Ask The One-Eyed Man

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

Bucketheads. A bit of a slur for Mandalorians as much as Stormtroopers and whoever else. Yet the Duros himself had a bit of a misshapen head according to other observers.

Racial and cultural slurs aside, however, this establishment had plenty of Mandalorians and some others tossed into the mix like said Duros. And that Zabrak woman beside him of course.

But Jon Dromon wasn’t interested. He didn’t care about the half-naked dancers. Women wasn’t his interest at the moment so much as getting what was his. And what was his was just one Mandalorian: the Badger. His employer. Wherever the kriff he is.

Or…was there another Mandalorian?
A different ‘package’ for Jon Dromon?
After all, he’s shady, and unscrupulous.
All about credits. And he had…business.

Only he wouldn’t confess this to his Mandalorian companion. They weren’t even companions to begin with. Just had mutual benefit as they searched for the same person.

Rum comes Dromon’s way. Water for Krodas. Jon sipped his and listened as Zaia asked the questions. She didn’t mince words. Just sounds a bit like an idiot. Badger-y this and buckethead that. Couldn’t she keep it basic?

Kind of reminded him of…that idiot Sector Ranger, to be honest. Guess that’s why they arrived hand in hand. For the bounty hunter’s part, he only worked with Wolf because that was the job.

“You bet your Mando butt I know about badgers!” Came that Zabrak’s answer. “Vicious beasts! Had one in my garden! Can’t even believe it! Attacked an opossum! Raccoon too! Honey badger don’t care yo! Here ya go! I’ll show ya a video!” She whipped out her smartphone and laughed at what was shown.

Jon just gave her a blank look like what the crap but whatever and turned to the bartender who spoke.

“Yeah I know the Badga. Well, I don’t know ‘im, capiche? I know of him, if you get my meanin’. He’s connected with this establishment. It ain’t his and more than one Mandalorian is an affiliate but Badga’s an infobroka of sorts.”

Bartender turned the cap off a bottle of Tommy Runner whiskey and knocked back the shot, breathing heavily. Maybe just breathing naturally, Jon thought.

It wasn’t surprising that the man and any other person knew of the Badger considering this establishment was where he conducted some of his business and was Jon’s employer. Guess I better ask the questions going forward. Thanks for nothin’, Mandalorian.

“Have you seen him?”

“Ah lessee heeyuh a minute—”

“That’s four bottles, plus four bottles, equals eight bottles.”

Another man spoke behind the bar, some kind of barback maybe, or whatever person helped coordinate shipments judging by the crate of eight bottles of whiskey before him. He spoke into a smartphone.

“So…eight bottles in total. That’s the price of four bottles plus four bottles more. Yes. Yes, thank you. Yes, it’s a good deal, paying the price of eight bottles for eight bottles.”

Barkeep, as if struggling to think, just looked at him as if he was an idiot.

“What the fuck did ya just say?”

Asked bartender, more fuming than breathing, while Jon Dromon just watched with his cigar smoke curling. He spied with his wide eyes an ice bucket on one side, a Little Lara Ladyfish singing fish toy on a board, and a comlink station.

“No. No I think this was a very fair deal.” Barback began pulling the bottles out of the crate until it was empty. “Yes. Yes I look forward, toward, forward to doing business with you in the future, sir.” -Click-

“Whaddya fuckin’ stupid?”

“Huh?” He looked up, gormless.

“You bought this shit at full price? Thought I told ya it’s sellin’ at half price. Half. Price. Eight bottles fowah the cost of fowah.”

“I’m sorry, Sope.”

“Whaddya just say?”

“I said I’m sorry, Sope. It is what it is. I just did what I did.”

“Oh you just did what ya did, is it? You gettin' smawt wit me?”

“Yes. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yes, Sope. I dunno. I just did what I did. Just bought the crate.”

“Oh yeah? Well heeyuh’s ya fuckin’ crate in ya FUCKIN’ FACE”

Barkeep began smashing that empty crate into barback’s face.

Turning away from that rage, Jon turned toward Zaia Krodas.

“Ehh I think we’re gonna need to find someone else to ask.”

 

[Crux]

Crux smirked. “Will ya arrest me if I do?” he interjected, though it looked like the Ranger was having none of it. It was too bad. The old man was an upgrade from Dromon, so he was in a good mood.

“Eh? A Mando ship? I ain’t goin’ near one o’ those again if I can help it.” His expression soured. Ratheon, Praxor, he’d had enough of those two bucketheads to last him a lifetime. It was bad enough that first he had to work with a blue-faced backstabber for one of those Mandalorians, then Kurtis or whatever that blue chick’s name was couldn’t seem to leave him alone, and now he had to go back to search for that first di’kut to give him his money. Now that he thought of it, two of the three were blue. Maybe I just don’t like blue. Color musings aside, the Ranger was already leaving.

“Now ya in a rush? I din’ see any o’ that earlier.” Shaking his head in disappointment, he followed after the Ranger, pausing when he paused by the receptionist. Crux paused again when the Ranger asked the question.

“Well, if I did we wouldn’ be standin’ here now.” He scowled. “I say we ask her. See if she’s seen a buckethead or two around here.” He nodded in the direction of the receptionist. If refusing to wait for each other was going to be a pattern, Crux wouldn’t be the one to stop it. He made his way over, cut to the front of the line, placed an elbow down on the desk and stared right into the unamused face of the Ishi Tib receptionist.

“Why, hello there missy, have ya seen a bucke— Mandalorian pass by today?” He gave her his best smile, the one that had no trouble winning over the ladies. She didn’t look impressed.

“Maybe. Maybe not. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a line here.” She gestured to the long line of people behind him, each wearing the same expression on their faces. Crux raised his brow.

“I guess I’ll have to go then.”

“It would be best if you waited your turn.”

“RANGER!” Crux yelled without looking behind him, loud enough for her to jump. He extended his arm and palm and beckoned the old man by curling his index finger a few times. “Flash her your badge, would ya?” For his part, he flashed the Ishi Tib another tooth-filled smile.

@Die Shize

 

[Zad Ruzed]

Spoiler: Music IC

Welp, to be fair, this whelp had a point. Yeap. Whelp. Puppy. He might have a lame name like Wolf (and Zad could only wonder what idiot gave him that) but he was more like a dog. A dog on a leash tethered to his Mandalorian Badger employer boyfriend or whatever along with a blue bounty hunter.

“I say we ask her. See if she’s seen a buckethead or two around here."

“Good idea.” Zad took a second to take a leisurely drag. “I’ll ask the question—” 'Cept Wolf walked off the next second. Here we go again…

At the receptionist’s desk, an Ishi Tib, Zad Ruzed scratched his chest, suddenly having itchy tits. It had admittedly been a minute since he had properly cleaned his vest and jacket but the dust wouldn’t come off of the latter as it is.

The Ranger stood there staring between receptionist and idiot, listening to shifting music, noticing that said receptionist really wasn’t impressed with her latest guest. Damn, man, no wonder you can’t pick up. Just look at yer haircut. Zad wasn’t exactly scared to mention that out loud but it wasn’t the moment for it just yet.

At the mention of line, Zad looked left, looked right, looked behind, and suddenly realized that, yes, they had skipped ahead. Some of those fine folks were scowling like how Wolf had scowled at Ranger. One woman was shaking her fist at him. Ope.

“Yo,” said Ranger blinked into said Idiot’s eyes, his cigarette finger tugging on his eyelid. “Look into my eye.”

Free hand comes up and whips out a badge to flash it and match it with a toothy grin wider and better than whatever the shit is on his not-a-companion’s countenance. For his part, Zad loved this part. This action was, admittedly, the main reason why a Sector Ranger ever became a Sector Ranger to begin with.

“Zad. Zad Ruzed.”

“I can see that.” Ishi stated plainly. “Your name is stated plainly on the badge.”

“Eh…heh.”

“So what do you need, Sector Ranger, sir?”

“Have ya seen any Mandalorians pass by today?”

“More than one. We get just about anyone and everyone at this starport. We get Mandalorians. We get Humans. We get Ishi Tibs. We get Herglics. Can you be a bit more specific?”

Attitude on this one. “Black and red beskar’gum.”

“Beskar’gam?”

“Yeap. That’s the one.”

“Nope. Next!”

D’oh! Went the head of Zad Ruzed.

@Sicadorito (@Crux)

 

[Zaia Krodas]

“You do?!” Zaia whipped around to the Zabraki woman, but instead of a Mandalorian was greeted with a literal badger video. “Oh. Um, actually, that wasn’t what I meant, but he’s really… cute?” She turned away quickly, hoping that the Duros hadn’t witnessed that. Who am I kidding?

Fortunately, the bartender decided to answer after that, and Zaia made a mental note of what he said. Infobroka. Got it. That meant that the man they were looking for had to have been here at some point. Unfortunately, the bounty hunter wasn’t able to squeeze any more information out of him given the conversation that quickly escalated afterwards, and Zaia was glad enough to get out of there. Even if she was thrilled by battle, there were some fights not worth picking.

“I think you’re right.” She downed her water in one gulp and left the counter, faced once again with the view of dancers and poles. “Oh…” I’d almost forgotten about that. She turned to Jon instead, whose view was just slightly more preferable to the dancing.

“You got any idea where to look? Like I said, real Mandalorians would never be in a place like this, so I wouldn’t be much help. You know where we should start?” She couldn’t help glancing over at the poles. “Anywhere but there,” she muttered to herself.

@Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

Jon looked around at the establishment for some moments, seeing no beskar’gam that was black and red. In fact, he didn’t see a ton of beskar’gam to begin with, and that did make sense. This wasn’t a Mandalorian establishment. It was simply an establishment that certain Mandalorians tended to visit.

As much as their individual customs and clan culture differed, what with some never taking off their helmets, he wagered that a number of patrons with no armor on, just clothes fit for cantinas and clubs, might still be Mandalorian. After all, he had met more than one before.

That’s when it clicked in Jon Dromon’s noggin. What if he’s already here? In our midst? Unarmored. Unhelmeted. Watching us this very moment. He looked around to spot any face turned his way.

When Jon watched someone, when he didn’t necessarily want them to not know it, they would know it, and only the toughest and most dangerous of them wouldn’t look away.

What about him? What about the bounty hunter’s employer? The Badger? Nobody had ever seen the face beneath the helmet so it was unknown which way his eyes moved.

Would he be clandestine about it? If he really was here, bereft of ‘gam, would the one-eyed man now with two eyes appear to be just any patron, or would the Badger and the bounty hunter’s eyes meet each other?

Jon’s gaze swept over the club as he didn’t answer his companion immediately, but she would at least see that he was thinking of where to begin, who to check in with, as the bartender stepped away from his rage to take a break over the counter.

Rum licked from lips, spicy and sweet, just how the Duros liked it. Cigar smoke curled upward like the curved leg of a dancer dipping lower who met his gaze by chance.

She didn’t look away. Apparently she liked blue-skinned bald-headed men to some extent. She was pink-skinned. A Zeltron. Green hair. Black panties that didn't cover her ass. Wide hips. Wicked lips. Dangerous eyes. Bra pulled off and tossed aside.

But, besides eyecandy and butts, Jon Dromon just wasn’t interested in this chick. No, his eyes were on a Mandalorian sitting at a corner table beside the pole.

Their gazes met. Eyes into eyes. This Mandalorian was one that, even from this distance, the Duros recognized. They looked at each other in silence. Neither looked away. Now? No. Not yet. Find this idiot Badger first.

“Can I getcha a lemonade maybe?” Asked that battered barback to either Duros and Human with a bruise on his face and a bloody napkin on his lip.

“...”
“...”
“...”
“...”
“???”

“Su’cuy, Human and Duros and barback man!” Greeted a Mandalorian, not in red and black, but in black and purple, helmet to boot, with a signet of a hippo on her shoulder too. “It is I, Bone Katana! I shall take that lemonade, mister!”

Lemonade promptly delivered as ordered. It was purple like her armor. She washed it back with an “Ahhhhhh!” and slapped a hand on Zaia’s and Jon’s shoulder, standing in between.

“How’s about we lift our drinks and toast to a better tomorrow? No? Oh I know! HERE’S TO HIPPOS, MOOSE, SNAKESKIN BOOTS, RACCOONS AND BADGERS TOO! LIFTY AND DRINKY! K'oyacyi!”

She lifted her drink. Jon didn’t. Just thinks. Could this idiot actually know him? No. Surely…

@Sicadorito (@Zaia Krodas)

 

[Crux]

Crux smirked at the Ishi Tib as the Ranger took out his badge.

“Ya see that? I had a reason to skip the line.” he exclaimed proudly, but neither the Ranger nor the Ishi Tib seemed to mind him. Boring. So he stood there and listened as the receptionist directed her attitude at the Ranger instead of him.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this was all for nothing since the woman hadn’t seemed to see his employer.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite. Next!” The Shistavanen shouldered him and the Ranger, if necessary, out of the way to take their spot. Letting out a sigh, Crux had no choice but to leave the counter. These sorts of things always happened to him. One minute he was talking up a girl, the next someone would shove him to the side. Normally he’d start a fight, which he usually won, but doing it now would just have security up their butts and that was more trouble than he was looking for.

“So now what—”

“Sir?” Crux whirled around at the sensation of a tap on the shoulder, face to face with two humans in security garb. Kark…

“Have you seen anyone enter this building from this speeder a few minutes ago?” One of the security guards practically shoved the image in his face. That looks familiar. He exchanged a quick glance with the Ranger.

“As a matter of fact, we have,” he declared, and the security guards both took out their notepads at the same time.

“What did they look like?” asked one.

“All I can say is… he was Mandalorian. Oh, and I heard someone callin’ him… what was it? The Badger. Yes. That was it.” The two guards exchanged looks.

“Didn’t we just question a Mandalorian?”
“We did. That one said he didn’t know anything. After him!” Then, as one, they turned around, walking briskly in one direction.

“I dunno about you, but I’m following them,” Crux said, grinning at the Ranger. “You’re invited if ya like.” With that, he was off.

@Die Shize

 

[Zad Ruzed]

Spoiler: Music

Badge flashed in hand. Badge back in jacket. Dang. Do. Done. Did. He had to do it, he did it, it was done. Only it didn’t get him any further from nothin' to jackshit and thanks Captain Obvious but no thanks Shistavanen, Zad ain’t havin’ that crap so held up a hand like ‘get back’ when he erupted into a coughing fit from his lit cigarette.

Shit. Not this shit again. The Ranger coughed his way away from the counter while his ‘partner’ partnered up with security guards in security garb. Yeap. That’s nasty. Some stringy saliva found its way from Zad’s lips to his fist. At least it wasn’t bloody. Not in this instance. Kriff and kriffin’ shit.

Zaia tried to tell him to see a doctor about his ‘condition’, whatever it is but, nah, guess this old Ranger was just too damn stubborn for doctor’s and surgeons. What wasn’t so dumb was the thug he was currently working with. Wolf had some tricks up his sleeve it seemed.

Cigarette ‘tween teeth, taking a deep drag, Zad kept quiet and looked between security and punk. “Right behind ya, fella,” the Ranger expressed pretty genuinely. Security walked briskly and Team Rangers kept up but kept their distance, naturally.

“Not bad. But ya shoulda asked ‘em if said Mandalorian had a getup of black and red.” For all they knew they were chasing someone in black yellow spandex with a wolverine helmet and hold the Wolf.

“Helps to confirm this shit, ya dig?” Sarcastic but ever genuine with his compliments, Zad Ruzed offered that trademark grin to the marked partner walking alongside him. “That’s where my trusty badge comes in yet again.”

At that, the Ranger picked up the pace to get ahead of the Wolf and finally introduce himself to Security Dee and Security Dum. “‘Scuse me, security,” Zad began halfway in between both teams. “Name’s—”

“HEY!” Shouted Dee. “THERE HE IS! HE’S GETTING AWAY!”

“GET ‘IM!” Agreed Dum as they turned toward a corridor.

Yup. Here we go again…

“Man I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Zad sighed. “Consider yourself deputized but better keep up, buttercup.” He flicked his cigarette, licked the grin off his lips, and jogged off into the distance, but never caught a glimpse of the ‘he’ they were chasing.

Wait...that's black...

But what was the other color?

RUN.

He does!

@Sicadorito (@Crux)

 

[Zaia Krodas]

When Zaia saw, without a doubt, that the Duros was heading for the poles, she couldn’t help from throwing her head back and letting out an audible groan. “Are you serious?” But she followed him nonetheless. If it’s for the mission… She had to remember that she was doing this for Zad. After having saved her life, there was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. And that meant she had to face this, even if it was uncomfortable. Okay.

Taking a deep breath and putting her helmet back on, Zaia went after the Duros. Pretty quickly she spotted the same Mandalorian that he did, though it looked like he and the bounty hunter were having a pretty serious staring contest. That left her feeling like a third-wheel, until some random woman stepped right between her and the Duros. Zaia nearly slapped the Mandalorian’s face out of reflex, but managed to hold herself back at the last minute.

Bone Katana? Purple armor? HIPPOS? Zaia didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. And of course, this had to be the one with the information.

“Su cuy’gar,” she muttered, glad that her helmet was hiding her face. “Here’s to badgers. Have you met him?”

@Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

Granted, Zaia Krodas couldn’t grasp the other objective that Jon Dromon had in this establishment. He wasn’t just here to find the Badger. There was another Mandalorian he had to meet with but they weren’t in the beskar’gam of black and purple of Clan Hippo either.

Rather, they wouldn’t even be seen as being Mandalorian. From this distance at the bar counter, Krodas might have mistaken one of the other bucketheads in a staring contest, right when that battered barback had asked if either Duros or Human wanted a lemonade from the other side of the counter.

Queue the rude and random entrance of that purple black Mandalorian. From badgers and raccoons to hippos. What’s next, Jon wondered in this club that had suddenly become a karking zoo.

Here’s to staying sane. He just toasted alone, taking a deeper swig of his rum, and forgetting about hippos and badgers for the moment while Purple Black Mando spoke.

Dromon didn’t already know Clan Hippo and didn’t know if his companion did as much as neither of them knew if the Badger was even in this establishment to begin with, whether dressed as a Mandalorian or an average patron at that.

"Have you met him?”

“Met him? Met who?” Bone slurped her lemonade through a straw in her helmet.

“The Badger. She means The Badger.” Jon offered, sighing out smoke.

“The badger? So like…the badger of badgers? Like a king badger? Like a lion king? Only not really?”

Kill me.

“No no no he means THE Badger.” Clarified that barback.

“Oh oh THE badger.”

“An infobroker.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“So?”

“Nope.”

“...”

“Ho hey pretty lady!”

The Weequay who waltzed up wasn’t talking to Bone and her purple black helmet but to Zaia Krodas with her helmet.

“I see you’re hidin’ your face now, huh, sweets!” Said the Weequay’s companion, an Ishi Tib.

“How about ya dance with us, honey!” Said the Human of the devilish trio. “Let’s go!”

Uh-oh.

Things might get messy and Jon’s only company was the hippo. To be honest, he wasn’t interested in what might happen with Krodas and her new companions. He just kept searching for the Badger, armored or unarmored, while ignoring the Mandalorian in the corner who didn’t look like a Mandalorian as it is.

@Sicadorito (@Zaia Krodas)

 

[Crux]

Crux’s head swiveled over to Zad at the revelation that the Badger was wearing red and black. Whether he’d really known that or not, he’d convinced himself that he didn’t know since he didn’t like to take the blame for things. It was part of the business.

“Maybe ya shudda told me that before they talked to me.” Sniffing, Crux would make after the two security guards as they tried to track down the Mandalorian they’d mentioned earlier.

Black and red, black and red… aha! The eyes of the bounty hunter, and evidently even the old ones of a Ranger, locked onto the Mandalorian just as he headed into a corridor. Crux didn’t need to be told twice, especially not by the Ranger, about going after the buckethead. He was a bounty hunter, for kriff’s sake, and that man was now his bounty. He was locked in like a wolf on the trail of his prey.

He spotted a small bookstore on the right of where the Mando was running that led to another section of the spaceport, and just as he thought, the black-and-red clad figure made a break for it. Just as the security guards ahead of him and the Ranger turned to follow, Crux pulled out his blaster and fired a single shot at the bookshelf that the Mandalorian had just passed. The impact was enough to send a couple books flying down at him, slowing him down. The sound of blaster fire was also enough to send the other spaceport-goers into a stampede, practically blocking the two security guards from getting near the bookstore.

That left an opening for Crux and the Ranger to enter the bookstore, where the helmeted Mandalorian had just finished fighting off the books that had rained down on him. Switching his blaster on stun, Crux fired a few shots that struck the man on the back. He fell to the ground, leaving him to the mercy of his two pursuers.

“Now who’s deputized?” Crux grinned at the Ranger.

@Die Shize

 

[Zad Ruzed]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Welp, in hindsight, despite Wolf being as smart as a wolf he was also as dumb as a dog. Wasn’t it Jon Dromon who had mentioned the paintjob of the Badger’s beskar’gem?

Whatever. That was then. Time passed and there Zad Ruzed flies behind a pair of idiot security gasbags and the other idiot who’s supposed to be his newly deputized deputy.

Bad joke but so it goes in this business and this is one Ranger who just got the job done no matter who and what he had to work with.

Hypocrite, someone once called him, given his distinct dislike of criminals and such, despite his roaring rampage of revenge. Then again, that was different. In the past and all that. Time flies yet again.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YA SHOOTIN’ AT SHITHEAD?”

Zad snapped back at Partner Carnage. It was mighty risky taking a shot like that, leading bystanders to scatter and potentially block the Ranger and the Deputy along with Security.

Yet, shit, Zad had to admit, Puppy had precision in him. Maybe later they could head to the practice range for a little bit of competition and maybe Zad would let him win. Then again…

In the bookstore, Zad had his pistol in hand, a Proposition to give the Badger as he stepped closer, stepped over books, glanced at some titled Sun Battles, A Dance of Earth and Air, Nerfherder Hardbop and Sick of Doritos, but none of them really interested this mister so whatever.

Breathing a bit heavily, catching his breath from the running, bereft of cigarette, arriving on the scene beside his companion, Ranger Ruzed shared a look with Deputy Wolf but didn’t share his grin.

“Wipe that smile away, fly guy.”

Zad sighed, gesturing toward the stunned Mandalorian on the floor.

Red and black. Yeah. A black red helmet. That’s what the hell he said. That blasted mother nerfkriffer of a bounty hunter.

Black. Red.

“Burgundy. Murrey.”

Zad was no color aficionado but a nearby book that hadn’t exploded showed a cover of colors in the range of red and violet. Now the Ranger gestures further toward the motionless Mandalorian’s armor with a nod.

A subtle or not so subtle difference in tone and tint from violet and red or whatever but, well, now the Ranger places his boot on the Mandalorian’s shoulder and the signet he had already glimpsed.

“Read ‘em and weep, amigo.”

Zad lifted a bent cigarette to his lips. Lit it.

“That is the adjusted beskar’gim of Clan Hippo.”

And the motionless Mandalorian promptly turns over.

"Su...cuy...brother...I...am...Kro...gan...of...Clan...Hip...po..."

Awww shit.

@Sicadorito (@Crux)

 

[Zaia Krodas]

The hippo was just about as bright as the others in her clan, and Zaia had given up on the conversation as soon as it began. So she was happy to let Dromon handle the conversation until a group of three men with loud voices interrupted. At first, she thought they were talking to the Zeltron behind her, or maybe even the Zabraki woman from earlier, but as they gathered around it was clear that their words were directed at her.

“No, thank you.” When he got a little close for her liking, Zaia pushed the Weequay away, hard.

“Maybe you should hide yours, too.” She shoved the Ishi Tib too.

“You go dance with your buddies. Bother someone else.” She elbowed the human out of the way, went to stand a little closer to Dromon. Despite being a bounty hunter who probably didn’t give two craps about her, he was the closest thing she had to a friend out here.

Although, in the end, she knew that some fights couldn’t be avoided. She just hoped that wouldn’t be the case this time.

@Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

If anything, these three stooges served only the performance of annoying the Duros. That much was enough to get him off his stool and get down to business for some dirty and gritty beatings.

He had enough distractions already and he didn’t mean the liquor or the strippers. Finding this damn Badger, his own employer, with or without the armor, was enough of a challenge as it is.

Except Jon Dromon never needed to actually get up. Ha. Damn. He didn’t grin. He didn’t lift a finger. He didn’t laugh out loud. Didn’t even snicker. His help wasn’t needed as he sat by himself and watched this Mandalorian woman push and shove her failed attempts at boyfriends away from her helmeted face.

She was brave, the Duros would give her that much. Entertainment. Finally. It wasn’t like he had anything against women or Mandalorian music, and as dirty as these girls were in this establishment they were undoubtedly attractive.

Yet there was something about a Mandalorian woman in beskar’gam that, well, didn’t really interest him in that way either. Jon Dromon just liked a chick who could kick ass.

We’ll see about that. He flicked ash from his cigar, ignorant if not oblivious to it landing in that Zabrak’s lap who was too busy clapping to the music and strip shows to notice. Adios…amigos. Dromon thought as he watched those three morons come back around and rebound toward the Mandalorian. Let’s see how you move, Mando…

Time for Zaia to show her bounty hunter partner whether she was worth her weight in armor if not in name.

Here comes the Weequay. “Mando bitch! Here comes the pain!”

Here comes the Human. “Let’s teach her a lesson! Come get it!”

Here comes the Ishi Tib. “Nobody says no to the Ishi Tib, honey!”

“Someone say somethin’ about a lesson?”

Ha. Kriff. Look who it is.

Jon Dromon had only just noticed this other Mandalorian was no longer in the corner.

Figures.

Only it was a Mandalorian who wasn’t wearing Mandalorian armor. No beskar. But they had armor. Generic. Looked like a mercenary or a bounty hunter maybe.

Had an outfit that was, yes, black and red, but it wasn’t beskar’gam. No helmet. But a hood over the head. And a mask that covered the lower half of the face. Neither item hid the silver bangs of hair that framed the edges.

“Hey!” They said. “Di’kuts!” Talking to them. “I said…” Tilted visage, cracked neck bone, filled hands with fists, slid leg back, and spoke. “...Come and get it!”

And the dance began. Man was it fast.

Whether Zaia Krodas jumped in, Jon Dromon didn’t. He was content to watch. He relaxed at the bar with his rum and his cigar.

-SMACK!- There goes the Ishi Tib with a swift kick to his noggin.
-CRACK!- There goes the Human’s nose now suddenly broken.
-WHACK!- There goes the Weequay stumbling the Duros’ way.

Ahhhhh crap.

Jon did not get up but leaned toward the Zabrak who clapped as the Weequay slammed face first on the bar counter.

That left the Mandalorian standing. Well, two Mandalorians, technically, only nobody would know it when looking at the other woman who dusted her gloves and casually stepped closer toward Zaia Krodas.

“They needed a lesson, so I taught it.”

Her voice wasn’t masked, not really, just muffled by the mask.

“A lesson of...why we fight…am I right?”

Finally, only a few feet away from the Mandalorian in blue beskar, the woman in black pulled back her hood and lowered her mask with a grin.

What was revealed was white skin, silver hair and brown eyes, but Jon Dromon had since learned they were as golden as her sigil, and as hard as a hammer on an anvil.

“...Zaia Krodas…”

@Sicadorito (@Zaia Krodas)

 

[Crux]

Even if the Ranger told him to wipe the grin off his face, Crux kept grinning just to piss him off a little more. He would likely never have a chance like this again, where he could so easily ask a Ranger to flash his badge on his behalf. In other words, hadn’t felt this alive or this above the law in a long time. Then the real owner of the badger started saying words that he hadn’t heard before. Probably.

“Burgundy? Murrey? The kark does that mean?” Crux frowned and went to look at what the kriff he was talking about. He still didn’t know when he approached the Mandalorian, but the image of the man in front of him was worth a thousand words. His armor wasn’t red and black. Well, not fully. Now Crux’s day was fully ruined. He didn’t even want to begin with thinking of how many things hadn’t gone his way.

“Kark all ‘ose bucketheads. Clan this, clan that, who gives a kark? Who the kriff names their clan after a karkin’ horse-faced fat ugly animal?” The deal was set. He would never work with a Mandalorian again. If he didn’t get his credits for this job, he’d find another one that made double. His time was valuable, and the Hutts always paid well.

“I’m callin’ Jon. This is bantha crap.” With that, he pulled out his datapad, typed in the Duros’ number, laughed at his profile picture, and waited for his colleague to pick up.

@Die Shize

 

[Zad Ruzed]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Burgundy. Murrey. What kinda idiot didn’t know one color from the other? Well, Zad Ruzed didn’t, till he happened to glance at said coloring book or wotzitwhozit but whatever. Both men were in the same dumb boat, the same stupid ship, and looked like idiots at this moment.

Then again, who was the bigger idiot? The idiot in a purple outfit with a signet of a hippo on it? Or the idiots who thought the idiot was a badger instead of a hippo to begin with?

Ah…don’t answer that, Zad…

Instead he just breathed easy into his bent cigarette. To be honest, the Ranger shared some sentiments with the Wolf as far as Mandalorians went. Actually, if it wasn’t for Zaia Krodas, his daughter from another universe, Zad didn’t really give a crap about their clans and creeds and cultures and customs either.

“Idiots,” he answered his deputy’s question rather simply. “Idiots name their clans after horse-faced fat ugly animals.”

And he was looking at one of the biggest idiots in the entire galaxy as the not-so-stunned purple black Mandalorian hovered a book over his face.

“Ah yes…my…fav…or…ite…Vast…Impact…a…tale…of…FTL…relays…that…allow…travel…be…tween…ga…la…xies…ow…wie…my…spleen…”

Zad lost track of whatever the heck that was and turned to the other di’kut. Yeap, the Ranger might not care much for Mandalorian hippos, helmets, cultures and whatever else but “di’kut” was a damn good insult and ain’t no mistakin’ it.

“Bantha crap and big ol’ donkey balls, partner.” Partner but not pardner. There was a difference. “Tell your bounty buddy the Ranger with a badass badge sends his regards.”

At that, Zad shot a text of the situation over to Zaia but didn’t feel the need to disturb her own search for the Badger. Of which, Ruzed was far from over with it. Badger meant Dagger, Dagger meant vengeance, vengeance meant justice. Do. Done. Did.

“Hip…po…hip…po…it…rhymes…with…badg…er…”

Hippo whispered as an angered Wolf talked with Jon Dromon.

And Zad Ruzed lowered his phone. “You say somethin’, mister?”

@Sicadorito (@Crux)

 

[Zaia Krodas]

Zaia cracked her knuckles and dropped into her fighting stance, ready to take all three of these scumbags at once if she needed to. But the sudden interruption by a third party drew the attention of both sides.

Somehow, the voice sounded familiar. Di’kuts. The way it was said reminded her of someone. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it, though, and she didn’t think that she knew anyone with white hair. Unless it was her grandfather. And she was certain that this was not her grandfather.

It looked like Zaia wasn’t even needed in the fight, and she drew back into a regular standing position beside Jon as the black and red clad figure gave the men a whooping that would certainly serve as a powerful lesson. She couldn’t help grinning beneath her helmet— she could always respect a fellow fighter. But something even about the way this person fought was familiar.

Battle was always a sure way to jog her memory, and it was only when the woman spoke again that everything finally clicked.

“Cas!” The moment she would take off her hood, Zaia would remove her helmet too, revealing the wide smile that spread from ear to ear. But it faded somewhat when she realized what kind of establishment they were in. “…What are you doing here?”

@Die Shize

 

[Jon Dromon]

Spoiler: Music IC

He didn’t intend for this. It was definitely an accident. He had just been sitting on his bar stool, minding his own business, enjoying the entertainment and half-naked going on naked strippers weren’t exactly included with it.

Maybe that was because of his character. Cold. Ruthless. Indifferent. Then again, he could appreciate amusement when it suited him. He wasn't so emotionless.

What he didn’t appreciate was that Zabrak’s hand holding his in her lap after it had landed there on account of supporting himself upward after leaning sideways to miss the Weequay coming his way. Said Weequay had crashed on the counter and landed on the ground but the Duros didn’t notice if he got back up again.

“You have…such strong hands…so…immaculate…”
That Zabrak was as enthralled with Jon Dromon’s digits as she was with her honey badger vid and all.

“Thanks…I guess…”
He still had his cigar between the fingers of his other digits.

“So blue…so pretty… Are you…eheh…an architect?”

Jon tilted his head at that. Had to think about it a minute.

“Yeah…I guess… You can say that I kinda design and supervise the creation, alteration and redevelopment of buildings and such things. Depends on the contract."

“Wow! That is very wow! You are very wow!”
Chimed in Bone Katana, everybody’s favorite idiot of the cantina.

I am very wow.

“Yeah. I take on some pretty big…bounties…actually.”

“What is your business, Sir Duros?”

“Freelance. I have a…captive…audience. But I also do murders and executions.”

“Wow WOW! My grandfather, on my Uncle Steven’s side, also does mergers and acquisitions!”

Truth be told Jon Dromon is just finding ways to pass the time as he nonchalantly gazes around the club for the Badger. Nothin’. I got nothin’. That chump had a ton of explaining to do. Wolf was just a one-time punk on the job but Jon Dromon had a contract with that damn Mandalorian.

Mandalorians around, and who was the Duros to judge their preferred entertainment? He had met some rather unscrupulous Mandalorians in his adventures and, as it happened, some just came to this place, not for entertainment, but for business. Take Casany Praxor, for instance. But their engagement had to wait as she navigated her way toward Zaia Krodas.

“You have an Uncle Steven? I have an Aunt Susan!”

“Oh wow! Steven! Susan! Why, it’s a rhyme!”

“RIGHT!?”

“RIGHT!”

“Right.” -RING!- Goes the ringtone of his phone. “‘Scuse me. I won’t be right back.”

“ALL RIGHT”

Needing a new distraction, leaving those idiots to their business, Jon got up, promptly slipping his hand from that Zabrak’s grip, taking his rum and cigar with him. His Mandalorian women weren’t going anywhere but, as far as Hippo goes, well he really doesn’t care.

“What is it?”

He spoke into his phone, finding a quieter spot in a corner. Same table where Praxor was at as it happens.

“Tell me you found him.”

He breathed smoke into the distance.

“‘Cause I sure as shit didn’t.”

@Sicadorito (@Zaia Krodas)

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

Here she comes again. There she was. There she is. Cas and Krodas. Two women. Two Mandalorians. Two friends. No. Two sisters, not of flesh, not of blood, but in spirit. Two sisters of battle. They had certainly proven it. Different signets, and a Mandalorian wasn’t branded like cattle. Theirs were the marks of warriors.

On her beskar’gam, blue grey coat, like her eyes, was Zaia’s vornskr signet. The emblem of her clan. She bore it on her armor. She wore it on her shoulder or wherever. As the woman removed her iron helmet, whose T-shaped visor on the Man or Mandalorian was like one eye, those two eyes of blue grey steel peeled upward and served the purpose of broadening her partner’s grin.

Her sister’s. Her companion’s. Her vod’s. And that sure as kriffin’ chit didn’t mean Jon Dromon.

Zaia smiled all the while that Casany did, only the latter would stand in stark contrast with her black and red. Red was her color, but the dominant darker color on her outfit wasn’t. As anyone had noticed, her armor was not her beskar'gam.

Against her counterpart’s blue and grey, Casany Praxor wore gold and red when she sported her ‘gam as those were the colors of her clan.

Their sigil was a gold sun, the emblem of their past, from the very forges of Mandalore, for the Praxors, the sons and daughters, were born in the fire of her sun before the darkness, before the Purges.

Yet Casany’s signet was a black anvil. On her beskar it mirrored the other shoulder, the other pauldron. It was the mark of her moniker as a bounty hunter, as Anvil.

That was the name she gave others, but not to sisters and brothers. Zaia had met this woman, one Mandalorian to the other, as Casany Praxor.

Only, obviously, there was no red and gold on her current garments, no beskar, no brown hair but silver, with black wings as her eyeliner, as sharp as a vornskr’s teeth or a vornskr with wings.

She was there when they shared drinks and stories at the bar.
She was there when they ventured the stars as bounty hunters.
She was there when they were given the choice for Mandalore.
She was there when they were given their voice of Mandalore.

From the rivers of Babylon to the Sentinel Strip.
From reminders of why we fight to the dragon.
Zaia Krodas was there against Endyr Ratheon.
So Casany Praxor stepped forth with her fist.

She ignored the question at first. The first thing she did was cross her fist over her chest then press it against her vod’s pauldron. It wasn’t a punch. It wasn’t like someone did when drunk. It was firm, it pushed, it held purchase on the surface of her armor as, inches away from each other’s face, Praxor’s hazel eyes bore into Krodas’ blue grey, as if gazing into her very brain.

“Zaia Krodas…”

She repeated the name. Hers was the subtle grin of an old friend, an old spirit, but one would be remiss to see her hair dyed white as the sign of an old woman.

A moment of silence despite the music. In this moment, nobody and nothing else mattered. There was no club. There were no strippers. There was no liquor. There were memories bleeding beneath the surface. There was…kot, kote, the silent if vibrant spirits of Kotii Solus and Adenn Rytt, akaan and aaray…and, tempted as she was to thrust her comrade into a hug, Cas held back to simply stand.

“It has been a minute, vod, hasn’t it?”

Yet Zaia Krodas had asked a question, not least of which extended to the fact that Casany Praxor wasn’t wearing her beskar’gam, had silver hair instead of bronze, and was in a strip club that, admittedly, went against her own creeds despite the separate customs of her clan, culture of her people and her own damn structure.

“What am I doing here?”

Cas removed her fist to cross her arms, trading her grin for an expression that offered the notion of being offended by the question as if her companion stood in judgment.

“You call me Casany but I go by Candy now.”

She nonchalantly nodded toward a platform, a pole and the woman with her legs wrapped around it.

“I’m a stripper, sister.”

Give her a moment. Then the Mandalorian’s lips spread into the grin.

“Kidding. I’m here on business.”

She looked left, looked right, no longer saw that Duros guy until she spied him in the corner.

“And you? What brings Zaia Krodas to an establishment like this?”

@Sicadorito (@Zaia Krodas)

 

[Crux]

“Karkin’ right you are, Ranger.” Crux was surrounded by idiots. “Will do.” He would be sure to let the Duros know that this Ranger was a far better partner than he was. He lifted his phone, hearing Jon’s voice on the other end. Apparently he hadn’t found the Badger either, so that meant their search would still be going on.

“Well, the Ranger and I thought we found ‘im. Turned out to be a karkin’ hippo. One of ‘em Mando types.” He glanced at the buckethead on the ground, heard his lunatic muttering, opened his mouth to add what a di’kut this one was. But he heard the faint echo of bass and laughter on Jon’s side, however muted.

“Are ya even searchin’? Sounds like you’re enjoyin’ yerself. You sure we're splittin' this 50/50?” Crux scowled. It was partially his fault, though— he should have come up with the strip club idea himself. Their dancers would have been far more agreeable than that Ishi Tib receptionist. Just the thought made him even more jealous.

For now, all he could do was take out his anger on his former partner.

@Die Shize

 

[Zad Ruzed]

Spoiler: Music OOC

Bent cigarette shifted between lips, bit of an awkward predicament to be honest, if reflective of current circumstances with Mandalorian Hippopotamus, and reminiscent of that one occasion when a Ranger was paired up with a Sith.

Shit…what happened to ya, Zad? How’d ya end up from Mandalorians to Sith to bounty hunters and mercenaries like him?

Granted, Zad didn’t know exactly what Wolf’s profession was, and he preferred riding horses over hippos, but he had met Clan Hippo before. Time was in a bottle, after all, as fluid as music. Space was a maze.

So, wolves, vornskrs, hippos, badgers, lions, tigers and bears, whatever. Pykes, Hutts, Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians, Deucalians, Yautkans, Rangers, whoever. Whatever happens, happens. A balanced motto; to go with the flow but still fix shit that's broken. It was all an ocean anyway. All a drain. Do. Done. Did.

Hippo spoke. Maybe he was just so zoned out from the stun blast that hadn’t rendered him unconscious perhaps because of his armor and whatever was beneath it. Beneath it.

Right. Queue the reminder of that one time Zad Ruzed had left a Mandalorian Hippo a bit naked. Then again maybe this idiot was just an idiot.

“Sorry, friendo,” the Ranger blew smoke while his partner spoke on the phone. “Badger does not rhyme with hippo. Though, we never said nothin’ ‘bout no badger till you did so…why even mention it?”

“Kro…gan…”
“...”
“50/50?”

“I…dunno…yo…but…um…this…book…and…Clan…Hippo…kinda…reminded…me…of…this…one…time…in the…undercity…of Gravenell City…graves and hell…”

“Aw hell wuddya just spit it ya kriffin’ idiot?”

“Oh no thanks I’m not a big fan of spinach but I definitely appreciate it, Sector Ranger, sir.”

“..?”
“...”
“?..”

“I…mean…there…were…some…mercs…like…your…guy…with…the…bad…hair…cut…”

Zad stole a glance at his merc partner.

“And…they…had…armor…and…one guy…had…cool…shades…and…there…was…a chicken…nah…a badass chick…with…an…attitude…and she had pretty rad ass gotta admit it and…ah…a sheep…shepherd?...Shepard?...nah…but he looked mean and serious…and…they…went to a bridge…to take out…the target…for mercenary groups…employed by…crime groups…and…I…remember…remember…remember…”

“You’re about to remember my fist in your face and my boot in your stomach if you don’t start makin’ sense, gat dern it.”

“Remember…my vod, Kesbar, mentioned somethin’ about a Ranger leavin’ him nnnnnnaked come to think of it…”

“...”

“Any…way…turns…out…the…operation…was sponsored by…the Badger…yeah…he…arranged the mission to take out…the renegade…Seraph…yeh…”

“Now you’re starting to make some gat damn sense.”

Zad flicked his bent cigarette, finished with it, even though it wasn’t exactly finished.

“Tell me the rest. Tell me where to find who and what leads me to the Badger. Before I start gettin’ serious.”

@Sicadorito (@Crux)