Song sat in the backseat of the landspeeder Threepio had stolen back in Coronet City. For all her Mandalorian ways, she had her seatbelt on tight around her waist. She didn’t trust the droid for a second when it came to driving. They had nearly crashed into a passing swoop bike, almost ran over an elderly couple crossing the street, and drove onto the curb while turning at least a dozen times. Each time she asked the droid to pull aside and let her take the wheel, she was swiftly ignored.
It was a miracle the Mandalorian was even still alive.
Eventually, they reached their destination. The docks outside of the city, where shipyards left to rust and the crashing waves of a polluted sea welcomed their arrival. Unbuckling, Song slid out of the vehicle and planted her feet onto solid ground, thankful. She drew in a sigh, then glanced over to the droid. She might’ve been wearing a helmet, but her irritation was easy to spot.
“Remind me never let you drive again,” she said, before shifting her focus back to the docks.
A run-down mess. Abandoned buildings covered in tarps and shattered windows. Shady-looking strangers who watched them with careful, suspicious glares. Not much to begin with, Song knew, and she found it hard to come up with a game plan on tracking down Buzzkill, but it was only a matter of time. She was a Mandalorian, born and raised to hunt. Wherever her mark was, she’d find it.
Ahead was a small flea market, shaped around and inside a wrecked warehouse. A hefty number of people wandered about it, and though Song doubted she would find Buzzkill among them, it was a good place to start asking questions.
“Come on,” she said, and moved for the market. “This way.”
@Malon (prelude!)
It was a miracle the Mandalorian was even still alive.
Eventually, they reached their destination. The docks outside of the city, where shipyards left to rust and the crashing waves of a polluted sea welcomed their arrival. Unbuckling, Song slid out of the vehicle and planted her feet onto solid ground, thankful. She drew in a sigh, then glanced over to the droid. She might’ve been wearing a helmet, but her irritation was easy to spot.
“Remind me never let you drive again,” she said, before shifting her focus back to the docks.
A run-down mess. Abandoned buildings covered in tarps and shattered windows. Shady-looking strangers who watched them with careful, suspicious glares. Not much to begin with, Song knew, and she found it hard to come up with a game plan on tracking down Buzzkill, but it was only a matter of time. She was a Mandalorian, born and raised to hunt. Wherever her mark was, she’d find it.
Ahead was a small flea market, shaped around and inside a wrecked warehouse. A hefty number of people wandered about it, and though Song doubted she would find Buzzkill among them, it was a good place to start asking questions.
“Come on,” she said, and moved for the market. “This way.”
@Malon (prelude!)
