---

“The Refuge. Table seventeen.”

Following the rather vague instructions left to him by the Zabrak, Mol, Cas made his way through the listless crowds to the entrance of one of the few functioning cantinas in the Refugee Sector. Overcrowded and filled with refugees spending what little they had to pass the time with drink, brawls and scraps were frequent, a fact Cas had learned when treating what must have been his tenth patient to escape one such brawl. He couldn’t say he was that surprised. When thousands upon thousands of different race and species are crowded together with little in the way of belongings, or even ways to simply pass the time, trouble is bound to emerge. Even the proprietors of the cantina had long stopped visiting, resorting to simply taking in the monthly profits. There will always be those who profit from suffering, one way or another, he thought.

Removing himself from his thoughts as he drew near the brightly-lit entrance, Cas reminded himself of his purpose for visiting the cantina. The Exchange agent, Mol, had said only that the others who had been contracted onto the job would be present at the same location. The noise of the crowds in the cantina would provide cover for their discussion, and they were to promptly get to know one another before starting their search for the unknown stranger who was proving to be an unneeded thorn in the side of the Exchange. Admittedly, he was rather uncomfortable with the idea of working with others who had been picked out by the organisation. Morally bankrupt scoundrels, thugs, and maybe a bounty hunter or two, he expected. If anything, he worried that the greatest danger in this assignment would be surviving those he was assigned to work with.

Making his way through the entrance, the interior was rather a grim place to be. Flickering lights of various advertisements in aurebesh were plastered across the walls, and small tables were placed across the room with the ring-shaped bar in the center. Crowds gathered around the packed bar, with some patrons resorting to simply standing wherever they could find space in the room. It was not hard to spot the only table not surrounded by far too many patrons, tucked away in the corner of the cantina. I guess that’s seventeen, he thought. The Exchange likely asked the barman to keep it free, or rather, instructed him. If there was one thing he had learned from being around the Exchange on Nar Shaddaa, it was that they did not ask. Indeed, he dread to think what the outcome would have been for him had he refused their ‘offer’ of employment to find this stranger.

Sure enough, sitting at the table and flanked by two brawly human bodyguards, was Mol. Recognising the Nautolan as he entered, he raised his hand in a casual wave, beckoning him over. Approaching the table, the Zabrak spoke calmly in his native tongue, “Kol", he said while gesturing to an empty stool across from him at the table. Figuring he had just told him to sit, Cas took a seat. “You know I don’t speak that, right?”. The Zabrak offered only a baleful grin in return as he lifted the cup of bright-blue liquid to his mouth, taking a large gulp and allowing the silence to continue between the two. “First one here. I’ll keep it short, you can tell the rest when they get here.” Cas could never take the, admittedly rather scary-looking Zabrak, particularly seriously. Instead, he always found he had the urge to clear his throat whenever he heard the deep and raspy voice of Mol.

Leaning forward and checking his surroundings out of habit, ensuring there were no unwanted listeners, Mol spoke lowly, “Blue Twi’lek called Taan. Probably heard of him - ‘parently he leads the refugees.”, he allowed his the corners of his lips to curl upwards at the thought of a refugee leader, or more likely what the Exchange would do to this so-called leader, “Find him. He’ll know something. Get the information from him, one way or another.” Leaning back confidently, relaxing almost, the Zabrak lifted the cup to his mouth for another drink.

“Taan the Twi’lek. Easy enough.”, Cas shrugged in response.

Exhaling contently after his drink, Mol slid the now empty cup across the table, “Yeah. There’s also the Scoundrels Sanctum. Most of the Bounty Hunters looking for someone who’s anyone in this sector converge there. Good spot for information.” Looking to the ceiling as he reclined in the chair, and bringing his hand to his chin in thought, he paused for a moment before continuing. “Apart from that… maybe that aid center. Dr Zane, the stubborn old bag, runs that place. Always packed, somebody might have seen something.”. Turning his attention back to Cas, he simply shrugged before commenting, “Look. Everybody know’s something. Break the old beggars on the streets, go after Taan, I don’t care. Do what you have to do. Find the karking ‘guardian’, and solve it.” With that, Mol stood and made a click of his fingers, his bodyguards immediately making way for him through the crowds. “Oh - and, drinks on you.”

Soon, Mol was gone, leaving Cas to sit alone and contemplate the instructions given to him. He wasn’t one for torture, or making the lives of the wretched souls around him any more depressing.

This whole situation gave him a bad feeling.

A catchy tune played from the speakers in the semi-dark room. A musky odor filled their nostrils. Mo’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light. He could hear just enough. A low rumble of conversations was audible, but not too much. The instructions they received was to meet at table 17 in this gin joint known as The Refugee. Mokra Tem advised a bit of caution, “let’s just not stroll into a shit show and get our PJs all wet, Del.” Mokra was worried that whoever this person was giving them a job was really out to kill them. “How about we just sit here at a comfortable distance and watch everyone wander in. That way we know who is giving out the job and get an eyeful of our crewmates?”

“Mo,” Del said cheerfully, patting the Kel Dorian on the shoulder, “I think you’ve been running with me too long. You’re starting to sound like me.” The human had a wry grin on his face, which partnered with his scuff, his outfit and overall attitude really made him seem like old fashioned space scum. The kind of scum that you didn’t mind having your back in a scrap, at least. “It’s a smart plan, but if the job’s legit, we have to make contact. So, we’ll do the old bait maneuver. If we’re walking into an all new shitshow here, i’ll be the one to spring it.” Del flicked a small device between his fingers. Too small to be a thermal detonator, he had a small flash bomb ready to go on his person. “You take a good vantage point behind the rest of them at the table. If you could use that fancy disappearin’ act, it’d be grand. But, we’ll probably have to improvise like always.” He winked at his alien partner. “Look on the bright side: if anyone gets shot, it’ll probably be me this time.”

“I’ll try,” Mokra responded. He wasn’t too confident about his disappearing act. Maybe it would work this time. Maybe if he thought he was invisible, he would actually be invisible? “Let me try it now; right here.” Mokra looked at the floor, while focusing. He thought of himself going invisible. He tried real hard. His body shook intensely as he tried to will himself to go invisible. His left arm wavered in and out of view. It looked as though it might work, but then after a full two minutes of trying, his arm was still just as visible as the rest of him. “Nope. Can’t do it, Del.” I’ll just walk behind them and stand there watching. Who cares if they can see me?”

“Don’t just stand behind them like you’re a hungry graul. Blend in with the crowd, hold a drink in your hand or something. Look inconspicuous; at least as much as you can.”

“Yea, that will work. I’ll do that then,” Mokra responded. “Now? Go now?”

“Not just yet,” Del muttered, spying the Nautolan walking towards the table with the Zabrak. At least they hadn’t been noticed yet, hopefully anyways. Del’s face scrunched as he eyed the doctor approaching the Zabrak. “I think I’ve seen this guy before…” he muttered, placing his index finger on his chin. The man gently tapped it three times. “Wait, I know it!” The human turned to Mokra. “He’s a bleeding heart doctor, helping refugees in the worst parts of town. What the hell is a guy like that meeting with a bunch of scumbags like the Exchange?”

“Only one way to find out,” Mo responded. The two watched the conversation. They couldn’t hear what was being said. Eventually, the Zabrak and his entourage departed, leaving the Nautolan doctor alone at table 17. “Well, this seems to be my cue.” Mokra gave the disappearing act one more try. He focused on the cloak, trying to remember what happened to him when he broke the vase a few decades earlier at home. It took about ninety seconds and the Kel Dorian disappeared from view. “Del, did it work?”

“You crazy bastard, it worked!” Del exclaimed in a hushed whisper. “Time for me to play nice and meet the good doctor. You just get comfy and be ready to strike if things go south quick.” Del stood up from his seat and gave a knowing wink towards where he thought Mokra was. “I can always trust you to watch my back. Now, let’s see if we’re walking into a job, or a trap.” Del casually stood up and walked over to the doctor’s table. “So,” the human smuggler began, standing at a chair across from the Nautolan, “what the hell’s got a doctor getting wrapped up in…” the human paused for a moment, running exactly what they’d all been dragged into, “whatever this is?”

Mo silently moved behind the Nautolan doctor to listen to the conversation between him and Del Qin’jorra. He stood more than three feet away so as to not bump into him or do anything to let him know he was there. He also kept on eye on what was going on in the room so that nothing would surprise him or the group as it formed at table 17.

---

---

“I can’t keep breaking the teeth of Serroco thugs like this, Maros.” Lroné Eronoss crossed her arms as she looked over the human refugee in front of her, the expression on her face signifying the fact that she was relatively unimpressed.

It was true that Maros Wred was an untrustworthy Corellian scumbag, but at the very least he was a man willing to get things done; a quality that the majority of the refugee sector’s inhabitants didn’t have, including the supposed leader of the sector, a Twi’lek by the name of Taan. He may have been as cutthroat as the Hutts and Exchange, which may have been one of the many reasons why the people in the refugee sector weren’t starving or doing something stupid. He was one of the few people she could lean on for work, though she was honestly getting sick of the squabbles between Maros Wred and Karco Dacek. Especially when Maros was low on blasters but decent on credits and Karco Dacek was high on blasters and had a habit of thinking every disagreement was a call to arms for war. It was hard to believe the two of them came to Nar Shadda on the same ship as friends. It was days like this where Lroné wondered if the hassle was worth the trade offers and sparse credits, but she sympathized with the two nerf herding idiots due to the mere fact that she too was stuck on the moon and knew how anxious and suffocating it felt.

She looked slightly away from Maros, as she rolled her eyes. She knew what his response was going to be. She always did considering it was the same every kriffing time. Lroné didn’t like Corellians, but her situation was about as low as a swoop bike so she didn’t have any choice of who she got to deal with. In-between dealing with The Exchange or Vogga the Hutt and the handful of gamblers, grifters, and fringers she had a very narrow list of clientele. Especially considering the fact that someone in The Exchange had landlocked her. So she was stuck doing errands until The Exchange considered what she owed them paid back in recompense.

“You said you were the greatest problem solver on Nar Shaddaa. What’s the problem?”

She sighed. There it was. Lroné turned back to him, his disheveled beard and matted hair looked about as bad as it smelled – and she was pretty sure a Wookie who hadn’t bathed in twenty years would smell better. Augh. “The problem is the odds are against you.”

The black-haired Corellian scowled as he raised his voice. “Don’t—”

“—tell you the odds? Yeah, I get it. It’s a very funny Corellian joke. Look. You’re outgunned and your feud with Karco is only going to keep getting worse as more refugees get thrown in this sector. There isn’t enough space to fit either yours or his ego on this planet, yet you’re contained to this space where you’re going to end up killing each other. Not that it’s my problem or anything. I just don’t want to get shot by an angry war vet who remembers I’m the reason his brother-in-arms who lost his arm to a Mandalorian vibroblade is missing the front row of his teeth. Just give me my credits. I have business somewhere else, okay?”

“Fine; but you’ll be back for more. You always do.”

She gritted her teeth as she took the credits. He was right, but she still had half of a mind to remind him why she was the most useful commodity in his back pocket. See how he’d enjoy being the one with missing teeth. It was a tempting thought… but a thought. She had no need to take a plasma torch to a bridge that she may very well have needed even if the sight of his bloodied mouth would have been rather satisfying. As she turned her back on the storage container that was Maros’s home, her brows narrowed in annoyance but more importantly, focus. The ‘other business’ she had mentioned to the Corellian was Exchange-related and they promised to wipe the record clean if she committed to it and stop hassling her for the time being. But they would not forget her actions or the fact she had family and friends who still lived here on Nar Shaddaa. This exchange operation started with a meeting; a meeting that was at the seventeenth table at one of the worst cantina’s that had fallen out of warp.

It could’ve been a trick, but she never knew the Exchange to try to backstab someone who was stuck on the planet who knew they had a debt to them. They were criminals, not wastoids.


As she found her way into the cantina she could heard the monotonous noise of the band. ‘Out of tune and out of spirit.’ was a thought that came to her mind as she moved through the crowd in the dimly lit dive. She never liked cantinas or the drinks they served, but it came with her profession and accumulative experience. The kind of spit served in the dark dens of strangers and thieves wasn’t worth paying a single peggat for. As she approached the table in question she saw Mol make his leave. He had already given the information away? Without her at the table? The dark-haired woman found herself slightly concerned as she continued her movement as the Zabrak and her crossed eyes as they passed each other to their respective destinations.

As she approached table seventeen her hand, as if by nature, moved to her side before she caught herself. Despite knowing there was no reason to decide to shoot first and ask questions later she was nearly ready to do so. Why? The thought made her remind herself that despite all of the scuffles she had been through it didn’t make her Mandalorian. That’s when she noticed two men, a Human and Nautolan, already beginning their conversation. She walked closer to the table as the former finished a question, though she stayed on her guard, standing instead of sitting. Lrone was curious of the Nautolan’s answer but decided to speak before he could.

“Same reason all of us were contacted, I wager.” As the two reacted to her comment, she smirked. “Lroné Eronoss.”

---

Dasaen entered the cantina slowly, the sounds of snickers and whispered passed along mocking the blind man. Only a few heard rumors of what he truly was, even fewer believe them. Thus a moment after this blind mind covered in bandages which many believe to hide disfiguring war wounds a cut purse got up planning to rifle through the man's pockets and buy himself another round. Dasaen continued to move back toward table seventeen, he'd been told completing this job would allow him to leave and continue his mission. Thus he would attempt to carry it out, even if he did not like the outcome.

He stopped and just before the cut purse bolted forwards to snag his bags he spun his staff striking the man across the face sending him reeling backward. "Next time be less obvious." He had just turned his head towards table seventeen when the would be thief curse.

"Blind man! Give me all you got, you owe me after that little stunt." He hollered stepping forward drawing a vibro knife. "I'll gut you if you don't."

Those who drank gave a cheer, now they had the entertainment to go with the booze. Dasaen turned and sighed. "Must you resort to violence? Surely you could-" He didn't finish before the man started to lunge as if he could see where the knife would the man spun and smacked the knife wielding man across the back.

"How are you doing that!? You can't see me E chu ta!" The thief cried out in anger at his less than successful attempts to harm the man.

"Even a blind man could predict your movements. Give up."

"Kark." He cursed it and reached for the blaster on his belt. Yet the blind man was already moving, Dasaen brought one hand backing slamming his open palm into the villains chest and sweeping his legs out from under him next. The thief fell to the floor and Dasaen placed the bladed end of his staff against the man's neck.

"I'm here to a job for the Exchange," Dasaen said turning his head, letting the whole crowd hear him tired of being treated like a freak or a cripple.

"I am not a helples cripple if you need proof..." He moved the blade and stabbed through the blaster destroying the thief's weapon. He stepped back then carefully began to walk towards the table, avoiding bumping into people and being polite. He wore a calm expression, almost serene for a man who had nearly been mugged in full view in a bar full of others probably willing to do the same until he mentioned he was doing a job for the Exchange. No one wanted to piss them off, killing one their workers was an easy way to do that.

He moved to the table bowing slightly to show respect, he then introduced himself first. "Seeker Dasaen, of Luca Sene." He told them not bothering to look at them as he took a seat near Lrone, he couldn't help but chuckle a little. "A warrior, a doctor, a rogue, and now a scholar... Heh, though perhaps I should count the rogues' Kel Dorian friend as well?" He spoke simply smiling a little. "He cannot fool someone who sees as I do." He spoke letting the others know another was watching them. "We would make for quite the good joke it seems... All of us in a bar." He added maintaining a calm demeanor as one hand rested on the table the other gripped his staff.

---

Running his fingers over the thin stubble along his jawline, Hamlin stared intently at the table before him. It had all come down to the wire, everything before had led up to this moment. Blood, sweat, tears, for the last thirty minutes, Hamlin had been under some the most intense stress of his life. Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward, watching the man who sat across the table intensely, waiting for the next few minutes to pass. And there it was.

Hamlin's flat lip turned into a triumphant smirk as the man across from him made his move, he'd dug his own grave - now there was no way out for the man across from him as Hamlin glanced up towards him, shrugging his shoulders. "Good game." Hamlin uttered plainly with a smirk, slapping down the +2 card onto the table in front of him, giving Hamlin a perfect Pazaak. Laughing as he watched the man across from him throw down his side deck in frustration, the pilot shrugged as he leaned forward, snatching away the credits they'd bet for as he glanced over to the table he'd been watching for the past few hours.

Hamlin had arrived at the cantina many hours before, and while he'd seen Mol sitting at the table for some time, he hadn't approached the Zabrak, more interested on waiting for the others he'd been told he would be working with to arrive. He'd been so engrossed in the game that he had missed the majority of them seemingly entering. Sitting back for a moment or two, he let his eyes drift over each individual, taking in every feature as he regarded them from a distance. The Nautolan he saw first seemed uneasy, uncomfortable with where he was. The human male, he seemed much more in tune with the sort of work they would likely be given, more in tune with that darker side of the galaxy. There was the human female then, he got the impression from her he usually got from soldiers, she had that air about her, even from a distance, of experience. Most curious to Hamlin of all was the hooded man who approached. He raised an eyebrow as he saw the wrappings around his eyes, able to recognize the species - he had known Miraluka during the Jedi Civil War, but it was curious to him to see one now, and - one who wasn't a Jedi.

Sighing, Hamling glanced back over to the table before him, standing as he picked up and collected his Pazaak deck. Sliding the credits into his pocket, he adjusted the collar of the flight suit he still wore, partially unzipped at the moment, before he turned to begin approaching the table. Shuffling his deck, he glanced over each of the individuals again as he approached, clearing his throat somewhat, as if to make himself known before he stopped. "So, this is the chumps anonymous meeting?" He queried with a slight smirk, looking over those present, having missed the introductions due to his distraction at the card table.

---

The cantina was packed with glass jars of assorted shapes and sizes. Some were tall and others were wide or with various projections jutting out of their main form. However, this wasn't an unusual sight for the venue or the lone Zeltron lingering to the side of its entrance. What intimidated the woman was the colorful vapors that swirled inside each clear container. The different pigments mixed while keeping within their respective boundaries, yet the whole place was too packed with a variety of diverse hues and shades that it strained on Faryn. Her eyes were well adjusted, but her internal framework had enough pressure to make her uneasy.

Long, dark eyelashes lightly breathed against her skin before she opened her eyes and saw the scene most everyone else was: a regular cantina booming with patrons that had come from all crevices of the galaxy. The uniform bond, no matter how general, granted her the brief reassurance to enter. Tugging her shrouding brown cloak closer to her form, Faryn took ample measures to not get too close to anyone as she made her way to the stools that rested at the round bar.

Some of the clear glasses were pressed tightly against each other or stacked on top of without either managing to crack. However, the indigo-haired female knew that her getting too close would result in the shattering of the protective barrier that prevented her from becoming overwhelmed. If she were lucky, she would only encounter vials filled with warm oranges and fuzzy yellows. But she had seen a significant amount of vessels with harsh reds and sickly greens when taking in the area before immersing herself into it. She didn't like her odds and couldn't risk it. Especially since she was at this specific setting of a multitude of passions for an entity that threatened her.

Despite not being the table she was designated to, Faryn took a seat once at the bar. Ending up next to a Human male whose focus was on chatting up a beautiful Twi'lek was not her ideal choice but there was limited availability and the Zeltron could appreciate the lack of attention. She needed to focus on her surroundings, specifically in the area of table 17.

Still, she wished she could have a drink to calm her nerves. It probably wasn't the best idea since it would take more than a few to get the desired affect, and she would eventually have to succumb to interacting with whomever the Exchange had gathered for her to work alongside. And she knew nothing about them. Diverting her attention to the location as a means of distraction, Faryn wondered why the organization had decided for everyone to meet here. It certainly had a level of danger and risk both to those gathered and the exposure of whatever task they would be given. Perhaps they weren't even being given a mission; perhaps they were the mission. It was easier to capture or kill certain individuals without tipping off the others if they all were gathered and taken care of at the same time, right? What if the Exchange were watching them this instant? They probably were. And that was why she decided to distance herself from the target area.

Finally deciding to take a look at where she was supposed to be, Faryn slowly turned to see a Nautolan and Human at the table with another figure approaching them. Although she did not see anyone affiliated with the Exchange, or that she knew of, the newcomer carried themselves as if they were. She didn't need to use her empathy to tell that all three of them were on edge and most likely suspicious of each other. Knowing that postponing heading over was making matters worse, the woman still couldn't convince herself of the benefits to going. Sure she knew the risks of doing the opposite but with the atmosphere that surrounded the table, she would surely be affected and merely contribute to the cycle of distrust and lack of unity.

Hearing the voice of the man next to hear speak to the bartender, Faryn listened as she heard him instruct the other to continue serving the Twi'lek he had been conversing with earlier once she came back from getting some fresh air. Inside he burned a vibrant crimson; cocky and unburdened from any doubt. She could really use some of that confidence. Exhaling, the girl brought a gentle hand to pull off the hood of her cloak, consequently releasing her sweet smelling pheromones in the man's direction. Immediately, he shifted his attention to the other for the first time and took in the woman. Rudely snapping for the bartender's attention without taking his eyes off Faryn, he spoke once the man came back to assist them.

"Actually, have my tab placed on this lovely lady."

A soft, playful giggle emitted from Faryn as she felt the jar cracking and wisps of red seeped out toward her. But things were moving too slow. Placing her hands on the man's face, the Zeltron pulled him closer and engaged in a passionate kiss with the stranger with no sense of shame despite feeling the looks of others. Some were intrigued while others were abashed. But those didn't matter because the glass was shattered now and she was engulfed in a burning sensation that brought her back to her assured self. It was nice.

Once she felt the man's grip on her upper arm, she knew she would have to slow down the passion felt for it would evolve to something different than she initially desire. Thankfully, some shouting could be heard and it was enough to distract the two. Pulling away and looking in the direction of the commotion, Faryn felt the curiosity of those surrounding her which only served to amplify her own interest. She must have affected the Human she had just engaged with too for he left his seat to join the growing crowd surrounding the commotion. Unable to see past the gathering, the woman turned to the bartender.

"I'd like a tray of your best assortment for a whole table, please. Thank you."

As she waited, she concentrated on blocking out whatever was occurring that held the attention of many others. Another vial had broken but this time it was anger that was spreading.

Just as the bartender handed her a tray filled with many different colored drinks, Faryn caught the words of someone that had been directly involved in the situation she was currently trying to avoid. The attention wasn't good for them, and she was sure the Exchange probably wanted to keep their matters as private as possible. Grabbing a random drink off the tray, the Zeltron downed the whole thing in one go, placing it back despite it being empty. As expected, it did nothing and she pulled her cloak back up before taking the tray and heading to the side of the crowd.

Quickly so she wasn't swept into the volatile flurry of emotions, she dropped the empty glass, effectively shattering it and causing everyone's attention to be diverted to it. A nearby worker came over with equipment to clean the mess as Faryn continued toward the path to table 17 and the crowd began dispersing, having been settled from the mundane accident that had just occurred. Smiling to herself that her diversion worked and the environment had become less hostile, the woman's walk fell back in step to her usual confident stride.

As she came closer, she noticed a newcomer she hadn't been made aware of earlier. Another Human male. All but the Nautolan were standing.

Shifting the tray to one hand, she took her hood off once more, looking like any other server as she made room for herself into the group. Carefully setting the tray down in the middle of the table, she commented, "Drinks. On me," in a friendly tone as she stood back up. Now with free hands, Faryn took off her cloak completely and lightly tousled her hair before draping the article on the seat next to the Nautolan and sitting beside him, giving off the impression that she was making herself at home.

Presenting a genuine smile to the rest of those gathered, she introduced herself.

"Faryn Nonome. Pleased to meet all of you. Take a seat, relax, have a drink. I'm sure we could all use one."

To prove her statement, she grabbed a glass and took a sip.

Mokra was beside himself with excitement. This was the first time he had ever been able to cloak himself intentionally. Admittedly, he focused intently on maintaining this status. It would require no serious emotional distractions in order to hold the cloak. He relegated himself to scanning the room to gather in everyone he could see. He was watching for those heading to the table Del stood in front of across from the Nautolan doctor.

It didn’t take long as a woman of weathered appearance approached Table seventeen. She introduced herself as Lroné Eronoss. Mokra did not know of the woman, nor had he heard of her reputation. There was a certain air of confidence about this person that piqued Mokra’s respect; an appreciable quality. Not long after, an apparent blind man approached the table. He did take a seat near where Lrone stood. As he spoke, Mokra realized the man was not blind, but a Miraluka. He was aware of their connection to the force which only churned Mokra's curiosity.

Without looking at the others standing or seated around the table, the man spoke, "Seeker Dasaen, of Luca Sene." He paused briefly, chuckled, then continued, "A warrior, a doctor, a rogue, and now a scholar... Heh, though perhaps I should count the rogues' Kel Dorian friend as well?" Obviously, the Miraluka could see where Mokra was standing. However he would not know Mokra Tem was cloaked. Seeker Dasaen could only see that Mokra Tem stood around the table with everyone else, cloaked or uncloaked was irrelevant. But what would have been most recognizable to Seeker Dasaen about Mokra Tem was the presence of the force. From his home world, it was almost inconceivable to see life not attached to the force. Obviously, Seeker Dasaen had been off world for many years apparently comfortable among those with no connection to the force. To finally see a force wielder in his midst must have delighted the Miralukan.

‘He was referring to me!?’ Mokra thought to himself. ‘He must be a jedi?’ This revelation both disturbed and excited him. ‘But the Jedi have been killed off, right? I know Miralukans can see everyone in their own unique way. Obviously, the cloak does not work for him. I get that. But he would not know I was cloaked. That is equally obvious.’ But in Mokra Tem’s mind, he was no force wielder. He was aware of many Kel Dorians who were Jedi, but none of those were alive or in his life today. Albeit curious of the jedi, he never trained as such and was unaware that he himself was touched by the force. This revelation did make him curious about the Miralukan. Mo would want to speak with the man at length at some point.

Mokra figured that since the newcomer pointed him out to the group present, he may as well reveal himself to everyone. He was about to do so when another human approached the table. He remained cloaked. This person appeared unkempt, while giving off an unnecessarily cocky air. His words were condescending to the group and needless to say; unappreciated. His presence gave Mokra an uneasy feeling. He placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword ready to strike if necessary. He just wasn’t sure about this person.

Before he could make a move, he noted a cloaked woman carrying a tray of drinks to the table. Mo pulled his hand from the sword to watch the woman. She removed her hood, then lowered the tray into the center of table seventeen. When her voice uttered those sweet words, "Drinks. On me," Mokra melted. Her words sent a foreign warmth through his body. He had never felt this way for anyone. It took him by surprise and made him feel happy; almost bubbling over inside. Then she removed her cloak and shook her hair before placing the cloak over the chair next to the doctor. When the woman smiled, that warm all-embracing smile, Mokra lost it. He could no longer hold his cloak.

She spoke her own name, "Faryn Nonome. Pleased to meet all of you. Take a seat, relax, have a drink. I'm sure we could all use one."

As Faryn grabbed a drink, Mo slowly began to materialize into view. His status changed in no manner, or way discernible by the Miralukan who could see his presence the entire time he was in their company. Mokra could not take his eyes off the beauty of Faryn. Maybe it was her pheromones, or her natural scent. Whatever it was, Mokra was smitten. His palms sweaty. He wanted to speak. “Uh, … um…yea…uh…ummmm…ok…." He paused and said, "I’ll just be quiet.” He forced himself to take his eyes off the woman, but could not help indulging himself. Taking in her breathtaking beauty was his new favorite hobby. He felt very weak and squirmish in her presence. He did not know what to do or say. He was completely and utterly taken in by her. Somewhere in his subconscious he hoped Del would tell everyone who he was.

---

Del leaned back in his chair for each of the ”team’s” appearances, nodding his head in acknowledgement as they all gathered around. When the blind guy called out Mo’, he kept his cool; though his left finger began to fidget slightly; he was practically ready to kick backwards and start drawing his blaster when Mo’s cover was “blown”. Except no one seemed to pay the Kel Dorian any mind…until he just popped up, acting sheepish as hell.

“Uh-“ he interjected, “The Kel Dorian here who seems incapable of speech is my first mate, Mokra. Don’t mind him. He just blends in with the crowd really well.”

What a great lie.

He kept eying the Miraluka, wondering if a force sensitive would drawn in as many credits on the market as a live Jedi would. Still, discretion was always the better part of valor, and backstabbing one’s partners at the beginning of a job was never a good idea. He could backstab them later, once money was in their palms and everyone turned their backs with well wishes and fond farewells.

Jobs never ended with fond farewells.

---

---

“Del myo nyee, understand da this sa just poonoo.”

Del found himself tied to a chair, his left eye a dark purple color. His lower lip was split down the middle, blood drippling from his mouth onto the floor. His coat, his blaster, everything was thrown onto the floor next to him. He shivered as his white tank became speckled with his own blood as two rodians held him up to face his former boss: Frizo the Hutt. Frizo was thin for Hutt standards, a dark blue-grey skintone with crimson outlines. The slug seemed quite content with his catch, and was content grandstanding in front of Del.

“You call tying a man up and having these soft handed bugs rough me up business?” Del’s good eye stared the slug down, and he tried to force a smile through the blood in his mouth. “Frizo old buddy, you’re going soft in your old age.”

” Killing u right ateema would be soft. By doe tee-tocky jee-jee're done gee u unko, u will beg je che death.”

“Right, right. I’m going to beg you for death. What are you going to do, have your boys tickle me to death?” This was luck at least. Frizo wasn’t planning on killing him; something that made him tense less. He’d purposely kept Mokra in the dark about Frizo’s meeting; sending Mokra to check on some deliveries in the system while he met with Frizo. He was a scumbag, but he didn’t want Mokra to get too involved with Frizo from the get-go. The Cartel was messy, and once they got their hooks in you, they didn’t like to let go.

” Let's stuka kava porko u talk gee do wings clipped.”

“What?”

One of the rodians approached with a small holoprojector, showing a live feed of the Quillwing being fitted with magnetic locks, and suddenly beginning lifted out of the docking bay.

“Do ship sa mine.”

---

---

Del eyed everyone around the table now. He grabbed a drink front the tray, and took a sip, and finally introduced himself. “I’m captain Del Quin’Jorra of the Quillwing.” He then smirked, sizing up everyone in the bar.

The money on the miraluka can wait. I think I can get my ship back now.

“None of you guys are chummy with the local Cartel goons around here, are ya?”

---

Lroné remained standing, sizing up the group around her as it seemed the final members of their little gathering approached the table and made their own comments and introductions. She didn’t know these people, though some of their names did seem familiar—but that could’ve been a byproduct of being on Nar Shaddaa or any number of things. The mercenary had never been the type to catalog names and reputations unless she personally had seen or heard something relevant and the name Del Quin’Jorra certainly fit the latter category. His gambit against the Mandalorians during the first war was known quite well. But she had no knowledge of his reputation outside of that fact.

Lroné shook her head at the question about the cartel. “Dealt with? Yes. Chummy? No.”

---

Cas barely had time to respond to the question posed to him by the man who would later identify himself as Captain Del'Quinjorra of The Quillwing, which Cas assumed must have been some ship outfitted for his own purposes. Not that he'd ever heard of it. Gesturing to a seat at the table, he went to respond though was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the latest member in their growing group, one Lroné Eronoss. He didn't know her, either.

"Somebody has to keep you alive. You should count yourself lucky, usually I'd charge a premium." Pausing for a brief moment of thought, the Nautolan continued, "Though in this case, freedom from this overcrowded and disease-ridden sector will have to do."

The two didn't have much time for more idle chatter, the bar erupting into noise at the sight of a fight between two patrons. Cas remained seated, trying unsuccessfully to see past the crowds for a look. Suddenly the crowd fell silent, no doubt a surprise victor had emerged in the admittedly short-lived fight beyond his own view. Even the band had fallen silent for a short while, captivated by the events, allowing an eerie silence to fill the warm air. "I'm here on a job for the Exchange", echoed a voice throughout the cantina, which only fueled the silence further.

Oh, great. A trouble-maker, and most likely one that was about to join their team on a discreet mission. "I have a feeling things just got more complicated.", said the Nautolan, airing his thoughts to the group. Soon enough, a hooded figure broke free from the crowd and began to make his way over to their table. The chatter in the cantina began to normalize as the band began playing once more, and things returned more-or-less to normality, though Cas noticed the latest arrival to their table attracting more than a few bad looks.

Eyeing the man as he spoke of being a scholar, Cas couldn't help but feel somewhat unsettled by the calm in his voice. Either he was especially naive, or he was somebody to worry about. Probably both. Identifying himself as a 'Seeker' going by the name of Dasaen, apparently the member of an organisation whose name Cas had already forgotten, Cas couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was actually seeking. Was it a meaningless and self-righteous title? Probably, he wagered. Everybody's seeking something, anyway. What makes what this 'Seeker' is seeking, so special? Only managing to confuse himself by thinking about it, Cas decided he'd have to find out more about this man of mystery later on. Oddly, the 'Seeker' made a final comment about being fooled by another and mentioned a Kel'Dorian. He's well-and-truly mad, Cas thought. Now he'd have to worry about this laserbrain, as if he didn't already have enough to worry about.

Cas didn't have much longer to muse over Dasaen, with another man approaching their group. "So, this is the chumps anonymous meeting?"

Returning a slight grin of his own, he looked the man up and down before replying, "It's increasingly looking that way." Before their conversation progressed any further, yet another joined their group. A Zeltron, this time. Making herself comfortable in the empty seat beside Cas, she slid a tray of drinks into the middle of the table and offered them up, though Cas opted not to take a drink for himself. Indeed, even as the Nautolan went to introduce himself to the newest arrival, yet another began to introduce themselves. Or, at least, attempt to. Having been momentarily looking toward the Zeltron to introduce himself, he hadn't caught the Kel'Dorian approaching the table, and simply assumed he must have missed him. A sort of anxious frustration beginning to fill his mind, he wondered how many the Exchange had actually contacted for this job. Indeed, the Kel'Dorian did not fill the Nautolan with confidence. Another laserbrain? Loth-cat got his tongue? Surely, not two simpletons? Cas began to feel more tempted to take the drink that was on offer.

Sitting silently for a while as the group made slight conversation about the locals, he eventually interjected. "If this is all of us, we ought to get down to business before our resident 'Seeker' beats anymore karking refugees." Cas made sure to shoot the man a look of disapproval as he spoke, if he could even see it through that his covered eyes. "So, anyway. Mol gave me some information to relay to you all." Quickly scouring the area around their table, Cas checked to see for anybody else approaching the table. With the rate members of their team had been arriving, he wouldn't be surprised if another turned up midway through his explanations. After a few seconds, and happy that they were all accounted for, he continued.

"Right, so. First there's Taan the Twi'lek. You've probably heard of him since he's the 'Head Refugee' around here. I think he's held up in some empty and re-purposed cargo container, like most of the refugees in the sector. Suppose we'll have to ask around. Shouldn't be too hard." Out of instinct he spoke in a slight hushed tone, though he doubted anybody else in the bar cared what they were discussing, or that they could even hear over the combined noise of the patrons and the music. There was a reason the Exchange had chosen their particular spot, after all. "Then there's the Scoundrels Sanctum. You know the one. Favorite spot of any Bounty Hunters lingering in the sector. Mol said we should check there, and I figure he's probably right. Kriff, some of those Bounty Hunters might even be after the same person as us. Finally, there's the famously short-tempered Dr. Zane who runs the aid center here." Shrugging, he commented, "Not that it's much good."

Reclining against the backrest of his chair for a moment, he knew it would be a better idea to split up and tackle the various areas at once. Besides, a giant group wasn't going to be discreet in anything. "So, I was thinking we should go off into pairs or something. Handle the different areas at once, and meet back here or something. I know Dr. Zane at least, and I can take our resident Seeker. Not like we're likely to get into any trouble around cripples, anyway, regardless of how scathing the comments from Dr. Zane can be." If you want something done right, do it yourself, as the age-old saying goes. Cas wasn't about to let the volatile 'Seeker' run off and cause them any more trouble. Taking him along meant that he'd have the opportunity to find out more about the mysterious Miraluka, too, which wasn't likely to be a bad thing.

"I don't really know the rest of you, so. I suppose it doesn't really matter, we're not looking to start trouble." Pausing for a second, he rethought his words as he darted his gaze toward the Miraluka briefly, but decided not to make another comment. "How about... Well, you and your friend." Cas gestured toward the Captain of the Quillwing, Del Quin'jorra and his Kel'Dorian friend. "Maybe you, too, Faryn was it? We're an odd number, so we'll need a three." Finally, he turned his attention to the other female of the group. "That leaves you two, Lroné and... I don't think I caught your name." he said in the direction of Hamlin Teth.

"That makes sense to me, anyway. The quicker we can get out of here, the better."

Having made his suggestion, Cas hoped the group would simply follow along. It didn't especially matter who was paired with who, he reassured himself. They were only going to be gathering information. What could possibly go wrong?

---

Lroné nodded as she moved a strand of mahogany hair from her face to the back of her ear, “I don’t care who I’m partnered with as long as we can get this job done as quickly and cleanly as possible. I have worked with Taan, though. So that might be the best fit for me.”

The comment was her opinion about Cas Eelen’s suggestions, though she wasn’t sure what to make of Faryn or the wayward scoundrel that gave her the impression of some sort of hired gun. But then again, everyone with the exception of the seeker gave the impression of hired guns. That’s what they were, all things considered. It was a little difficult for Lroné to gauge the people around her, but she wasn’t exactly in the business of trusting people in the first place. The only one she had relied on that got her through countless scrapes and tumbles was herself and she doubted that was going to change because The Exchange needed some “commissioned” help. Though Lroné was just excited that the price of admission was a possible one-way ticket off of Nar Shaddaa.