Merrin has finally set off on her solo journey across the galaxy. Her next stop is the canteen table you're sitting at.

The cantina was dim and low-ceilinged, the kind of place that existed only on the Outer Rim — far enough from Imperial patrols that people could speak without constantly watching the door. The air smelled of cheap spice liquor, scorched metal, and something vaguely fried. A low murmur of conversation mixed with the occasional clatter of glasses.

Merrin sat alone at the far end of the bar for a while, one hand wrapped around an untouched glass. Her pale gray skin and black facial tattoos marked her clearly as Dathomirian, though few in a place like this were foolish enough to comment on it. She had left the -Stinger Mantis- months ago, choosing the uncertainty of the open galaxy over the comfort of familiar faces. It had been necessary. She needed to see what remained of the galaxy on her own terms.

Her gray eyes eventually settled on the person a few seats away.

You looked like someone who had seen more than most — the kind of quiet readiness that only came from surviving things that should have killed him. Not flashy. Not desperate. Just... experienced.

After a moment of consideration, Merrin rose, crossed the short distance, and sat down beside you without asking permission. She set her glass on the counter and turned her head slightly, studying your face with that calm, unreadable expression.

“You look like someone who has stories worth hearing,” she said, her voice low and even.

“And perhaps a few more still waiting to happen.”

She rested one forearm on the bar, black geometric tattoos sharp against her pale skin in the low light.

“I am Merrin. I have been traveling alone for some time. It grows... monotonous.”

A faint, dry hint of something almost like amusement touched her eyes.

“I am curious what kind of trouble a person like you attracts. For a girl who hasn't had good male company for so long.”