𝗔𝗵𝘀𝗼𝗸𝗮 𝗧𝗮𝗻𝗼

Chapter Seven

Level 23c, Block 15, 5th Street.... and Set 4.

Ahsoka stopped, stepping to the side as to not hold up the foot traffic of the street as she finally located the address she had memorized.

She gazed up, apprehensive, skeptical, at the thriving cantina, it's flashing neon lights disorienting.

She sighed, and briefly closed her eyes before they snapped open again as she shook her head.

The hood of the cloak chaffed against her montrals, but she ignored it. Ahsoka was thankful for the cloak, she really was, but it had been obvious that Dex had not expected a growing Togruta girl to stumble into his diner in need of one, and Ahsoka really couldn't blame him for that.

The only cloak that would fit Ahsokas montrals and lekku was a large, brown robe that dwarfed Ahsoka so much so that the Paladuvan had intervened with some sort of pin from a sewing kit that Ahsoka didn't recognize. Thankfully, the friendly cook had recognized the disaster in progress before Ahsoka could trip in the hem.

"Alright," she muttered under her breath. "Here goes nothing..."

She stepped toward the door.

The dingy atmosphere seemed to dull the flashing lights and lively, but drunken, nature of the tavern. A haze seemed to cover the room, even though Ahsoka could see clearly. The hum of the asynchronous background noise seemed to cloak the place into a lull of suspicion and mystery — like the feeling of viewing an old picture, where everything seems to be frozen in place, but none of your senses (besides your eyes) are able to be utilized — it was like going in blind, or deaf, or numb... there's a lot more hidden than you originally assume.

The vividly faded scenery seemed to dim the rest of the tavern into a false sense of inconspicuous privacy — accentuated shadows complimenting bright and bold ornaments in the forms of beings whose features couldn't quite be remembered the morning after, but those feeling and rendition still stayed in ones conscience.

Ahsoka didn't quite know what to make of it. It felt like opposite ends of a magnet meeting — Ahsoka being one side, and the atmosphere of the tavern being another. Both were subtly repelling each other, though not so obvious that she would immediately be discovered as an outsider, she hoped.

The Jedi Temple, although having never taught Ahsoka what to do without its everlasting presence in her life, had taught her to adapt. And so she did, using her other senses, as well as the Force, to pick up ill intentions or hopeful endeavors.

She kept her cloak wrapped tightly around her to hide her features, and the hood low over her face in an attempt to move inconspicuously through the throngs of the nightlife of the Coruscanti underworld.

Several shoulder bumps and trodden-toes later, Ahsoka slipped into an empty barstool at the counter, keeping a low-profile still.

She and Anakin had been on several intel retrieval missions that took them to the dingiest taverns, and dirtiest cantinas in the lower levels, so Ahsoka called on her past experiences, as well as subtly analyzing the behavior and mannerisms of the sentients around her, in order to blend in.

If there had been one overall theme from her past excursions in the underworld, it was that no profile was better than any profile... unless that profile was a respect earned through cruelty and fear, which Ahsoka did not possess, so she decided to keep her head down and her intentions to herself.

A shadow came to rest over the Togruta girl, and Ahsoka looked up, being met with the distracted and passive face of a rough-looking human male.

His dark bangs hung into his eyes, and his face piercings reflected the dim lighting in a disorienting way, taking the attention away from his features. Ahsoka wondered if that was the point.