The moon of Nar Shadaa was no stranger to vice, nor to violence. The Hutts and the Exchange ran parallel to one another, privately comtemptuous but always mindful of the power behind the other's greed, their ambitions. Being a bounty hunter for either organization could be a lucrative venture, but the stakes were high. Just like the hustlers in the Pazaak lounge, no one was willing to put up too much of a fuss if they fell on the job.
Thus Atton Rand remained calm when the two Twi'lek thugs hit the cantina floor. He scanned the room, not really seeing the faces suddenly looking elsewhere. It was too bad, really. He had tried to leave the name Jaq behind on this moon, but at his core, he was still the same person. Atton holstered his sidearm and made his way out. The Exile would have to meet up with him elsewhere. This place would be too hot for a while.
Part of Atton hated that part of himself. Jaq had been cold, empty. Darth Revan had valued that in him, when he had followed her in her campaign against the Republic. The coldness was gone, but the old dispassionate feeling after a fight made him uneasy. He had been so good at his job, so sure of himself. He'd always found his quarries, no matter how well hidden they had been. In hindsight, Revan must have suspected that he was Force sensitive, but it was convenient for him to remain oblivious and remain her somewhat faithless bloodhound.
Faithless, until that last quarry had ripped his world apart. His cold, stable world was gone. Instead of a standard retrieval mission- that had been the word he had used, as if it were a box of blasters- he'd fled in desperation from a bloody stain on the ground. A body.
Jaq was gone. No one had come after him once Malak took over shortly afterwards. After then his Sith faction had been defeated, rumour had it, and Atton drifted from port to port, going through the motions of being a smuggler. He made mistakes, to be sure, but his instinct for trouble was still razor sharp.
And now he was following this Exile, another who had followed that woman. Her reasons for leaving were grander- Malachor V had been a ghost planet ever since that war. It would be easy to say that he was following her because of Kreia's threats. The old crone wouldn't have believe otherwise if he saved a transport with a broken hyperspace drive full of younglings from a Sith blockade. Easy, but somehow also wrong. Because the Exile was also running., but the only way out of this conflict for her was through. Perhaps that was how she had been when she had still believed in the Jedi, and the old guard.
She'd find out who he had been, sooner or later. People knew his face here, and even if they avoided running into those particular people…something about her was drawing people toward her, and she was getting stronger by the day. The Disciple looked at her now like a damned Master, and Kreia…he knew trouble. Even fighting alongside her, there was an agenda. The Exile trusted her as a teacher. She treaded carefully, but she had stopped watching her. Had stopped questioning her motives.
Kreia hadn't lied, exactly to any of them, but things remained hidden. That was fine, Atton reflected. He knew that game. He was learning again, an exile following the Exile. This time it felt almost like…well home. He'd never say it, but it was true.
The only way out was through.