To The Stars || The Mandalorian

Chapter Two

"Yes," he says, after an awkward silence.

She wonders if all bounty hunters were always this quiet, and stiff. She gives him a good look over, taking in his tense shoulders which have yet to loosen up. He's reluctant. She couldn't blame him for reacting that way, as it is the exact same reaction when she first met a blurrg.

"Start with her," she inclines her head towards the blurrg near her. "She's one of the more tamer ones."

The blurrg snorts, a puff of hot air clouds around its nose, and the bounty hunter steps back at the aggressive way it lifts its two little arms in the air as if to swipe at his helmet.

"One of the tamer ones, huh?" He asks skeptically.

"At least she won't kill you right away," she says, and walks off to let them get acquainted.

"That's reassuring," he calls to her calmly, and she grins to herself as she enters the tent.

Kuiil is sitting on the floor, eyes narrowed at the empty spot in front of him, deep in his thoughts. She grabs a pitcher from the stove and pours some water for the Ugnaught to drink on his cup on the table nearest him. She and Kuiil usually spent their days like this, mostly in silence. Well, Kuiil is the only one of them who liked to sit in silence.

"You're thinking hard. What made you want to help him?" She can't help it, she's curious. The question's been nagging at her ever since they found him.

"You were right," Kuiil admits with a hum, "he's different."

"I'm sorry, say that again?" She grins at the exasperation on his face.

"What?"

"The part where you admitted I was right," she says innocently.

"Go help him before I change my mind," Kuiil orders half heartedly.

"Yes, sir," she gives him a cheeky salute, before heading out the door. She lifts up the flap, holding a tray in her hands, as she walks closer towards the rink, stopping when she hears a soft yell.

The Mandalorian's lying on the ground, clutching his side, and gasping for breath.

"Need some help?" She asks, stepping into the rink with him.

"I can handle it," he snaps at her, raising a hand up as if to stop her. She ignores it, and keeps moving towards him anyway.

Dessa raises her brow, and scoffs to herself. Alright, definitely the 'manly man who hates when somebody helps him' type.

"Even the toughest person needs a little help sometimes," she insists, and offers him the palm of her hand, inching it towards him so that he can take a hint.

"Well, I don't," he says gruffly, and turns down her offer to help him off the ground. He gets up himself.

"I figured," she shrugs, retracts her hand, and leans against the fence, placing her elbows against the wood, "you sort of seem like the 'work alone' type."

"Really? What gave it away?" He asks dryly.

"It's all in the armor," she points at the rusty armor, and he glances down at his arms and chest, "and the way you speak."

"The way I speak?" He repeats with incredulity.

"You act like you haven't spoken with anyone in days," she prompts. He doesn't answer.

"I haven't," she jumps at his voice. He's avoiding her gaze, eyes fixed firmly on the sand beneath them. "I'm not -- I'm not really used to people helping me."