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They finally depart the crawler at sunset, just outside Mos Taike. The Jawas settle in for the night, planning to make their rounds among the moisture farmers and the town's small market in the morning. Tsedec leads them out, shaking each of their hands and bowing quickly before heading back into the crawler. In the distance, the twin suns burn white and orange, the sky now dusted in purple and gray, the shadows of the dunes and of the small farm homes that dot the landscape cut darkness across the bright sands.

No more than a klik away is Mos Taik – compared to Mos Elrey, it looks rather run down. It's also surrounded by walls, but they're lower, and clearly chipped and crumbling in places. There are fewer earthen towers, most buildings also low to the ground, and while there had been plenty of activity outside the walls of Mos Elrey, here there's only one other vehicle, a speeder just at the wall, two figures piling sacks into it. Beyond the city, much, much farther in the distance, a cliff rises up from the sands, and perched on it the dark, miniscule outline of what must be the Hutt's palace.

But Kanan only glances over this, before turning back, out to the desert. Something about the color of the suns, the shadows, the wind rising over the desert makes Kanan pause. He looks out to the horizon, to the twin suns, one gleaming white hanging high above the other, deep orange and already beginning to fade as it dips deeper in the sky. The wind ebbs, but then picks up once more, whistling around them, chilling the otherwise warm evening. And beneath it – Kanan can hear it, like a voice, familiar yet changed somehow, calling out to him across the dune sea –

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Hera takes a breath, considering how grumpy Chopper's likely to be. But -

"I really wouldn't mind eating something besides protein before we leave this rock."

Tatooine might not have that much to offer on that count, but it's still more than they'll find before they're planetside again. She switches on the comm, "Spectre-3, we're at rendezvous."

There's crackling, and then Chopper's grumbling comes on over the comm, confirming that he's landed the Ghost in a nearby valley, between Mos Taike and the path that leads to that distant cliff.

"Mind if we see you in a couple hours? There's not much going on here, you can bring in the Ghost if there's trouble."

Chopper doesn't sound especially happy about this, but Hera just lets him rattle off his list of complaints before - "Yeah, got it, we'll see you in a couple hours."

Kanan cracks a grin.

"You know, bribing him'd be easier if he were capable of eating food."

(Hera's not the only one that would love something besides protein, no matter how poor the provenance. Even mynock would taste good to Kanan just now, by sheer virtue of being something different.)

"Maybe a souvenir hat?"

Does Tattooine even do souvenir hats?

"Maybe we should've picked up some droid parts from the Jawas."

If there was anything he could use - but really, Chopper already got everything they could afford.

With a nod toward the town, "Come on, we should get in before it gets dark. Chopper can bring in the Ghost when we're ready."

Kanan twitches, hiking up his hood and starting to move forward at her signal.

"No, you're right, there are a lot of places I don't want to be after dark, and outside on Tatooine is definitely one of them."

Not that inside is much better, but at least it's probably not cold?

Edited 2018-12-27 04:50 (UTC)

Hera leads the way into town. Unlike Mos Elrey, there doesn't seem to be any visible Imperial presence here. No Stormtroopers at the gates, nothing that even looks big enough to be an office or barracks. She wonders whether it's because the town's so small, or so deep in a Hutt's terrain. When not colluding, the Empire and the Hutts seem to mostly stay out of each other's way.

(Not that things were so different under the Republic, but that's a thought Hera pushes from her mind.)

The speeder that had been parked by the wall is gone when they reach it. There are lights in some windows, hanging lamps, even candles in a few, but many others are darkened. Only a handful of others are on the streets, all wearing cloaks like Hera and Kanan, hoods pulled up. Hera considers asking one of the passersby if there's anywhere to eat in town, but it's so quiet, at first, that holds off.

The suns have nearly set, and Hera's thinking of just calling Chopper and moving on, when she hears voices - many of them, the tell-tale sounds of a gathering place. She turns down an empty street, but can already see the lights at the end of the lane. As they get closer, she can hear the scrape of cups and plates, and the crackle of recorded music playing over the chatter.

"Sounds like something's open," she says.

"Hopefully they welcome all kinds," Kanan says, voice only a little dry.

"And not just partakers in organized crime."

Black Sun is one thing in mixed company, but another thing altogether when you're in one of their actual watering holes.

"It's probably mostly those working for the Hutts."

But she turns to him, and adds, "And that's all kinds."

"So we'll blend in?"

To a point, at least. Regardless, Kanan's already falling in behind her, not quite reaching up to drop his hood, but not too far from it, either.

"At least until things get messy."

"You don't know things'll get messy," she says, stepping on forward toward the cantina.

"No," Kanan agrees, holding the door before stepping through himself.

His 'I don't' is swallowed up by the noise bursting out to greet them, the sound of the horns and percussion from the band, the deep basso voices of two Gamorreans set up by the door, a sudden yelling fight erupting from a dark corner of the bar --

It's child's play to duck the mug that gets launched in their direction by a too-excited Chadra-Fan, shaking it off and stepping farther into the cantina.

The lights are surprisingly bright, maybe with the goal of blinding patrons to the dust and dirt rather than hiding it. Either that, or whoever's manning the lights for the band suffered an enormous miscue. Kanan's not sure which he'd bet on first, but if the brilliance lasts longer than a minute or so, it's probably a permanent condition.

"So. This is nice."

"We've seen worse."

Though usually 'worse' had the decency to keep the lights dim. Still, she leads the way through the bar, dodging the occasional stumbling patron or remains of shattered glass on the floor, until they make their way to the bar. Fortunately, the bar's not too busy, and they get their order quickly enough - Jawa juice for Kanan, bantha milk for Hera (no drinking before piloting), and skewers of roast dune lizard that Hera's hopoing is something like the meat the Jawas had been sharing last night. The smell, at least, is promising.

With their places collected up, "Maybe it's a little darker in that corner?"

Kanan squints a little into the distance, because maybe, sure --

"It's as good as any place else, even if we have to rig my cloak up as a blind," he says after a moment, shaking his head a little.

"Here, you navigate, I'll block anything incoming."

"Great."

The corner she had in mind means another walk across the barroom. She steps carefully among the tables, trying to avoid stepping into spills or the wafting clouds of smoke from deathsticks. The sloping wall and ceiling cast a few shadows over the corner, and once they reach the small, empty table, Hera sets down her mug and plate, and shoves the chairs further into the shadows.

Kanan stays standing until the table is situated as Hera likes it, and she's well-settled. Then he puts down his own mug and plate, tilts his chair just a fraction more out into the flow of traffic than Hera's, and sits himself down.

"No, you're right, it is more shadowed back here."

That's something.

"I can almost see the food I'm about to eat."

He tries to keep his voice down, just in case anyone in the vicinity has a fierce loyalty to this place and its decorating choices. (Stranger things have happened.)

Hera spends a few minutes with her meal, taking deep sips from her Bantha milk and sliding bits of meat from her skewers. It's not particularly seasoned, but it is well-cooked, not overdone and charred and chewy in the right ways. And after thin meals of protein, it's all a welcome change.

It's to give Kanan time to eat, too, before -

"Our next job needs to be a real one. We used a lot of fuel getting here."

Edited 2018-12-31 01:05 (UTC)

Kanan, too, finishes chewing his actually textured food, swallows, and takes a sip of his drink.

Then --

"Yeah. We could probably pick up something here, but the pay will be awful for any of the things we're actually willing to do. But maybe it'd get us to a different planet where we can nab something better?"

"I think we could make it to Bothawui. Lots of options there."

They continue on, slowly working through their meals and going back and forth about whether they should pick up something here or use the fuel they have left to get to a nearby system. It's enough for them to mostly block out the commotion around them, which includes at least one more broken glass and a shouting match over Dust Juice.

What does catch Hera's attention is a hush over the cantina. She glances up, instinctively toward the door, figuring a new patron might have caused the sudden silence.

And she's right. In the doorway, there's a pale Twi'lek, dressed in long black robes, his lekku settled around his shoulders. He's accompanied by a single Gamorrean guard, a Quarren in a cape at his other side. For a few seconds, the other patrons watch the group, but the Twi'lek ignores this, moving with the guard among the tables, while the Quarren heads for the bar.

As they come closer, Hera quickly turns her head away.

Kanan lifts his mug to his lips -- even though it's mostly empty by now -- and looks over toward the commotion for just a second.

Well. This is probably not the greatest thing to happen today.

He turns back to Hera, voice dropping low.

"Are we good here?"

Hera doesn't answer at first. The Twi'lek keeps approaching, his guard still following. His eyes pass over Hera and in Kanan in their corner, as well as the patrons around them, his face impassive as he takes in these surroundings. Then, he turns, and slips into a seat at a nearby table. The guard with him remains standing.

It's a table within earshot, and Hera can't think of a language both she and Kanan speak that's unlikely to be understood. So she does the only thing she can think of. She shifts over, leaning against Kanan, tilting her head into his shoulder and facing into him so that she can whisper, as though with affection.

"He works for the Hutts."

Kanan doesn't swear. He works hard to keep his face from shifting, his expression from falling, because any change might be a reason for that potential problem to look over here. Maybe with intent.

(He also works hard not to have that shiver travel down his spine, because Hera's breath is warm.)

And then he turns into her, leaning down like he's into that, and not-so-coincidentally hiding his mouth from that side of the room.

"You have a run-in before?"

It doesn't seem likely, given that he looked them over and didn't immediately start spitting rage, but --

She shakes her head, very slightly. He won't see it so much as feel it.

"We know of him."

Bib Fortuna, a Twi'lek who worked for one of the most infamous Hutt crime lords, his duties including supplying a steady amount of slaves, other Twi'leks among them -

He'd been unpopular among Hera's circles on Ryloth. To say the least.

Kanan again tries not to react to any information Hera is imparting, nor to even twitch at the feel of her chin brushing the base of his neck.

"Do we need to go out the back?"

He's already calculating the best path he can see, including which chairs and patrons could function as effective obstacles without the necessity of throwing them at someone.

(The next step includes throwable detritus.)

She leans back from him, and offers a one-shouldered shrug.

At least for the moment, there doesn't seem to be trouble. And Hera can't quite help her curiosity.

A few minutes later, the Quarren returns, carrying a tray with two tall glasses. The drinks he's carrying look out of place in this cantina, the glasses gleaming, not smudged and dusty like everything else in sight. Fortuna accepts one of the drinks, that looks like green clouds hanging in some clear liquid, while the Quarren sits, and takes a sip of his own shimmering blue drink.

"And now,," Fortuna says in Huttese, once the Quarren sets down his glass. "About the order."

Kanan shifts a little, picking away at the last of his meal while also repositioning himself the barest fraction, just to open up his peripheral vision to keep the Gamorrean in his line of sight. His ears are open, too, listening in the hopes that maybe there'll be some loose lips in this conversation.

(Speaking of ways to get money. Potentially.)

We've secured it," the Quarren continues, also in Huttese. "There was trouble with a blockade in the Arkanis system. I apologize for the delay."

Huh.

"And where is it now?" Fortuna asks.

The Quarren reaches under the table, and after a few seconds, lifts his hand back to the top of the table, clearly concealing something beneath his fingers. He slides it across the table toward Fortuna.

"Buried, to keep it safe from the natives. This will give you the location."