TATOOINE - MOS EISLEY CANTINA
"What'll it be, eh? Juma juice, Shasa ale or me?" The bartender leered at her.
"Just give me a straight whiskey, and hold the ogling." Enobaria Votric fixed the sweaty, jowl-faced human with a glare that would melt all the ice on Hoth. Once she downed a single shot, she signaled for another because the first had been watered down. A little alcohol always managed to calm her nerves before meeting contacts, whether important or negligible. Even those who seemed the most oblivious and obtuse to the goings-on in Mos Eisley could be the most dangerous. Thus, she squared her shoulders and scanned the bustling cantina, known as "CC" by city militia, for her present appointment. Ah: there he is. Ruuto Than's bulbous eyes were hard to miss, even for a Rodian's, because they were rimmed with purple veins. Shuddering a little, Enobaria approached him.
"Greetings, human," Ruuto murmured cheerfully in Basic. "Votric?"
"Yes," Enobaria replied just loudly enough for the reptilian to hear. "Pazaak?" That was the code word for them both to sit down and start playing, but the stakes were not yet high. This ceremony was for show, a formality to distract other cantina patrons and make them think they were ordinary, thirsty people, no different from any other. The Rodian shuffled the deck with practiced ease, and the game began. After a while, she risked a comment:
"I've heard you know what happened to a certain weapons manufacturer."
For a moment, Ruuto simply sat still, as unmoving as a marble statue. Then: "Which? Lots of weapons here, and weapon makers. Be specific, yes?"
"His name is Zothressk, and no one could beat him or his arms. Tell me."
"Trandoshan? No, no. Yes, yes! No. Yes! Heard of him. Fine blasters. Made for Republic, not for Empire. Yes, yes, yes..." He dropped two cards.
Picking them up, Enobaria asked: "Do you know his location? I must find him."
Ruuto shook his head. "Probably dead. Tusken raiders. He got careless." At this insult, the Rodian suddenly found his neck in the grip of Enobaria's palm, and she was beginning to squeeze. Hard. "Not mean it! Why so angry, human female? Don't know why he's hiding with Tuskens. Risks own life."
Enobaria let go of the back of his scaly green neck. "Do you have any way that I can contact him, with or without the Sand People in the way?"
"No, no. Have to fight your way in. You may not get out, unless..."
"Unless...?" She downed another sip of whiskey. This was taking too long.