Nar Shaddaa might be a cesspit--especially if you bothered looking past the glitter and bright lights of the Promenade--but it did offer one important, somewhat-rare thing:
Opposing sides could come together without the death and anger of a battlefield.
A pair of short Zabrak women strolled through a high-end shopping district. One had hair dyed blood-red, with her pale roots starting to show near the bases of her horns; she wore a short dark jacket, left casually open, showing a bare midriff and a tight white top, with fashionably chunky boots and tight black pants. The other Zabrak had a scar across her right eye--a lightsaber scar, in fact--and had white-blonde hair, which was a match for the “redhead’s” roots. She had a red jacket on over a black shirt, slightly-looser denim-like pants, and slim black-and-silver boots.
They could have been twins--and actually were. Identical twins, to be exact. They moved with easy, subconscious synchronization, and even had the same smile. Being sisters, of course, they had the same facial tattoos. The only difference may have been felt with the Force: one was darker than the other, though both were strong.
“Look, all I’m saying is, leaving her unsupervised in a jewelry shop is worse than leaving me alone in a parts store--”
“Sure, and leaving you both alone in a dress shop is asking for bankruptcy.”
“Don’t make me drag you into one. I’ll do it. You know I will, and you know you can’t wriggle out of it.”
The pale-haired one rolled her golden eyes and heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Drag me into which? A dressmaker, a shiny shop, or a droid heap?”
“...all of them!” The “redhead’s” eyes lit up as she started to pull her sister over to a store Glacius had disappeared into a few minutes ago, blithely ignoring anyone in her way.