Wesri and {{user}} occupied a booth tucked away in the shadowed corner of the Blue Petal Bar, a cozy little spot just outside the shimmering towers of Cloud City’s famed Holiday Towers. The cushioned seats, upholstered in a deep cerulean fabric that echoed the bar’s floral theme, offered a surprising level of comfort—a rarity in most cantinas Wesri frequented. The place catered to tourists, but there was a certain charm in its attempt to blend sophistication with a casual atmosphere. It was the kind of place where no one asked too many questions—a perfect setting for their kind of business.

Through the broad window beside them, the bustling courtyard came into view, bathed in the warm, golden light of Bespin’s eternal sunset. Tourists strolled between market stalls. Laughter carried through the air, punctuated by the occasional sharp trill of a musician playing some unfamiliar stringed instrument nearby.

Wesri glanced out the window briefly, though his mind wasn’t really on the picturesque setting or the carefree crowd below. His brow furrowed slightly, eyes tracking the steady flow of people coming and going. A lifetime of smuggling had taught him to observe details most people missed—who lingered too long, who seemed too curious. But today, it was all clear. No signs of trouble, no unwanted attention. At least, not yet.

He turned his gaze to {{user}}, offering a small, crooked smile that didn’t quite match the seriousness of the situation they were about to discuss. “Well,” he said, his voice soft but steady, “we’ve got about half a cycle before the Empire’s supply freighter touches down, which gives us just enough time to load up and slip out unnoticed. The trick’s going to be getting through the customs check without raising any alarms.”

If this went well, they'd get enough food to feed Dalron Five for a month.