[center][color=808B96][h2][b]C a s   E e l e n[/b][/h2]Nar Shaddaa [b]-[/b] Refugee Sector
[i]The Refuge[/i] Cantina[/color][/center]
[center][hider=Atmoshpere][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mQgumuM6TAs&t=558s[/youtube][/hider][/center][hr]
[i]“The Refuge. Table seventeen.”[/i]

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]I guess that’s seventeen[/i], 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, [color=7ea7d8]“Kol"[/color], 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. [color=a2d39c]“You know I don’t speak that, right?”[/color]. 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. [color=7ea7d8]“First one here. I’ll keep it short, you can tell the rest when they get here.”[/color] 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, [color=7ea7d8]“Blue Twi’lek called Taan. Probably heard of him - ‘parently he leads the refugees.”[/color], 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, [color=7ea7d8]“Find him. He’ll know something. Get the information from him, one way or another.”[/color] Leaning back confidently, relaxing almost, the Zabrak lifted the cup to his mouth for another drink.

[color=a2d39c]“Taan the Twi’lek. Easy enough.”[/color], Cas shrugged in response.

Exhaling contently after his drink, Mol slid the now empty cup across the table, [color=7ea7d8]“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.”[/color] 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. [color=7ea7d8]“Apart from that… maybe that aid center. Dr Zane, the stubborn old bag, runs that place. Always packed, somebody might have seen something.”[/color]. Turning his attention back to Cas, he simply shrugged before commenting,[color=7ea7d8] “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.”[/color] With that, Mol stood and made a click of his fingers, his bodyguards immediately making way for him through the crowds. [color=7ea7d8]“Oh - and, drinks on you.”[/color]

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 [i]bad[/i] feeling.