"It could be taken as such... or it could have been neater. How fare you, stranger?"

He'd fallen into step with the odd man. Dimitri had checked his chrono piece a few moments before and all was good. It wasn't if he drank, so there was no purpose for visiting a cantina or another establishment. "The fewer the questions, the better as it might be. Too many questions lead things to the higher levels." He glanced upwards for a moment, looking to the heights where the New Republic's presence actually meant something.

"Of course, the higher you go, the more corruption you find. I like it better here where such things are not as hidden."

"There are watchers everywhere... always with a presence. I'm used to it by now. One more isn't going to hurt."

His reference was with the GenoHaradan in mind, a constant reminder that he was watched as he in turn watched some of the junior members. Of course, he never could pin down who was watching him. That was a part and parcel of the entire organization. The ones who were better than you watched you. When you surpassed the abilities of a current watcher, they sent someone better, someone you didn't know.

"I fear I must press onwards now. Fare you well, stranger."

There was more business to do this night, and a time limit.

The errand had been simple enough, come to Coruscant, deliver the parcel to the business man that had requested it of Lord Calipsa, accept the documents that would be given into his keeping, and then return to Jinda within three days time. Of course, the privileged daughter that was Tarodal's usual charge would be alright without him for a few days, and Tarodal deserved some time off from the daily grind that came with bodyguard work.

So why now did a man conspicuous in attire, a perfectly tailored starsilk dress shirt - black like the darkest of nights, matching pants, a courser material, expensive with a the sapphire blue 'bloodstripe' worn by senior Calipsa household guards. among whom Tarodal had earned great renown. The jacket, expensive as well, black that bore a blue crescent on the left collar, the symbol of the Calipsa family. He looked like he had money, something worth taking even perhaps. So why was he delving through the underlevels?

He'd stopped in a cantina, which if judging by the manner of his welcome - he'd once frequented as a child. One of the waiters, an older woman, greeted him by name and asked about his father.

That brought a half smile to the young man's face, as he dismissively answered.

"I'm here aren't I Ruby?" That got a laugh from the woman, who ushered Tarodal to a seat off to the side, his back to a wall where he could watch the entrance. He didn't ask, but it had been routine for his father, and so she assumed it was routine for the son.

And it was.

"You like you're doing well enough for yourself kiddo." Ruby said in her overbearingly friendly manner, setting a plate of diner styled food in front of the hawk eyed man. She slid onto the bench on the other side of the booth.

"So whats got you on this side of the cess pit?" She asks rather bluntly, looking at him as if she was already expecting another dismissive answer.

"The usual. The 'ole man isn't out and about like he used to be, so I've got to fill in. Some mystical order depends on it, after all." His tone light, casual enough to perhaps even be serious.

In an underworld rife with pain and suffering enough already - perhaps already ten murders had been committed since Tarodal had come to the cantina...One in particular drew his attention. It was nothing he knew of particularly, not that he even knew it happend. But there are ebbs and currents to things, and perhaps this is the thread that begins a bigger strand...Who knew.

On his belt there was a well made holster that held a gleaming sporting pistol, an older model from casual observation. Hidden inside the jacket he wore, in a pocket on the left side, a smooth curved black lightsaber hilt with a curiously engraved N just below the emitter.