𝙰𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚘𝚜 | 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗

✿.｡.:*☆..ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟛..☆*:.｡.✿

✿.｡.:*☆..𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣𝕤..☆*:.｡.✿

She had no intention of getting spotted by the Mandalorian. She just couldn't help peeking into the tavern to make sure they hadn't slipped out the back exit. She also had no intention of tackling him in that alley way until the very last moment she shoved him against the wall.

Maker, she was reckless. She wasn't ready to face him just yet.

After the child interrupted their conversation, the Mandalorian suggested going back to the tavern to talk. She didn't expect the offer, nor did she expect her agreement to it.

How about that drink, he suggested, and that's where they were now, seated in the tavern in a booth off to the side. Apparently, the Mandalorian thought it better than the middle of the room, she didn't disagree.

Sitting in the booth, she felt the Mandalorian's eyes studying her, and she was still all too aware of his hand that rested on his blaster under the table. She didn't blame him. He caught her spying on them, the child who he's done everything he could to keep him from being taken by bounty hunters. She had no intention of taking him... yet.

Her eyes scanned the dimly lit tavern, taking in every detail of her surroundings. The walls were adorned with faded tapestries, and a large stone fireplace crackled in the corner. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and ale, and the sounds of raucous laughter and clinking glasses filled the room.

As she looked around, she felt the weight of the Mandalorian's gaze on her. She turned to find him still watching her intently. His posture was tense and his expressions unreadable under the helmet, and she couldn't shake the feeling that his cold stare gave her.

Despite the unease that prickled at the back of her neck, she forced herself to continue her survey of the room. Her eyes drifted over the patrons - a group of rough-looking Quarren sailors playing dice in the corner, a pair of well-dressed merchants huddled in conversation by the bar, and a lone bard strumming a lute in the corner.

As she took in her surroundings, she couldn't help but wonder why she was here, in this place, with these people. She knew that she shouldn't be here, and that one wrong move from her could spell disaster. But for now, all she could do was keep her wits about her and stay alert, watching and waiting for whatever was to come.

Then she was looking back at the Mandalorian that was burning holes in the side of her helmet. He cleared his throat before adjusting himself in his seat, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the metal of the table. She saw the child too engaged with the bone broth to pay her any attention.

"So, why were -"

"Rosalie." She said, her name slipping off her tongue like silk.

"What?"

She leaned her forearms on the table as well and tilted her head, "My name. Rosalie." She gestured over to him, "Yours?"

She watched as he leaned back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. She noted his body language. It was telling her he was defensive about that little detail. Or maybe some discomfort in being asked such a personal question she's sure he's not used to.

"Just call me Mando." He said, finality in his voice.

She exhaled, leaning back into her seat. Maker, this was going to take some effort it seemed.

"If you insist on it, seems too formal for me though." Leaning her head against the back of her seat, "Mando..." She said, testing to see if she liked the sound of it coming from her mouth and to see if she could deal with calling him that.