mandoway / mando.
It was a child. He maybe shouldn’t be so hard with the small creature. It was not its fault for the situation in which it had found itself. There was no control over that. However, children of any kind were not an area in which he had had much experience. Once, the idea had come to him – to help raise and train a new generation of foundlings to join the ranks of the madalorians. But those days and ideas were long gone after the Empire had done its very best to wipe the legendary fighters from the galaxy completely.
His stiff resolve had softened slightly. He wouldn’t allow the child to touch the button he was after. However, he had a few things that may entertain the child for awhile – without causing any problems. Or so he hoped.
He turned his back on the child and gave a glance around, eyes falling on a small repair kit. Was it exactly child friendly? Well, no probably not, but perhaps it would keep this one from getting into anything else.
He picked up the child and placed him before the repair kit of tools. “Here. Look through these while I see if I can find us a place to land for awhile, get some food, let you stretch your legs for awhile.”
how quickly his mood changes the moment that mandalorian picks him up! the child’s gaze brightens, his chin tilting upwards as he glances at his guardian. ( what a relief it is, that the mandalorian isn’t angry with him. ) when placed in front of the repair kit, he lets out an inquisitive coo, briefly wondering if this is a trick. he seldom gets to play with anything on the ship, save for the shiny, silver ball that mando relinquishes every so often. ❝ hm, ❞ he hums, reaching out to brush his fingers along one of the tools. he’s seen such things used before, when the mandalorian had to fix his ship!
forgetting all thoughts of trickery, he picks up the shiny hunk of metal, his ears perking as he turns it over in his hands. much like the rest of the objects he encounters, the child cannot name what its purpose is. ( he would much rather know what all those buttons are for. ) narrowing his eyes, he grips the handle of the tool, and lightly clanks it against another piece. a metallic sound rings through the razor crest, earning a giggle from the little one. moving down the line of shiny things, he hits each one, very gently, with the tool in his hand, noting the way the sound changes with every tap.
















