"You ever been to Zeltros? You ain't even seen the Galaxy 'til you been there. Tell you somethin', they love a man with some facial hair there."
From his carefully chosen booth in the bar, Praaz waxed lyrically about his many travels. Always a tale to tell about a planet, and Zeltros was a good one for attracting attention. Everyone wanted to hear about empathetic space ladies. He'd been to Zeltros once, 'bout twenty years back with the wife. Nice beaches, though the ladies didn't do much for him. And they certainly hadn't liked the sideburns.
"Even a guy like you could strike it lucky," he said, pointing to a stoic Devaronian, "might need a few more creds than the rest of us, but..." The implied insult hung in the air, making a couple of people laugh but leaving the regulars on edge. Praaz knew that if the higher-ups knew he was stirring shit in a bar with suspected criminal links like this, they'd kick his hide from here to Tatooine, but what the brass didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Sometimes you gotta shake a tree real hard to see what falls out.
Praaz was hoping for something spicy to haul back for evidence. Sitting in the booth, two arms spread out across the back of his seat, the other two holding a bottle. His blasters holstered, but never far away. Least he'd had the good sense to hide the badge.
Come cause some fuss. Maybe fight crime too, if you feel like it.