— seemed to doing much the same to her several times now. Clearly not a local, even less likely to be Imperial, and even less likely than that to be trouble.
Still, something seemed…Off about the stranger. She didn’t fit, not here anyway.

— had dulled over time.
The black-and-white R8-series astromech droid at her side shot a series of frustrated bleeps and blats at the Zabrak captain as her gloved right hand pointed to the troublesome bolt on the landing gear.

Her golden eyes had slyly run over the white-cloaked Togruta that —

— and freighters that were only slightly illegal flying beneath the New Republic’s noses.
They tended to look the other way when one of their many heroes made her living how she pleased.

“No, no. It’s the third C-bolt, there. See?”
The Zabrak’s voice was deeply smooth with a commanding edge that —

There were few people on this mostly-forgotten rock, fewer still that would look twice at a starship captain planet-hopping as she haggled for fuel. A common enough sight in the post-Empire galaxy with trade lanes being disrupted, smuggler’s networks becoming legitimized, —

- on board, y'know? Not too many long hauls for me these days. What's the going rate for a chef now?"
Her droid quietly beeped a warning beside her.
"Getting closer," was all it said.

- her heavy hand clapped the man on the shoulder before wrapping around both, leading him nonchalantly in the direction of her ship. Now it was her turn to play a role.
The volume of her voice increased. Not too much, not too little, just right.
"It's been a minute since I've had a chef -

- Her black lips spread into a toothy smile as she nudged her astromech's leg with the heel of her boot.
"Keep an eye on 'em, Six," She murmered out of the corner of her mouth as her eyes stayed locked on the increasingly desperate man in front of her.
"Play along" was all she said before -

- thigh.
She had seen these thugs' type too many times to count. Walking fast but not too fast, weaving their way through the crowds but not pushing or shoving, all their eyes trained on the man in front of her. Every attempt to make themselves seem innocent only to her suspicions. -

Her perceptive eyes followed the strange man's as they shot pointedly towards a small group of men trudging in their direction.
Something faintly whirred and clicked mechanically as her right hand floated lazily down towards the grip of the DL-18 that sat snugly in the holster strapped to her -

— as eating, you big lunk.”
She gave the droid a gentle metallic thunk on its dome with her gloved right hand.
Her attention turned back to the stranger, her intense golden-eyed gaze narrowing in curiosity.
“Strange way to ask for a job I never said I was offering.”

“I…” The Zabrak captain began, imitating his gesture towards the slender nose of her aging ship, “…Don’t need a chef.”

The black-and-white R9-series astromech huddled next to her leg gave a short blast of beeps and chortles that rang of frustration.
“I do eat. Caf and noodles count —

— Iscandar had unfortunately found herself—out of fuel and entirely out of options.

#OpenRP