Jonas Balker, SIS, grinned as the little blue Twi'lek gaped at him, then palmed her door closed. He resisted the urge to laugh out loud as she opened the door again, as if expecting him to be gone.

Port Nowhere wasn't Nar Shaddaa… though he had to admit, it was a little less sleazy. Definitely less stinky, as there were markedly fewer Hutts. And the scenery wasn't bad. He'd seen pictures of the Voidhawk, that pretty blue Twi'lek smuggler who had not only turned out so much more dangerous than SIS ever suspected, but who had giftwrapped Darmas Polloran—or that was the name he'd been using—for them to interrogate at their leisure.

She'd lost some weight since the most recent holo was taken, but her figure was still good.

"Aw, man," she groaned, planting the palm of one hand against her forehead as she entered the suite.

"You're breaking my heart," Jonas pouted, placing a hand over his chest. "Aren't you happy to see me? Just a little bit?"

The Twi'lek closed her eyes, scrunching up her face as if bracing for something. "You followed me home!" she hissed, sounding a little helpless and not sure what to do about the fact.

Jonas couldn't help laughing, which prompted her to open one eye to peer at him. "Well, yeah. You said you'd miss me. You looked so sad about it. I'm softhearted like that."

"And yet my bullshit-meter says you're actually here for business." She sounded a little disappointed. Jonas began to think she hadn't realized he was SIS—not that he'd been broadcasting the fact—though she might suspect his affiliations now.

"Hey, I can multitask," he assured her. "Don't worry about that."

"Who's worried?" she asked dryly, heading for a cabinet on the wall.

Jonas did appreciate the view as she bent over to rummage in it, just as he appreciated the appearance of two shot glasses and a bottle of unidentified liquor.

She plopped onto the sofa, glaring pointedly at him until he moved the chair back into its proper place. She poured them each a shot, downing hers with all the speed of someone who felt she needed a little fortification. "So," she began, once he'd taken his own shot; ironically it was rum, but no variant he'd ever tasted before. "What's so important you followed me all the way here?"

Was that disappointment he wasn't here to see her? Probably. "Couldn't I be here for you?"

"Not in this lifetime. Business first. Then we'll talk." She poured another set of shots and leaned back on the couch, drinking this one more slowly. Suddenly, there was wariness behind her eyes, a shrewd calculation he hadn't expected.

Hm. Not so green, then. He supposed she couldn't really have been as playful and bouncy as she came across if she was going to manage a criminal empire. She had to know running one of those was a rough business, with or without the patronage of one Rogun the Butcher.

How those two ever ended up working together, he had no idea. He doubted it was sentiment.

"Maybe I'm looking for a change of scenery. Nar Shaddaa is so depressing."

She snorted. "And Port Nowhere isn't?"

Jonas gave her a very obvious once-over. "Not from where I'm sitting."

Her mouth twisted in a reluctant but dubious smile. Still, it was a smile. And that was why he was here and not someone else. "Flattery won't get you anywhere."

"It's only flattery if it isn't true. This is a much nicer place than the Slippery Slope. Comfy chair, pretty girl—what kind of rum is this, anyway?"

"Nowhere Homebrew," she answered, unfazed by the continued flattery. "You know what I think? I think Rogun was right: give the SIS a bone and they never leave you alone again."

"SIS? Moi?"

"Yeah, 'ya,'" Bashale answered lazily. "Port Nowhere is a free port. You don't need permission to be here. But if you cause trouble, you get the airlock, like anyone else. And if you bring your Republic-Empire fighting here, well. This isn't Nar Shaddaa, and I don't do causes."

Meaning, he decided, she wouldn't put up with it no matter how under the radar things were. Whoever started the fight was in the wrong, full stop, no takebacks, no returns. "Can I just point out that I didn't have to askyour permission to camp out in your cantina?"

"There's no point. I'd have noticed you, sooner or later, and wondered why you followed me," she answered with a shrug. "So." Her smile became bright, beguiling… but her eyes remained shrewd, suspicious. "What brings a clever boy like you to a dive like this?"

It was kind of rich for a girl like her to call him 'a boy.' She had to be what, twenty, maybe twenty-one? Well, at least she was legal, right? "I'm tempted to say the rum," Jonas answered, holding out his glass with a hopeful expression.

Bashale laughed and filled his glass, then glanced at her own.

Jonas watched with some amusement as she took a big swig straight from the bottle, removing the opening from her mouth with a distinctive pop and a wicked look. "Wow. Nice way to change the subject."

She handed over the bottle, chuckling as she did so. "Isn't it, though? So, you're Average Joe on Nar Shaddaa… and pretending to be Honest Joe here. Guess that means I should call you Joe-Joe."

"Well, if we're skipping right to nicknames, how about Voidbunny from here on in?"

Bashale wrinkled her nose.

"See? And that's why," Jonas observed brightly, handing the rum back as she wrinkled her nose yet again. "You've got the cutest little nose, and when you scrunch it up like you're doing now—adorable."

She took a swig from the bottle—a big swig, he wondered how high her tolerance was—before shaking her head. "No deal."

But she handed the bottle back to him with a grin.