The hidden speakers overhead trickled a synthetic pop beat overlaid with jagged, dial-up vocals. A makeup artist leaning against the wall nodded her head like she was actually enjoying it. Even Kes had to admit she looked pretty convincing. Too bad Kes knew the song (and really, all of her music) was terrible, overproduced, manufactured. It was supposed to be, though; everything about her and her sound was carefully curated to reach and appeal to the maximum number of people. She was, after all, a hyper pop star known throughout the galaxy. "Come on, Astoria. It's shit. Just admit it's shit!" Kes couldn't help but laugh a little. The makeup artist, Astoria, snapped to attention with a look of horror. "It is not! Kestrell, you've already been nominated for an award, and this track hasn't even been out a full twenty-four hours!" "That just means I have a lot of money. That doesn't mean it's any good." "Well, I heard that Retresity A and B want to make it their national anthem...s. Anthems?" Astoria crossed her arms, leaning back against the wall behind her with a triumphant smirk. She seemed to really enjoy the arguments between them, and Kes could hardly deny her oldest friend anything. "I heard you're full of it," Kes shot back, laughing again, "just now. I heard it just now. It's a shame you can't hear yourself." Just then, the faint, crackling sound of an explosion rocked the green room. There was a ghostly choir of distant screams behind it. Kestrell and Astoria exchanged a look before Astoria slipped out of the back door. Kes threw a hand out, shocked. "Tori! Wait!" But it was too late. The woman was gone, leaving Kestrell alone in the room. She briefly considered going after her friend, even going so far as to slide from her chair, but before her feet were really even under her, the door was opening again. Instead of Astoria, though, shadowy, unpleasant-looking strangers entered. They were grinning. The one in front cracked his knuckles. Kestrell's mouth worked uselessly for a second, brows fluttering. Then, she managed to sputter, "Who the fuck are you guys?" It was then that their boss chose to make entrance, and Kestrell had to fight not to shrink back against the back of her chair. "Where the hell did Astoria go?"

Welcome to my little sci-fi popstar/kidnapper plot! I would love for you to play the crime boss here, out for some very hefty ransom! I'm hoping for a romance, so if this starter appeals to you, feel free to jump in!

Damien Cross followed his subordinates into the building, hand resting on the grip of his gun and head already pounding from the 'music' echoing inside. He found this 'Kestrell's' work annoying and overhyped, hipster much Damien he thought to himself, but she'd make a prime target to get his money owed from her studio. "Go find where to turn this shit off." He ordered as he walked through the now destroyed green room and into the main, ignoring the screams of the injured he'd passed. The bomb was sonic based, a few days of headaches, possible aneurysms, brain swelling, hypertension.... Theyd be fine. He stepped through the door to find her trying to disappear into her seat. "Get up. We are leaving." He ordered. Shed have one chance to obey. He was primly dressed in the fashion of Invoria 2: leather pants cut close to the body, and long tunic like shirts, hidden under a jacket that went to his knees. He shifted his coat aside so the gun was clearly visible. Invoria had much higher gravity than most other planets in the system, creating people of higher muscle, faster, and stronger when elsewhere on lighter planets. "