Hondo wasn't one to admit defeat, not by a long shot. But even the slickest Weequay smuggler couldn't outrun a whole squadron of clone troopers. He knew when to cut his losses. He cursed under his breath, that slimy Trandoshan double-crossing him at the last minute. The shipment he'd just fenced was apparently a tad more "hot" than advertised, and now half the Republic base on this dusty backwater planet was hot on his tail.

He wasn't one for dwelling on misfortune, though. Hondo thrived in the grey corners of the galaxy, the murkier, the better. This whole fiasco certainly called for a hefty "repayment discussion" with that Trandoshan later, but for now, escape was the priority. He weaved through the busy alleyways, quicking trying to figure out a plan. He needed a ship, and fast. He wouldn't trust any of the usual spaceports, those vultures would sell their own mothers for a credit and his usual contacts were unavailable.

Pushing through the grimy cantina doors, Hondo felt a familiar wave of heat and stale ale wash over him. It wasn't exactly his ideal hideout, but the dim lighting and dubious clientele offered a sliver of anonymity, at least for a moment. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the usual assortment of down-on-their-luck fellows and the others. Then, a glint of something familiar caught his eye in a booth at the back and a wide grin split across his face.

Hondo navigated the crowded cantina floor before quickly sliding into the booth across from his old acquaintance. The rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the chipped tabletop betrayed his usual carefree attitude.

"Well, well, well," Hondo said, his voice smooth despite the mild panic. He cast a quick glance back at the cantina entrance, a flicker of unease crossing his features. He needed to make a deal- he knew they had a ship. "Fancy meeting you here, my friend! Seems like fate has brought us together once again."