OOC NOTE: This thread has to take place before Rough Encounters, since Cendar probably wouldn't be allowed back to the Astoria after that.
The bar was dirty. There wasn't any other word for the grime that covered the floors, the ceilings, the counters, tables, even the dishes. And it smelled. Bad. Worse than the droppings of a whole herd of banthas. It was a wonder that anyone wanted to eat or drink there.
But for some reason the place was always packed. Perhaps it had something to do with the rather unique dishes served; before coming to this place, most people had never heard of a Cheesy Western or the bowl o'chilli. Or perhaps it was that the food - and the drinks - were dirt cheap. Either way, the T-Room was always frequented by customers, all hours of the day.
It was for that reason that Cendar had chosen to make it his common eatery. While it was difficult to lose oneself when one was as big as he, it was easier when there were hundreds of people around you all the time. And it helped that he could literally turn off his sense of smell. It was one of the many benifits that came from being a cyborg.
Several years ago, Cendar had stepped on a mine on some insignificant, war-torn planet. He'd lost both legs, his arms, part of his head, and nearly his life. Nursed back to health at the expense of most of his credits, he had emerged from the ordeal stronger than ever. He had special modifications to his body that, combined with the parts of him that were still organic, made him a very formidable foe.
Now, he hunched over in the corner of the T-Room, scanning faces and watching the various sentients who were absorbed in their own meaningless existences. None particularly caught his eye, so he turned to the droid waiter that he had been ignoring for a half-hour and ordered a cheesy and a bowl, plus the T-Room's nonalcoholic version of Corellian ale. He expected a mark to come in at some point, and he would need all his wits. No time to be getting drunk now.
As he stretched his bionic arms out to take the food, he thought once more about his 'accident.' He still was not convinced that he had simply stepped on a random mine; in fact, he believed that an Imperial officer had set him up. He'd escaped an Imperial labor camp several years before the accident, and the officer that had been in command had been dismissed for allowing it. Of course, Cendar's escape had been like everything else he did - explosive, to say the least. By the time he got off the planet, there was nothing left of the camp but ash. He figured the dismissed commandant had come after revenge.
The T-Room's specialties were good, that was for sure. It didn't matter how much grease they were fried in or how much grime from the dishes made it into his mouth. The risk was worth this kind of taste. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste as long as possible.
Then one sentient caught his eye. It was a young man, sitting at the bar. To most he would seem to be just an average man, nothing really noticeable about him. His brown hair hung over his face, hiding his forehead, but it didn't hide his penetrating green eyes. They stared at everyone and everything, similar to Cendar's own earlier scannings. This might be a man worth meeting.
Cendar lifted his huge bulk out of his chair with ease and strode over to the bar. Plopping down next to the stranger, he said, "You know, if you're hiding from someone, it's generally best not to make it obvious that you're scanning whatever room you're in."
The kid jumped, and Cendar almost laughed. "Don't worry, kid, I ain't gonna turn you in, if that's what you're worried about. Unless there's a big bounty on ya, I generally tend to either leave ya alone or even help you out. So, what's your deal?"