Scales of Justice

[Indie Fandomless OC - FOLLOWS BACK FROM BLOODSTAINEDSAILS] Hi, there. Call me Teddy, general nuisance to all ne'er-do-wells. Call me anything you like, just don't call me late for dinner. 

[bleedinghearth]

Hello!

Frankly, I don’t care where you came from or how you got here. I’m just glad you are!

Bio

Verses

Rules

I’m Nauga, I’m 30, demi/ace, he/they, general bastard. I’ve been roleplaying for about 15 years now, and many muses have come and gone in that time. Teddy is one of the older ones; I’ve had him for about 10 years, and he’s very near and dear to me. If you love him, too, just know you’ve warmed the cockles of my little raisin heart.

I’m easier to talk to on Discord than Tumblr IMs. hmu for it and I’ll send you my ID so we can gab.

Keep in mind that I’m semi-selective, and for the most part, mutuals-only.

What I Will RP:

- Soft Angst/Whump - NSFW/Kink (This will be tagged appropriately and/or placed under readmores for the comfort of my sex-repulsed mutuals.) - Any kind of ship; hate, love, platonic, siblings, big dad energy, rivals, you name it, I’ll probably at least try it. - SoL (Slice of Life: everyday ““““boring”“““ stuff) - Action/Fight RP - Basically, if it’s not on my nope list, I’ll give it a shot.

What I Won’t RP:

- Hard Angst/Whump (Difference being there’s no “light at the end of the tunnel.” If you want me to just subject myself to emotional agony without hope of reconciliation or recoup, I’ll have to say no.) - Hardcore gore/Evisceration (Body horror/bloodshed does not fall into this category. However, I’ve put my boy through the meat grinder enough.) - Any sort of noncon. - Certain fetishes (ask for clarification.) - I’m not gonna RP with you if you’re under 18. It’s nothing against you, I’m just not comfortable RPing with kiddos, and there’s porn on this blog. Technically, this blog is 21+, but it’s a very loose and wiggly 21+. That said, if I catch a minor following me, I’m hardblocking you immediately. This isn’t a place for children or teens. - Shipping without consultation or discussion. Wordvomiting at each other about our characters’ dynamic together is what makes shipping fun!

This post will be updated from time to time as I discover things I like, and don’t like, and Teddy grows further as a character. Let’s play together!

[beroya-vhett]

[via bleedinghearth] Boba and Teddy ("normal" guy flavor)

[ Give me two characters + a word and I will write a <100 word drabble - ACCEPTING ]

Boba sat across from him. Unmoving, watching, humanity veiled in an iron shell.

Hyperspace cast a blinding white light down from above.

It was a day until the next jump. He'd likely spend most of it in the cockpit, and Teddy in a paralytic bed. He was more trouble than he was worth already, and Boba was seething about the low-ball price now. Negotiations to deal with later.

But for now he observed a question he didn't yet have an answer to.

That iron shell finally moved to toss Teddy a bag of ration cubes.

"It's a long trip. Eat."

[bleedinghearth]

"Fuck off," he spits, as he has pretty much every time Boba has offered him any sort of hospitality without letting him up off this damned bed. "I'm not eatin' that fuckin' swill. Rather starve to death." And he knows enough about bounty hunters to know that if he's being taken alive, it's because he's worth more that way.

And Boba doesn't need to know that he'd easily survive- if with much, much bitching- a day without food or water.

"Who even has beef with me, anyway? I'm from fuckin' podunk. You en't even heard of Earth and you've prob'ly been damn near everywhere! I know you got some high-tech shit in that rubbish bin you call armor, but are you absolutely certain you've got the right cunt, mate?"

[beroya-vhett]

[via bleedinghearth] Give me one chance to explain. (Demands prompt. Dealer's choice what he did this time)

[ ✱ ˚｡⋆ ↪ MAKING DEMANDS ... - ACCEPTING ]

There were very few times in Boba's life that he could ever admit to being rendered utterly speechless— besides it being his choice.

Watching a man stand while holding half— half— of a damn blaster power cell like a sweet-sand cookie, and chewing, was definitely the newest on that list.

Was he... was he karking out of it right now? Was he dreaming? Granted, better than any of the sarlacc dreams, but still weird and he didn't like it. He bit the inside of his cheek to assure that he was actually awake.

Yup. Awake. Cool. Great. Sure. There is a man eating his power cells. Why not.

"..." His helmet tilted nigh imperceptibly down at the power cell, the entirety of his crisis of consciousness veiled behind that impassive black visor, then back up at Teddy. Another helpless beat of silence before he said the only things he could. "... Alright. Try."

[bleedinghearth]

A good solid few moments, long, heavy with suspense and munching, pass, before the Mandalorian even addresses the bullshit going on right now, the only indication his head tilts at all the subtle shift of light over his helmet and visor. He at least bothers to chew thoroughly, if irreverently, before downing his bite. "Well, in case it en't abundantly clear by now, I en't a normal human. What I am and what I got goin' on is a helluva lot more expensive than normal food can pay for, so I gotta supplement sometimes. And these were what was handy. Sorry, mate."

Probably not that sorry, though, seeing as he just takes another bite of the power cell like it's particularly dense fudge, metal components and storage alloys bending and crushing in his jaws as easily as in the deadly embrace of a hydraulic press.

[bleedinghearth]

I dunno if I'd ever bring this AU here, but Look Outside has quite suddenly become a fascination of mine, and I was flirting with the idea of making an AU for Teddy for it. Who knows what dangers lurk in your plumbing.

[bleedinghearth]

So, to add more detail to it:

He was unfortunately caught in the Visitor's gaze through an unprotected glass door in his home, causing him to warp and become, almost irreparably, some horrible blend of man and beast, his anatomy painfully contorting into an open-chested, scaly, toothy, heraldic abomination only known as Heartwyrm.

At first, of course, it's a struggle to get used to his sudden, new anatomy, his heart beating in a rended ribcage, exposed but no less tough for it, his face elongated into a disturbing muzzle, akin all to human, canine, equine, and crocodilian, teeth bristling from sickly-purple gums, a mane of unnervingly perfect hair still flowing from his scalp, and far too many clawed limbs framing his open chest and sprouting from his back, looking like a gross mockery of wings.

But yet he keeps his mind. Keeps his humanity in the only way left that matters. He can still assume something resembling a human form, but it's painful to switch between them, and he's not as he was. His eyes are a little too sharp. His nails and hands are a little too long. He's somehow even taller than he was before, and his teeth are set in his gums at an outward tilt, a few supernumerary teeth sitting above them at strange angles.

Despite it all, he retains his kindness. The world may have gone to hell, but that doesn't mean he needs to be a devil.

[bleedinghearth]

I dunno if I'd ever bring this AU here, but Look Outside has quite suddenly become a fascination of mine, and I was flirting with the idea of making an AU for Teddy for it. Who knows what dangers lurk in your plumbing.

[idlelizard]

shapely sugar bowl

[godhex]

to make a multiple years long story short, my mother and i need a lot of help. my mother is disabled, old, and jobless. i am (not officially) disabled, her caretaker, and jobless. the world is on fire, landlords suck, the current building we're in is bug-infested, molding, has no heating or cooling, and multiple places within it are hazardous, just to name a couple issues. you can do the math.

the gofundme is here.

i also have commissions open like always. the info is here. my ko-fi is here.

[ofrageandruin]

@bleedinghearth || cont. from Tumblr's stupidity

"I've never heard of a sausage roll. If you're goin' to a 7/11, the closest you might get is a roller dog," he shrugged. "But if you find any, I'd be thrilled to try 'em."

Convenience store food was sketchy at best, but it wasn't like his stomach couldn't handle it.

"Mm. We might've put out a fire, but that doesn't cancel out the fact that I'm supposed to be in Arkham right now."

[bleedinghearth]

"Roller dog? You mean those hot dogs they have rollin' under a heat lamp all damn day? Gross. No thanks. If I cannae grab you one off a cart, I know how to make 'em at home, and I'll bring some by later."

Croc brings up a good point, and Teddy groans, looking back whence they came. "Yeah, and you're doin' better out here than in there, so they can stuff it."

[sanguine-salvation]

// I genuinely hate doing this down to my bones, but I'm still fighting to get my rightfully owed wages, multiple months of pay plus tips. If you have anything to spare, it would be massively helpful, even a few dollars, just so we can afford food for us and our furbabies and emergency gas. But if not, or if you are in no place to donate, please do not feel pressured to. Well-wishes and spreading the word are appreciated. ;;

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[bleedinghearth]

What does your love taste like?

Figs.

sweet, sticky, they have a earthy, honey like flavor. figs were cleopatra's favorite fruit. she ordered that the snake she intended to end her life with, be brought to her hidden in a basket of figs. an ancient fruit that has always fascinated painters, poets and storytellers.

yours too is a love that should belong to books and paintings. your love is steady, the people you love know how deep your feelings are because you always remember them how much you love and desire them, and that you will always be there. maybe not with words, expressing your feelings might not be easy for you.

it's your actions and attentions that let them know, because they feel seen and heard. figs are luscious, sensual fruits. you're a passionate lover, you crave warmth and touch. you do not fall in love easily, maybe you used to when you were younger but you have now learned better. because you learned that when you love you give it all, you sacrifice a lot and you cannot do that carelessly.

like the female fig wasp that, when entering an unripe fig to pollinate its flowers, loses her antennae and wings. you're a quiet devoted lover. yours is an unwavering deeply rooted love. your love is intense, almost overwhelming like figs are, swollen with hundreds of seeds.

there's something quite disturbing when looking at its flesh. but that's what it gives it that crunchy, popping feeling, the same of a love that does not know boredom. but beware. you might be a lot to handle, and some times it might be hard for you to remember that not everyone loves as fiercely as you do. let your intensity be a gift, not a burden.

Tagged by: @beroya-vhett

Tagging: EAT IT

[bleedinghearth]

While Teddy seems to be debating on whether or not he should get while the gettin's good, the Mandalorian does his best to ease his worries and extend some friendly relatability. Brushing it off as his particular people having a reputation, for better or worse. "...Birds of a feather. I dunno if you've ever heard of it, but I'm Glaswegian. Somethin' of a bad rap where I'm from. People call us violent. Angry. Willin' to mug you for the lint in your pockets. Codswallop, all of it. We just hate bad manners."

And the English, but he's not getting into that right now. He's too busy being drawn in by the sight and smell of what's effectively an overflowing lamb kebab (or possibly even a gyro) being expertly assembled by the rough-mannered merchant, his pupils growing inhumanly wide. Clearly, this guy has an appetite that tends to rule him on occasion.

It's handed over, and Teddy gratefully takes it, shifting it over to one hand and practicing some very disciplined restraint not to just start ripping into it before he's even paid. "Sometimes you gotta be just as cutthroat about your coinpurse as the fella tryna' get into it, aye? No hard feelings, mate. You're just makin' a living with a rough crowd. Do that a bit myself. So, aye, I do actually know how it is." A gleam in his eye, as he looks the merchant over, as though to penetrate his well-practiced spiel.

"Just know that if you want any more free advertising, you're gonna have to keep being so neighborly. Here you go, mate." The creds are procured, and handed over, and then, only then does Teddy make an about-face and start savaging his sandwich, a well-contained, surprisingly neat feeding frenzy. Between bites, he utters little hums of rapture and contentment, peppered with oh fuck, that's goods. "Mmh. Sorry, I en't eaten since breakfast, you'll have to forgive me goin' in on this thing like it's the first I've had in weeks. Who're you, exactly?"

Looking dead on at Boba, now, wondering now who this mysterious stranger is who's intimidated a stingy stall owner into letting him have the rich bastard night special at a lunch time rate.

[beroya-vhett]

Boba has never once heard of a ‘Glaswegian’, but he can only chuff slightly at the similarities on the first two accounts. That, and trying to imagine this man standing in front of him as coarse as described. Rough around the edges, sure, but nothing compared to many he’s met. “We’re known legendary warriors. Most these days boil it down to violent, ill-tempered space marauders.”

He shrugs a shoulder. It’s helped him more than hurt him in his line of work— as evidences by the cart owner being more than willing to speed up the purchase— but there’s always that tiny itch, this gnawing little annoyance like a rat in the walls, at the back of his brain when he’s put down for it. He rests his hand on his hip as he lets Teddy take one last cautionary if playful jab at the food cart owner.

Said owner eases up not only at being let go for the sleight, but also for the interaction coming to an end sometime soon. “Eh, yeah, no hard feelin’s, ‘course not.” He chuckles, crossing his arms tight. “I got it, I got it, you enjoy your meal now, and a pleasure doin’ business with ya, offworlder.” He even gives a cheeky little ‘salute’ before Teddy turns around. That poor bastard, doesn’t seem like that bad a guy. Oh well, no skin off his back if it gets Fett out of his eyeline.

Good. Feeling is mutual. And Boba casts one more glance at the food cart owner to make that clear before he turns to— … see a man dig into a street sandwich with a level of enthusiasm somewhere between a clone trooper late for mess hall and a Trandoshan after laying season. All over missing breakfast, which also aligns with both of those more than your usual hungry market-goer. It’s not like he doesn’t have credits to buy food. Boba is almost more impressed than baffled. Not that anyone can tell, of course, but still.

“… Forgiven.” He furrows his brow, but shrugs it off. “The name is Boba Fett.” His hand stays at his hip, covertly near his hidden sidearm. His free hand gestures to a quiet street off to the side. “I think it’s best if we move away from the street, friend. The crowds will pick up soon.” And if his name has not clued Teddy in already, he does have a bounty to bag. Even if he’s giving him the unnecessary courtesy of a meal first.

[bleedinghearth]

"That's what us Celts were, back home. Ferocious warriors who were as intelligent as they were brutal, but who respected a code of honor. Boiled down to just a bunch of angry gits after their heyday was overwith." Unlike Boba, he's somewhat resented the reputation that the mere fact of his hair being a natural shade of copper-red has netted him with strangers back on Earth. The scar dragging down his face doesn't help, making him look more rugged and tough than he is in truth.

While the cart-owner's eagerness to get out from under the attention of the Mandalorian is somewhat lost on him otherwise, it makes more sense with the provided context, and Teddy just wrinkles his nose, shaking his head, as he takes another bite of the sandwich. "S'm nice en'gh t'me," he mumbles, past bread and meat, the fork of his tongue flicking out to clean his lips of the rendered fat.

Boba introduces himself, and the complete lack of concern in his expression may be all he needs to understand that Teddy has no idea who he is. Or how much danger he's in. Instead, he downs his bite, and smiles openly, eyes creasing. "Pleasure! Call me Teddy. I en't mind to move a little outta the way of the crowds, but I'd rather still have eyes, aye? If I'm off somewhere you en't even know what Glasgow is, I'd wager I'm far enough away from home that I oughta be careful. Pickpockets, the like."

Or of people looking to get him isolated in a secondary location for quick, easy subduction. Not that he's at all thinking about that; he's gotten so used to his reputation that he's not at all thought that someone would actually try their luck. Instead, he finishes off his burgeoning sandwich in an amount of time that's frankly inhuman, and crumples the wrapper. "There a bin anywhere close?"

[bleedinghearth]

"Th' hell kinda fish is that? It's huge!" She holds her hands out and up to take up. It doesn't fit in her hands. It spills over even with her fingers spread out.

"How fresh is this?..." The intrusive thoughts won and she doesn't bother waiting to cut it with a knife. She bites right into the side. It was so smokey with that wonderful fatty salmon undertone.

"I'm gonna eat this in one sittin'." She goes in for another bite.

@bleedinghearth

-----------------------------------

He can't help but laugh as Rachel takes the fish into her hands, fat slices of golden flesh, and bites right into it like an animal, bliss clear as day on her face.

"It's Rubyroe salmon from my home sea. En't it incredible? Let it really sit in your mouth, lass, the fat melts into something so sweet-savory it almost feels sinful."

[splinter-sister]

Like for a Little [closed]

@bleedinghearth

[bleedinghearth]

Big fuckin' dog. He doesn't even seem remotely interested in eating him, though his svelte form suggests he could probably stand to have a munch of something. Which, given how he'd acted when the edible ingredients Vanitas had were nowhere to be found, could be whatever he'd been planning on making.

That, and he could probably rent out whatever carrying capacity this dragon has. Wouldn't be worth the trouble.

The Darkling confesses that he might have just introduced some unintended trouble to Teddy's world, but the dragon seems relatively unfussed about it, sniffing once and sharply in a gesture of nonplus. "Aye? Well, wot kinda' trouble we talkin'? Is it handle-able trouble, or is it along the lines of, "we gotta summon some cross-dimensional heroes who know what they're doing to mop it up," trouble?"

All told, he's taking it remarkably well. Must not be a first time for him, or he's just not one to let problems that are too big for him to do anything about bother him.

[unholykeyblader]

"Yeeeeah, see, that's the thing."

"I'm technically one of the cross-dimensional heroes in question. Like. Only on the slimmest margin of technicality. I'm the asshole who was made by the bad guys and dragged into the good-guy family through the literal power of friendship and love, so obviously now I wanna put the bad guys ten feet into the ground. And. Like. I can tell you for fact that the actual good guys are super busy going around the Multiverse mopping up--or preventing--the Mess."

"And yeah there's--a more than decent chance that one of the Bad Guys (capital B capital G) is the one who sucker-punched me out of my Corridor and onto this plane--because the list of people who can do that is super slim--and the list of people who'd be petty enough to then steal my miso soup groceries is even fucking shorter."

"My money's on Braig. He usually goes by Xigbar. Man, I fucking hate that guy."

"I gotta say, though--you're taking this remarkably well, all things considered. I mean--yeah you're a bigass dragon, so obvi the list of shitheads capable of fucking with you is gonna be pretty short. But you can clearly sniff the magic out in me and you're not even phased. Imagining a fucker powerful enough to fuck with me--and you're still unphased?"

"Yeah, I'm impressed."

[bleedinghearth]

Scratching at his neck with his claws, Teddy grumbles as Vanitas goes on his nigh-on rant, lapping at his snout with his forked tongue and waggling his ears idly. This guy sounds like he's trouble, but he's trouble who's not going to trouble him, probably. Maybe.

"So you're Vegeta, and fuckin', like, one of Freiza's little goonies has the sack to fuck with you, even though you can probably glass 'im. As for why the magic in you en't botherin' me none, it's 'cause I eat magic. You smell like a buffet, not a threat, mate."

But he's polite enough not to eat him, probably because he's far more interested in what he has to say than what scant nutrition he'd provide. A beast as big as him would need a lot more than one Darkling to sustain him, so he's not bothering. ...Still wants soup, though. What a strange beast he is.

He shakes himself out, and then settles into a polite loaf, his paws crossed over each other. "This Braig or Xigbar or whatever fella who's got a beef with you can fuckin' try me. He's in for a nasty surprise if he decides to come here and use me as a civilian hostage."

[bleedinghearth]

It's that fish smell that has him really curious, snuffling and snorfling at the delicious, oily, rich scent that lingers in his skin and hair, tongue flicking over and over in a "peanut butter face" that a lot of animals have when trying to discern a new or exciting scent.

"You smell a li'l bit different."

[revunant]

The nose sniffing Jesper is far too large — a few stray strands of hair flick about with every frenzied inhale and exhale, the flicking of his tongue occasionally hitting his chest. All Jesper does is raise an eyebrow, confident that he won't become a meal without first giving express permission.

“Good different, or bad different? I don't stink, do I?”

[bleedinghearth]

"Nae, nae, nae. You en't stink, love, you-" Sniiiiff- "Mmm, smell like husband, but like you mighta' spritzed a li'l summat different on. A bit brighter. Did you get a new cologne?"

Oh, man, that big ol' snoofer is going. "It's nice, I like it."

[bleedinghearth]

"That, lad," he starts, "Is because she helped me rewrite history with the rest of the Commission. She's been scarred by Fatalis' fire, same as me, even though I begged her not to come with. It's a complete stunner that she weren't so afraid of it that she just turned tail." She'd only been eight years old at the time, barely an adolescent, and her scales were still soft. She's healed up okay since then, but her chest still tries, and fails, to grow scales over scars, leaving little, thin, blossom-pink buds wherever she goes. She's been tenuously classified as a new Deviant, but somehow without the violent tendencies.

Funny enough, the researchers keep fussing over whether she classes as a variant or a Deviant, given her single-subject, unique status.

"...It's up in the air. She en't a subspecies, she's either a variant or a Deviant, but the eggheads can't seem to agree, and all she wants is to be left alone with her leg of Aptonoth."

The subject changes, Nata pondering on Guardian Arkveld and all of its spawn across the Eastlands, and he hums. "It's been a thousand years since it went extinct, en't it? It has a strong case for messin' up a lot of a world that en't really ready for it, anymore, but Alma said it didn't have any record of elemental absorption like it does now. Makes me worry. What pressure is it gonna put on everything else? Do we need to re-extinct it for the good of the ecosystem? ....I hope not, but I'm prepared for the possibility."

Nata, bless him, is far too excited by the prospect of having a connection with an Arkveld the same as he does with Violet. "Don't get ahead o' yourself. What I have with Violet is special. It en't easy to bond with a monster without a Kinship Stone."

[wylkstone]

DOWN-TO-EARTH AND BLUNT AS IT WAS, Teddy's response is but another reminder that Arkveld's existence stood on thin ice. Nata hated to be dragged down from the clouds, to be brought back down to that reality—after all, it just seemed so tragic for the very thing that had fought tooth and nail to find a place among other monsters to be a threat to the ecosystem's precarious balance.

The Guild had yet to declare if Arkveld's resurgence was worth the alarm. Erik was curious about what the future had in store for it, but was not enthusiastic about its presence among the other apexes. Nata dreaded to think that it might become invasive.

Until they knew for sure, he held onto the slim hope that it wouldn't—that it would be able to live amongst them somehow, without altering the nature of the Eastlands itself.

"Erik and Alma have both said as much . . . and I know it's probably wishful thinking. But . . . the Guardian Arkveld fought so hard just to live again. I know it attacked my village in the process, but . . . it was only doing what it could to survive."

He could grieve and be angry for the lives lost that day, but Nata now understood that Arkveld was not outright evil. It was an animal, feeding its natural instincts.

. . . Yet, perhaps he forgets too often not to anthropomorphize it. "In a better world, I'd hope it could live again without causing any imbalance. But, I guess we'll have to wait and see." Slowly, he reins himself back in again, humbled and a bit saddened by Teddy's words, but handling it well otherwise.

"How does one become a rider?" He said this curiously, genuinely intrigued.

[bleedinghearth]

"Animals are animals," Teddy concedes, nodding authoritatively, "They don't know the destruction they cause by simply doing what animals do to survive. On the one hand, we can't blame it or punish it for that. On the other hand, we have to keep a careful eye to be sure this introduced monster en't become deleterious to the environment."

He knows how Nata feels, though. He understands that childish desire to want to make sure it can slot in alongside everything else without it being a nightmare. Every ecosystem is delicate in the same way a china cabinet is delicate. As long as nothing disturbs it, it'll be fine. But every time it gets disturbed, there's a risk, however small, of something going wrong.

He hates having to give the lad these hard doses of reality, but a Hunter's job is complex and difficult, and life-threatening on the near-daily. They're effectively conservationist mercenaries. High risk, high reward.

And then he asks how to become a Rider. Teddy smiles, nose wrinkling, amused by his endless fount of curiosity. "Well, lad, the Riders are an until-recently completely secretive society of people who use Kinship Stones to bind a monster's spirit to their own. It's not control, it's cooperation. If a monster doesn't like how its Rider is handling it, it leaves. Plain and simple. They're a little at odds with Hunters 'cause of our differing ideals, but I believe if we just sit down and talk, it can be resolved."

[bleedinghearth]

A brow raises as the Mandalorian points out and identifies each...well, he can't say "cut" of meat, the gorg is an entire roasted animal, but each meat, and he sniffs at the air again, turning his head to listen to this oddly chummy stranger. Either he's a gruff local who just wants to keep a tourist informed of any scamming going on, or he wants something. Both are equally likely, but Teddy trusts that he's not up to anything nefarious for now, relaxing his frame, but not his guard.

"The only "Nerf" I'm familiar with are brightly colored, toy firearms for children that use foam darts with rubber tips as ammo. Bit weird to see it be used to describe lean meat."

There's something of an altercation between interloper and vendor, and Teddy steps back a bit as the energy between them is clearly belligerent, but then something flips a switch in the cart owner's attitude, without the helmed man even saying anything. Seems Teddy's companion is not only immediately recognizable, but scary enough to silence an unruly, muscle-bound, rough-mannered kebab stall owner in an open market.

Whatever sort of thoughts go on, there, the kebab peddler thinks better of trading barbs with this armored fellow, and it shoots Teddy's caution of him through the ceiling. Maybe he can be trusted, but a man with history is a man to be wary of until you knew at least something about him. And right now, that something is only that he has opinions about meat, and he's got an aura that will emasculate even this rough-looking bastard.

Then, as if to appease the "Mando," as he'd heard him call this anonymous stranger, he tries to extend an olive branch in the form of what looks and smells like a perfectly dry-aged roast of heavily-marbled beef. His pupils round out, and he looks to the Mandalorian, head tilted inquisitively, as he addresses how obviously out of place he is.

"Well, if it's all the same to you, mate, what was the first fuckin' hint? I hope this big, mean-lookin' cunt en't think he's gonna get anythin' better than local rates for that shaak outta me, though. Sure, I'm hopin' for some decent scran around here, but I en't gonna be bled for it."

[beroya-vhett]

Boba smirks dryly under his helmet. “Not much wasn’t.” Which is true. Even if he hadn’t had the information ahead of time, Boba would have pegged him as a newcomer, and a woefully lost one at that, in half the time it would have taken the merchants to smell blood in the water.

He does catch that slight shift in his mark at how the merchant reacts to him, but he’s ready for that as well. It’s probably clear by now that the helmet has been all the merchant has been able to look at. Not that Boba isn’t rough-hewn everywhere else. Put together, yes, and not unkempt spare chipped paint and a frayed cape, but he’s not hiding at all that he’s a man who clearly does some kind of hard physical work. He simply cocks his head at Teddy, then points at his helmet to assuage any inclinations to bolt or suspect anything but a cultural divide. “My people have a reputation. Sometimes fair, sometimes not.”

Boba turns his back to watch the street for any sign of competition, resting one elbow on the edge of the cart. The streets were growing thicker now; the oil-stained dockworkers herding towards their posts in inching mobs and the cantina doors pluming up with swept dust as the servers readied for a new crowd, as if the whole town was changing shift. Easier for someone to come slithering out for a sniped bounty, even from him.

His rear cameras cover the whole exchange behind him anyway, as the merchant portions out a very healthy serving of the shaak into a fluffy thick flat-bread, warm and soft and slightly chewy from the heated box it was pulled from. The meat is quickly topped with an expertly even drizzle of cream-colored sauce and a sprinkle of crisped onion and emerald green and red herbs that smell earthy and spiced. He quickly plates it into a what looks like a paper basket, but with a far more plasticky sheen.

He should eat soon himself, but after the job.

“Yeah, yeah, hah, nothin’ like a back and forth with a Mando…” The merchant grumbles as he hands over the basket of food, which smells rightfully like what was promised by the rumors. The kind of high-calorie nirvana that only street carts and state fairs can take you to. “Skip right past the barter, they do, not an ounce of sport in them…”

“Depends on the opponent.” Boba only shrugs one shoulder at the man’s assessment, still not bothering to look back, which likely does little in disproving it.

The merchant, however, is a little too busy veiling any nerves or offense at being deemed unworthy of mercantile tussling behind a customer service smile. “Well, local or no, no hard feelings, fella, just caught me between rushes! You know how it is. Now that’s the best shaak you’ll ever have this this side of Naboo itself, and I’ll even charge ya the lunch price as long as you carry it ‘round and point any sniffers my way. Might as well get a jump on the night market before the rest of the lot. Ten creds, won’t get any better than that ‘round here.”

“He’s not lying.”

The merchant just pushes his smile a bit wider.

[bleedinghearth]

While Teddy seems to be debating on whether or not he should get while the gettin's good, the Mandalorian does his best to ease his worries and extend some friendly relatability. Brushing it off as his particular people having a reputation, for better or worse. "...Birds of a feather. I dunno if you've ever heard of it, but I'm Glaswegian. Somethin' of a bad rap where I'm from. People call us violent. Angry. Willin' to mug you for the lint in your pockets. Codswallop, all of it. We just hate bad manners."

And the English, but he's not getting into that right now. He's too busy being drawn in by the sight and smell of what's effectively an overflowing lamb kebab (or possibly even a gyro) being expertly assembled by the rough-mannered merchant, his pupils growing inhumanly wide. Clearly, this guy has an appetite that tends to rule him on occasion.

It's handed over, and Teddy gratefully takes it, shifting it over to one hand and practicing some very disciplined restraint not to just start ripping into it before he's even paid. "Sometimes you gotta be just as cutthroat about your coinpurse as the fella tryna' get into it, aye? No hard feelings, mate. You're just makin' a living with a rough crowd. Do that a bit myself. So, aye, I do actually know how it is." A gleam in his eye, as he looks the merchant over, as though to penetrate his well-practiced spiel.

"Just know that if you want any more free advertising, you're gonna have to keep being so neighborly. Here you go, mate." The creds are procured, and handed over, and then, only then does Teddy make an about-face and start savaging his sandwich, a well-contained, surprisingly neat feeding frenzy. Between bites, he utters little hums of rapture and contentment, peppered with oh fuck, that's goods. "Mmh. Sorry, I en't eaten since breakfast, you'll have to forgive me goin' in on this thing like it's the first I've had in weeks. Who're you, exactly?"

Looking dead on at Boba, now, wondering now who this mysterious stranger is who's intimidated a stingy stall owner into letting him have the rich bastard night special at a lunch time rate.