"I couldn't meditate, today."

"And?"

"And I was wondering if side effects of using lightning included disturbing visions."

"That was more probably my influence."

"You cause disturbing visions?"

"Those with great strength in the Force often have a powerful impact upon its character in the immediate area."

"...I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Don't... take it the wrong way, I don't mean this as pity, far from it, but... for whatever happened to you that caused these visions. It's terrible that it did and I wish it hadn't, and I know you're strong enough to have overcome it but it's still terrible that these things happen."

She sighs and shrugs. "That was all, I didn't mean to elicit any particular reaction."

And if no particular reaction is elicited, it's probably time to go downside.

Occlus ignores Rafa and checks the comm.

Andronikos is finished with his tasks.

"You coming, kid?"

"Yes."

So they can leave the ship together. A droid ground crew is attending to refueling, the bay is otherwise deserted. They take a turbolift down to the main floor. There are more Imperials here, soldiers standing guard, bureaucrats bustling to and fro, one or two Sith.

Eugh. Sith.

So, where does she go if she's looking for alternative Force users?

It's not like there's a holodirectory entry for that sort of thing. Is she going to take Occlus's advice about Voss?

She is, yes.

Then she'll need a ship. Everyone knows the best pilots hang out in cantinas when not piloting. Best follow Andronikos, he'll know where the good spots are.

Sure, she'll follow him.

They get a taxi and fly past the shining beacon of the Promenade, past the casinos flashing gaily and enticingly, down into the darker depths of the city, where parti-color neon is replaced by simple white flourescence or darkness.

The sign at the door of the building they stop at proclaims this to be "Cab's".

"Try not to critique anyone's life choices in here, huh."

"I'll do my best."

In they go, then.

The inside of the cantina is crowded and dimly lit, except for the main bar. It takes a moment for their eyes to adjust. The air is thick with the reek of tabac and alcohol, edged with a slight hint of more exotic substances. That Arcona over there looks to be out of his mind on salt, for instance.

There's a holoband playing from the stage, but no one pays them much mind, too absorbed in their drinks or conversations.

Anyone look particularly approachable?

It's mostly a den of ruffians and grizzled scoundrels. Andronikos goes to the bar and orders a drink. The bartender looks questioningly at Rafa.