Webb strides his through the gates and into the heart of the spaceport, making his way down the rows of ships towards the 'Flight of Fancy'. At the moment, he stands out like a bit of a sore thumb, given the distinctive colour and lines of his CDU Marine Corps full dress uniform.

A solitary shuttle traverses through the towers, flitting in and out bulkily. It eventually makes it's way to the platform, clunking down onto the ground with a solid thump. After a few moments, a hatch on the rear of the giant metal flying box opens up. A man steps out the hatch, and onto the solid ground. Bazil, a small bag slung around his shoulder, pauses at the end of the ramp.

Coincidentally, Webb's path takes him immediately past the landing pad for the particular shuttle which has disgorged Bazil. With the relatively late hour in this part of the planet, it probably isn't surprising to see signs of weariness around the very edges of his steely grey eyes, which would seem to be focussed on some distant point even as he navigates his way through the often crowded passages.

In Bazil's glancing, he peers curiously upon the Casperian uniform. 'Definately, not a usual sign around here...' he thinks to himself, eyes partially locked on that very uniform, though little attention paid upon the individual within. Meanwhile, however, another man, dressed in civilian clothes steps up to Bazil, waiting for him to notice. Bazil turns finally, bobbing a small greeting. A small slip of paper is handed over to Bazil to read, Bazil frowning afterwards. A few more words are exchanged, and Bazil reluctantly hands the man his bag, withdrawing, beforehand, a blaster carbine from it. The other man then leaves towards some unknown destination...

Being the fairly the fairly astute sort, Webb has by this time noticed that the scrutiny that you are paying to him is perhaps a little greater than that of other passer's by. So he returns the gaze, first out of the corner of his eye as he draws nearer. Finally, when within reasonable proximity, the Marine turns to inquire hesitantly, "Uh... something I can help you with, sir?"

Bazil's gaze instantly snaps up to Webb's face, in surprise -- or embaresment. "Err... uhh... nothing... just unaccustomed to seeing Casperian faces here," he replies, stuttering every so often, "Sorry if I inconvenienced you..."

Webb skews one eyebrow faintly as he peers back at you, before he shrugs one shoulder faintly, before turning his gaze to scan the concourse. "Kinda find that surprising..." he mutters, "This planet seems to draw all sorts."

"Err... yeah, I suppose it does..." Bazil thinks, flustered, momentarily. "It's just been a while since I've seen a Casperian at Republican ports..." He reaches a solitary hand up behind his neck, scratches it a moment, then offers a short shrug, "My mistake, I guess... just forget I ever existed."

"Allright," answers Webb slowly, as if this were one of the odder conversations that he's had upon this planet, before he starts to turn away so that he might continue on his way to his ship.

Bazil sighs slightly, before heading off to a small unmarked shuttle-taxi resting at the edge of the port. Well out of range of either ear or eye, Bazil puts on a small smirk to himself, unbeknownst to anyone else. As he reaches the shuttle, he turns, looking about the cityscape for a moment, grins, and climbs in. The shuttle door closes, and it whisks off to the lower sections of the city.