Katya sighed softly to herself as she put her hair up in a ponytail, and checked the strap on her blaster holster, assuring herself it was secure. She glanced at herself in the mirror, much of her tanned skin bared by the yellow yop and shorts she had been wearing. This will be sure to draw some eyes... She did not know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, however, she generally took their stares as a complement. Besides... this was a very tropical planet. Much like her homeworld. She felt she would enjoy herself, and hopefully pull of a nice investment with the bacta dealers.

With this assurance in mind, she exited the small confines of the captains quarters on her ship, her black, high-heeled spacers boots clicking slightly as she walked towards the descending ramp and took her first steps onto Nar Shadaa, the smugglers moon.

She looked timidly around her, the smell of space-engine fuel and dense tropical humidity permeating every breath as she explored the small landing pad with her eyes, soaking in the lush rainforest atmosphere, and smiling happily. It was just like home. This was to be her first smuggling run; she was hoping to pick up an odd job in a hideout somewhere, but she didnt know where to go... Perhaps if she went to a cantina and had a look around... She smiled and nodded inwardly at the thought. It was a good place to start.

She exited the hangar and immediately spotted the brightly-lit bar, taylored to attract attention in the otherwise lively enviroment. Beggars littered the entrance to the establishment, and Malia turned a pitiful eye upon them, pressing a few credits into a young boy's hand. He smiled widely at her, and thanked her. "Thank you ma'am!" He scampered off, as excited as could be. She smiled weakly at him, remembering her own breif period as a beggar. She grinned to herself, Jagger had always said she was too soft to be in the swoop gang for long.

But she was still greatful that he had given her the funds for her vessel. He was not as hard as he pretended, she thought as she entered the rather seedy-looking tavern. A myriad of different races sat before her, and she let her light brown eyes travel over them breifly, before taking her seat at the bar, and ordering a drink.

The Vertical City. Tobal had to agree with the statement, it was indeed a very vertical place to be. Not only physically but morally as well; Tobal had been to many a seedy and corrupt city, but it continued to amaze him the depth to which a sentient being would plummet. He felt quite out of place here, packed amongst so many other sentient beings, but he had accustomed himself before. It was only to be for a short time, he would soon be on his way. He had but to locate his contact and be on his way. That was what he had said at the last spaceport on this miserable little moon. And the previous.

He shrugged his coat a bit, re setting it upon his shoulders. When about and amongst people he preferred to don a more common set of clothing; given the current political climate of the galaxy being recognized as a Jedi was rarely a good thing.

Stepping down from his dagger-shaped craft, Tobal surveyed the situation. This spaceport was located in a more tropical and remote location. The air was thick and sticky, making him glad he wasn't wearing a robe. There were a few people about, most of them fairly nondescript. Save one. She was female, and quite obviously proud of it. Her clothing was far from covering, and Tobal was quite certain that that level of brevity was not necessary even in this climate. Different species' reacted differently, however.

Then she began to walk, and Tobal dismissed the idea of a species' heat management deficiency. The flaunt, the blatant sexuality. She was female, knew it, and believed she knew how to use it.

Glancing on, Tobal took in the available cantinas. There were two. One on top of the other. Obviously, his contact would be in the bottom one. Thinking back on how he had already spent his day, he decided that he would check them both.

Shrugging his coat again, Tobal started walking. The scantily clad female ducked into the cantina just ahead of him, after pressing some sort of coinage into the palm of a small beggar, who promptly ran off to pass the coin to his adult 'Operator' the moment the female was out of sight. Hadul shook his head, not sure whether the gullibility or perverseness of the situation amazed him most. He too ducked into the Cantina, his short frame allowing him to enter without actually ducking.

Katya grabbed her drink, smiling as the sweet drink traveled over her tastebuds. She did not recognize the distinct type of fruit, but recognized the strange tropical feel about it. She decided she liked this planet very much. Just like home...

She turned around in her seat, quirking her head at a proud man walking though the door. He seemed rather out of place... and she chuckled as she watched him look around at the seedy confines of the cantina with a slight scowl on his face.

Despite his bad mood, Katya took it upon herself to greet him. She sat across from him at his table, smirking. "You look like your in a surly mood today. Lighten up! Your in paradise. Climatewise, anyway. And its to hot to wear coats." She grinned as he looked over at her. "My name is Katya."

Tobal looked steadily at the woman for several moments before raising his hand to the barkeep. As the droid rolled over, Hadul replied with the bitterly tainted phrase, "It's nice but it ain't paradise." He had seen that in a holofilm some where. He couldn't remember where.

The barkeep took his order and whishked off. Tobal returned his eyes to the woman, or "Katya" as she dubbed herself, and made a point of taking her in. "It may not be cold enough for a coat," he said finally, "but it is most certainly not warm enough for that."

The corner of his eye caught sight of some conspicuous movement, and Tobal turned his head slowly to take it in. His contact. He was sure of it, the description was exact. For once it was not an exaggeration to say that a man was built like a tank. This man was a tank. The body armor, squat shape and stiff movement could bring no other image to mind.

Turning his head back to the female, and his newly arrived drink, Tobal introduced himself. As a matter of courtesy, and to pass the time while his contact finished up what business he appeared to be doing at the moment.

"My name is Tobal." The slight lisp in his speech betrayed that basic was not his first language, nor was it likely his last.