Don't Panic

Lothal
Some Dingy Street
There were places in the galaxy that would always look run-down, even after centuries of dedicated work. Taris and Telos were both like that. Dantooine was a similar atmosphere, and Tatooine was legendary for it. Certain places were just always dusty, rusty, a little too old to function properly, and generally slightly desperate, no matter what anyone did to change that. Niysha'd heard the terms "gray" and "yellow" and "brown" applied to them a lot. These were the sorts of planets where,if you were born there, you largely just had to scrape your way out until your fingers were bloody, or else consign yourself to live an entire life on a liminal planet. Transitional. An entire planetary population with one foot out the door.
It was the sort of general vibe that Niysha craved. While she didn't have any real frame of reference for what "home" was supposed to mean, these planets were where she was the most comfortable. These nowhere dirt balls full of scavengers and survivors, too civilized to be frontier but too wild to be safe. Each one brought to mind the classical image of a man with no name in a trenchcoat that barely hides his blaster, drinking hard liquor to escape a dark past, only to be dragged kicking and screaming into a hero's future.
Lothal was kind of like that. It was incredibly charming, to Niysha's personal tastes. A place that she could relax, where there were simultaneously no surprises and always something unexpected. Planets like these were where she liked to set up when she was alone. In and the Dancer were still back at the spaceport, refueling and restocking for the next delivery. This meant that, for at least a few hours, Niysha had nothing important occupying her time.
The blindfolded woman had managed to - after some very suspicious looks from the yokels who called this dustball home - purchase the worst caff she'd had in months and have a seat outside a crappy restaraunt with faded, rusty paint on its outdoor seating. She busied herself with the cryptex that In had scored for her a few jumps ago, fingers playing over the different dials and facets as she fumbled slowly with trying to crack the secrets of what was inside. Her datapad - with the Miraluka accessibility app running - played a few relevant articles about ancient Sith puzzle tubes.
As she always did, Niysha kept a tight lid on her presence. It was a constant drain on her concentration, but extremely necessary. Being just another blind woman on the street with maybe a touch more of a spark of sensitivity was much, much less dangerous or important than being a rogue Force-user. In support of this, as per usual, her lightsaber was hidden away in her bag, buried under several layers of clothes, books, and a couple of tools. Under normal circumstances, this would've been enough for any random passing Jedi to ignore her completely.
Under normal circumstances, when she wasn't attempting to decrypt a Sith puzzle tube in the middle of nowhere where no one would care.
