First Reply Out of Place

[Aiden Porte]

​

The cantina was dimly lit, its air thick with the mingled scents of engine grease, spice smoke, and the faint tang of ozone from a blaster discharged too recently. Nar Shaddaa's constant neon glow seeped through the grime-streaked windows, painting the tables in uneven stripes of pink and blue. It was the kind of place where no one looked twice at a stranger, which was precisely why Aiden had chosen it.

He moved with quiet confidence through the crowd, his dark cloak blending easily with the layers of streetwear and smugglers' leathers. The hum of conversation and low thrum of electro-jazz masked the subtle rhythm of his boots as he reached the bar. For a moment, he scanned the room in the mirror behind the counter. A Rodian dealer. A pair of Nikto guards nursing Corellian ale. A hooded figure in the back who hadn't touched his drink.

He signaled the bartender, a droid with one photoreceptor flickering in and out and spoke in a tone casual enough to pass as weary traveler.

"Something local." he said. "Nothing that glows."

The droid gave a static-laden grunt and poured him a measure of pale amber liquid that smelled faintly of citrus and rust. Aiden accepted it, turning slightly so his back rested against the bar. The drink's warmth spread slow and steady through him as he listened, not with his ears, but with that deeper current beneath them. The Force hummed faintly, threads of tension and intent brushing against his awareness. Somewhere in this cantina, someone was waiting for a contact. Someone tied to the information he'd been sent to uncover.

He took another sip, his expression calm, posture relaxed but behind the quiet surface, his mind was tracing every movement, every flicker of emotion that rippled through the crowded space. Nar Shaddaa's underbelly was a dangerous place for a Jedi, but sometimes the shadows were where truth chose to hide.

A voice at his side broke the rhythm.

"You don't look like you belong here." it said, smooth, curious, edged.

Aiden's gaze shifted, one brow lifting slightly over the rim of his glass.

"No one ever does." he murmured. "That's why they come."

 

[Oshin Jantu]

Spoiler: Cantina Vibes

Maybe the track shifted or the definition of ‘electro-jazz’ music did the next instant. Sitting at a bar on Nar Shaddaa, it was all one patron could do in a cantina of misfits and dipshits to listen to the beats, think nothing of the feminine lyrics and sip her drink. Tequila. Neat. Glowing blue.

It wasn’t a time to think though. Eyes to the viewscreen which depicted an Ithorian with a state of the art translator collar in some advert. He hollered words at his audience that was anything but Galactic Basic Standard. However, here was one woman who understood a number of languages, and sometimes speech was silent like death in the eyes.

Others on the stools beside her. Fools, most likely, but she wasn’t exactly one to judge. Sure, she sat alone though wasn’t lonely, liked her privacy and then some, but if she wanted her own company at the moment then she would not not have come to a bar and restaurant.

Dressed in a black leather trench coat, hood lowered, turning her glass of vibrant cyan liquid in her hand on the bartop for no other reason than to turn it, she looked to her side. There was an Ithorian whose gaze was fixated on the viewscreen. Another sucker for commercials. Yet credits were universal and served her purpose.

She looked to her other side. Some guy in leathers and a dark cloak. Not so local and not so glowing. Might be he was trying to pass for a Sith or an assassin, his fellow patron figured, but what did she know? Humored, however, enough for mildly diverting conversation to serve as entertainment, she opened her lips to him.

“You don’t look like you belong here.” She spoke with a smile, taking in his visage.

“No one ever does," he murmured. “That’s why they come.”

“True enough,” she replied, iced eyes wide open, colored like oceans. “Or just because it’s something local to get drunk in even though nothing glows.” She sipped her liquor, licked her lips, gaze unwavering from his face.

Aiden Porte

 

[Aiden Porte]

Oshin Jantu
​

Aiden let her words linger in the air between them, carried by the static hum of the cantina's electro-jazz. He didn't move right away, didn't rush to fill the silence. His eyes shifted just enough to meet hers, studying the glint of amusement in those ocean-colored irises. The drink in his hand was still warm from the swallow he'd taken, bitter and metallic on his tongue, but his mind was elsewhere, mapping the currents beneath the surface.

The Force brushed against him, subtle as a draft through a sealed room. A flicker of intent, a knot of tension woven somewhere deeper in the crowd. He traced it without revealing that he did, letting his posture remain relaxed, the easy silhouette of a drifter nursing a forgettable glass.

"Places like this sell a certain kind of anonymity." he said finally, his tone quiet, steady. "But anonymity doesn't last long when people start looking too closely." His gaze flicked to the mirror behind the bar, catching the reflection of the hooded figure still posted in the back. The same one who hadn't moved since he'd walked in. Could be something, probably not though.

He turned back to her, expression unreadable save for the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth. "So tell me, are you here to drink, or to watch?"

Behind the calm of his words, he was already bracing. In Nar Shaddaa's shadows, conversations were rarely just conversations.