Dark green flightsuit pulled down around his waist; and a grey wifebeater showing his lean, muscular arms; and the tattoo on his right bicep, Argo walked into the cantina. He'd left his ship in a docking bay, and cursed under his breath knowing that he needed to get a job soon to pay for the berth or he'd have to blast his way out of it.<br/><br/>His blue skin marked him as a Wroonian; he might have been a Pantoran, but his demeanor didn't really vouch for that. His heavy blaster pistol hung from his belt, but it wasn't in a quick draw holster or anything like that; it was just there as a last resort. Sitting at the bar, he nodded at the Rodian and ordered some Corellian ale, then turned around, drink in hand, scanning the crowd. Noticing the Arkanian, he nodded, and gave her a smile.