It is better to ask forgiveness than for permission.
She wasn't sure where she'd heard that before, but the sentence was running through Nara's mind as she stepped down the murky, grimy street. The air was thick with nostalgia... as well as engine oil, smoke, and effluence. The bright, flickering signs above her and the dark, shadowy corners and alleyways around her. She just soaked it in for a few seconds, the place she'd called home for most of her life. Though the businesses had changed hands and there were new scorch marks and burns in the walls, she recognised where she was instantly.
But Nara was far from the sneaky little rat-thief she'd been as a young teen. Now, she was a Jedi Knight. She'd spent the last four years travelling across the Galaxy, training herself in the Force and helping others where she could. Feeling listless and frustrated of late, she wondered what she could do that didn't involve another temple. Something that would make a difference... and would hopefully involve less Sith, flinging lightning at her. Then it'd hit her.
A clinic on Nar Shaddaa.
Nara stepped down towards the empty building. The faded sign above the window showed it'd been a cheap booze house. Now there wasn't much but a few dusty, empty containers inside and a whole lot of litter and dust. She peered inside and saw its stretched out a good ways back, wondering how she could get it all to work. How she'd portion it out, or change it. Most importantly, she wondered who the heck owned the building and how she could possibly afford the lease on a Jedi Knight's fictional salary. She stood contemplating all this as the street around her grew busier. A lone, young woman stood thinking, arms folded, as Nar Shaddaa continued on around her.