile. "Nothing that would interest a couple of refined ladies such as yourselves. Please, enjoy the party, I must return to my duties."

Havoc did just that. Fynta had two more glasses of champagne while Elara pointed out families of note. They'd snacked on hors d'oeuvre, and even managed a takeout bag for Jorgan since the poor guy wasn't able to graze. "Bring me some back too," Balkar whispered through Fynta's earpiece. She ignored him, but stashed a little extra anyway. Jorgan grumbled at the SIS agent to stay off the line, and Fynta just barely resisted rolling her eyes.

People finally began filtering out, some staggering a bit, around 0100. Eventually, all that remained was Havoc, Zandres, and his guards. Eventually, the major looked up from his work, brows pulling together as he took in the nearly empty room. "Begging your pardon, ladies, but it's quite late."

Fynta had enjoyed the party. Havoc had managed to relay a fair amount of menial data back to Balkar just by listening in on nearby conversations as well, but it was time to wrap things up. "You people are always so polite, it's almost a shame that I've got to follow through on this contract, but. . . ." Fynta drawled, dropping the accent. She crossed the room, draining her glass in the process, and set it on the holotable. "It's time to go."

The major's eyes narrowed. "Contract?" Then the moment of comprehension, and Fynta's smile grew. "Bounty hunters," the man spat. "Guards!" Zandres stepped back and pulled his blaster.

Fynta reacted without thinking and smashed the palm of her hand into Zandres's nose. In the same movement, she grabbed his blaster and flipped it over to aim back at him. Dorne had her hold-out blaster in hand as well, and Jorgan held his rifle on the guards. The fools had let keep all of his gear. After all, what good was a bodyguard without kit? He hadn't been the only openly armed person in the room either.

Zandres stumbled back, both hands covering his now bloodied nose. "Call off your guards," Fynta warned. "The contract doesn't specify dead or alive."

A low chuckle resonated over the comm. "You are scary sexy, you know that?" Balkar was clearly enjoying himself. "Time to haul in the prize, Lieutenant. Bring the dress."