Ask Crossed purposes

[Hirojani Andro]

Mood

​

Reuss. An acidic spitball of a planet. Once a lush and verdant Agriworld, imperial occupation had turned it into a polluted industrial planet. Over a century later and it remains a stark metallic landscape, pockmarked by quarries and fabrication plants. Thick acrid clouds rising from blackened exhaust vents, turning the air into a toxic chemical cocktail. The kind of gaseous slurry that leave you with a permanent cough and a shortened life span. Masks, rebreathers, aspirators and full face helmets with vac seals were a common sight. You'd even see low-alkali creams and unguents for sale out of hangar bays for those foolhardy enough to bear their skin to the caustic atmosphere. But even in a dive bar on planet practically made of corrosion, where nearly everyone covers up completely, a Mandlorian's iconic t-visor helmet stands out.

It had taken nearly a standard hour for Hiro to prepare for the surface of Reuss. She had been to a difficult climates before, but none as harsh as Reuss. She'd vacuum sealed her bucket helm and run an air line down her front to a canister strapped on the thigh opposite her vibro-machete holster. It was a small canister, only good fro a few hours, but for the most part she planned to be in sealed buildings so it should've been more than required for the short swoop trip down. She'd also had to install heavy duty filters over her precious swoop bike's intake filters to protect it's inner workings from damage. She knew she was going to have to go back to Mon Gazza after this trip and see her mechanic for a re-paint.

She'd initially come here on the heels of a bounty. She'd tracked them to the Portmoak sector and was trying to narrow her search before they moved on. The second she'd gotten into Reuss's orbit she'd known that they wouldn't be there, but that kind of assumption had cost her bounties in the past and she wasn't about to make that mistake again. After a bumpier than usual flight on her beloved bike, she put it a way in a speeder dock and started making the rounds on the likely spots for her target. By the tenth seedy grimy establishment and no sign of him, he was either a ghost, loaded or not on Reuss. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Frustratingly for Hiro, what she'd normally do to blow off steam was to go for a high altitude swoop ride, but Reuss's atmosphere made that an uninviting prospect. However as fortune would have it, a chance to blow off steam her second favourite way fell into her lap. As she sat in a booth in some rancid bar, Hiro was approached by several people. From the look of them they were gas miners. They had the right kind of heavy duty breathers and synthweave overalls, the arms and legs of which were caked to the joints in oily grime.

"You Mando? right" asked the taller of the miners. Hiro did not answer but focussed her T-visor in his direction to show she was listening. "Uuuh, well..." Stammered the large humanoid, his voice, muffled as it was had the hard accent of a natural Huttese speaker rolling their way through Galactic base as best they could. "Got work, you fight?" He finally managed. Hiro cocked her head to one side, patiently waiting. "Hrrm, Uh, We got big gas pump," He pulled a wax-skin out and unwrapped it, inside was a dinged and old-fashioned data slate, the thing must have been republic era. He gave it a few prods and he pulled up a flickering holo of the local refinery city. Jabbing at the diagram he proceeded to explain the job. "Here us," jab went the finger "Our pump." The finger circled emphatically. "We find big new pump," A jab near the other side of the holo, "Claim by scavenge rights, Get rerun permit, when we do...Pirates." a meaty, oily rubberised synthweave glove pounded the table for effect. Hiro let a hollow silence roll out for an uncomfortable second or to as she did her best to think before saying yes. She wanted to put a beat down on someone, and pirates vs miners was pretty clear cut. But she needed a plan. She needed info.

"How many, How are they armed, Where are they based, How much is the pay?" Hiro blasted out four question in quick succession without pausing to hear answers. The Miners, flustered, quickly huddled for a brief discussion in Huttese. After a jabbering for a frantic moment the largest turned with answers. "This", he held up his plump wrapped digits indicating the number eight "Porko Wanga", He mimed dual finger blasters and what appears to be a repeater of some kind "Here" jabbing and circling the second pump tower from the diagram "And this" his fat fingers tapped away at the decrepit slate and cycled through diagrams of various old Imperial tech. Hiro watched as design after design went by. Something about the breadth of what they seemed to be able to offer put up a tiny red flag in the back of her mind. Miners don't have this kind of old Imp tech. But as a specific ship rolled through over the slate she held up a hand.

"Da wanga" she stated in Huttese 'That one', "Aaaah, Da wanga, eniki murashani, chupa cripsa hoohah?" 'Okay bounty hunter, you kill them?'. Hiro stood and patted her blade and blasters. "Tagwa" 'yes' she said and took the comm number from his dataslate before striding from the bar. This was going to be a very different kind of hunt. These weren't odds to be sniffed at and she'd have to do some proper recon before she made a real move. Well nothing like a couple of weeks in the acid rain to get you fired up. Hiro headed back down to the speeder docks and got ready to find a cheap place to stay on the target pump side of town to use as a stakeout spot and forward base. As the first threads of a plan started to weave in her mind a smile curled onto her lips, hidden from all by the violet painted helm she wore.

@Song Wren

 

[Song Wren]

Whatever beauty the planet of Reuss once possessed, it was gone now. Done away with since the Empire poisoned its atmosphere and water through unchecked pollution and industry. Its blue skies was now a dark shade of gray, its white clouds now black from chemical smoke. Rain was acidic enough to melt through skin and armor, and the air toxic enough to corrode lungs and metal. Coming to Reuss was never something Song had in mind, until she received the offer of a job.

First look, she didn’t think any job was worth taking on the planet. Everything about it embodied the worst in the galaxy: the cities, the pollution, the people. She hated Nar Shadda in every aspect, but Reuss had, somehow, managed to up that.

Then she saw what they were giving her.

Needless to say, Song accepted. Her recent stints had left her rather low on credits, and she was figured the job was easy and menial enough to compensate her presence on the world, so why not?

According to her employers, who were scavengers by trade, a crew of miners had stolen old Imperial blueprints, senselessly murdered one of their associates and now threatened to kill them too. Song had her own thoughts about what might’ve happened, but she didn’t question it. Her job was to do what was asked, and she meant to do it: protect the scavengers pump. If the miners attacked, then she would retaliate. Simple as that.

Down at the speeder docks, Song looked for a place to stay for a couple nights. She didn’t think the whole endeavor would last too long. Second the miners saw who she was, and what she could do, they’d run like rats back into their holes. Everything would be set right, she’d get her pay, and she would finally get to leave this awful planet.

That was when she saw them. The flash of armor, and not just any kind. Beskar, and a tinted visor shaped in a T. It had been quite sometime since she last saw a Mandalorian outside of her Clan, and she hoped not to pass up the opportunity to say hello.

They were family, after all. Shared blood or not, but family.

“Aye, vod!” Song called after them through her voice-scrambled modulator, meant to further her disguise as a man. She hoped the other Mandalorian would see her, catch on, and introduce herself. If not, no issue. Song understood how focused a Mandalorian could be, and if they wanted to continue on, she wouldn’t stop them. They all had jobs to do, after all.

Little did she know their job stood in direct opposite to hers.

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

It had been several days since Hiro had started her stake out. She had something of an outline of the pirates' default activities. They didn't leave often and when they did they did so in groups of three, all three packing blasters tucked fairly obviously under bulky acid resistant clothing. Hiro had counted seven different individuals coming in and out of the pump, which meant, if the Miner's info was accurate, that there was one more that never seemed to leave, most likely the leader. The pump itself was clearly non-operational. A long the south face was a rupture the size of a light-freighter in the main hydraulic unit. Hiro reckoned it would take resources higher than these pirates seemed to have access to to patch. If the miner's were telling her the truth about what they could offer her, then they might, which would be a good reason for them to want it.

She had gathered a good bit of intel. Timings, entrance points, what passed for guard routes. She had come to the conclusion that these guys were relatively amateurish in their handling of the situation and had likely driven off the miners with nothing more that pressure and a salvo or two of blaster bolts. But they were being careful, straying in groups big enough to be defensible both in the open and at the base. They clearly expected to e attacked at some point. Decisions, decisions. Hiro had three plans at this point. One wait another few days, complete observations and then make an assault. Two stage the attack and take out one of the "shopping" teams in town and then use extra info and the reduced numbers to make a final assault. Or, take her two full weeks, wait for paranoia to start to eat at them, wait for them to stop fearing an attack from without and start fearing an attack from within and then, when they've gotten careless, go in like a meteorite on an undeveloped civilisation.

Either way it wasn't going to happen today. Hiro got up, stretched and felt somewhat disgusted at her minor lack of hygiene the last few days. Round the clock stake outs often made her lose sight of simple and important things like that. She took a long pressure shower, the stream blasts that were designed to help scour away built up acid on the skin worked wonders on her accumulated laziness. She stepped out refreshed, in particular, her head tendrils felt especially clean after a long stint in her helmet. She was ready to go do something fun, she'd watched her targets enough for the day. Making her way through the tiny cheap apartment she strode through the attached garage and Hovered through town looking for the kind of bar that might have a fight in it. The pulled up by a likely establishment, parked up and strode in ready for trouble. She took no more than a few steps in before she realised she'd dropped her usual high alertness. A voice called out to her unexpectedly, Mando'a, something she'd not heard for some time. She spun at the voice and had to look down at the speaker, not expecting such a pronounced difference in their heights given the masculine tone of the vocaliser.

"Ah, Olarom vod...mugen allit", 'Well met Brother, What clan do you hail from?' Hiro asked the sudden Mandalorian, her Mando'a a little rusty. She gestured toward a booth at one side, indicating they should take a seat for a moment.

@Song Wren

 

[Song Wren]

The Mandalorian was tall. Much taller than Song, to the point where it was almost embarrassing to stand side by side from her, but she didn’t care. She had met shorter men, and chances were she was dealing with a foundling. Not that it changed the fact that they were kin, shared blood or not. Sisters under the Creed. Although the other Mando had little reason to believe Song was a woman too. Her disguise was as airtight as her own suit of armor, from the bindings on her chest to the voice modulator.

For all intents and purposes, she was her brother, River.

As the other Mandalorian answered in kind in Mando’a, dispelling any thoughts that she was an imposter, Song smiled and said, “Pirusti urcir. Ner gai cuyir Yustapir, be Ha'yr Nadutr. Ad be Ghent, meh gar ganar susulur be kaysh.” (Well met. My name is River, of Clan Wren. Son of Ghent, if you've heard of him.)

Her Mando’a was smooth, refined from her many lessons with her mother back on Krownest. She had learned it intensely in an effort to make her father proud, but like everything else she did, he didn’t care. It was her brother he cared about, but now he was dead, and now she wore his armor like she was River himself.

Once inside the shoddy-looking establishment, a restaurant bar full of wary eyes and hired guns, Song took a seat in an open booth across from the other woman. When she got comfortable, back slumped against the cushioned seat, she decided to switch back to Basic, catching the slight rust in the other Mandalorian’s voice. Though it was mostly because she preferred it over Mando’a. It was too much of a reminder of home, which she both missed, and despised. She had her father to thank for that.

“How about you? Got a name, vod?” said Song, nonchalant, but with a thread of respect running through her voice. “I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I’d see another Mandalorian on a planet like this. You here for a job, or a hunt?”

She caught the eye of a rosy-cheeked waitress, who looked between the two Mandalorians with a strange blend of awe, and uncertainty. Still, she approached their booth with a wide smile and asked, “Hi there. Can I get either of you something to drink?”

“I’m good,” Song said, looking over to the other Mando.

She knew neither of them could remove their helmets in public to drink, and though she could have easily used a straw, Song wasn’t looking to get drunk anyways. She was just there to talk. For now.

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

Hiro had only met Mandalorian's other than her mother a few times, normally in a group at a clans moot or local covert. Seeing one alone in the wild like this was something of a first for her. As they sat down at the booth Hiro took better stock of the building and the other patrons of the bar, her normal alertness returning to her in the midst of the unusual encounter. The place was grimy industrial steel flooring and walls. It looked a lot like a shipping unit that been welded to other units and then converted later into for or five other establishments before setting into the roles of food, alcohol and tables. That said it wasn't too bad by the outer rim's standards. The room had three exits. The door she'd come in, a door to the far side of the bar that assumedly lead to a backroom/kitchen and another sliding doorway at a right angle fro the booth they'd sat at. The room was light by strips of beam lighting and a scored and pockmarked sheet of transparisteel that passed for a window between the two entrance ways.

The other restaurant goers were a mixed bunch. Several clearly regulars, nursing single meals and drinks in respective poorly lit corners. A rowdy work crew had a monopoly on seats at the bar, clearly recovering from a hard days labour much to the joy of the barkeep. A few seemed big enough for a decent fight yet, but none were drunk enough for it to not look intentional. Otherwise there were a few other croups of two or three spread out each enjoying their own conversations and plates. More than half the people seated had a blaster pistol on a hip or tucked beneath a heavy acid-resistant jacket. Hiro's only real concern were the lingering eyes of a trio of trandoshan's that had been hissing away merrily to each-other up until she and her Beskar'gam clad compatriot had taken their booth. She put it to one side in her mind for now and tried to focus more on her unexpected tablemate.

She was silently glad that they decided to switch to basic, she'd never been great at Mando'a but her second mother had insisted that she should learn all the aspects of the culture she was being brought up in in order to give context to the creed that she had been adopted into. Hiro had argued at the time but her Mandalorian mother had agreed and said it'd come in handy from time to time. Some what sulkily Hiro had to count this day as one of those times.

"Hirojani Andro," she replied after a nearly awkward pause, "Never heard of your father, but my clan was founded by a Wren." Hiro's monosyllabic and relatively brief sentences painted a clear picture of a woman who rarely talked if she had to. While her tone wasn't inherently disrespectful, it was clearly didn't sound interested in appearing so. "It's new to me. I only see our kind in coverts. Guess I've not made it yet." Hiro took a thoughtful pause before answering about her mission here. There was every possibility that River could be trying to poach a bounty, or even specifically be here for her, not that she'd done much that would warrant a tail, not since she was much younger. "Came here looking for a debt jumper for a bookie. Don't think they're around, it was worth a shot. " Before she could continue they were interrupted by a well meaning young waitress. Hiro had gotten used to the stammer caused by one T-visor, it was amusing to see the jitters caused by two. When River turned down a drink Hiro noted that he had a restrictive helmet design. You'd need a straw to drink in public and to many a Mando she was sure that would seem too...silly. Hiro smirked, glad to have had the upbringing she'd had and replied to the waitress.

Hiro answered smoothly and in an uncharacteristically long sentence that sounded practised, or at least considered in advance. "I'll have a bottle of Riosan Mead, a canister of Vosh, a blumfruit, a pint of quint-berry juice, two empty glasses and a straw." As the waitress bounced away with the order, Hiro continued. "Lucky for me, I got a job by chance while here. Maybe two weeks of work with a decent fight at the end for a good price. What brings a man like you to this acid dump?"

@Song Wren @Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

The restaurant was what she expected out of any in the Outer-Rim. Laughter echoed from the tables occupied by work crews and miners, each washing away the day’s hard work with bottles of whiskey and spotchka. A haggard man smoked a poorly-rolled cigar in the corner, his food uneaten. Song ignored most of the patrons, her focus left on the other Mandalorian, save for the there Trandoshans she had noticed too.

Last time she dealt with one of their kind, it hadn’t ended well.

She reeled back into the present as the Mandalorian gave her a name: Hirojani Andro. The name of her Clan rang a familiar bell, though if she were honest, Song had them thought extinct. Most of the lesser clans, unlike Kryze and Wren, had fell into obscurity after the Great Purge. Butchered by the Imperial remnant, and the later First Order, or scattered into the wind. Hidden from sight.

Song believed Clan Wren was the only one with an established home, but the more Mandalorians she began to see in the galaxy, the more hope she had that they weren’t alone.

She was surprised when the Hiro threw out a list of drinks to the waitress, who hurriedly scribbled the order down in her notepad, then left to fulfill it. Song blinked and turned to the fellow Mando. “Someone’s thirsty,” she said, but it was clear the woman wanted her to drink too. Song might’ve refused, but the unusual concoction Hiro listed out intrigued her. She was used to drinking nothing more than clean water and spotchka.

Figured it was about time to try something new.

“Two weeks worth of work, a decent fight and a good reward? Pretty much summed up my whole career,” said Song, with a slight laugh. Some might’ve said bounty hunting was a complicated profession, but that was far from the truth.

At least, in her experience. Things were going to complicated soon enough.

“I’m here for the same. Came for a cheap refuel, but this scavenging crew approached me with a job. Just protection. Guard duty. Though I doubt anything’ll happen, so easy credits there.” Song ought to have told her Mandalorian sister the truth, but she had her doubts. Not that she didn’t trust her, but she felt like there was something more to this than she realized. A thought poking her in the back of her head.

The waitress came back with a tray of their drinks, setting each on the table. Song looked over to Hiro to see just what she had planned with the unusual brew, the single “blumfruit,” whatever it was, particularly.

“So,” she said, not knowing the full truth behind Hiro’s kin. “Can’t say I’ve heard too much about Clan Andro. They must well-hidden. You still in contact with them?”

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

Hiro listened quietly to River as she waited for the drinks to arrive. She continued to keep partial focus on the rest of the establishment as she had been trained to do. She nodded as River spoke, most contract killers were used to the typical job-cycle fortnight, however it was a patter that could as easily be applied to bounty hunting, which Hiro had been told was more common amongst Mandalorians. From the sound of things it was likely more where River's expertise lay, it was certainly where easier creds were to be made, until you earned a proper reputation. Hiro was itching to get to the major time and make a real name for herself and maybe even re-ignite her clan. Something on the scale of what house wren still had was hard for her to imagine or even immediately picture. But he was getting ahead of her self. Much like River here, taking on a casual job that he could ply his skills to, they all had to slum it for now. One day, in the not too different future, maybe it would be different for the followers of the creed.

Hiro got a touch more animated as the tray of drinks arrived. She started with the Riosan Mead. The Mead was a deep golden amber and poured languidly from the bottle, thick viscous, one could have mistaken it for Jhen Honey. Taking the Quint-berry juice and the Vosh she poured both at the same time, the two streams of fluid blending as they landed in the centre of the mead measure, the transparent 200 proof Vosh diluting the thicker super-sweet deep scarlet Quint-berry juice, the two of them pooling under the mead and creating a beautiful red to gold fade in the glass. As Hiro pulled the blumfruit over, River asked about her clan. "You're looking at it." she gestured lazily to herself and drew her vibro Machete, "This is 'Andro's Fang' the blade used by Andro Wren when he founded our clan. It's wielder is the current clan head." She took the tip of the Machete and put a small hole in one side of the blumfruit, the blade was far too large for such a task but despite that Hiro pulled the small incision with remarkable precision. Taking the plump red berry she gave it a gentle squeeze over each of the glasses, just enough for a couple of drops to hit the mixture. As they did a reaction took place in the glass, the warm orange tones shifted into a deeper rich violet to indigo wash.

Hiro finished the first two drinks by popping a straw in one glass and pushing it towards River. "I know you didn't ask for anything, but this is my first time meeting another Mandlorian one-on-one other than my mother. I just wanted to share my favourite drink. It's strong and very sweet." Saying this she put a finger up to where the stalk of a T would normally end on a T-visored helmet and she pressed in and pulled down revealing a small retractable drinking apparatus. "Gal' gala"'Have a drink', she toasted nodding her helmet towards River, she then lifted her glass towards her drinking port and took a long satisfied swig. She definitely looked a little goofy, but no more so than many Kel dor would trying to eat with their respirators on. Placing the still fairly full glass back on the table she spoke once more "So how is clan Wren these days?"

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

Song frowned. Not out of anger, but an inexplicable sense of grief. Another lesser clan on the verge of extinction. Even generations after the Great Purge, the Mandalorians continued to struggle for survival. They were no longer the feared predators known by name across the galaxy, but leftover prey to fate. Even Clan Wren, her own family, was stuck isolated and alone on the icy wasteland of Krownest. It seemed, to be a Mandalorian, it meant to be alone.

That wasn’t the case anymore. Not for Song, not for Hiro.

She admired the unsheathed blade, and the delicate grace the taller woman possessed in wielding it, carving a hole into the blum-fruit with incredible precision. Song had trained since childhood learning how to use a sword, and with her brother’s ceremonial blade, she was an unstoppable force. One of the finest Mandalorian swordsmen. Watching Hiro, however, made her wonder…

“A beautiful weapon,” said Song, glancing between the sword and the Mandalorian. “With it, I’m sure you will return Clan Andro to its former glory.” She stopped herself short from adding, “This is the way.” She figured the woman had heard it enough.

When Hirojani was finished with the two drinks, Song gladly accepted the one. How she made it was already rapturing enough, and she was too curious on its taste to refuse. She might look rather strange with a straw, but she was damned if she cared. After her day wandering the toxic slums of Reuss? She could use a good drink. Both of them could.

With a similar toast towards the other Mando, she slipped the straw under her helmet, looking on with a hint of jealousy at Hiro’s drinking apparatus. She seriously needed one of her own. Still, carefully, Song took a long sip. Satisfaction hit her almost instantly, and she leaned back against the booth with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve ever met a Mando who knew how to make their own drink.”

She laughed, quietly. “Most only know how to fight.”

That much was true.

Staring back to Hiro, the bounty hunter relaxed. The woman had an inkling of her trust before, but Song felt a sense of warmth around her, that she could be trusted even though they had exchanged names only minutes prior. Same seemed to go for any Mandalorian she had met before. There was simply an invisible bond they all shared. Like the Force, but perhaps even stronger.

“Nothing special,” said Song. “Clan Wren’s been in the same boat as the rest of the clans and lost tribes. Isolated from the rest the galaxy. There are only several of us who’ve even stepped outside Krownest in the last decade. I know one’s even joined the Jedi.”

“Which I’m still not sure how to feel about.” She took another sip from her drink. Her head tilted over to Hiro, wondering what she thought of the Jedi, of everything making its rounds on the HoloNet. “Mandalore’s been at odds with the Jedi for millennia, but I know there were a few then who worked alongside them.”

It was a small shift from the subject, but Song was curious. “Change. History. Tradition. Hard to tell which is the right choice these days. Right?”

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

At the complement to her weapon Hiro raised the blade and with a spike of glee piercing through the usually gruff monotone of her vocal stylings she ignited the Vibro coils of Andro's Fang. "If you like it now..." and a bright glow crawled along the sections of the blade that were made of a duller grey metal compared to the crisper silver stretches of Beskar. "Yeah", silly grin audible through her helmet's vocalizer, "It's not the best weapon mechanically, but the sheer style of the thing and it's history stopped any Andro Clan head from upgrading." Spooling the weapon down she placed it back in it's sheath when the vibrations and glow had ceased. "That, is the plan. But right now I'm still on step two of a hundred or so. Need to start making waves, earning creds, both..." Hiro took another deep sip from the glass in front of her, making a pleased sound as she set it down once more.

"It's called a Gazza Fade, You go to any bar on Mon Gazza and they'll make it for you, Not found a place off it yet that does, but they almost always have the ingredients." There was a slightly sombre pause before Hiro continued ,"I learned it from a Bartender I was sweet on a few years back, she was into the 'Mysterious Warrior' thing we get for free as Mandos." Hiro nodded at River's statement whilst taking another swig, the strong kick from the vosh was already starting to put a rosy tint on her cheeks. "Yeah, it's all my mother was really good at, were it not for my other mother, who insisted I learned about things outside the creed, I'm sure it's be just another meat-head stuffed into a dome." When she started to talk about her mothers Hiro began to absent-mindedly fiddle with a pair of interlocked rings, one brassy the other golden, that were wired to her belt.

Hiro had a strange pang in her chest hearing River talk about his clan home. Part of her was sad that she might never know how such a thing felt since she was a habitual nomad. But another part was just surprised at dismissive tone he took. As far as Hiro was concerned the Wren's were the biggest clan maybe just behind Visla, so to hear River seem to feel that they weren't much of anything, just felt a bit demoralizing. She took another swig to chase of such thoughts and feelings. She was enjoying this talk. Far more than she usually did. It was strange. Perhaps it'd been too long since she'd last had a Gazza Fade and she'd made it too strong? She'd caught herself almost giggling at points. She'd only had a handful of conversations like that before and never with a man. Normally any long standing conversation she'd had with a man had been clouded by his fear of her size or by his attempted bravado towards her size. As a big woman she had had to face down a remarkable amount of stupid masculinity contests. For many of these idiots her gender had been more of a factor than her following the creed. Many of these men had been taught the flavour of the dirt they'd been standing on. So she'd never been close to a man before. Maybe it was because he was a Mandalorian? A shared culture and sentiment cutting through so much of the other nonsense that seemed to cloud the relationships she had with those who didn't follow the creed.

"Hhm..." Hiro had been somewhat caught in her own thoughts, between that and an increased rowdiness from the Trandoshan table, it seemed one of them was winning in the game of Pazaak they'd started. She only tuned in to the back end of what River was saying, which was very unusual for Hiro. "Jedi? What's that? Oh do you mean the evil sorcerers we had a war with once? Weren't they all dead or something?" It was clear from this alone that whoever had taught Hiro the creed either hadn't bother much with or didn't really know the full extent of Mandalorian history or for that matter of the Galaxy, which really wasn't all that uncommon in these days after several centuries of regime change and civil war. For many what should be history is little more than fanciful legends much as it was for the survivors of the clone wars and those in the years following the fall of the empire. Many of the stories were too unbelievable and so relegated to fiction. And really, what good were such things in the training of an assassin? "I don't know much about that, for now I'm focussed on what's in front of me, you, this drink and my current job." And she emptied the end of her glass, before starting to pour a second.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

Light from the blade danced across her visor as she leaned in closer to see. The sword was much like her brother’s, presently sheathed and fixed to her waist, but with a different history. Each had been wielded by their ancestors, passed down through the generations, and though it might struggle to keep up with the times, its history was worth everything, just like the armor she wore: refashioned to fit her brother, then to her. A sword, however. That was different.

In her belief, an upgrade wasn’t needed. The spirit, the soul behind the blade, was enough for the Mandalorian.

As the conversation rolled on, Song continued to drink and relax. The taste of the blum-fruit stuck to the roof of her mouth, and the alcohol ran through her veins like a soothing song, lulling her into a state of calm she hadn’t experienced in a long time. Unbelievable it was, for her to feel safe around a woman she hardly knew. Yet, at the same time, she felt like they had known each other for years. Longtime friends finally reunited, making smalltalk under the lamp burning low above the booth.

Song might’ve been intimidated by the woman’s sheer size, but unlike some of the those she met in the past, her pride wasn’t made of glass. She could care less if she was smaller or weaker than the other Mandalorian. She admired the woman, in more ways than one. Hirojani was a masterpiece of composure. Not anything like she’d like seen in a Mandalorian before. Not in her father, not in Clan Wren. She was like a distant memory to her brother, River. The kind of warrior to look up to.

As she emptied her own drink, Song laughed at Hiro’s assumption of the Jedi. There was a time she thought the same too. Laser-sword-wielding legends who could make rocks float with their mind? Childhood fantasies. That was, until she met a Jedi herself, and seen the wild things they could accomplish. Still, she had mixed feelings about their intentions for the galaxy as a whole, given the history between them and Mandalore.

Hiro didn’t seem to care much for it though. Made sense. Clan Wren was safe and alive on Krownest, but for other tribes, it was about survival, not just tradition. History meant nothing if there was nobody left to tell it. Even if Song might not agree, she could understand for some, what mattered was ahead, not behind.

“Don’t look back. All that matters is now,” Song echoed after her, taking it in. “I can respect that. Our traditions, and our history, is… a complicated thing.”

Finished reflecting, the Mandalorian pushed the subject back into the present moment. She leaned a little forward and, curiously, asked the other woman, “I know I said I have a job of my own to handle here, but how about I lend a hand with yours? No questions asked. No payment required. It’s the least I can do, one Mando to another.”

“If you got a target to hit, let me help. Besides, I’ve been itching for a good fight. With the two of us, I’m sure we could get something done. You get your cut, and I get the honor of fighting alongside a real Mandalorian.”

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

"Complex pasts, without them where would we be," Hiro raised her second drink in pseudo-celebratory fashion and proceeded to down this one, barely savouring the sweet fluid and allowing the strong beverage to start to knock the sense out of her. She was now very much at the cheery stage, the problem with adding 200 proof alcohol to anything is that 1 drink may as well be five. Hiro was occasionally humming to herself a little at the end of sentences. And if Hiro hadn't been one step beyond her normal inhibitions, one step outside of her normal vigilance, one step more relaxed than she had allowed herself to be then River's next words could well have been the end of the conversation. But fortunately for the both of them, Hiro's earlier suspicions had been dispelled by the twinned magic of strong alcohol and surprisingly agreeable company. So the alarms that rang in the back of her head were squashed by a warm fuzz emanating up from her stomach.

Hiro leaned in some what dramatically, "Ok, you're on, but only on the condition that I pay you back with your job, protection can be a slog and there's nothing like a partner to make boredom fly past." Hiro took the last of the remaining booze from the order and split it between their two glasses, there was just enough for about a third of a Gazza Fade in each. She then took the blumfruit. She looked at it for a second and contemplated taking her Machete out again to halve it but she noticed that the fruit looked a bit blurry. She remembered distinctly the last time she'd tried to show off with a blade and alcohol and she felt the knotted scar on the back of her hand itch with that memory. In stead she took off her gloves, not concerned about the dangerous atmosphere in the well sealed restaurant, so that she could dig each of her thumbnails into the cut she'd made earlier. With the gloves off, if her height hadn't been enough of a giveaway, the deep blue of her skin identified Hiro as a foundling. Though just as noticeable was the proliferation of scars and marks criss-crossing along the back of her hands, especially around the knuckles. With her nails in the hole she flexed her grip and tore the fruit in half with a wet juicy sound. She handed one half over to River "For later, it's tasty on it's own." Putting her half in a pouch on her hip she replaced her gloves and proceeded to clue River into the full details of her job.

She talked more excitedly than she had the whole evening so far, clearly enthused to not only be able to be talking about her plan and the skills she was hoping to use to bring it to fruition but about the possibility of pulling it with a comrade. She went into every detail that she had observed, pausing only to take the occasional sip of her remaining drink. She covered the number of pirates, their cycles, roughly what firepower she'd seen and where they were based; In an old disused gas pump on the far side of town. Hiro was so caught up in her explanation that she didn't realise that the trandoshans had finished their game and had happily left the bar while she wasn't paying attention. She also hadn't noticed how quiet River had gotten. It had likely been over a because since Hiro had last talked this much in one sitting. By the end of her tirade her voice was already feeling scratchy. When she stopped she finished the last of her Fade. "So..." she fidgeted slightly in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable with the quite in their booth, "any thoughts?"

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

“Alright, you’re on,” said Song, as a grin tugged at her lips. The alcohol was much stronger than she expected, its potency only increasing with each passing second. If not for her voice scrambler, she might have even sounded like the whimsical, rosy-cheeked girl she left behind on Krownest. Her nightmares the prior night, the toxic air outside, and the warning bells ringing in her head were all but washed away in the rush of intoxication. It had been a long time since she got drunk.

She felt a tinge of surprise when the Mandalorian pulled off her glove and revealed the hand bathed in blue beneath it. Song should have expected as much, from her remarkable height to the fact she was the last in her clan, but it still threw her off. A foundling, left alone to care for the survival of her entire clan? The responsibility must have been crushing. Although Song was born into Clan Wren, she had a deep respect for foundlings.

Anyone could be a Mandalorian if they had the heart, the will and the spirit for it. Hirojani’s true heritage changed nothing about Song’s perception of her. If anything, she appreciated her willingness to show it. Not many were proud of it.

Like herself. A woman who hid behind the mask of a dead man.

The thought passed away, like the company of trandoshans from across the bar, but something darker took its place. Dots connected. Pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. As the bounty hunter opposite from her laid out the details of her plan, her employers and her target, Song was sinking into a pit of familiarity. She was supposed to protect an old gas pump. Hired to take down criminals on the other side of town. To reinforce guards with the same look, position and firepower Hiro had described.

A shadow passed over her face. The heavy weight of intoxication almost vanished into thin air, replaced with a spike of adrenaline. No, it couldn’t be, could it? It was simply a funny coincidence, much like their meeting.

But deep down, Song knew better than that.

She slammed back into the moment. A tense silence had fallen in-between them, and the Mandalorian stared blankly to the other and said uncomfortably, “That’s… strange.”

There was an ounce of hesitation in her voice, like she didn’t believe what she saying, even though it had to be truth. “I was hired to guard a pump like that too. On the edge of town. With men like the ones you’ve described, but scavengers, not pirates. Funny, though. They had warned me the rival gang had hired outside help to intervene on their behalf.” Intel from one of their informants, apparently.

Song never shifted her focus away from the taller woman, but not wanting to do anything too rash, she laid it out clear for her. “That couldn’t be you now, could it?”

For some reason, the blaster lodged in her holster felt heavier than usual. So did her brother’s sword.

Song wasn't sure what to do next.

@Pippa

 

[Hirojani Andro]

"Okay", Hiro held up a hand. The sudden revelation might have floored her in a normal situation, forced her to jump to conclusions and make a hasty and devastating decision. But Hiro had gone through a fairly serious amount of alcohol in quite a short amount of time and it had been hours since her last real meal. To say her thoughts were trailing behind the tension at the table would be putting it mildly. Hiro paused for a solid few moments, while River was surely on the verge of panic, Hiro was trying to catch up. "So... Wait...You." Hiro floppily dropped the raised hand onto the table like a dead fish. She knuckled the brow of her helm with her other hand clearly straining to think. "Haaaa, Probably, but who cares?" Hiro shrugs slowly and in as blasé a fashion as she could muster, which was difficult whilst wearing a Beskar-alloy gorget attached at the neck to your helmet. Mostly she tried to shrug but the action just pushed her armour up uncomfortably and she gave up. She then distractedly tapped her empty glass, once again silent before raising her view back up to River and seeming to remember what they were just talking about.

"Ah, right...so. Way I see it, we have three choices we can make." Hiro held up four fingers. Her speech pattern had become some what fragmented as the drunkenness sunk deeply in but she continued with uncharacteristic talkativeness and enthusiasm. "I like you River, of clan Wren. I know we've just met and I don't actually know you, but, like, there's this connection I feel, some kinda link, like, like a data thingy. We're kinda the same I feel. I've not felt a proper connection like this in a long time an speshully not with a man. So I'm not gonna kill you." She spoke the last line with an odd certainty, as though it's merely a choice she is making, as though she is fully convinced that she'd have no difficulty dispatching River should she choose to do so. "So choice one, we fist fight on it, and who ever dukes best, we do that mission." She started to punctuate her sentences with a hard gloved finger aggressively prodding the table. "Choice two, We just say freg to it and flarg off to do what ever and you give me your comlink code so we get to do this again sometime." The playful smile on her lips was audible in her voice.

Hiro then leaned closer, her considerable height allowing her to get mostly over the table between them until their domed helms were close to touching and whispered to River conspiratorially and probably what she thought was flirtatiously. "Or, an this is my favourite. Secondly, we can do both. You planning on ever coming back to this ball of acid and glicks? I'm not, we could stake out both sides of this and find leverage, an if they're all sick degen flotters we'll show them what it means to go up against a pair of gaanla verda 'chosen warriors'." Hiro leaned back in her seat. She pressed the muscles of her back into the booth and found a comfortable position. "Either way, I'm gonna need to eat, sleep and fight. It's up to you." She gestured towards her new companion graciously, "What do you wanna do?"

@Feng Mian@Song Wren