008. LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG
( —if you love someone, you should accept everything and everyone that the person loves. )
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To Myra, regret was like moral excess.
When something arduous to eliminate clung to you as you begin something against your better judgement; she didn't recognise it until she did something obverse herself, the excess now seemingly impracticable to remove like an ingrained blemish on her conscious.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, she almost didn't even recognize herself—the usual brown of hair starting to fray out; her once prominent tattoos concealed by the thick cotton of the dress the villagers had provided for her; her eyes lost the burning ochre that the had. Yes, some said the change was good but this wasn't her.
There was no dazzle of the common gold for the Ichor to identify her as, the spirits ebbing and flowing out of her not as naturally as usual. She ran a palm down the side of her neck, seeing an intricately carved pattern of portent marked into her neck and shoulder blades.
Descrying, she thought to herself. Maybe practising the Sight could connect her back to the Ichor once again.
Taking the idea to action, she yanked a pin out of her hair—something the women used to hold their hair back, she knew not why—seating herself on the wooden floor on her knees. Using the sharper tip, she scratched the symbol of the all-seeing Eye and blew the residue away.
"Please let this work," she mumbled to whoever was listening.
Her palm flattened over the symbol, calling out a slow enchantment under her breath and allowing the symbol on the floor to illuminate. Once it did, she felt the chillness of the waters drawing her in like the ocean's tide. Her eyes shut on her own accord—perceiving, listening, inhaling and, for the first time, feeling.
"Look in," the Ichor whispered. "Look deeper."
It was feigned heated aloofness when something warm glid with her skin. Every nerve in her body and brain was electrified when the touch sauntered over to her jaw and into her hair; showing her the anticipation of being together was more than just promises. What was she seeing?
A rasping voice had whispered her name, breathy and impatient. There were inaudible amusements, slow breaths and a free heart fluttering away to no end. It was delectably tangible, every pretence of aversion falling behind the closed door. Smitten by the dance that was embedded in their genes, Myra felt the waters tug her further in and curling around her like a snake choking its prey.
With her brain on fire and reliving the moment she never wanted to end, she failed to see the Sight release her back as if it were scared to have shown her too much. There was nothing she could do to stop it either, allowing the Ichor to carry her back in erratic ebbs and thrilled to see her appearance.
By the time awareness had filled her body, she realized the length of the confusing Sight she had practised. What had usually been fleeting, had taken an entire morning and felt the Sight embed in her memory. She fell back on her behind, rubbing on her head, going over and over the feel of the touch; her own hand running into her hair in complex consolidation.
"Myra?"
A stunned Winta stood at the door, watching her breathless self and perplexed about what she was supposed to do. Today, the little girl's hair was pulled into a half-braid and the childish gleam in her brown eyes focused on Myra.
Myra shook her head, forcing a smile on her face. "Hello, Winta."
"You didn't come out for breakfast or lunch," she said in a small voice. Without thought, she sauntered in and sat in front of Myra with her legs folded under her. "I got worried."
"Oh, I'm sorry," she breathed out an apology and looked to the carving on the wood. "I was a little caught up in something."
"This?" She asked, settling a hand over the symbol of the Eye. Her tiny fingers ran down the crevasses on the wood, trying to figure out what had occurred with the friendly witch that had left her so perplexed.
"It's what I use to scry," Myra replied with a smile to gauge the little girl's expression. When it turned to confusion, she quickly added, "I can tell the future."
"Wow," she mused with an impressed smile.
"I know, right?" Myra laughed quietly.
"You know, Mando and Cara Dune went out to the woods to spy on the Raiders," she muttered, lacking concern and still tracing the symbol. Myra listened carefully. "Some bombproof walker is in there. It's huge."
Myra, upon arriving at the village, realized the tribe was being terrorized by the said raiders. They had stolen from them quite often and left their huts in shambles after their departure. The Mandalorian must've been hired to fight them off—she didn't know if it was a noble or stupid decision.
"And?"
"He told us we had to leave," she rolled her eyes. "Obviously, we said no."
"Obviously," she chuckled lowly.
"We're going to fight back," Winta looked up at her, her eyes filled with determination. "Mando's going to help us build a trap and fire guns. Cara's teaching us how to fight."
Myra squinted at the little girl playfully. She didn't need to peek into the girl's head to figure out what she wanted. It was etched in her expression.
"Is there a reason you are here, little one?"
Like a deer caught in the headlights, her brown eyes widened. She slouched into herself, shrugging in defeat. "I think you are our best chance against the raiders."
"You want me to fight?"
"Yes," she sighed. "At least, teach me to fight back in your way."
Myra was pleasantly surprised, a laugh leaving her. "You want me to teach you?"
"You promised," she insisted.
Unable to refuse the girl of her wants, Myra bit her lip in deep thought. The girl only thinned her eyes in a plea, staring harder and mumbling a string of 'please's under her breath.
"Alright," Myra accepted with a softened heart. "Just the basics will do."
∞
There was no denying how hawkish Din was in his techniques of teaching. He never had the opportunity to teach anyone about the battle arrays and war methods, realizing how much he loved exuding authority. Yet, he casually dodged projectiles, focusing on the matter at hand.
While he set out traps for the AT-ST Imperial walker all over the place that led into the pond, Cara Dune was teaching a few of them on hand-to-hand combat. The plan was simple—he and Cara would have the walker, and the tribe would cover the ground raiders.
The only person missing from the impending debacle was Myra. He hadn't seen her since the last time he had seen her, keeping to herself and staying in the shadows. It was even better that she didn't need to get food in her system, conveniently willing herself into loneliness.
"Winta, what are you doing?"
A woman from his little training coup had loudly called out in confusion to the nearby young girl who had been left to herself. Her eyes were set ahead in fierceness, the hands she had held out with a stunning black bow and arrow, were in a warrior-like stance.
Near her—surprise, surprise—was Myra, perfecting the little girl's posture and watching her keenly. Every time he had seen her, she kept changing. Her unusual attractiveness had weakened a fraction, still, she was the most stunning woman on the field. She wore a looser cotton dress, a dark hood pulled over her head and efficiently shrouding her face from the rest of the villagers.
"I'm learning how to shoot!" She yelled back, a smile so wide that it almost swallowed her cheeks. She wasn't shooting; she learning archery. A dead entertainment, he thought.
To his utmost surprise, the mother didn't seem concerned at all. She only grinned along, shaking her head at her child's antics and proceeding to focus on her training.
He had seen how people had treated Myra on other planets. Seen as enchantresses, no good company but here, she was merely another character. In fact, people talked about her as if she were a formative being, bowing when she accidentally ran into one of them and choking mannerisms.
"You don't mind?" Din asked the mother, shocked by the mother's nonchalance in allowing the child to fight.
"Why would I stop her from learning? And when a witch is willing to teach her?" She asked simply. The mother returned to him, turning her gaze back on the aim. She shot a few perfect shots, gaining spec.
"Haven't you heard of what they say about witches?"
The mother's face distorted to disgust. "You believe that?"
"It's an opinion."
"To be in a witch's company is a blessing, Mandalorian. You should be counting yours."
Din looked back at Myra who was no lesser than uncomfortable as she pushed the train of her dress behind her to crouch to a beginning stance. Her shoulders moved with the intake of a large breath and when she did, the limbs of her bow curving as she pulled the arrow back with a delicate balance.
"Watch," she mumbled with a grin to the little girl who seemed happy to follow her orders and observe intently. "Not too far; the line will snap. Focus, pull, release. Okay?"
"Okay," the girl nodded. "You do it."
Myra passed the bow, insisting. "You do it first."
The girl's little hand playfully pushed her hand back with a smile. "It's cooler when you do it."
"Cooler?" Myra echoed, amused.
"Please, please, please, please, please do it!"
Myra concealed a laugh, once again drawing back the arrow and not even watching the target as she shot it—and it hard hit the mark. Easy to say he was more impressed than ever, watching the witch nail her mark without attention. She turned to merge her gaze with the Mandalorian, a wild smirk playing on her lips. Consequently, she passed the bow to the girl who worked on stringing the bow.
"There's your new target," she nudged the girl with her hip, pointing to the helmet of the hunter. "Shoot your shot."
For a second, the Mandalorian surprised himself. He swore his heart smiled even if the flustered face under the helmet did not. Undoubtedly, the witch had wound a spell on him.
In a cavalier gait, he plodded away from the training villagers and toward the golden witch. By the time he'd reached her side, she'd fired it at the target with two perfect rings.
"A closer target's an easy mark, Mandalorian," Myra warned, her voice a silvery tune despite the venom. Perhaps it was the way she moved that made him gladly welcome the wrath.
Another arrow darted from her bow and this time, Din made sure to dodge and a fleeting fist flying to catch the arrow in flight. He split it in two, flinging it to the ground.
Her chest caved with a quiet, defeated growl.
"Give it a rest, Myra," he tried to say, and the two syllables echoed like treacle in his mouth. People could croon a melody to her name, paint it in red, name a musical note after it.
"What did I tell you about speaking my name?" She snapped. From under the black hood, her vivid tinsel eyes blazed like a wildfire. Din's heart stopped, dropped, and rolled.
"Moreover, what does it say in your unwritten beliefs about shooting people?" He managed a soft tease.
"Uh-uh, not too close." She aimed the bow at the T-shaped encasing of his visor, her lips curling to a mischievous sneer. "This time, I won't miss."
He didn't halt, daring to step forward and toward her. "Make your move then, Myra."
"Shut up," she breathed.
The limbs of the bow whined death's song, the string stretching inflexibly. Din watched as Myra's face oscillated between confusion and worry as he maintained his path to her. Why wasn't he stopping? Why was he trusting her this much?
"Go for it, Myra! Shoot him!" The little girl complained. Her foot tapped impatiently.
When Din was close, good feet away, he let it happen.
The arrow loosened and clambered to the grass. Instead, her strike came from the bow itself. She rebelled his parrying knock with her mighty bow, crushing it closer until her eyes were levelled against his, only their weapons hindering their lips. Her strength was unparalleled. As if the force of an exploding star was what was battling him.
Under the helmet, where Myra could sense his passion like rhyme or reason, his thoughtless eyes lowered to her lips. Their perfect perky shade, trembling, and that was when the urge to touch them started to take Din over.
Alas, Myra broke their spell with one last shove. Din faltered back, heaving lungfuls of air. He could only then comprehend the capability of the witch. The skin under his cuirasses had already bruised black and blue.
"What's it going to take to set things right?" He bit out at her, gasping a little.
Her muscles relaxed, and her eyes softened to a more intense thought. "When in the future you look at me as a human and not a last resort."
"Myra—"
"And stop saying my name!" She seethed. Walking past him, she knocked her bow into his chest, enough to make him jerk back.
He couldn't help but sigh. "It's your name. What the hell else am I supposed to call you?"
She twined a loose arm around Winta's shoulders, leading her away from the Mandalorian. Winta peeked quick looks between the both of them, confused and left in the lurch.
Myra didn't look back as she answered; clear and definitely. "How about prisoner number forty-two?"
∞
War was how the psychopaths governed and even knowing their manoeuvrings never accommodated. This land had probably not seen war in a thousand years, now suddenly an outreach for full-scale battle. The villagers were at their prime; going far and out to defend their place of stay.
Myra, for the first time in her life, was horrified. Not from the battle, but the outlook. Dehumanize, destabilize, antagonize—even the children had become enemies to these people. And to her, nothing seemed worse than degrading the humanity of a child.
The conflict was mechanized and even when no more heat stamps remain they would attack until hollow—more victory for the raiders. The machines had no trauma whatsoever, no empathy, no remorse, never failed to execute on command. The walker that Winta had told her about was massive indeed, towering over them like a daunting giant.
She saw the villagers take fire, her heart not having it with the losses of their beautiful ponds and homes. She had to fight back.
"Hey!" She yelled to the walker, rising from her hiding spot.
The hunter who had been busy keeping his head from the sight of the glaring white light of the bombproof walker snapped his head towards her.
He was running for her just as soon, yelling back something inaudible with his rifle honed on his side. In that split second, the walker whirred to take an aim at Myra who was ready to distract the machine's fire from the villagers. The hunter had ceased her waist in a death trap, shaking her shoulders and telling her off for being so stupid.
Before the snipers could take their shots, Myra had a different plan in mind. The world itself rumbled beneath their feet, the walker's aim falling dead.
A tree in the nearby woods had grown in size, the roots rising to above the ground like large tendrils of hair. They moved with large whips of air, tearing down mud and swaying as if they had a life of their own. It had coiled itself onto the walker's legs like a snake at feeding time, demolishing the metal hinges to the ground. Myra's body was shaken when she let go, falling on her knees with lungfuls of air.
The tree had resumed its position, the uprooted grimy roots paused in its terrifying position of a monster. The one tress stood taller than the rest, daunting and giant.
"Cara, go!"
She caught the denotator in her hand, tossing into the fallen walker and aiming her shot at it. The walker blew into smithereens, amber flames licking the metal while punching a fist of flames up into the air.
Upon the fall of the machine, the villagers cheered.
"You're insane," the Mandalorian whispered, shaking his head. Myra had the strength to look up from nursing her hurting side, managing to pass him a wink.
Cara came to join them, a little panting to her a gait. She cocked a brow at the Mandalorian.
"Was that the plan?"
"Something like that."
Before Myra double over in pain as the overexerted sides of her ribs started to crackle strangely, she saw a rider come from behind the Mandalorian with his hands honing a blaster. Myra's instincts died out from her fingertips, her eyes felt to grow wide.
"Mando!"
The rider halted, freezing. A deep arrow had impaled on his chest, making him stumble back with the shock and fall limp on his back.
Three astounded pairs of eyes fell on the little girl who lowered her bow with a blow of breath into her hair.
Winta smiled at Myra. "How was that?"
Myra coughed out a laugh. "Understatement if I said outstanding."
X X X
{ such a weird as fuck chapter. oooooooo things are about to get heated up for Myra and Mando so who's ready? *casually drops sexy Sight too too doo* AND has anyone seen Narcos? ( got netflix? go figure.) I'm hooked and I'm on second season annnnnnnd found this gold...—
javier peña owns my entire ass people, look at that face}