Catering exclusively to exotic clientèle, the Jekk’Jekk Tarr Cantina on Nar Shaddaa isn’t just unwelcoming to Humans—it’s deadly. Unlike some establishments that have gained a sordid reputation, the Jekk’Jekk Tarr Cantina’s patrons don’t often bear criminal charges. Instead, circulated cyanogen fumes and pollutants that are toxic to Humans provide a buffer against less desirable company.

Instead of serving drinks, the bar serves "nutrient chemicals" to its clientèle, who pay large sums of credits for the privilege. Five sections emulate the environments of different worlds preferable to certain species and are colour-coded to signify the types of gases being vented into the chambers. The sections are divided by short halls designed to function similar to an airlock so as not to contaminate the different chambers.

The first chamber, favored by species that could perceive the infrared, such as the Devaronians and Trandoshans, is lit with red lights and doubles as the cantina’s entrance to the far more dangerous yellow and green rooms.

Simulating the harsher climates of worlds such as Ryloth and Sriluur, the yellow-tinted room to the west is still poisionous to Humans, due to the amount of concentrated gases, but leaves some near-Humans, such as Twi'leks and Weequays, unaffected.

Identical rooms lie to the east of the infrared chamber, both bearing green color-coding. Exclusive to the insectoid Gand, these chambers filter in ammonia-based atmospheres that are toxic to most other non-insectoid species. The fifth chamber requires passage through the two ammonia-based rooms, but unlike the others, the private lounge is not harmful to Humans.

In some cases, measures have been taken to circumvent the harmful toxins, including the use of breath masks. Alternatively, a control panel located in the private lounge can purge the chemicals from each room to allow Humans to pass through unhindered in dire situations. All of the rooms bear the usual outfit of an unadorned cantina—arrangements of chairs and tables set within a hexagonal space.

The breather masks were always stifling, it had been a long time since the Iridonian had need to use one. She had spent far too long away from this place, not out of distaste, no, merely time had ran away from her as it always seemed to.

The toxic rooms made a shiver run down the Seeker’s spine; it always felt uncomfortable against her skin as she made her way through. Cold and foreign, and yet paradoxically the rooms were often warmer than what she would normally endure. It offered no comfort nonetheless.

Relief surged through her system to step through into the private lounge, more so when the seal on the door hissed shut behind her forcing the heavy fabric of her attire to shift like a caress. It was the only comfort of safety one could expect within the rooms of this cursed place.

Blindly Nath fumbled for the clasp and removed the suffocating device from her face. Pitch eyes examined the room once unobstructed, idly she was surprised to see the room packed with bodies. An oddity compared to what she remembered of the past but not one the Iridonian wanted to debate with herself at present.

Business certainly was booming tonight, all but one table was full. Mulling things over she moved without much thought towards the table, only one Human male sat there.The Arconan wondered to herself whom would deliver the data she had agreed to pick up and deliver, her contact had been vague on whom that would be.

As soon as she was seated a Twi’lek approached, Nath's dark gaze took in the tattooed flesh with mild interest. They marked her as a slave but it wasn't worth the effort to emote empathy for her. Better a well cared for slave than starving on the streets, and well cared for she was. The purple hue of skin marked her as equally as her tattoos; valuable, and rare. A prize worth many credits to those interested in such pastimes.

“Water.” The young female looked taken aback. A slight flush coloured her slender cheeks as she collected herself to respond.

“Perhaps Mistress would care to.. “

“No. Water.” Impatience flooded the Iridonian, muscles tensed almost on the cusp of lashing out.

The bondswoman shrunk away mumbling her response.

“Very well Mistress.” The tight dress left little to the imagination, the fabric so fine every curve was on display, like a walking titbit of art, no doubt her owner's will.

With that exchange the Human had completely slipped the Krath’s notice, it wasn't until the unmistakable scent of Glitterstim wafted under her nose that her attention diverted back to him.

The stench was pervasive, and brought back some unpleasant memories. It was as though she was being beaten all over again, the sharp impact of her head connecting with a bulkhead felt just as real some ten years after it had occurred.

It made a deep throb of pain lash out behind the Sith’s eyes. Fingers curled tightly until the nails bit into the calloused pale palms, but with practiced control she fed upon it; her synapses telling her it was pleasure instead.

Larrik had been observing the queer Iridonian since she had arrived. An increasing amount of disquiet had sparked the sudden need for his fix. The lightsaber she bore at her hip was easy to mark the Seeker as a Force Sensitive, and as always it forced him to take in the situation rapidly. It always paid to be ahead of the curve afterall.

Slowly as the Spice began to work it's magic his mind sunk downward to the recent dossiers he had to read. Yes, he vaguely recalled one that sounded similar, gradually he reached back into his memory to pluck a name.

Dul'vak was unfortunately distracted once more as pallid palm quickly swam into view, snatching away his beloved Spice and stubbing it out violently into the tables ashtray.

The response was delayed, he blinked once and then again. No one had dared to be so bold in many years.

“...What the kark did you do that for?” The Corsair glared at the Warrior with a medley of fury and curiosity warring with one another for dominance.

“Ba'gedet'ye, kills the brain cells you may have left.” The Iridonian slipped out of Mando and back to Basic with practiced ease but she didn't seem to care if he could understand her.

“That's rich coming from a Tempest user.” By the time Larrik had finished his words he mildly regretted them, true to form of what he could expect of her ilk of drug use his face was slammed into the metallic surface of the table and his arm was twisted savagely as he was pinned down.

Fingers gripped tight at the strands of hair the Mercenary had tied away from his face, lifting his head to slam it back down with a metallic ring as it made contact once again. His vision swam disconcertingly for a moment but he had no hardship in hearing her speak.

“I do not use Spice, regrettably some of my experiments had interesting side effects.” It was odd how calm the woman sounded, like a true to the gods certifiable person.