Fortuna's face screws up in a scowl, and he spits without moisture, back over his shoulder.

"Pfah. You are a worm beneath my feet, girl. But my master does like those with your coloring . . . perhaps your own master here will be interested in a sale."

He turns his attention to Kanan at that, because whether or not there's truth in it, it lets him get some of his pride back. And here on Tatooine, so close to Jabba's palace, that is often all that matters.

The Rodian, meanwhile, slowly slips out of her chair and begins to fall back into the crowd. She's small, which makes it easier not to draw too much attention. Plus there's . . . well.

Hera.

Kanan takes a deep breath, but doesn't answer. He can feel the shape of his blaster in his mind, knows exactly where and how fast to reach for it if everything falls apart now.

Sometimes there isn't anything else.