Fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. In the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths...
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Chapter 5: "I'm Not Green" *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Grandpa has never let the minuscule fact that he's... well... dead, prevent his words of unsolicited advice from flowing like the waters of Naboo.
"My girl," the image of Grandpa slaps a hand to his face, "one day, you're going to push the wrong person's buttons, and I'm not around to clean the mess up anymore."
"Oh!" you growl, shaking the ghostly image out of your mind. "Quit judging me, Grandpa, and get out of my head." You purse your lips, knowing your irritation is wasted on him.
He is dead, after all.
Dead, and- blast it!- still absolutely correct!
"Damn it, you always were dead right... no pun intended," you mumble, letting your lower lip tremble with the admission. You press your face harder against the palm of your hand, eyes boring into the wall of the Razor Crest as if you could scorch the barrier down if you only stared hard enough and long enough. The Mandalorian landed the craft well over five, six minutes ago, but he has yet to emerge from the cockpit. You can still hear the heavy clank-clank of boots against metal though, which is only intensifying the pressure building in your chest.
Heck, maybe if you scolded yourself again, you'd feel better.
With a pathetic moan slipping between your lips, you flop your head backwards, eyes fixated on the ceiling in a dead stare. Bloody stars! At the time, you thought the Mandalorian's sputtering reaction to your wearing of his clothing hilarious, cute even. But now that you've had time to mull it over, you've realized how much of a kriffin' bantha brain you are.
"So stupid!" you hiss, shifting forward in your chair. "So much for staying out of his way! Great work! Why not steal his bed next?" You smack your forehead against the table with a pathetic groan.
Grandpa's right, and you have to admit it.
You don't attract trouble, you create it.
Blast.
You're so lost in the midst of your misery that you unconsciously suppress the sound of shuffling fabric and stomping footsteps.
Your chair jolts backwards. "Yikes!" You leap out of your seat, slamming both palms on the table's surface. Eyes shooting up, they are immediately drawn to the cold gleam of Beskar to your left. You blink, staring into the emotionless, yet somehow still judging, visor of the Mandalorian. His hand still grips the back of the chair.
"Oh, um, hi!" you squeak, warmth pulsing through your body from sheer mortification. "Stars, don't scare me like that!" you say, lightly slapping the back of your hand against his chest. He takes a step back, gazing down at you.
