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AUTHOR'S NOTE at end of chapter
SUGGESTED LISTENING:
(Every chapter I'm going to include some scores and/or songs that would be fun to listen to while reading that specific chapter)
- The Mandalorian Theme - Ludwig Goransson | ...to set the tone
- Minor Swing - Rachel Portman (From Chocolat) | ...gathering in the square
- Escape from East Berlin - Daniel Pemberton (From The Man From U.N.C.L.E.) | ...the chase
- Se sei qualcuno è colpa mia - Ennio Morricone (From My Name is Nobody) | ...all aboard
Thank you so much again for reading, I hope you like it!!! <3
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"It's in your blood."
An icy voice snaked around me, circling my spine and squeezing. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to steady the fearful, uncontrollable shaking. My eyes tried to focus in the pitch dark of the cargo hold but could make out nothing but a sea of amorphous black.
"You can't hide forever," the voice echoed again, this time accompanied by an urgent banging, coming closer and closer. "It's in your blood."
The floor shook. I put my hands over my ears and cried out.
"KYRA!"
I shot up and gasped for breath, grasping at the gritty brown blanket wrapped around me. As I steadied my breathing, my eyes adjusted to take in the room around me — the same rickety little room as usual.
"Kyra, I'm not working your shift for you! I know you're not still sick, don't make me come in there!" The door shook with Marfa's urgent pounding.
"Alright, alright," I shouted to him, hopping across the room and pulling on a pair of dingy trousers. I opened the door. "Can I help you?"
"Are you kidd'n' me?" Marfa's red face looked bewildered, and his massive, bushy eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you know what time it is? You were supposed to be down in the saloon half an hour ago."
He had nog stains down his tunic and wiped beads of sweat off his forehead with a dirty dishrag.
"Sorry, I overslept. I'll be right down."
He rolled his eyes and retreated back down the creaky stairs, each footstep heavier than the last. Poor Marfa. He was probably genuinely worried I'd died of my "fever" that had kept me from helping with the big Krayt dragon situation. Grumpy old tauntaun that he was, I had a lot to thank him for — not least of all letting me sleep in this shoddy-but-perfectly-livable little room above his rough-yet-reliable drinking establishment.
After dressing quickly and throwing my copper hair back into a thick braid, I relieved him of bartending duty for the night. The saloon was uncharacteristically full — humans and Tusken Raiders mingling with a conviviality I had never seen. Great, I thought to myself begrudgingly. I skipped the party and the party came to me.
"Kowakian rum!" A swaying celebrant held up three fingers. "For me and my friend here!"
His arm was slung around an equally unstable Tusken Raider. I nodded with a terse smile and tried to swallow my guilt — not because the rum I was pouring them was 60% water (I knew my clientele and these two were NEVER going to get straight Kowakian rum from me), but because I should've been there to help. I had peered out of my dark little room from out behind a smoke-blackened curtain like a coward and watched the whole town make a pilgrimage with a mysterious, silver-clad Mandalorian to work with their neighborly nemeses to conquer a massive Krayt dragon. I should've been there, but it would've been too much exposure. I didn't trust Tusken Raiders. Well, to be fair, I didn't really trust anybody.
Still... it had sounded like a good adventure...
Most of the night was carefully measuring the least amount of booze possible for each order — Marfa had clearly gotten caught up in the spirit of goodwill and brotherliness, and everyone was more than served already. I was considering telling everyone it was actually midnight and closing early just to get a break, when the Marshall walked in — accompanied by the Mandalorian I had seen earlier. Cobb Vanth made quick eye contact with me and we exchanged a familiar nod. He said something to the Mandalorian and drifted away to speak to a gathering of Tuskens near the door. The Mandalorian approached the bar.
"Evening," I said, wiping a fresh glass down with the cleanest rag I could find. "What can I get for you?"
"Nog," came a soft, unamused voice through the vocoder in his helmet. "Just one."
I began pouring.
"I know thats for the Marshall," I said. "Nothing for you?"
"No."
Guess followup questions aren't this guy's thing, I thought, and placed the drink on the bar in front of him. I opened my mouth to say "Enjoy," but he took it and slipped away abruptly, so it came out more as "Enjoooohkay then."
The Mandalorian and the Marshall took up a little table in the corner and had their heads together, discussing something intently. The remaining hour flew by and the revelers trickled out to stagger home, trading increasingly conflated stories of their Krayt dragon triumph. A quarter past midnight rolled around and I was wiping down the tables, but the two men were still in the corner, talking. I approached them with a gentle throat clear.
"Sorry, boys, but its closing time."
The Marshall looked up at me and nodded, distractedly. I took his glass and returned to the bar. As they stood and headed for the door, I caught the tail end of their conversation.
"And nothing I can say could convince you to stay, just to help with the transition?" Asked Cobb Vanth with a wan smile.
"Sorry," said the Mandalorian. "We're leaving tonight."
The doors swung behind them, and I wondered who "we" was. A loner could spot a loner from a mile off.
I was about to head up to bed when I heard — and felt — a massive boom, followed by an intense crackle. I dashed out the yet-to-be-locked back door and ran around the corner just in time for the next wall-shaking bang.
A glittering green firework streaked across the sky, casting an odd, beautiful light on the crowd that had gathered in the center of town — if you could even call it that. Our little Mos Pelgo was positively heaving with what had turned into a block party. I could tell some people from Mos Espa had come to celebrate, and people were clapping each other on the back and cheering as fireworks whistled up into the air. I couldn't help but grin as a blue and gold one spun clumsily into the sky and exploded in a maelstrom of shimmer and color.
"Look at that one!" Said a townswoman, and she elbowed me in the arm with jolly enthusiasm. I laughed and nodded, following her gaze. One of her friends pointed to a spot further in the crowd where we could climb on the edge of a stone wall and get a clearer view. Before I knew it they had jostled me along with them, through thick squalls of people, and up on the ledge. I felt a jolt of fear, surrounded by strangers, but as a bright silver burst exploded above us, I found myself grinning in cautious awe.
"What's your favorite color?" one of them asked me.
"Uh," I chuckled, breathlessly. "Purple!"
She cupped her hands around her mouth in amplification.
"Do a purple one next!" She called to the gathering of men who were setting them off.
My laughter froze in my throat when my gaze fell back to the crowd and I met the eyes of someone familiar. Someone unfortunate.
Three men were milling through the crowds with stony expressions on their faces, their eyes scanning around them like lasers. One, a tall, thin man with a mop of titian curls falling over his cold, ice blue eyes, was locking his glare in on me with a fierce intensity.
"Shit," I breathed, and stumbled back off the wall, crashing into a group of Raiders. I muttered apologies to them and began slipping through the crowd, pulling my hood on over my head. I knew I was being followed, and that losing them was going to be tough in a little town like this, so I decided on speed rather than mystery. As soon as I reached the edge of the crowd, I broke into a sprint.
I burst through the back door of the saloon. No time to pack, no time to grab anything — was there even anything I needed to grab up there? I unhooked a small coin purse from my belt and dumped the contents of the tip jar into it. Then I whacked the top of the register and it shot open. I grabbed two fistfuls of coins and gold chunks and made it as far as the door, before cursing out loud and dashing back to return them. I couldn't do that to Marfa, even if I was desperate.
I ran to the back door, but froze when I saw the three men striding towards me through the window. No way out, I thought frantically. My eyes landed on the front saloon doors — swinging and slatted, with a slight gap above and below — already chained shut. Bingo.
I returned to the back door and threw it open, letting the three approaching men see me. They broke into a run. Feigning shock, I slammed the door shut and locked it. Then I opened the door leading upstairs to my room and threw a couple rags and spoons up the stairs, making it look like I'd run up that way. I dropped to my hands and knees and crawled across the floor of the saloon, waiting at the front doors until I heard the crack of the back door splintering under the force of a highly motivated boot. On cue, I squeezed myself as tight and small as possible and slithered under the gap.
The desert night air had a bite in it, and it hurt my throat and chest as I took in sharp, thirsty breaths, trying to pace them with the rhythm of my frantic feet hitting the sand. I didn't know where I was going, but one look back at the pillar of black smoke and ominous red glow emanating from the direction of the saloon told me that anywhere I chose would be the right option, as long as it wasn't home. Rounding a corner, something caught my eye — a flash of light bouncing in the dark. Squinting, I saw it was the moonlight reflecting off of the armor of the Mandalorian that had been in the bar. He was walking with purpose toward a ship stationed at the edge of town, nestled between two rocky hills.
"Sorry, we're leaving tonight." His voice echoed in my head.
To myself, I stuck my thumb out. "Goin' my way?" I asked, under my breath.
He took long strides across the desert sand — blue in the moonlight — and I followed him twenty feet back, trying to match his steps with as much lightness as I could manage. As he walked up the ramp that stretched out of the back of the ship, I scurried closer and ducked behind the ramp, trying to peer up to see what was happening. With a lurch, the ramp began raising. Now or never, I thought, and threw my arms over the ledge. With all my might, I pulled my weight up enough to roll over onto the ramp, now almost vertical. I clutched a metal notch and hung from it, my knuckles white. The ramp closed with a CLANG.
Peering over my shoulder, I saw a pair of boots disappearing up a ladder. When I was certain he was a floor up, I dropped to the ground, wincing at the noise and the pain in my hands. I shook them out and rubbed them, before slowly moving down the metal hallway, taking in the nets and tools mounted on the walls. She seemed to be a sturdy ship — albeit a little long in the tooth. When I came to the ladder, I cautiously peered up through the hole, but I couldn't make anything out. Suddenly, the ship gave a lurch, and a great whum of sound radiated from the engines. With a shudder, we soared up. I stumbled, grabbing the ladder. When I could stand, I backed away and bumped into a door. With a fervent glance up the ladder, I pressed the button on the wall, hoping the sounds of the engines would drown out the whoosh of the door opening and closing. I slipped inside what turned out to be a weapons store. Jackpot.
Running my hands over the guns, rockets, and spears — Jeez, how many weapons does one guy in head-to-toe armor need?? — I landed on a small but mighty-looking blaster. I checked the cartridge — no power pack. There's gotta be one somewhere around here. I dropped to my knees and began feeling around in the dim light.
Suddenly, with a whoosh, the door flew open. I sprang up, wide eyed, blaster trained on the figure that emerged. Immediately, the Mandalorian whipped out a blaster of his own and pointed it at me. We stood there, frozen, for a moment, until something caught my eye — at his feet was a little green thing with big ears and massive, guileless eyes. It looked like some sort of... baby.
"This doesn't have to get messy," I said, trying to control the waver in my voice.
"I know," came that soft, somewhat weary voice through the helmet vocoder. "Especially considering only one of us has a loaded blaster."
I looked from him to the weapon and back with a frown. Finally, I let the blaster fall to the floor with a clatter and raised my arms in surrender.
"Please," I begged. "I'm in danger."
The Mandalorian exchanged a look with the little green kid.
"Please," I said again, softly. "I'm not a criminal, I'm just looking for a ride."
They stared at me. I let the silence hang in the air — I wasn't ready to volunteer any more information than that. The Mandalorian's blaster lowered a smidge.
"I know you," he murmured. "From the saloon."
"I'll cause you no trouble," I assured, trying to speak with a calm and soothing voice. "All I ask is safe passage to wherever you're going next. After that, I can take care of myself."
I reached behind my back. The Mandalorian's gun snapped back up, trained once more on my head. I put a hand up, and slowly pulled the coin purse out of it's clip on my belt.
"I can pay you."
I tossed the purse and it landed with a metallic jingle at his feet.
"It's not much, but it's all I have. Please."
I tried to find his eyes beyond his T-visor, to make some sort of empathetic connection, but it was an enigmatic blank. Finally, he spoke.
"Clear out of my weapons store." He stepped to one side of the hallway. The little green kid ducked behind his knee. Hands raised, I slowly edged past them. When I was a few feet clear of them, he reached back and hit the button, closing the door to the weapons store, and finally lowered his weapon. He bent down and picked up the coin purse.
"What's your name?" I couldn't be sure, but I thought I detected the tiniest glimmer of genuine curiosity beneath all that metal.
"Kyra," I answered. "Kyrani Moss, but people call me Kyra."
He slowly looked me over. At least I think he did — that helmet was starting to frustrate me. There was something incredibly unsettling about not knowing where someone's eyes were.
"Go back up to the cockpit." His voice had less grit and a more casual — dare I say, annoyed — tone. Pursing my lips, I nodded and made my way up the ladder. I was shocked to discover upon arrival that we were in a hyperspace lane. The stars zoomed past, intangibly, in a mesmerizing swirl. It had been a very, very long time since I had been in hyperspace.
"Sit there." The Mandalorian's firm voice broke my reverie. "Quietly." I turned to see him cradling the kid in one arm, and pointing at a seat at the back of the cockpit with the other. I obeyed and strapped in.
The kid burbled as his caregiver placed him in a spherical metallic bassinet.
Without a word, the Mandalorian sank into his seat at the helm. I narrowed my eyes at the back of his helmet, struck with curiosity. Who was this guy? What kind of odd little crew had I forced myself into?
Well, I thought. It's just 'til the next planet. Then I'm on my own.
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AUTHOR'S NOTE
THANK YOU for reading my Mandalorian fanfic! A quick note to say that while I am a big fan of the show and love Star Wars, there's no way I'm ever going to come close to having an encyclopedic knowledge, thus I am BOUND to make a few mistakes in terms of lore -- if so, you're welcome to let me know! But also... enjoy the ride :D
Kyra in my head is pronounced "KEE-ruh" (or "Kee-RAH-nee"), but by all means, whatever scratches your brain the right way!
This story is fully outlined, so while it's gonna be a nice slowwww burn, it is definitely going somewhere specific! Story begins at Season 2, Episode 1, and will veer around through some familiar territory and some new adventures.
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