622 was never entirely fond of crowds. You couldn't feel relaxed around them, especially when he was alone--clones weren't meant to operate that way. Even though he was slowly getting better at tamping down the nervousness and just bearing the discomfort, it sill wasn't his favorite way to spend his time. He was always watching for signs of something out of the ordinary, something that might take a turn for the worse. Or another imPort, getting accosted by locals. He was plain enough that he didn't have to deal with it often, but others couldn't hide it, or they were new, and therefore notable by default.

Some were both. He spotted the knot of people around a twi'lek from almost a block away. He started moving toward her, but by the time he made it, she'd... stopped. And she seemed confused about that. She was under one of those missile-toe things, but that was just a tradition, you didn't have to--

Then he spotted the camera crew. "You lot--" His voice was the no-nonsense, clipped tone of a displeased sergeant. "Do you have a permit for what you're doing here?" The answer didn't matter, because that wasn't the point. "No permit gives you the right to be a public nuisance. Clear off, and leave her be." He wasn't budging an inch, leveling a stony glare at them until they retreated. Locals. They could get so pushy about their traditions, sometimes.

He turned to face the twi'lek. "Are you alright, ma'am?"