OUTLAWS [Din Djarin] [The Mandalorian]

· Chapter 1 - Caught ·

The cantina is as lively and loud as ever; bounties and townsfolk alike sit down to enjoy a fresh pint or two whilst cackling at the latest gossip. Almost all seats available are occupied, much to the locale's owner delight. Only one table of a single seat remains untouched, towards the back of the room.

Din Djarin is quick to sight it, and just as quick to head in that direction the second the bartender gives him his beverage. With long, determined strides, he reaches the table, and lets out a deep sigh the moment he plops down onto the single chair. He's tired and sore; he's spent all day running around, doing some odd jobs here and there to earn enough credits to live yet another day—he's managed to save up enough to get some fuel and rations for his next trip across the galaxy.

"Kriff," he seethes through clenched teeth—his shoulder cracks deafeningly loudly as he rolls it, feeling the tightness of the muscles already reaching his aching neck. What he wouldn't give to have someone massage him, relieve him of the tension tugging at him. He knows he will be extremely sore tomorrow; the mere thought has him groaning inwardly.

The only thing keeping him slightly sane is the filled tankard resting right in front of him, on the table, silently waiting for him to take a sip from its cold, refreshing contents. He does so with a small, content smile on his chapped lips. He can't hold back the urge to close his brown eyes as he feels the beverage run down his throat, giving him a pleasing shiver when it hits his belly. After working hard all day under the scorching sun, this is exactly what he needs.

He doesn't really care much about the cantina's busy ambiance—despite the drunken shouts and obnoxious laughter echoing around, Din feels at peace here.

He drinks some more, efficiently quenching his thirst while messily rubbing his slightly unkempt mustache with his fingers.

A bounty puck suddenly hits the table he is at; it slides up to his tankard, scurries up to almost touch his wrist resting against the table, teasingly stops merely an inch away from his hand. Almost immediately after, a holo picture appears, shining bright right in front of him—a neat portrait of his face, perfectly recognizable, spins ever so slowly.

The cantina remains as busy and loud as ever, as if nobody that had joined in that evening really cared enough about what's about to go down, or simply chose to ignore his impending doom. The buzzing of voices and deafening cackles is overwhelming to Din now, as he keeps his shocked gaze trained on the spinning holo of his face.

It takes him almost a full minute to realize he's frozen in place. But he needs to move, do something. Anything. His instinct is kicking in, and yet he can't really think of anything to do that could help him right now.

It had been a while since he'd had to fight off a hunter—he can't help but think he feels just a tad rusty after laying low for so many rotations in a row. He also regrets not moving planets sooner, now. He'd always prided himself on being able to shake off any hunter on his tail; and if need be, to take them on easily, in the solitude of a grassy plain or empty desert after leading them on a wild bantha chase.