Mecohn winced as Alastor spoke about his contact. It wasn't completely apparent why but something about what he'd say was weighing on his mind. Mecohn sipped at his water absentmindedly as he focused in on the sounds of the cantina. The band was mediocre but passionate about each song it played, filling the cantina with an almost jolly vibe. Chummy inebriated conversations picked up in volume and sloppy romantic advances on the occasional server or dancer were met with amusement instead of harsh disgust or spurn. Even with all the noise, his ears caught something strange from a far corner. The voice was smooth and icy as it spoke to another patron. The one it spoke with held no such grace in its speech; slurring and sputtering words at varying speeds, obviously intoxicated past the point of reason. The conversation was possibly the farthest away from them and definitely on the quieter side, yet it pierced Mecohn's ears. It was clear that the more controlled of the two was inciting rage into the less inhibited one. His breathing grew rapid and he made his way to them within moments of their conversation.<br/><br/>Mecohn watched the next few moments unfold with something between awe and horror making its way onto his features. He deftly avoided swings, soaring bottles, crashing bodies and tumbling furniture as the atmosphere took a 180 in no time. He quietly made his way out behind Alastor, like a youngling following their chaperone.<br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold"> "Didn't see that coming. First time I ever vacated a cantina for something I wasn't directly involved in."</span>Alastor commented as they made their way out of the lower levels. Mecohn made a nervous noise in confirmation. It was hard to take instinct at face value sometimes, but Alastor had been right; he needed to trust himself more.<br/><br/>"I think you might be more involved than you think," he added in a small voice. He wasn't sure if he'd even hear him.<br/><br/>"I assume having strange allies also comes with strange enemies?" he said this a bit louder, but again it could easily have gone unheard in the commotion of the city streets. He was quiet for a while as they traveled. His mind was working hard piecing together what information it had while trying its damnedest not to implicate itself in the equation: it was failing spectacularly. Something kept telling him it was all too coincidental, a force-sensitive man outside the order with shady connections to an ex-slave ends up being his partner for some escort mission, that just happens to be the target of some Mandalorian crime ring?<br/><br/>Was this some sort of cruel joke? Was this a test? Something was starting to agitate him more and more about the whole situation.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"How did those grunts know my brother's name? Who the hell is 'M. Hunt?'"</span><br/><br/>He turned for a moment to face Alastor, something like frustration and sadness coloring his features. He didn't want this mission. He didn't want to be tested like this.<br/><br/>"I-I think I can make it back on my own now. See you in the morning," his voice shook only for a moment before steadying itself. He was just tired. It had been a long day.