Stowaway | A Mandalorian Love Story | Din Djarin x OC

Chapter Seven: New Jobs, New Friends

Suggested Listening:
Silver Bargains - James Newton Howard (from Treasure Planet) | ...pounding the pavement
Fluffy's Harp - John Williams (from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone) | ... warm in the inn
Goodnight Sweet Possums - John Powell (from Ice Age: The Meltdown) | ...new life (and just because I wanna make y'all cry)
Family Stories - John Powell (from Solo: A Star Wars Story) | ... striking a deal

The job market in this town is an absolute travesty.

... At least that's what I found myself thinking as I walked heavily through the wet slate streets of Trask, my fists balled and my brow knit, scouring the buildings for businesses I might have missed the first three times I'd canvassed the place. Truly, it was a marvel anyone could live here if not a single job for a mostly nice, skilled-at-random-things, non-crazy (depending on whom you asked) girl to apply for was available.

Not to mention, it had begun to rain — and to get dark. I clutched my hood around my chin as a gust shook the few spindly grey trees lining the sidewalk, causing massive blobs of cold water to leap off the silvery leaves and spatter directly onto my head.

Food. Job. Place to sleep.

I had been repeating the mantra in my head with each step. Now, the words were lagging wearily — and so were my feet. I found myself all the way back at the docks where I had started. I scanned the now-empty pier, deliberately avoiding looking at the battered metal heap in the distance. Still here, I guess, I thought to myself. To my right shone the dull red neon of a small sign — the inn. The one that Mando and the kid had gone with the Frog couple.

The truth is, I was in a foul mood — not just because it was wet, I had no leads on a place to stay or any way to make money, and I hadn't eaten since we had shared a few paltry ration bars in the cockpit — but because I was furious at myself. To be specific, one part of me (probably the same little-me part that had sounded wounded and vulnerable in my head earlier) was throwing an absolute tantrum at another part of me. The grown up part. The one that had forced separation from Mando and the kid.

They are the closest thing we've had to real friends since we can remember, agonized the first part. We could've stuck with them, they didn't ask you to leave!

The connection I had felt with them — the sense of commonality, safety, levity that had led me to feel so very comfortable with them in such a short amount of time — had completely thrown me for a loop. I didn't understand how a couple days with a little green child (whose name and species were a complete mystery) and a man — I assumed he was a human man, but who could know — who for all intents and purposes was nameless, faceless, and completely strange to me... could make me feel so at home so quickly. It felt ridiculous. I exhaled a sharp, fiery breath through my nose and clamped down on my jaw, feeling a bit like a petulant child.

I don't have friends, I don't need friends, I just need food, a job, and a place to sleep!

With a huff, I turned on my heel and strode toward the inn. Maybe they were in there, maybe not, but I couldn't let whatever was going on in my head stop me from what might be the last vestige of food and shelter.

As I passed through the door, I was met with an immediate sense of comfort. Lilting, gentle music floated through the air, and the low-ceilinged tavern was illuminated by the cozy orange glow of a crackling fire. I felt my shoulders relax a little as my damp, cold body felt the rush of warm and calm.

A quick scan of the room (not that I was looking) told me that Mando and the kid weren't here. I tried to ignore the immediate sink of disappointment in my stomach, and strode through the tables and quietly drinking patrons toward the bar.