While nursing a random beer, not sure what it was nor its name... but it was horrible, he looked down at his hands, and the whiteness of them. He was used to his olive complexion, and yet spending most of daylight either in the bowels of a safehouse or in armor had paled his skin. He closer to a tanned light skinned complexion rather than his natural look... and it bothered him. He wasn't one of the beings that thought the Mandalorians were a roving army of bad-asses and sought to join them to become a bad-ass; he was a "natural Mandalorian". He refused to identify himself as Human, even if the option to say otherwise wasn't presented. Mando'a was his first language, he had grown up on Concord Dawn until the Empire took over what was left of Mandalorian Space following the Clone Wars, and had ancestors within the Mandalorians as early as the days that the Taung were still living.

It was a "natural Mandalorian" that awaited Senator Tremaine, on Nar Shadda, and were he to be late, he would miss his chance at his Mandalorian. To be honest, the only reason he took up the meeting was curiosity for two reasons; he was interested in someone looking for Mandalore and the contracts hadn't been exactly flowing through his door lately. In all actuality, he wasn't going to be surprised if the man didn't show up, or if he did, that it would be the Mika fellow that messaged him and not the man he asked for.

When he saw a PI stroll in and take an unoccupied both in a corner, it was an immediate sign that it was his man. If you came here for information, you knew who and where to go. This guy was wandering around blindly, and thus, his man. It was his way of watching his tale; he never gave a name in a comm, nor a picture or meeting place aside from a bar. After a few minutes, he walked over and sat opposite of him; having spent time studying him from across the way.

"I can tell you five things about you without you saying a word," he said. After taking a drink of his beer, he went on; not giving the man time to respond.

One, you're not a private investigator, as you are attempting to appear. Two, you are not Mika Jeebs, who I talked to earlier. Three , you're carrying two KDY-12 Blaster Pistols. Four, you served in the Clone Wars; but not with the Republic directly. Five, you are an Imperial bureaucrat, but high level; any low level moron would run around here screaming he was an Imperial and wanting something. So; three questions remain, who are you really, why are you leading the Libs, and what do you want with the Mandalorians?" he said, his Concord Dawn accent viciously penetrating his every word.

"Okay, while I could potentially admire someone with an interest in our culture, there are a few things I have to clear up here," he said, smile, and slightly laughing, while taking another drink of the beer. "One, as I believe I stated to your messenger, there is no we. There is no Mandalore. There are no Mandalorians. Yes, there are a few us, some more famous than others, roaming about the Galaxy, but of those, many of them are actually either living on a legacy they are unaware of or are imposters attempting to take advantage of our now mythical status. If you're rich enough to be an Imperial funding a rebellion against the Empire, than you should also be aware of the occupation of Mandalorian space and total enslavement of the Mandalorians there; anyone free is too busy trying to remain free and fight the Empire back home," he said, his smile dissipating.

"Don't worry, we know more than once what it's like to be on the loosing side of a war with 'mighty and righteous' Republic. Empire. Whatever the hell you are calling yourselves now. We also know how to recover on our own... at least now those damn pacifists know why we fight, at least in the past when we did you didn't enslave us; now we see what we got for becoming a member of the Republic and changing our ways. Don't worry, it's a lesson we won't soon forget," he said, his feet coming to a slam on the ground. Noticeable, but ignored by everyone in the place. He was about ready to leave, but turned to face him, his arms now resting on the table along with his beer.

"Tell me what you're really fighting for, because a Republic giving freedom and justice has just been a lie to my people. You want a Mando'ade, you'll have to do better than that. And what in the name of Kad Ha'rangir is a Lib?" he asked, now with a quizzical look on his face.

"Being as high placed as you are, you should know the suffering of the Mandalorian people. You should know what is happening on countless Mandalorian worlds. You should know that we are not alone in our suffering. But, no one does a damn thing. And you should know, while you live your life of luxury and pleasure, and sneaking around, playing rebel; there have been countless others doing so before it was fashionable. We are not vode, just so we are clear." he said, beginning to slip into Mando'a, showing that he was upset but attempting to control himself.

After a moment, he leaned back and crossed his arms. "However..." he said, letting suspense fill the air a little. "A paycheck is a paycheck, a fight is a fight. I'll work with you, when you need it. BUT! I am not joining this group of yours." he said, to clarify. He handed a napkin to him, on it, was scribbled his personal comm number. "This is my personal comm, where you can reach me. Call me if needed, Senator..." he said, with a smile. He then walked away from the table and out of the bar, although holding for a just a moment to witness the Senator's reaction to being recognized.