Missing: Brother, Answers to Ronen.

[Meira]

With the Archeri threat dealt with, Yanna found her return to Nar Shaddaa to be at least somewhat fortunate. As the movers and shakers of the Smuggler's Moon set about the work of reclaiming and rebuilding their respective territories, there was work aplenty to be found. After parting ways with Captain Scathe, Yanna found herself moving from odd job to odd job, scraping by enough credits to keep herself indoors at night and fed. She was even starting to save a little, though she worried about keeping too much. Captain Scathe had been right, Nar Shaddaa was a dangerous place, and the boom brought on by rebuilding hadn't changed that. But Yanna had learned how to make herself small and unnoticeable many years ago, and she employed those socialization dodging techniques now for her own safety.

The problem with this, however, was that Yanna needed help. She'd come to Nar Shaddaa because that was where she believed Ronen had gone. His office on Prazhi, ransacked, had left her only one clue. The data chit had been hidden in a framed family photo. What it contained was an encrypted message for her. Ronen had sent for her to come stay with him on Prazhi, but the Archeri conflict had interfered. When she was quarantined on Nar Shaddaa, it seemed Ronen had been working diligently to get her out. And like some strange holodrama, he'd gone there to look for her, just as she'd been taken to Circumtore, and then found her way to Prazhi. She could only hope he was still on the moon now.

And So Yanna began to carefully search around for him. But news on Nar Shaddaa was like anything else, a commodity, and no one was willing to give it up for free. Ronen was not being public about his presence as he might have in the past. Yanna suspected the destroyed office back on Prazhi might have had something to do with that. But she didn't have the money to pay for information brokers, and wouldn't have known where to find one anyway. No, she needed something a little more straightforward, an investigator of some sort. So Yanna started to do something she'd never done before; she started going to cantinas.

It was like letting insects crawl over her body. Especially the first night, it took all her effort to keep herself from shivering at the sensation of being in close proximity to so many strangers. The music, the smells, the lighting, all of it bombarded her. It took several nights just to get to the point where she didn't feel like she would scream if someone brushed against her. The alcohol helped, somewhat. But it took had worried her. It made for a good opportunity to spend down her savings to less terrifying amounts, but she didn't care for what it did to her mind. The numbing of her senses was nice, but it came with a clouded confusion that made it difficult for her to think straight, or even stay on any one particular line of thought.

Yanna managed to get herself into a routine of visiting three cantinas that did not completely overwhelm her. At each one, her first attempts at any communication with others was with the bartenders. When she felt like she wouldn't squeak at them, she began to ask about possible connections to investigators, or anyone who could help in finding someone else. It was a common enough question, it seemed. With so many displaced by the Archeri, missing persons was apparently a lucrative business.

The Silver Credit was a fairly average cantina, from what Yanna could gather. It was not a high end dancing club, nor was it a hole in the wall. It was clean, or as clean as could be expected for such places. It had a large bar, open tables and several booths for more private groups. There was a pazaak room in the back, and it had a stage where various performers entertained the patrons. It was not too rowdy, though it was no stranger to tussles. It was the maximum Yanna could tolerate. She entered, after taking several long, calming breaths at the door and made her way to the bar.

"Droid stays outside!" Henley, the bartender shouted when he saw her. Yanna clenched her jaw, then gestured around herself to show that she hadn't made the mesitake -again- of brinking Zozo with her. Seeing this to be true, Henley waved her over. "How ya doing, Jenny? Same as last time?"

Yanna nodded as she took a seat on a barstool farthest from the other patrons. He'd gotten her name wrong the first night that she managed to give it, and she had decided it was easier to just let him call her that than to correct him. It was a minor detail, after all. She waited, while he poured her the weakest jogan drop cocktail his honor as a bartender would allow. She slid the credits across the bar to him as he presented the drink. When he counted, he mumbled she'd given him too much and reached to hand some back.

"I need... help." Yanna said, grabbing onto her drink to give her hands something to do. When Henley lifted his brows to show he was listening, she continued. "I need to find someone?"

"Ah." Henley said, nodding his head. "I might know a guy. Let me see if he's here." Henley turned, pocketing the extra credits and disappeared around a curve in the bar, leaving Yanna to sit and sip at her drink in anxious silence.

[Neology]

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Pazaak was really not Quintilian’s game. Perhaps because it was busy belonging to the formidable twi’lek seated across from him. He’d stood on a cautious 18 – she exhaled twin streams of bluish smoke with an air of immense satisfaction and played a card from her side deck – a perfect 20. She reached out a hand and collected his bet for the set, papery lavender skin almost glowing under the black light. ”Another game, ma sareen?” ”I ...” It was tempting, to be honest, though as far as he could tell there was very little actual skill to the game. There was a thrill to it, just a little one. Perfectly safe. Movement behind Poy’na’s coiled lekku drew his eye. Henley projected the same solid presence as all other bartenders everywhere. He wanted something, Quinn could tell that much from here. ”I better not.” He dipped his head and pressed his hands together in a gesture of obeisance. Poy’na dismissed him with a flicker of her eyelids. Gathering up his commlink and wallet, he made his way over to the bartender who slapped him on the back. The conferred for a couple of moments, just long enough for Henley to pass on a very few details and the clear obligation that Quinn now order something worth his time. The potential client did seem … Rather uncomfortable. Quinn did his best not to crowd her as he moved up to the bar, accepting a thick tumbler of sweet Sacorrian whiskey from Henley with a grimace. This one drink cost more than he’d lost at cards tonight – possibly even before the house’s mark up. ”Jenny, right? You can call me Quinn.” He studied her briefly and tried on a brief smile, a flash of white, slightly crowded teeth. He let his left hand rest on the bar, wedding band on display. As if to say: Look, I’m safe. At least one other sapient regularly tolerates my presence … Though not lately, admittedly. Still, he kept telling himself it was useful camouflage. ”Henley says you’ve got work. You’re trying to find somebody?” It wasn’t Quintilian’s favorite sort of job, but it kept him fed and reasonably comfortable without digging into his shared accounts too much. And it was everywhere – the travel bans and general collapse of Hutt space had apparently left a great many people lost and scattered. He hadn’t appreciated the size of the problem, back in the core of Imperial space.

[Meira]

The seconds ticked by, and Yanna felt every one. She busied herself with counting. She counted the bottles on display behind the bar (57). She counted the segments of the bar (5). She counted the patrons in the main room (23). And the available seats remaining to reach capacity (77). Sometimes counting helped. It allowed her to focus her mind on the order still present in an otherwise chaotic world. It distracted her from the smell of cig smoke wafting off other patrons. It was calming. But tonight, her mind would not settle, would not calm. Any movement drew her eye as she waited to see if Henley would bring someone, anyone, who might help her.

And if he did? What would she say? She knew what needed to be said, of course. I need to find my brother Ronen Steren. But knowing and saying these words were two different skills. One was simple, the latter required thought, preparation, and maybe another sip of her drink. Yanna did just that, pulling a face at the taste of the liquor. She knew that, objectively speaking, her drink was little more than juice, but she was sensitive to such things.

From the back, through the doorway into the pazaak room, Henley emerged with another figure in tow. Yanna did not manage to see many details, other than that the being was slightly taller than Henley and humanoid in shape. She'd immediately dropped her gaze to her drink, trying to focus on her breathing. She sensed, more than saw the being approach and then sit down on a stool nearby. He introduced himself, calling her by Henley's version of her name. Do I correct him? His movements drew her eye, as she caught a glimpse of light reflecting on metal. He's married. Safe? Want's me to think so? She shifted, glancing sideways up at him and giving a quick nod. It was all she could manage in greeting as she prepared herself.

”Henley says you’ve got work. You’re trying to find somebody?”

"Yes." Yanna said, almost cutting him off. In the dim light, it might have been hard to see the rush of red coloring the skin of her neck. She grabbed her drink, holding it with both hands as she drank, forcing herself to pause. To breathe. She took another sip, and then set the glass onto the bar. "My brother, Ronen." she said, and then reached into a jacket pocket to produce a datapad. She pulled up an image of him, one of the most recent she could find, pulled from a press release on Prazhi. She set the datapad onto the counter, sliding it over for the man... Quinn, to see.

"He came here from Prazhi, maybe... a month ago?" She was not sure of the timeline. "Maybe a couple of weeks." she amended. "How..." she started, then stopped. Her eyes glanced around the cantina, but no one was paying attention. He was the only one that would see her hesitancy. That didn't make it any less embarrassing. She glanced up at him, taking in his features for the first time. Hey eyes connected with his for only a moment before she glanced down and away again. "How much?" she asked the floor, then bit her lip "I... I don't have a lot, but he does. We can pay just... Not all now."

She returned to breathing. In and out, over and over. That was the hardest part, she told herself. She knew that wasn't entirely true. The man might want to haggle.

[Neology]

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Her energy was contagious – and not in a good way. It made him feel like she knew something he didn’t or like he’d just stuck his arm through a snare. It took a great deal of effort to stay put, to keep his eyes on the bar or the client or her datapad. Quinn sipped his drink, dragging the gesture out somewhat. Grounding himself. Then he peered down at the screen. Prazhi. Quintilian had never been, yet felt he was reasonably familiar despite that. The world had skyrocketed in prominence since the armistice, as both the Empire and the Republic focused on many of their diplomatic interests there. The man on the screen was similar in coloring to Jenny and slightly ageless in a way that suggested either wealth or heavy photo editing. He didn’t look like the sort to go out of his way for rubbing elbows with criminal syndicates, outlaw corporations, and worse. At least not on their home turf. ”Any idea why he’d make a trip like that? You didn’t expect it, right?” Ah. That explained some of her obvious discomfort, he supposed. Quinn shrugged at her question as if the money mattered less to him than it should. This wasn’t a good place to signal any kind of vulnerability, financial or otherwise. To his mind, there really wasn’t a place on Nar Shaddaa that was. ”It depends. I charge six truguts an hour for fieldwork. Two for office hours.” No need to volunteer that he didn’t exactly have an office right now – just a hotel room. ”Or, if you want my full attention for your case, I could do five peggats a day.”

[Meira]

She flushed again at his question, eyes dropping back down to her drink. The shame was unwanted and illogical. It wasn't her fault. None of it was. But that didn't stop the automatic response. This time, though, the unwarranted shame was followed quickly by anger and a flex of her draw as she sipped. She was growing weary of beating herself up over things she couldn't control. Months of living as a refugee, of barely scraping by and living hand to mouth were tiring and she just didn't have the same energy for self-blaming that she'd had before. Then, to finish off the emotional cocktail, a new wave of embarrassment washed over her as she wondered just how much of her inner conflict had shown on her features. She chanced a look at Quinn, but he was decidedly calm. She wondered how common this was for him, dealing with nervous clients. He seemed perfectly at ease, breathing slow and steady as he studied the picture of Ronen. If he was calm, she could be too, she told herself.

"Looking..." she started, but her voice cracked. She swallowed and cleared her throat, then started again. "Looking for me. I was coming to stay with him... from Teth." She paused, hoping that the mention of her homeworld would be enough and that she wouldn't have to say the bad part out loud. "Rerouted here... then Circumtore. He didn't know. We just..." she made a gesture with her hands, one holding the drink and the other empty. She held them apart, then passed them by each other. They came close, but did not meet. Then she shrugged.

When it came to the matter of payment, Quinn remained calm and casual. He named his price as if it were not an issue. She did the calculation quickly in her mind. She had enough for a day, maybe a few hours more than that if she could get that dockmaster to pay her early for the engine she was currently working on. She wondered at stretching the time out, a few hours here and there over several days. But it didn't seem like the most efficient way to go about it. If he found something, but she'd only paid him for a few hours, would he simply stop? What if the trail went cold before she could pay him again? No. Better to get all that she could out of his work, while she could.

"I can pay for one day." she finally said. "Maybe more... umm... later. Can..." she took another sip, finding the bottom of her glass. It provided her no more buffer and she set it on the bar top. "Um... tomorrow?" Please say yes. She desperately wanted to flee, to get to the relatively open air outside of the cantina.