#siderealoli

@oliristhemisericord ( content warning: alcohol mention )

Nar Shaddaa was a planet of lights-- bright and neon and festive on the upper levels, dim and appropriately forbidding among the alleyways further down. Though he was only barely familiar with the city planet’s workings and etiquette, Kal headed immediately for the dimmer, seedier underbelly upon landing. He had a feeling that he no longer belonged among the lights. 

Kal had been to Nar Shaddaa once before, it was a hub for all kinds of people and Mandalorians weren’t excluded, but this was his first time visiting alone. Just before his exile, his mother had pulled him aside and told him that safe haven could be found there, in a cantina she and her partners had once frequented. They would pay for one trip off of Vorpa’ya, but if they saw him again after that the punishment would be death. So, to Nar Shaddaa he went. 

Reciting the instructions to himself, Kal tracked his way through the metallic streets from the spaceport to the cantina that his mother recommended-- Ten Leagues Below Contempt. Apparently it was safer than many of the others, and the owner could be trusted to some extent. It would be an excellent place to set up a base of operations while Kal got his feet under him and started hiring himself out to whoever would pay. 

From outside, the cantina was barely visible, but as he got closer Kal began to notice a certain glow. And, stepping inside, he could immediately see why.  Like the upper streets of Nar Shaddaa, the dark cantina was illuminated from within by lights of many colors, giving the entire space an ethereal feeling and making Kal feel instantly out of place. A rough soul in ill-fitting borrowed armor, he couldn’t escape the notion that everyone would immediately spot his inexperience.

 — ●         Rumors were dangerous things. 

They could lead and whisper and spin tales that gleamed beneath neon streetlights — but the one thing they rarely did was tell the truth. Io was taught to hold his tongue at the vipers of rumors, to take them apart and see what they were at their core. He felt a fool beneath greasy skies, flashing colors made yellowed and hazed. He was following the word he had picked up from one place and another, piecing together a haphazard map of unassured promises. There was safety, he was told. It lured him, like a song he could not get out of his head. 

That was how he ended up on Nar Shaddaa, straight into the thick of criminal activity — all who would gladly shoot him down and sell him back to the Sith for a pricey reward. He felt an ache in his arm, a trembling he could not stop and forced himself to breathe. He kept his head down, his cloak pulled up and followed the crowd. If there was a true promise of safety — that would mean he could find someone to help him. 

          How bad had the galaxy gotten that the only hopeful place was the Smuggler’s Moon in the heart of Hutt space? Io did not want to know the answer to that. 

The smuggler had said something about the cantina loud enough for Io to hear. ( “Oh! Darling, you have to go! The owner there simply adores me! It’s — oh, I suppose a little bit of paradise on that slughole of a moon. The owner runs a strict rule about ... peace. Which, if you ask me, takes out the whole point in a cantina — if I want to shoot a bloody bounty hunter then that should be my right.” )  Peace rang in perfect clarity, a word Io hadn’t heard in such a long time — one that felt so far away, dimmed by the cloud of darkness that settled too heavy on his shoulders. Another night where the threat of someone finding him, unable to sleep due to the nightmares of someone ripping through his mind, Io found a ship heading into Hutt space with space enough to hide in. It was a risk but these were desperate times. 

It had been a few days here on Nar Shaddaa but without a guide and never having been to the place before — he needed to find it. The darker parts of this place slowly began to reveal itself. He saw greed pass between fingers, promises into oil slick deals, blades and blasters and drugs all in the open. Io had only been attacked three times — twice by drunkards which Io made quick work of and once by a man he bumped into. That had taken a bit more work and he clenched his teeth against the bruises. The fresher ones anyway. There were bones still mending, gashes still healing, and the dark purpling bruises hid the yellowing ones beneath them. 

A passing conversation caught his attention — Leagues ... are you ... you slimy bastard — & Io quickly followed after them. They wound their way through the streets, avoiding fights or quickly ending them before throwing their heads back and laughing over broken noses and the groans of pain. One of the many notes that played along to Nar Shaddaa’s tune. Io kept back, far enough to be considered just someone in the street but close enough that he didn’t lose them. This would not be the only hint he’s found — the others failed to pan out into anything useful. He was hopeful but he felt that flame small, dim. 

               Io did not trust it. Trusting is what had brought him to this point. 

The building they stopped at was nondescript, just another door in a row of doors and buildings and grease. Io stopped and waited and breathed, felt that slow even pull of the Force within him, and then followed suit.