The Zabrak strode into the dimly lit bar, a seedy place, not somewhere he would frequent, however, he had a contact to meet, not quite a friend, not quite an acquaintance, more a friend of a friend, if he hadn't insisted on this "place" Dak would have happily met him almost anywhere else. The reason it made so him uncomfortable was, though the atmosphere was intentionally designed to ease the tension in the air he, though not the most perceptive of types, could tell that if not for the discreetly placed guards, by design not discreet enough so that there was always a nagging buzz in the back of your mind that a blaster was being pointed in your direction, were the only thing stopping the bar being covered in grey matter.

So as he warily pulled up a barstool and with a glance to his side, he offhandedly said to the barmaid, "Nothing for the moment," which got him the evil eye from the server, and speedily corrected himself with a "Sorry a Whiskey should be fine!" He chanced another glance leftwards, no one yet. He settled down to enjoy his whiskey, evidently he would be a while.