The harsh, flaring sun high in the pale blue sky seemed to blister and shine in pride at the abysmal heat of a summer's midday on the desert planet Savareen. Among the dusty streets where various buildings bustling like spires in a Genosian hive. There was no space unused in the prospering town. Any alley between buildings was filled in with shanties and if it was too small for that than a sty or pen took its place. Any area where the crowds in the streets did not occupy had a barrel of the legendary Brandy of the planet or some other crate or box. Among it all, wrapped in a nomad's garb of brown cloaks and airy clothing was a Twi'lek woman shuffling her way through the crowd. The hood on her cloak was pulled up and hung so that the harsh sun's rays cast a shadow around her head; after all, being a lone Twi'lek in an area like this was always Tedious. She kept her head down and eyes focused on the feet in the crowd to judge the distance and speed of those around her and plan the perfect time to slip between someone and dip into another small groove in the steady stream. In this way, the small, slim girl easily weaved through every nook and cranny with fluid motions and made great haste to her destination at one of the many Cantinas on the side of the road. Her reprieve from the sun's radiants found her in a grimy room filled with smoggy air. The stagnant air, while cooled by the underground level of the building, was filled with a cocktail of repugnant smells. She could practically taste the spice in the room as she walked down the front stairs further into the vile crevice where she expected scum and villainy to hide. Nevertheless, it was here that she planned to find a way off the planet. Bounties on her head had enticed plenty of bloodthirsty bounty hunters to come after her and a place like Savareen was crawling with them. Stepping deeper into the room she found exactly what she expected: the dark corners filled with shady Zygerrians and their clients (who they talked to slowly and enthusiastically) never too shy to make contact and order them another drink. At the tables, games of Sabacc and Rodian smugglers grumbling. One of the games quickly ended as the Gamorean player gave his opponent a meaty wallop to the temple and an irritated squeal. The Woman quickly found herself more at home with the idlers at the bar. They were closer to the only form of order in the room, a bartenders ability to cut someone off was a surprisingly effective deterrent for any potential trouble maker. Briskly she made her way past the table of Duro's who stared her down with pupilless eyes. The bartender took his time getting to her, and as he did she spoke to him before he could even ask her what she'd want. "A captain's special. I tip good, so don't water it down" she spoke quickly, sliding a bundle of credits towards the man. He gave her a slow look-over before taking the credits and nodding. She had never been much of a drinker. Truthfully the phrase was a code she had learned from her brief time in a Nal Hutta refugee center. A captain special was a request for a pilot and ship. Her tipping good meant she'd pay a high price. Now she only had to hope someone understood as the bartender brought her a glass of phattro which she looked down at eagerly. The barren waste's dry air had left her parched after all. Searching around the bar once more, she noticed several more pairs of eyes on her. As she picked up her glass and sipped on the red drink, an armored Trandoshan entered with a heavy blaster rifle. She watched as he was motioned over to the table of Duros. Once he was within earshot of the red-eyed aliens, they began to point subtly in her direction, speaking in hushed tones. Slowly the woman reached into her cloak and at her hip, she grabbed a lightsaber to prepare for her possible retreat. She was a sitting duck in a place like this, but she was out of options. Not knowing who she could trust or where else to go, she had no choice but to wait and hope that the Force was with her.