[ASK] All That Remains

[huntressofworlds]

Ceryn leaned against the bar in the busy club. The air seemed bit hazy with the amount of spice going up into it from various cigarettes and cigars. The repetitive beat of the band on the stage was almost hypnotizing. Certainly she was enjoying herself, though her chosen poison for the night was the tall concoction of juices and blends of strong liquor. Her eyes lingered skyward on a sports game going on. She’d never been one really big into it, but it reminded her of places in the galaxy that didn’t have war going on.

Truth be told she’d had one hell of a month so far, hunted and made to fight her way off of a rather uninviting world was not her idea of a fun little holiday from her day to day living. What was worse was that she still hadn’t found her wolf yet. Poor guy, she could just imagine him being some appetizer on some bastardly Barabel’s dinner plate. She sighed a little bit before drawing her glass to her lips and taking a swallow from it, letting it tingle and burn a bit as it rushed past her tongue and down for her belly.

As if that hadn’t been bad enough, to learn of Mandalore. Well that had just been the icing on the cake, one which caused her to almost be sick when she thought about it. It wasn’t the first time her home had been taken from her though, but it was the first time she didn’t have somewhere else to go. Thus her funding herself on the station and spending what credits she had left on drinks and anything that could take her mind off of the news she’d been given, but far more left a bitter taste in her mouth than that.

She didn’t bother hiding her Clan sigil on her shoulder bell, her distinctive cut plating certainly was Mandalorian, yet she didn’t at all seem to care who noticed it or not. She was either very brave, or very stupid, though the look on her face seemed to dare anyone to mess with her about it, very like to get a pop in the mouth with the way she was feeling that evening.

Her eyes stayed glued on the race that transpired on the screen before her, watching the race that neared it’s final. Closer and closer it came, almost at the finish line, she tensed a bit, her fist rising up just a bit as her chosen racer came so close. Then..

“ Haar'chak!” she shouted out, watching that beast and it’s rider take a trip and roll into the chaotic mess right there at the end of the track, leaving the leaders in a tangled jumble while the last few riders headed right on across the line instead.

She grumbled as she fished out the handful of credits she’d betted and dropped them on the bar and shoved them over towards the bartender who was smirking at her. She growled a bit, having lost more of her credits. So much for her luck in the races. Huffing a little bit she took her drink and turned her back to the bar, though leaning against it still she let her eyes wander to the dancers on the stage instead. Frell...

 

[Livgardist]

Verus Fett stepped inside the club with his hands in his pockets, a casual slumping stature over him. It was hard to believe the man in the cheap suit, with unkempt hair and beard stubble was in fact the Mandalorian leader of Clan Fett, one of the few Mandalorian clans of decent size that was still in existence. It was his way though. The slimy appearance gave him anonymity, made him look more like a lowlife thug than a Mandalorian elite soldier. In a day and age where the Imperium hunted MAndalorians almost as furiously as they hunted jedi, that anonymity was a welcome factor.

Of course, Verus still wore with pride the tattoo of Clan Fett's coat of arms, the green circle with wheat and blood within it, on the side of his neck, a badge of honor if there ever was one. He never covered it up, partly out of a, "Come and get me" attitude, partly out of pride. Clan Fett was born in the fires of infantry warfare. Hiding was not their way of life, and covering up a clan symbol just to appear to be something one was not, was definitely not the Mandalorian way. In any event, none of the patrons of the club on Daedalus Station seemed to know the difference between a Nar Shaddaaian gang tattoo and a Mandalorian clan mark, anyway, so the point was moot in all respects.

He took his place at a small table in a corner of the cantina, and soon, a waitress had brought him a drink. As he leaned back in his seat, he sipped it, and looked around. Looked at the twi'lek dancers, looked at the Hutts enjoying them, at the criminal lowlives trying to pick up girls. A few of them had already had too much to drink, and it was obvious they were going to start a ruckus sooner or later. Some of them stuck out with their gray garbs and their lightsabers; Sith, and Imperial soldiers. The Mandalorian ignored it; it wasn't his business. Not now. The rage he felt at the sight of them faded away as his self-control restrained him, and he let out a slow exhale.

He had heard the news, seen the videos of what their kind had done to his homeworld, Manda'yaim and Concord Dawn. They had reduced them to a sea of ash, a desolate wasteland barely inhabitable for the lowest form of cellular life. Verus Fett did not blame himself - the peace summit that had been in place to arrange for peace between the Imperium and the Mandalorians had failed - much because of him, that much was true. However, he was a Mandalorian, and he was a Fett. He would not return to his clan and tell them that he sold their pride for the sake of mere survival. That was not the way of the Mandalorian.

Mandalorians did not forget.

They did not forgive.

And they did not lie down and surrender peacefully.

Mandalorians fought to the bitter end for what they believed in. Regardless of odds, regardless of who the enemy was, there was one thing that was true; A real Mandalorian would fight him until one of them was dead and buried. Usually, it wasn't the Mandalorian that was on the receiving end of this fate. Putting it bluntly, to a Mandalorian, the destruction of Manda'yaim was a small price to pay for the sake of honor. A price...no, it was more a loan. A loan that would be repaid in full one day, when the Sith Empress was stuck on his sword, lifeless, like a rotting peace of meat, dying for her crimes against his people.

There was much anger in him, and it was flaring up again. Another deep breath suppressed it once more, just as he looked up to find the Imperials and Sith standing in front of his table.

Looks like Sith blood is back on the menu for this one..., Verus thought as he looked up.

"...you are?" He asked, a low, calm voice.

"We're acolytes of th' Sith Order." One of the acolytes said. "Just back from Mandalore, killin' Mandoes. The Sith Order has a tariff bounty system out for their kind. And ye know, it strikes me then that, that tattoo of yours looks kind of Mandalorian, aye?" His hand was drawing near his lightsaber. Verus Fett stood up suddenly, making the men retract in surprise. The Mandalorian smiled, sipping his drink and shaking the empty glass.

"I need a drink. Excuse me." He walked towards the bar, and as he did, he turned back, adding: "You're not very smart, are you? Everybody knows Mandalorians are ten feet tall and wear a bodysuit of solid beskar. They fart lightning and spit fire, and make Sith like you look like diaper wearing pansies. Now, do I look like I'd do any of that?" He held out his hands in a, "Seriously?" kind of gesture.

The Sith didn't know what to say, and before he knew it, Verus had turned his back on the man and ordered another drink.

 

[huntressofworlds]

Mandalorians did not forget.

They did not forgive.

And they did not lie down and surrender peacefully.

Mando'ad draar digu


Words that resounded even in Ceryn’s mind even now. It was perhaps fortunate that her own Clan sigil was not as well known as some of the larger Clans, Fett for example. Just another marker on another bounty hunter or mercenary. It wasn’t all that noticeable, scuffed and faded through battle. She should probably really touch it up, but it was a testament that she wasn’t some new verd fresh off the transport.

Ceryn had fought for most things in her life, not too much uncommon among her people, but in a galaxy where there were all kinds just waiting to try and put a blaster bolt in you, well it was hard enough even being a part of a people that were renowned warriors and soldiers. At least it carried with it a bit of weight that still caused people to question messing with a Mandalorian, male or female.

The Sith though, she almost had to chuckle at it, they seemed to have no qualms with igniting a powder keg within the hornet’s nest. At some point they would get stung, though they seemed to stand there laughing at their nefarious acts. Wasn’t to say the Mandalorians weren’t to blame, the Clan Wars had been enough to get her to leave the Mandalore Sector a few years ago, and sadly it wasn’t all that surprising that this had happened, but it was a damned shame as well.

These were the things that she had racing in her mind, sipping at her drink and further intoxicating herself. She had lingered there at the bar, she too had noticed how things seemed to be progressing further to a more dangerous situation with the denizens around her. That was good, she wanted to fight, to vent out that frustration. Her eyes had followed the Sith that had teamed up and headed towards a table. Good. She turned and took a step in that direction, popping the knuckles of her free hand, the other still holding her glass.

It was then that he stood up, her eyes narrowed. Close enough to distantly overhear the conversation, focused on the interactions and the comments that Verus had made regarding Mandalorians and the description. Her narrowed eyes relaxed and she gave a bit of a smirk, looking back to the bar, though she did manage to insert herself nearer to Verus’s location, a slight turn of her head towards him as she made her simple little comment.

“Haatyc or'mando'ad jate'shya.” she teased, regarding his comment of the ten foot tall Mandalorians of solid beskar. Now there was something she wished she could have seen back in the day, though there were more’n a few non-human Mando’ade that pushed up there in height. Turning her head a bit she made motion with her nose slightly towards the tattoo on his neck, a slight grin formed in thought of it. It was one she recognized, who didn’t recognize the more popular of crests.

“Ratiin a cyar’tomade. Copaani gaan ti Darjetti?” she asked. Her eyes glimpsed onward towards the two acolytes who were talking amongst themselves while still not backing down from Verus’s direction. Her eyes looked back to the Fett, almost a pleading look to let her get involved in his mess, let her sink her fist into one of the two acolytes.

Tilting her head towards him, a slight little grin crept on her lips, “Gedet'ye?”


(Hover over the Mando'a to see the translation)

 

[Livgardist]

Verus was surprised to hear somebody speak to him in Mando'a. He tensed, though not visibly, as he sipped his drink, listening to her words, and offering a wry smile at her tease. She offered him a hand with the Imps. Had it been Verus merely months earlier, he would have taken the offer and thrown himself at the Force using scum. However, Verus was a man with responsibilities these days, the lives of a hundred and fifty Mandalorians living by his actions. Cooler heads would prevail this day, at least if Aliit'alor Fett had anything to say about it. He planted his hand carefully on her arm, and spoke in low Mando'a;

"Easy, sister. We need no attention drawn to ourselves. Not here. Not by them. Not today."

He looked up at the bartender, and said:
"A drink for my friend here on me." He tossed a couple of credits to the man, with a generous tip. The bartender nodded and went away to mix the drink, reuturning soon after to plant it in front of the younger woman at Verus' side. He added to her: "Their time will come. Trust me. There will come a day when the Sith will have nowhere to hide from the rage of the Mandalorian people."

The unmistakeable sound of lightsabers being ignited, followed by several screams in shock, drew Verus' attention back to the Sith. Four of them, drunk, had ignited their lightsabers, and several others, wearing tattoos identifying them as Imperial stormtroopers, had gathered behind the duo, and by the look of things, they were itching for a fight. The one that had spoken to Verus first stepped forward, pointing a double-bladed lightsaber at him, its crimson blade glowing like the neon lights and flashing strobes of the club they were in.

"You're a Mandalorian. Don't try to deny it. By the power of the Sith, you will die here today."

Verus sighed, and turned to the woman, speaking again.
"Fine, let's dance the fighting dance, sister."

He suddenly spun around from his seat, wielding a curved karambit made out of the lightsaber-proof beskar, slapping the lightsaber aside. He planted the sole of his shoe in the Sith's chest with such force it threw the man backwards and tumbling to the floor. Before he could get up, Verus had slugged another in the face, knocking him to the ground, and was now busy hammering fist after fist into the face of the one kicked in the chest. The barfight broke out like a raging inferno in an instant.

 

[huntressofworlds]

Ceryn’s eyes glimpsed towards the hand planted on her arm, though she made no attempt to remove it. Her head tilted so she could better listen to the low tone of Verus’s voice in their native tongue. Honestly she’d missed hearing it spoken from another Mandalorian. There were a few things one missed about home, home, a sense of belonging, and the way people talked, their accents. It was almost calming the fire burning within her. It had been awhile since she’d even shared a drink with another Mandalorian, much less having a Fett buy her a drink.

Her eyes glimpsed towards the bar tender and gave him a bit of a smirk, a glimpse towards Verus again had her half grin rising as she listened, taking her fresh drink and drawing it near, pulling a drink of it before she’d started answering him once more in their native tongue.

“Pretty sure it’s not the first time a Fett has said..”

Of course her words had trailed off with that sound, one which was easily recognized, much on the same level cocking a shotgun was realized. Seems the small little band had grown in number since her brief little conversation with Verus. As he signed and turned to her, her eyes returned back to him, those words that made her smile could’ve very well been a compliment from the big Mandalorian to her, offering her to fight with him.

“Mar'e!”

Ceryn flashed a little bit of a grin, “And it’s Ceryn.”

She moved near simultaneously right along with Verus, only while Verus had moved right for the attack Ceryn still had her heavy drink filled glass in her hand, moving forward towards the other set, she had her arm brought around, that glass hurled like a projectile and shattered against the head of the acolyte closest to her, that saber he welded dropped, snuffing out that blade as he started to crumple down to the floor. Ceryn’s pace used him almost as a launching ramp as her heavy foot came onto the shoulder as he dropped down to his knees, falling unconscious as she launched herself off of him towards the one behind.

The close quarters, the angle the saber had been held, there was far little time to swing it upward into the woman who was already coming down with an armored bracer for the face of the other, there was a sickening crack as she broke that one’s nose and took him down right beneath her, and much the same as Verus was sending a few punches into the same bloodied face when the troopers behind rushed her.

As good as she was, she couldn’t stop them all, there were a few well placed punches to her face, ones that busted a lip, bruised the flesh, but not before she’d sent her fist into the balls of one, and a sharp kick into another’s knee, perhaps a bit of poetic justice to an injury she’d gotten from a trooper of similar manner. At least the two of them weren’t alone, though they’d been the spark that ignited the inferno that broke out all around. Drink and substance usage all around. There wasn’t a love of the Imperials after word had leaked out about the Mandalore Sector, and while there was little to raise a rebellion right then and there in the bar, there were more’n enough willing to vent some frustrations out of a few Imperials.

She’d have to thank the Fett later, if they survived. This was the most fun she’d had at a club in ages!

 

[Livgardist]

Verus stood up, wiping the sweat out of his face with the sleeve of his suit as he heaved a sigh, giving one last half-hearted kick to the drunk Sith. As he did, suddenly, he felt something crash against his head and shatter. He let out a loud, "Ow!!!" and rubbed his head as he turned around, glaring at a stormtrooper holding a broken glass bottle. With a scoff, he punched the man straight in the face, throwing him backwards up against the bar. "That hurt, asshole." He muttered as he finished the man off with a kick to the nuts, tossing him aside to reach for his drink. He took a gulp before turning back to overlook the bustle in the bar.

The woman who had introduced herself as Ceryn was busy fighting another Sith, and several others who disliked Imperials had also joined the fight. Verus chuckled as he leaned back against the bar, shaking his head. So much for incognito., he thought to himself. Hopefully it wouldn't be a problem. Hopefully, the bar room brawl wouldn't draw much attention from Imperial eyes. It wasn't just his life at stake these days. These days he represented a clan. His clan.

A movement above caught his eye. He looked up and found himself looking at a sort of alcove in the ceiling, drowned in shadows. Something up there, though, was moving. He tilted his head slightly, and narrowed his eyes. Barely, he could make out a small, lithe frame of some sort of humanoid. Two orange, glowing eyes were visible in the shadows, reminding him of something he had seen a long time ago, on Tattooine. And then, he saw the glimmer of a rifle barrel.

"Well, shit..." He muttered under his breath.

He threw himself sideways a moment before a blaster bolt ripped the bar apart, sending wooden splinters everywhere. Verus grabbed the broken glass bottle from the floor, and launched it in a throw up towards the shadow. There was a wet sound, followed by a dry, throaty groan, and then something fell towards the barroom floor with a heavy thud. As it landed, Verus found himself looking at a small creature, barely reaching up to his mid-section in height, and covered in brown garbs complete with a cloak. It was a jawa, an alien being native to the planet Tattooine, where indeed Verus had once seen these creatures aplenty.

A jawa sniper. He shook his head with a scoff as he yanked the broken bottle out of its cloaked face, and tossed it aside. He looked up and whistled.
"Sister." He called out in Mando'a. "It's time for us to make our exit."

It was getting too dangerous here. Bar brawls were one thing. Being shot at by blasters were another entirely.

 

[huntressofworlds]

There was no stopping that feisty little Scout though, not as she lobbied punch after punch. She was a fighter, maybe not meant for the heavy lifting, or even Commando grade stuff, but in those moments she erased all question if she could keep up or not. Honestly it hadn’t been until there was a blaster shot that it had drawn her attention back to where the Fett had been. Her eyes scanned for him before she spotted the man leaning down over a crumpled mess of brown cloth.

Looking back down to the unconscious male that she’d pummeled into a bloody mess she finally pushed herself back up to her feet, eyes scanning for her next target, but it was the whistle that came from Verus’s direction and his shout to her in Mando’a that reigned her back. "Aw.." Seemed the party was over. She supposed that was probably best, since the local security force, perhaps even some MPs would be arriving soon to break up the fight. Last thing she wanted was to end up in a cell for gods knew how long.

As she headed for Verus she snagged a bottle off the bar top, a few quickly clattered chits slid off the top and fell behind the bar, hopefully enough to cover the bottle of snatched liquor. Looking worse for wear than Verus with a cut lip and a bit of purple beneath an eye starting to fade into view she’d certainly have some bruises tomorrow, fortunately her armored body had kept most of those kicks and punches back, though there were a few places that she’d feel it later.

“Strategic disappearance!” she laughed at Verus, though she motioned for one of the side exits, heading right out the front would likely land them right into any arriving security or police force’s hands.

It wouldn’t be till they’d cleared the place, left the sounds of fights and groans to disappear into the distance behind them that she’d paused long enough to catch her breath, a large grin on her face showed some of those white through her lips as she leaned back against the corridor wall, laughing a bit she rest the bottle she’d snagged on her way out across her chest and closed her eyes a moment before cracking her gaze open and refocusing it back in Verus’s direction.

“That’s why you don’t mess with Mandalorians!” she quoted in their language as she grinned near ear to ear, though such reminded her of a bit of pain from her lip.

 

[Livgardist]

Verus allowed himself a slight snicker as they made their departure, following dark alleyways and turning odd corners that allowed them to quickly disappear from the bar on the space station, and its security forces. Once they escaped the sound of the fighting, Verus stopped, and leaned against a wall. As he searched his pockets for a pack of cigarettes, he muttered: "I'm getting too old for this shit." He planted one of the sticks in his mouth and lit it using an old zippo lighter, taking a deep breath and exhaling as he looked up towards the space station's metal ceiling a few meters above him.

"That was dangerous." He said finally. "Don't misunderstand me. I enjoy beating up Imperials as much as the next person, but..." He exhaled another cloud of nicotine and shook his head. "We're not Mandalorian Crusaders anymore. These are different times. We're broken as a people, scattered. Vulnerable. If I could, I'd gather all Mandalorians and walk them straight up to the Imperial capital, kill everybody there, nail their bitch queen to the wall with her own lightsaber, and burn the planet to the ground in a funeral pyre worthy of the memory of Cassus Fett." He shook his head, adding: "I can't do that, though. Our people do not have the strength for such excesses as vengeance. Not now. We need to keep a low profile. Avoid trouble like this at all costs. Build our strength, bide our time, and swallow our pride." He sighed, flicking the cigarette away with frustrating moves.

"But it was fun." He added with a wry smile. He ran a hand through his hair as he continued: "My clan is located on the Outer Rim, not too far from this station. We're not man, but we're enough to give a sense of home to any Mandalorian." He motioned with his head towards her. "You look like you could use a home. Would you like to come with me, back to my clan? We're always welcoming our fellow Mando'ade with open arms. Especially in this day and age."

 

[huntressofworlds]

Ceryn wiggled the stopper out of the bottle she’d snagged, taking a glimpse towards Verus as he lit up a cigarette before she took a swig of the potent alcohol, some form of whiskey she suspected, though with a two fold purpose the beneficial intoxicating effects only minorly out weighting the sharp sting that came from the cut on her lip, drawing a slight squint of her eye and only a slightly audible hiss between clenched teeth. At least it wouldn’t get infected, though that burn certainly was a good reminder that she wasn’t invincible, even as a Mandalorian.

“Too old?” Ceryn snorted a bit with a smirk, “I saw you fighting back there. You’re anything but too old in my book.” She replied, wiggling the stopper back in the bottle as she paused to listen to what Verus had to say. His words were a bit inspiring, even aggressive and angry. Yet in the end the Fett demonstrated his restraint, his thought of the better good. She narrowed her eyes just a little bit in contemplation.

She’d started to comment on the idea of an attack right on the Imperial Capital when he gave her a wry smile and told her it was fun. She grinned a bit in return and tilted her head just slightly, “The Sith and Imperials back there wont look at a Mandalorian the same again though. Perhaps next time they’ll look at us with a little bit of respect and a hint of caution at messing with us. Wish the rest of the Imperium would follow suit, but they, like the guys back there, will have to get a punch to the face before that’ll happen.” Ceryn commented.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was the Fett’s offer to tag along with him to the Outer Rim, to his Clan. That smirk that had lingered on her lips faded away into a sheer blank slate as she repeated those words in her mind. She didn’t have a home, or a Clan anymore. All her closest friends back home had gone silent in the wake of the attacks. She didn’t have anything other than the plans she’d been orchestrating in her head. Those words he spoke about. Home. Welcoming. She hadn’t experienced that feeling in a long time. Giving a slight chew at the inside of her cheek for a moment as she thought over those plans in her head and finally, if a bit delayed gave him a nod.

“I’d like to see that again.” Ceryn finally replied, “Does your Alor think like you do?” she questioned with a half grin rising up, “Be glad to lend my fists to any fight he might have, I prefer a fighting chance than pacifism. You see where that’s gotten Mandalore.” She sighed a bit, bringing her focus back up to Verus once more before extending out her right arm, with every intention of taking Verus by the forearm in greeting. “Ceryn Kelborn from Mandalore.”

 

[Livgardist]

"Verus Fett. Aliit'alor'Fett.." Verus said, shaking her hand, smiling wryly. "I can't promise you much. I can't even promise you a future if you join with our clan. But a home, a family, a good fight once in a while, and a return to the Mandalorian life, those are all things that I can promise you. More importantly, I can promise you that I will not rest until I find a way to repay the Imperials for the wrong they have done us."

He waved his hand dismissively.
"Enough about revenge, though. We're not sociopaths. We are capable of enjoying life even with vengeance so distant on the horizon. Come, I will take you to Lok. I will take you home."

 

[huntressofworlds]

Ceryn smirked at Verus as he shook her hand and told her who he was, who he really was. Her grip was strong and confident, though she didn’t quite go for the man’s hand, but gripped at his wrist as he smiled back wryly. Her eyes focused securely on Verus’s own as she listened to what he couldn’t promise, then what he had to offer. He was a unique man, the way he worded those things. She smiled a bit more as she gave a slight bow of her head in acceptance of those terms.

“It’s enough.” She answered. "I can deal with that."

Releasing Verus’s wrist as he moved to give that dismissive wave before he spoke of enjoying life. She chuckled a bit, maybe not psychopaths but they were a vengeful bunch, Ceryn couldn’t have fit in more perfectly.

“Maybe on the trip there we can kill most of this..” she suggested with a slight raise of the pilfered bottle, “I never did get to enjoy the drink you bought.” She gave a humored grin. “Will give you a chance to tell me about your Clan. Alor Fett.” She teased at the title. To thinks he’d just gotten into a bar brawl with him of all people, was good to see he could throw a punch and be rowdy, certainly had her trusting him more as a Mandalorian instead of a statue – unwavering and cold. Either way, for the time being she had no reason not to go with Verus, and many as to why she should and go with him she would.

 

[Livgardist]

Verus chuckled as they left towards the spaceport, and the awaiting Outrider-2.
"Sounds like a date to me." He said in Mando'a. As they walked, he stopped suddenly, adding: "Oh, and...welcome to the family, sister."