In Fields of White | The Mandalorian

Chapter 3: "I Do the Talking"

"Yeah." You nod sharply, pulling a small, unwilling smile onto your face. "What?" You crinkle your nose. "Stars, do I look that bad?"

A puff of air through the vocoder is followed by an outreached hand. "Eat."

You stare down at a ration pack in astonishment. "Oh." You feel your face warm as you uneasily take it. Before you even have the chance to thank him, the Mandalorian twists on his heel, rapidly moving away.

"It's not far from here," you holler from behind, following your words with an irritated grunt. He is already several yards away and showing no indication of slowing down.

Darn it, Mando, this isn't a foot race.

You rush forward, taking a bite of the ration pack as you struggle to swing your satchel over your head. Your arms become entangled, and you almost stumble over a rock in the process of freeing yourself when the Mandalorian spins to face you.

At your forward momentum, you barely avoid tripping into him. He crosses his arms and glares down at you, and your face warms again when it takes you another few, painful seconds to untangle yourself.

Motionlessly, his blank visor observes you, remaining silent several breaths before speaking. "Listen," he rests a hand on his waist, "from this point on, two things." He shifts forward and raises a finger up. "One, keep quiet." He raises a second finger. "Two, follow my directions." He lets the hand fall back down against his holster. "Understood?"

You dumbly blink up at him. It ultimately occurs to you that you have no idea what the Mandalorian's purpose is in finding Marek's camp. For all you know, the Mandalorian wished to blow the joint up.

Not that you'd be sad if he did.

Might be disappointed if he didn't.

"Understood?" he tries again, a bit firmer.

"Well," you raise an eyebrow and take another bite of the ration pack, "I'm not really good at either," you speak slowly as you chew, "but I think I can try."

The Mandalorian releases a small sigh, dropping his head down. "Just... come on."

You let a small smile slip, biting back a response when you remember that would, after all, break the first rule.

It does not take long, even under the blanket of the chilly darkness, to reach the ridge that overlooks Marek's basecamp. Lost in the coating of night, the sprawling tent city is indistinguishable, but what does strike you is the twinkling, dancing lights of dozens of fires speckled all throughout the grounds. The faint tinkling of chimes carries with the wind from below. As you look out in delighted awe, the Mandalorian drops low to the ground, shimmying on his stomach to peer down below. He pulls a viewfinder from his toolbelt to observe the surrounding area.

"Well," you hiss under your breath, brushing up against the Mandalorian as you crawl on your elbows to lay right near his left side, "there it is." You glance out at the glimmering fires in the distance. "See? I upheld my end of the bargain." You tilt your hat up and smirk.

The Mandalorian makes a noise and puts away his viewfinder. He turns his head to look directly at you, your face mere inches from his visor.

Yikes, too close. Too close.

You twist away, squirming a few feet back. The Mandalorian mirrors your motion, rolling back and leaning on his right arm. He grunts and stares at your belt. "You have no weapon." He lifts to meet your eyes.

"No," you place a hand where a blaster would rest against your thigh, "I'm afraid not." You can't help but scowl- this is a sore spot with you. "It's halfway across the galaxy with my smuggler pals." You release a dramatic sigh and grumble, "Ran off with my clothes, too. Damn jerks."