#cinlat writes

[cinlat]

Ya'll I did it. I wrote that last chapter of Blood in the Breeze today. The story is FINISHED.

Is it my best work? Probably not. Does it need a HEAVY edit, absolutely. Will it get one? Unlikely. But hey, it gets the swirly

The End.

[cinlat]

The Weight of Beskar - Ch 3: Family Drama

Summary: The chapter where Fynta enters the story. What could go wrong? Chapter Word Count: 3,008 Chapter Rating: T Ao3 Link

“This place is filthy.” Altan curled his lip, revealing the tips of his sharp teeth. “And chaotic.” With the last part, the Togruta tugged up his hood and retreated within. 

Caldus agreed with his younger brother, though for different reasons. The cloying stench of unwashed bodies and lust clawed at his throat no matter how tightly he sealed the filters in his helmet. 

Verin gave a dry chuckle and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Welcome to Hutta, boys. A world of debauchery and unrivaled suffering.” Caldus huffed while Altan sank deeper into his cloak. “Come on, she should be in her room by now.”

The only reason Caldus had accompanied the older Mandalorian into the palace was because Altan was curious. As the elder brother, it was his responsibility to make sure Altan made it home. Otherwise, he might have retreated to the ship and let Verin handle his family business alone.

Verin walked with a familiar swagger, the same as a lot of the old timers, though Caldus didn’t think the man was more than a decade older than himself. For a short guy, he didn’t struggle to keep up with Caldus and Altan’s longer stride. At least, not after some quiet chastisement from his brother forced Caldus to shorten his steps; but only slightly.

Once they reached the palace, Verin took the lead as the only one who had ever been there before. The main room boasted the expected sticky floor and slouched drunkards. An odd mixture of decadent fabrics and plush furniture combined with the sort of depravity that made his skin crawl. 

Verin didn’t linger, at least, but turned down the left corridor and up a flight of stairs. They moved unhindered until deep within the palace. Caldus thought that was a serious oversight in security. They were two floors up before running into their first checkpoint. Caldus wondered how big this palace was, and where the Hutt who owned it lived.

”State your business.” The Gammorrean grunted, leaning around to see the hutball game on the screen behind them.

Verin held his datapad in front of its face. Caldus realized he wasn’t sure if the creature in front of him was male or female. The guard blinked at the small screen, pretended it could read, then waved them on. 

Caldus caught a glimpse of Verin’s ticket as he tucked it away. A Pleasure Pass valued at nearly four thousand credits. For all her sneering about the business, Mako managed to snag them a top class entry. 

After counting off the rooms, Verin stopped and knocked twice, paused, then added a third before tapping his datapad against the locking mechanism. Caldus heard movement on the other side and held his arm out in front of Altan to stop the younger man from following. The resulting clang that had Verin stumbling backward from the room he’d entered brought Caldus unending satisfaction.

”Shab Fyn’ika,” Verin huffed from where he sat in the middle of the hallway. “Good thing my buc’ye was still on.”

The woman in question stormed from the room with a heavy bottle raised above her head. She stopped, dark brows raised. “Verin? What the hell are you doing here?” Deep blue found Caldus and Altan, her head tipping back. “And who are these beasts?”

A snarl slipped free from Caldus before he realized she was remarking on their size rather than their species. He still wore his helmet, and Altan was half hidden behind him so she couldn’t have made him for a Togruta yet. Caldus swallowed his retort and clamped his lips shut. 

“We’re here to rescue you.” Verin shoved up from the floor without the aid of those standing around him. “Didn’t you hear me knock?”

Fynta lowered her weapon, then jerked her head for them to move into the room. Verin harrumphed his way inside, while Caldus and Altan followed at a more respectful distance. He wasn’t sure that Fynta could reach his head without aid, but the parts she could reach he’d prefer to keep unassaulted. 

Once the door snapped shut, Fynta dropped the bottle on an overstuffed chair and set about drying her hair. It was only then that Caldus realized she wore little more than a sports bra and shorts. She had the kind of brown skin Caldus remembered seeing on workers who spent their lives in the sun. Her black hair was a matted mess of wet tangles that she attacked with a brush as if it were her nemesis. Caldus also noted that there was indeed a target tattoo surrounding a nasty bruise on her right eye. 

Upon closer inspection, Caldus could pick out the similarities between the Wolfe siblings, though Verin’s coloring was lighter all around. They shared those odd, ocean deep eyes, nose, and both looked to be well muscled and stocky. Caldus couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the impressive set of abs emphasized by how little she wore. To say nothing of the definition of her thighs and arms. Then, he noticed the cybernetic that replaced her left leg from the knee down and glanced at his brother. Unsurprisingly, Altan’s gaze had locked on that. Caldus doubted the Togruta had even noticed the woman’s face.

“They took my comm,” Fynta huffed, waving the hairbrush now clogged with black strands at her brother. “I was going to get it from Cin tonight so I could let—our contact know that we move tomorrow.”

”Speaking of my lovely wife, where is she?” Verin removed his helmet and leaned a hip on the edge of the table, watching his sister with a warmth that made Caldus realize how much fear the man had bottled up on their trip here. It annoyed Caldus to find common ground with the hunter, but he had to admire Verin's poise. If Altan were in this situation, Caldus would be beside himself with—he shook his head, it didn’t bear consideration.

Still, Caldus couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what it meant to be an adult. He was heading towards his mid-twenties and still felt the need to ask Valk if he could go out for drinks with the guys. Even on this trip, he’d taken a backseat and let Verin make the decisions because he seemed to know what he was doing. Would that be Caldus one day? Would he wake up and find the galaxy made sense?

“She’ll be here soon,” Fynta answered, finally giving up on her hair and tossing the brush in the same direction as her improvised weapon. “She’s getting me some untainted food.” 

As if summoned, another set of coded knocks echoed from the door. Fynta shooed her brother out of her way and tapped the latch button to admit Cinlat. Verin rushed forward to take the bags from the tiny figure who entered behind him. 

Somehow, Caldus had envisioned the famed bounty hunter to be a giant. The larger than life winner of the Great Hunt some decade or so ago. This woman in the red and black beskar’gam didn’t even reach his chest. 

After pressing his forehead to his wife’s helmet, Verin dropped the bags on the table and dug through them. “Have they tried to drug you?”

”Succeeded once,” Cinlat answered, her voice deep and robotic through the helmet speakers. “I found her hunched over the toilet with half her hand down her throat and a fever that would have killed anyone with more brain cells."

Fynta shrugged and snagged a wrapped sandwich from her brother. “Still not sure what that was. It passed all the tests.”

Cinlat made a noise that Caldus couldn’t decipher and turned towards him. “You must be Beroya’s boys.”

Caldus dipped his head out of respect, but he wasn’t ready to join the conversation yet. There was a lot to process in this room. The woman they were joining forces sounded…chaotic. Caldus needed a moment to take it all in and decide if this contract was worth the risks if this was the normal life Fynta led.

Then again, Cinlat and Verin were revered. Even Fynta had a reputation that Mando’ade whispered about. Apart from being a massive brute who could track game, Caldus had no such clout. He would never get any either unless he took risks. Fynta seemed to attract plenty of those.

 Verin invaded his sister's personal space, trying to examine the blackened eye. She batted him away, even going so far as to plant her natural foot in his stomach and shove. The man folded his arms and frowned. “What happened?”

“Zigged when I should have zagged.” When Verin’s frown deepened, Fynta rolled her eyes like the petulant little sister she’d probably been. “It’s the Pits, di’kut, what do you think happened?”

When Verin only huffed in response, Fynta went back to the bag for seconds. “We’ll call it a lesson learned.” 

Caldus heard Altan’s stomach rumble and made a mental note to find something to eat when they were done here. Fynta beat him to it, holding out a wrapped skewer towards the Togruta. “It’s probably a rodent. Helps not to sniff it before you eat.” 

To Caldus’s surprise, Altan accepted, and the skewer vanished into the depths of his hood. Fynta made no remark on the odd behavior, but continued her story while crumpling up the empty bag. “Tomorrow is the auction fight. Once I win, I’ll be taken to the platform where our source says the kids are.”

”You’re sure about this?” Verin’s brows pulled together, a strange expression crossing his face. Now that he was back with his wife and sister, the easy going facade that he’d presented to everyone at the enclave slipped.

For his part, Caldus’s attention perked up at the mention of auctioning off kids. Even Altan had gone completely still, the half eaten skewer dangling from his fingers. 

”I confirmed it when I got here.” Cinlat leaned against Verin’s side, and he slid an arm around her. “It’s the only reason I’m still here.”

Fynta gestured at the two hunters with the remains of her sandwich. “Once I figure out where they are being kept, we can figure out how to get them off world.”

”Can our Friend help out,” Verin asked his wife, before settling his glare on Fynta. “Since it’s kind of her fault we’re in this situation in the first place. She should’ve known better than to give half baked intel to Fynta.” 

Cinlat’s helmet angled as well, and Caldus felt like he was missing an entire portion of this conversation. Fynta threw her hands up, crumpling the food wrapper in the process. “We would've taken the job eventually. I just did the heavy lifting.”

An audible sigh wheezed through Cinlat’s speakers, and Caldus resisted the urge to smirk. “Regardless,” the hunter began. “Yes, I have contacts. Now, we just need to get into the fights so we can offer backup.”

”About that.” Verin gestured at Altan with the hand not hugging his wife close. “It seems our boy here is good at more than sharpshooting.”

At the sudden shift of attention, Altan slinked deeper into his hood. He didn’t edge behind Caldus, though. Clearly, the Togruta wanted to stand alone, he just didn’t want to be perceived while doing so. Caldus flexed his fingers to resist stepping in front of his brother.

”He has a little friend on planet,” Verin continued as if he didn’t notice Altan’s discomfort. That irritated Caldus, though he swallowed his grumblings. “She got us in here tonight and a VIP box next to an exit.”

”Smart girl,” Cinlat commented. 

An alert chimed on Verin’s datapad, a warning that his time with the champion was at an end. The man stood and strode across the room to where his sister leaned against her desk. “We’ll find a way to communicate with you during the fight. Whatever happens, roll with it.” 

“I always do,” the woman grinned back. 

Verin rolled his eyes, then wrapped one hand around Fynta’s neck and bumped their foreheads. “Stay out of trouble until then.”

Fynta chuckled and shoved him away. “Ori’pel.”

With a snort, Verin waved for everyone to head out. Caldus waited until Cinlat was between him and Verin before following, but paused when he realized that Altan hadn’t moved. The Togruta reached up and lowered his hood, dipping his head. “It was nice meeting you.”

”Likewise,” Fynta beamed, surprising Altan into a smile of his own. Then, he covered himself with the hood again and scurried after Verin and Cinlat.

Caldus stared at the woman for a moment longer. Fynta met his visor’s gaze easily. “What’s up, Cabur?” He frowned at the word. Caldus had been with Valk and Jos for seven years. He spoke Mando’a fluently, but word usage varied from clan to clan.

“Good luck, tomorrow.” Caldus ducked through the door before Fynta could answer, straightening on the other side. “Where to now?”

”I’d like to talk to Mako again,” Altan chimed, then more forcefully. “I think she might be able to help us with our communication issue with Fynta.”

”Then that’s where we go.” Cinlat’s voice rasped through the speakers, and Caldus couldn’t help but wonder what she looked and sounded like beneath the armour. Clearly, she used the armour to hide her identity. It wasn’t unheard of, but becoming more rare. Even the official Hunt records only ever pictured the woman inside a completely sealed set of beskar’gam. 

The group walked in silence through the palace, just four Mandalorians looking for a good time. Once outside, Cinlat paused, her vizor tilting up at Caldus, then over to Altan. He saw the moment his claws caught her attention. 

“You Cathar?” The fact that she’d figured it out so quickly had Caldus nodding in agreement before he could stop himself. When she looked over at Altan, her next statement carried more weight. “I heard Jos and Valk had taken in a couple of alien boys, but that is unexpected.” 

Caldus remained silent, so Verin answered. “We aren’t allowed to ask.”

“It was better than being an Imperial slave,” Caldus answered, mostly to spite Verin. While the man had been nothing but friendly, he rubbed Caldus the wrong way.

”That’s fair,” Cinlat answered and didn’t ask for more. The tension in Caldus’s shoulders relaxed a modicum that she didn’t expect the full story from him. 

As they walked, Caldus glanced at his brother every so often, noting that he’d been buried in his datapad since they left. Finally, Altan took up position on the opposite side of Verin, placing both hunters between the brothers. “You’ve done this often. Freed slaves.” It wasn’t a question that required an answer, but Cinlat gave a sharp nod of her helmet.

To his knowledge, Caldus was the only slave freed by Mandalorians. They were allied with the Empire, where owning other beings was not only legal, but a sign of status. Seeing others from a different clan doing so caused an unwelcome bloom of hope in him. Caldus crushed it immediately and changed the subject. “What do we do for the rest of the night?” 

Verin took the lead as they crossed the threshold into the noisy cantina. Weaving through the back hallways with Cinlat and Altan falling behind and Caldus slumping into the rear. “We plan,” Verin answered while looking over his shoulder. Whatever else he might have added turned into a strangled yelp when the hum of an energy blade hovered at his throat. 

Caldus pulled his blaster at the same time as Cinlat and Altan. He might not enjoy Verin’s company, but he’d be damned if the man got himself killed on his watch. A treacherous voice warned that if Fynta was as careless as her brother, then the mission was already a failure. Caldus crushed that thought too. He needed this to work. 

The woman who pinned Verin against the wall was no bigger than Cinlat, with dark hair and angry pale eyes. It was the green beam of energy that held Caldus’s attention, though. “Who are you? More of his lackeys?” Her hissed words were accompanied by a flash of blunt teeth.

Verin’s hands raised slowly. “We might be in the wrong room.”

”Release him, or I’ll add a new hole to that pretty face, girl,” Cinlat snarled. For all her aloofness earlier, Caldus caught the undercurrent of possession. He couldn’t pretend to understand the older couple, but there was no doubt that Verin belonged to her.

”Whoa, what the—“ Mako ran into the room, shoving Altan’s arm away when he tried to bar her path. “Easy, these are friendlies. Sheesh, I leave for five minutes and you’re all ready to kill each other.”

The woman with the energy blade eased back, but she didn’t release Verin. “You know these Mandalorians, Mako?”

”Yeah, well, mostly.” Mako’s brown eyes widened when they landed on the newest member of the group. “No way, you’re Cinlat. I’ve read all about your tactics. Do you mind if I pick your brain a little? This is our champion for the Great Hunt, Noara Naberrie, and I’d love to get a professional’s opinion.”

”Only if she lets my husband go.” Cinlat’s voice remained tight, her blaster still leveled on the younger woman. Caldus appreciated the lack of shake in her hold. 

Finally, the dark haired woman deactivated her weapon and pushed away from Verin. “Sorry, we’ve run into some bad luck with Mandalorians lately.” The hardness in those icy blue eyes made it clear enough what kind of troubles she meant. A hypothesis confirmed when Mako’s shoulders slumped and her mood dulled.  

The woman looked to her friend. “Are you okay with them? I need to—do something.” If she was a contender for the Hunt, Caldus didn’t blame her for being discreet. 

”I’m good. Be careful out there.” Mako waved the woman away, then turned to them. “Sorry. Like Noara said, we’ve hit a rough patch. I don’t want to talk about it. Anyway, what can I do for you?”

[cinlat]

The Weight of Beskar - Ch 12: Truce

Summary: Fynta and Caldus finally come to a head and are forced to enter into a shaky truce for Altan's sake. Oh, and there is plot… Chapter Word Count: 3,295 Chapter Rating: T Ao3 Link

Fynta might have been more excited about Altan’s new armour than he was. Still, she’d seen more smiles from the Togruta in the last few hours than the entire trip combined. They were back on the floor while he put the finishing touches on her new helmet and she explored his tools without touching them. Fynta opened her mouth to ask more about growing up on Rishi when the door snapped open.

Caldus staggered in, took one look at them seated on the floor and bared his teeth. Fynta had a feeling she was going to see a lot of those teeth before this job was over. “You two look cozy,” the Cathar grumbled, one hand pressed to the wall. A brown bag dangled from the other, and the clink from within told her everything she needed to know about its contents.

A single glance at Altan told Fynta this wasn’t unusual. Fynta had read somewhere that a Cathar’s metabolism rivaled that of even her clansmen when it came to alcohol. The sheer volume he’d have to drink to reach his current state must have put a decent sized dent in the yacht’s supply. She hoped he left some for the rest of them.

A heavy silence filled the room while Caldus glared and Altan tinkered. Standing, Fynta dropped the datapad in Altan’s lap so he could complete the final touches on his armour request. “I’m going to hit the fresher.” She could see a brewing sibling-type argument in Caldus’s eyes and didn’t want to get involved.

Caldus tracked Fynta all the way to the fresher, his molten eyes burning with disdain until they vanished behind the closed door. She didn’t bother pretending that she wasn’t going to listen and pressed her ear to the hollow material in time to hear the Cathar’s rumbling growl. 

“You got a crush on her?” A loud thump indicated that Caldus had made it to the bed.

Altan’s answer was softer, almost ashamed. “She’s our ally. There is no point in alienating her.”

”She’s a fucking human.” The venom behind those words painted a clear picture. Verin had told Fynta about the Cathar’s comment to Cinlat. That it was better being feared in beskar than a slave to Imperials. 

“She’s using you,” Caldus spat, followed by the rattle of bottles. “Don’t let your guard down.”

”She’s not the one treating me like a child,” Altan snapped, then took a deep breath. “I’m an asset to her, not someone she had to protect.”

Caldus’s snarled response was too low to translate through the fresher door. Fynta decided to make her entrance while Altan was still brave enough to face off with his brother. She imagined being a quiet man in Clan Vizla meant his opinions were often drowned out by their noise. 

Throwing open the door, Fynta stretched as she crossed the room. She ignored Caldus’s glare and reclaimed her seat on the floor next to Altan. He offered her the datapad, eyes still fixed on his brother, and Fynta sent the armour request to Solus. Caldus sat forward, his knee jabbing into Fynta’s shoulder. She gave it a shove and the grumpy bastard spread out more. 

”Now that everyone is here,” Fynta started, refusing to look at the Cathar. “Shall we go over these files?” 

That got Caldus’s attention at least. Altan’s too. 

They stopped glaring at one another long enough to move closer to her. Fynta opened the holo program on her datapad and entered the password that Keeper had included in their hiring packet. “Where should we start?”

Altan reached forward, hesitating until Fynta moved the datapad closer to him, then scanned through the items. “There were four other teams before us, one was an Imperial Spec Ops group. There should be body-cam footage.”

A few more swipes, and the Togruta’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Nothing. That’s odd.” Even with full access, the contract was vague. Altan’s brows drew together. “Just this file from nearly a month ago, no label.”

”Play it,” Caldus rumbled, dropping what Fynta realized was an empty beer bottle onto the floor beside her. He sighed and leaned over her shoulder to see the screen. “Maybe it will show us what we’re up against.” 

Caldus’s thigh pushed against Fynta’s shoulder, but she refused to be moved. The haze of alcohol seemed to clear from his eyes by the second, leaving Fynta impressed with how quickly the man sobered, maybe even a little jealous.

Tapping the file, Fynta ignored the blatant posturing at her back and focused on the shaky images of a dark room. “Is that flashing light a marquee?” Altan asked, brown eyes narrowed at the screen. 

Fynta hadn’t considered the lighting, she was too focused on the figures within the smoke-filled space. Sure enough, it flashed through a series of neon colors consistent with advert boards. “Whatever this is, it's been on Nar Shaddaa the entire time.” It was a small clue, but helped establish a timeline and sequence of events. If their quarry had been there from the beginning, then it was unlikely her small team needed to watch the spaceport. 

Fynta started to nudge Altan’s shoulder, then settled for a smile. “Good catch.”

The scene illuminated, triggering a hiss from Caldus, but Fynta was transfixed. “That looked like lightning.” A mountainous creature stepped into frame briefly, snarling words Fynta couldn’t translate, but she swore she felt the vibrations through the feed. Curses filled the audio, accompanied by blaster fire from multiple directions, then the feed cut out. 

They sat there staring at the blank screen. Thirty seconds of chaos and nightmare fuel, but no answers. Finally, Cladus voiced what they were all thinking. ”What the fuck was that?” 

“May I?” Altan asked, palm open and stretched towards Fynta. 

She relinquished the datapad and leaned closer to Altan while he scrolled manually through the footage. It meant she leaned against his shoulder, but the Togruta didn’t tense this time, so Fynta didn’t back up. She wanted to see what his eye had caught that hers missed. 

Altan’s finger slid slowly along the motion bar, pausing on the half revealed monstrosity. It looked like nothing Fynta had seen before. Yellow skin stretched across slabs of thick muscle that made Caldus look ordinary. It was the red glowing eyes and vicious looking fangs that captured Fynta’s attention, though. 

“I think…” Altan rubbed his mouth, the lines of his brows pulling together. “I think it's a Dashade.”

“A what?” Fynta and Caldus asked in unison. They shared a look, his irritated and hers probably irritating. 

Altan ignored them, transfixed by that blurry image. “An ancient creature on the verge of extinction.” 

Setting the footage aside, Altan collected his personal device and scrolled until he landed on what he was looking for. When he turned it towards them, Caldus leaned over Fynta, his breath a distraction against her neck. The Cathar had made his distaste for humans clear, but that didn’t stop her from appreciating the mountain of man at her back. 

“They are Force resistant,” Altan explained, pulling the datapad back to himself when neither of his companions looked at the information it displayed. “I remember reading about them a few years back when I was studying Sith Ancestry. Once a mighty warrior species turned assassins for the Sith.”

A low rumble vibrated against Fynta’s shoulder and she was sure it did not have the desired effect. Thankfully, Caldus didn’t seem to notice. “So they fucked around with a Dashade. Now it’s loose. Fantastic.” The Cathar chuffed and straightened, leaving Fynta chilled without his inhuman body heat. 

“It’s flesh and blood, just like anything else.” Fynta took a shaky breath and forced herself to focus on the real threat in the room instead of her hormones. Though, capturing the thing alive looked like a distant priority now. Dead with proof might have to be enough. 

”It’s also an endangered species,” Altan argued, his voice firming the same way it had when they discussed his skill with a rifle. “Whatever they did to him is not his fault.”

Fynta saw the heart of a boy, then. The young man who’d somehow remained gentle despite the way he’d come into his family. She risked a look at Caldus, and for once, didn’t find fury in those bright eyes. The Cathar ran a hand down his face and sighed. “It might not be its fault, but it still needs to be put down.”

“Why?” Altan jabbed a finger at the screen. “Because whoever created it says so?” 

Before either of them could answer, the Togruta shoved to his feet with unnatural grace. “I need to stretch my legs.”

Caldus started to stand, but Fynta elbowed his calf and shook her head. To her surprise, the grumpy Cathar flopped back onto the mattress. She waited until Altan was clear of the door before adding more. “Let him sort out his feelings. I have faith that he’ll do the right thing when the time comes.”

“He’s been like that since I’ve known him.” Caldus snorted. “Protect the ant hill, feed the strays, rescue the downtrodden. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it extends to monsters.”

Climbing to her feet, Fynta arched her back until her spine popped, then looked around. “Hey, where’d you put those beers?” She found them before Caldus could answer and snagged one from the bag next to his boot.

The Cathar settled against the headboard of his bed, golden eyes focusing on her with a predator's intensity. “Those are mine.” 

”Right,” Fynta smacked the top of the bottle against a ridge on her prosthetic with a grin. Then, she lifted it in cheers. “Thanks.”

A long breath escaped through Caldus’s nostrils as he produced a blade. Fynta lifted a brow at the open threat, then added the other when a block of foam appeared next. “Since I’m sober now, hand me one too.”

Fynta obliged, setting the bottle on the table that separated their beds. Long curls of foam drifted into the cloth spread across Caldus’s lap. Those massive hands with their sharp claws cradled the foam block with practiced care. Fynta wondered what it would become, and if he’d show her when it was finished.

Fynta must have hovered too long because Caldus slowly raised his eyes. “What?” 

“How much can you drink before you feel it?” Fynta propped her shoulder against the wall, pretending that she wasn’t more interested in what he was creating. If she asked directly, the stubborn Cathar would shut down and she’d never find out what it was.

Caldus must have read the challenge between Fynta’s words, because he flashed a few too many teeth to be friendly. “Don’t try it, human. You wouldn’t survive.”

Fynta renewed her grin, pleased to have an interaction that didn’t involve snarls—yet. “Don’t you know it’s instinctual for a Mandalorian to push her limits?” To prove her point, Fynta let her gaze slip down Caldus’s body. Even with his back to the wall, the man’s feet nearly reached the end of the bed. One of his thighs was as large as her waist, and fierfek, those arms.

A snarl rolled through Caldus, snapping Fynta’s attention up to his eyes. His teeth were bared, those burning embers filled with more rage than she deserved. Fynta was rarely innocent, but she hadn’t even begun to be a big enough pain in Caldus’s ass to warrant that glare. Then, the Cathar’s chest expanded, nostrils flaring in a deliberate inhale.

Shab.

The curse had barely rolled through her mind before the realization landed. Cathar senses were legendary, which meant there was a real chance that Caldus could scent exactly where her thoughts had wandered.

Caldus clicked his teeth, eyes narrowed. Finally, Fynta understood.

The tension between them pulled taut, nothing but the hum of the yacht’s engines to fill the silence. She took a step closer, and Caldus rumbled another warning. Testing her limits was fun, but this felt different. She wasn’t just annoying him, she was provoking. That had never been the plan.

Raising her hands, Fynta steadied her voice to hide the pounding of her heart. “Listen, we need to get this sorted before we get to Nar Shaddaa.”

Caldus didn’t hesitate. “Sort what out?” Judging by the Cathar’s tone, he understood and was being an ass. 

”This.” Fynta gestured between them, refusing to rise to the bait. “Whatever this animosity is.” Though, she supposed she couldn’t blame the man. Not if her suspicion was true and he could physically scent her moods. Fierfek, that was going to complicate things. 

Fynta continued before Caldus could speak. “Otherwise, someone is going to get hurt. With our luck, it’ll be Altan.”

Caldus was off his bed in a heartbeat, and Fynta nearly flinched back. She caught herself at the last moment and forced a glare up at the Cathar. She’d faced deadlier men than him. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her unbalanced. Altan was a trigger though, that she filed away for later.

Chest heaving, Caldus straightened to full height, blade and foam block forgotten on his bed, the shavings he’d meticulously collected scattered across the floor. “I don’t trust humans,” he managed between gritted teeth. Fynta didn’t miss the symbolism of his discarded weapon either. He could kill her without one. She let that slide off her without acknowledgment. 

”That’s probably fair,” Fynta agreed, lifting an eyebrow in challenge when he leaned into her personal space. Each interaction gave her more of his measure. Caldus used his size and species to intimidate, trying to crowd her out. It was a brute tactic mostly likely learned at the hands of brutes.

Fynta took a step closer, intentionally invading the Cathar’s space to show that she wouldn’t be so easily cowed. “Are you willing to risk Altan’s safety over it?” When Caldus tipped his head, their faces now inched apart, Fynta continued. “We are going up against a veritable myth, something I didn’t even know existed until ten minutes ago. You and I need to be in sync, trust each other to do the job we were hired for. If you can’t manage that alongside a human, then sell your portion of the contract and go home.”

Finally, Caldus relaxed his posture, straightening without relinquishing the gap between them. Those same fingers that held the foam so carefully now curled into tight fists at his sides. He took a shaky breath.  “What do you suggest?”

Fynta wasn’t interested in a game of dominance, she just wanted to know if it all went to osik, he’d have her back. So, she took a step away, releasing the tension in her shoulders and legs so that her stance matched his. They entered an awkward stalemate of sorts. “Apart from being human, what am I doing to piss you off?”

That shabbing lip pulled back again, but the answer carried more honesty than Fynta expected. “The way you look at me, it reminds me of them.” 

Fynta had no concrete evidence who them was, but given the pieces of conversation she’d managed to drag out of the surly bastard she assumed his owners; human owners. Another piece of the puzzle dropped into place and she didn’t like the picture it built. Because the way she looked at him had nothing to do with possession, but appreciation of an impressive physique. 

“Shab.” The word slipped out, hot rage flooding Fynta’s system. Another growl started somewhere deep inside Caldus, but she spoke before he could interpret her outrage as pity. “Listen, I'm Mando'ade. I live shereshoy, and I have a type.”

The sound built, rolling up his chest. Caldus tensed his shoulders like he might throw a punch. “And what is that?”

”Strength,” Fynta answered simply, getting the word out before he escalated. She had no reason to be ashamed of her preferences. Male or female, Fynta had always been a sucker for anyone who could put her on her shebs in a fight. While she hadn’t tested it, Caldus fit that description. 

When the Cathar raised both brows, Fynta forced a grin. “I like people who can go toe to toe with me. Shereshoy. Any day could be my last, so I’m going to live like it is.” When Caldus opened his mouth, Fynta held up a hand. “That said, I’ll do my best to rein in the flirting for you.”

The steady rumble stilled, but Caldus's eyes narrowed. Fynta took another step back and lifted her hands where he could see them, yielding this particular argument. “You are your own man, Caldus. I won’t let anyone take that from you.”

”Not even you,” Caldus spat, though Fynta thought his tone might have carried a little less malice.

With a smile that echoed none of the lecherous thoughts she’d entertained before, Fynta thrust her hand into the space between them. “Especially me. Be’mev, vod.”

Caldus snapped his mouth shut when the door opened to reveal Altan. He had his face buried in the datapad as he walked, oblivious to the tension between her and his brother. With a huff, Caldus gripped Fynta’s forearm in a truce, then flopped back onto his bed and collected the knife and block. She called it as much of a win as she was likely to get.

“How do you think it got out?” Altan asked as he wove through the piles of electronics he’d left behind.

Fynta picked up his line of thought as a sort of peace offering to Caldus. He clearly didn’t want to discuss whatever brewed between them, so Fynta shoved it to the side for when it became a problem again. “Did anyone else notice the lightning? That reeks of Sith.”

”But were they attacking it or helping it escape?” Caldus added. Now that he wasn’t snarling like a deranged akk hound, his timbre had settled back into that lovely combination of gritty calm. Fynta forced herself not to think about it.

Instead, she settled into her professional hunter persona and pretended to be a responsible adult.  “We can’t rule either out, which means once we land, no one goes out without their armour.” The last line she aimed at Altan, who glanced up long enough to nod. 

“I’ve been monitoring Nar Shaddaa’s local news network and there haven’t been any instances of monster sightings.” Altan returned his attention to the screen, folding himself back onto the floor. “You’d think a Dashade would stand out.”

“You’ll understand when we get there,” Fynta laughed and settled into one of the chairs with her duffle. There was a small folding table behind it, and she set about arranging her solvents to begin maintenance. Caldus had given her blasters a rushed cleaning at the range before they left Dromund Kaas, but Fynta wanted to make sure they were ready when she needed them. Knowing there was possibly a Sith involved changed the way they needed to approach this mission. “Have either of you fought a Sith?”

As Fynta settled into the familiar rhythm of dismantling her weapons, Caldus answered without looking up from his carving. From stolen glances, all Fynta could make out was that it was cylindrical. “Some religious nuts on Rishi are as close as we’ve seen. They usually keep to their part of the island though.” 

“Shea had that run in with a couple last year,” Altan added. “Half the jungle was on fire before they went down. Luckily, it was monsoon season.”

Fynta smirked at the image Altan painted. Clan Vizla’s leader had a reputation for being fiery. From Altan’s recounting, it sounded earned. “Whatever you do,” Fynta continued as she lifted the barrel to peer down it for evidence of missed grime. “Don’t hesitate.”

[cinlat]

The Weight of Beskar - Ch 10: Spite

Summary: Solish survives on Spite and Audacity Chapter Word Count: 1,585 Chapter Rating: T Ao3 Link

The stench of ozone burned Solish’s nose. She dodged beneath a knife blade and slammed her claws into the spot under the mercenary's arm where his armour was weak. Warmth coated her hand when she ripped it free. 

Khem’s growl rumbled to the left, followed by the pop of dislocating bones. Her ears twitched, tracking the sound through the smoke they’d filled the room with. Then, she turned away.

Pain slashed through Solish’s ribs and back. High-voltage blue surrounded her like a cage. The scent of singed fur, followed by the long forgotten animal panic of prey caught in a trap.

Solish jolted awake and hissed at the too real pain in her back and side. She lay there on that woefully thin cot and stared at a ceiling dotted by stains she shouldn’t dwell on. It was as if life had come full circle in some sick, cosmic joke. She had been a slave, sleeping in huts much like this while her master gorged on lavish dinner parties so many years ago. 

For a short time, Solish had been Sith. Still an apprentice, yes, but apprentice to one of the strongest Dark Council members of their time. She’d been more than the alien, she’d been indomitable. Then, it all changed.

Pushing upright, Solish ignored the way her bandages stuck to her fur and let the dream fade into obscurity. Khem wasn't her bonded, but Darth Nox’s choice to restore Zash had been unacceptable. Solish hadn’t expected the old witch to adapt to the Dashade’s claws and strength so quickly. 

Solish forced her first deep breath of the day, gagging on the cloying stench of refuse and old cooking oil that lingered around her hostel. She should be sleeping on silk sheets and being served breakfast in bed, but Nox would likely look there first. Nar Shaddaa was big, but not so large that her master couldn’t find her if she stuck her head out of hiding for too long.

Former master, Solish reminded herself. Solish could forgive an attempt on her life for overstepping her authority. It was the way of the Sith. Any apprentice who survived their master deserved the title of Lord. But dragging Him into it when Nox couldn’t track Solish’s escape was the infuriating part. The Cathar bared her teeth at the memory of Nox’s taunting message showing Kirin’s brutalized face. That, Darth Nox would pay for. Kirin was hers. Only she got to kill the little weasel.  

Swinging her feet over the bed tugged at the ragged edges that Khem’s—Zash’s—claws had left through Solish’s middle. She peeled the bandage back and grimaced. If she couldn’t get this infection under control, Kirin’s fate wouldn’t be her problem anymore. 

The light flickered when Solish reached out with the Force to flip it on, then popped, throwing the room back into the eerie neon lighting she’d woken to. Solish had been here three weeks and her head still ached any time she ventured outside. Today would be another exercise in patience, since mass murder would likely blow her cover.

With a huff, Solish electrified the trash can, igniting its contents and providing enough low light for her to reach the fresher. The mirror showed a haggard creature with pale skin barely recovered from the burns that mottled it weeks ago. Lines of naked flesh where her master’s lightning had scorched fur traced down the side of her face and throat. Solish hissed at the reflection and groped for the clean bandages on the back of the toilet.

The smell hit her first. It was more putrid than the reek that filtered through her window. Solish would need to see a proper healer, or at least someone who claimed to be one and worked for cheap. No doubt Nox would be monitoring the medcenters. 

As Solish peeled away the sodden gauze, her stomach rumbled louder than the shouting in the lower alley. She’d need to steal something simple to tide her over until the infection was taken care of. Bland proteins and soups. That thought managed to quell her hunger almost as much as the oozing mess across her abdomen.

Tugging her shirt down, Solish eased into a black jacket made of fake animal skin and called her lightsaber to her. She shouldn’t carry it, it marked her for what she was. She also refused to be caught without it. On her thigh, Solish bent gingerly to wrap the holster for her holdout blaster. It made her look more authentic to the crowd. 

Pulling on her boots incited all manner of swears that never left her lips, but finally, she was ready. Solish looked at the cot, exhausted from the effort of getting dressed, and considered climbing back into it. Maybe one more day of rest would be the turning point. She blew a disbelieving breath between her lips and turned for the door.

With her accounts likely monitored, Solish had been forced to rely on unmarked chits and petty theft. An old trick that Kirin had taught her. One she’d scoffed at and would never hear the end of now that it was keeping her alive. 

Solish stole what she could and grudgingly handed over her quickly dwindling funds for the rest. One such item was a biometric lock that would fry the insides of anyone unauthorized that tried to enter her room. She’d convinced the landlord that she’d paid extra for privacy, so the four bunk room should theoretically remain hers. However, this was Nar Shaddaa.

Pulling the hood over her head, Solish stepped into the now crowded streets of the Red Light district. She’d heard for years that it was the place to go if you wanted to get lost. So far, the venue had been everything she expected. Refuse lined the streets, drunkards slept in alleys, and hawkers plied unreasonable claims. It was every badly written holo of a sleazy city that Solish had ever seen. 

Now that Solish was mobile, her pain tolerance decreased drastically. Each step pounded through her body and landed in her skull. All thoughts of food fled in the wake of stomach roiling wrongness. 

With her body under so much strain, Solish’s senses worked overtime. She tracked every movement, catalogued every scent, and the Force reached out to explore the minds around her without intention. By the time Solish made it two blocks, she was panting and clutching her side while trying to shut out the onslaught of stimuli.

Bracing a hand against the wall, Solish staggered into the store she’d visited so many times before. That Duros who owned it was an idiot, his mind malleable under the slightest touch. He gave her what she wanted then forgot at her behest. Today, however, Solish could barely get her own thoughts in order, much less influence his.

“You okay, darlin’?” His large, red eyes blinked, elongated head tilted slightly to one side.

Solish flashed her teeth, then forced herself to her full height. It barely matched his, but that didn’t matter to her pride. She opened her mouth to demand the information she required, then hissed in frustration. Lifting her hands, Solish used Smuggler’s Sign, or at least, her butchered version of it. “Need medical assistance.”

“The medcent—” at Solish’s abrupt headshake, the Duros paused. “Medkits’ the best I have. Aisle 7.”

Solish didn’t bother thanking the man. She stalked down the row of mostly bare shelves to find exactly two off-brand medkits. The label on the back offered gauze, bacta cream, and a single emergency vial of kolto. It was better than what she had now, so Solish grabbed them both and stormed over to the self heating single serve meals. She only took four of those. Her arms and legs already felt heavy from the excursion and each gram added more strain. 

Returning to the counter, Solish dropped the items on the counter, then waited for the Duros to look up from his datapad. “Where can I find more?” She tapped the medkit and glared.

“Four blocks away at Reggie’s be my guess.” The Duros rang up the items, then turned the screen for Solish to pay. 

Solish pressed her will against his mind, skin electrifying with the effort of something that should be simple. “You have my payment. Good day.” By the time she’d made the hand gestures and collected her bag, Solish’s arms were shaking. It was harder to persuade someone without the use of her voice, but Solish prided herself on her control of the Force.

The Duros blinked rapidly, his mind fighting off her sluggish command. Solish took advantage of his confusion and walked out the door. He didn’t call after her, so she assumed it had finally taken. She’d need to check out Reggie’s next—tomorrow, maybe. Her spine sagged the moment she was in the street, unable to keep her proud posture any longer.

As Solish made her way back to her miserable hideout, a bounty board flashed to her right. Solish paused, momentarily dazzled by the unexpected intrusion of such bright colors. Until the warning it displayed sank in. 

GREAT HUNT RUMORS PROVEN TRUE. MANDALORIAN DEATH GAMES PROCEED AFTER 10 YEAR HIATUS.

Beneath it, in smaller letters was a list of names for local mercenaries and bounty hunters seeking bounties of their own, even signups for local Minor Hunts. Solish’s name wasn’t on the list, but it reminded her that she was still very much hunted. Tucking her head, Solish hurried back to her flimsy sanctuary. 

[cinlat]

It took longer than it should have to remember the second figure. The hooded child from the security cam. No, a small woman…a Nautolan. She temporarily pulled Altan’s attention from the monster, meeting large, black eyes.

Altan flinched when her hands raised. She paused, head tilted to one side while she studied him, then they repeated the same pattern over and over until Altan realized they were words. Sign language, though he was rusty. 

When Altan was ten, he’d become obsessed with the smuggler’s signs on Rishi. He watched them, learned their silent language, and was thrilled to find out that his adopted parents already knew it. For a solid year, he communicated solely with his hands until eventually, he grew bored. 

“Can—“ Altan glanced at the Dashade. “Can you slow down? I have forgotten a lot.”

She did. So the Nautolan either wasn’t deaf, or maybe she read lips. Now that his death didn’t feel as imminent, Altan really saw the woman. Scars circled her lips, cheeks, and throat. It was possible she simply didn’t have a voice.

Altan forced himself to watch her hands, parsing out the meaning a little more each time she repeated it. Finally, Altan understood. “Oh, of course.” He offered a tight smile, hoping to come across as non-threatening. “My name is Altan. Who are you?”

Again, the creature rumbled in dissent. Altan didn’t need to know the words to read his tone. She shook her head at the creature, hands moving too rapidly for Altan to catch, before turning to him and signing more slowly. “Khalu”

”Nice to meet you, Khalu.” Altan glanced at the Dashade again, then swallowed the bile that tried to burn up his throat. “Are you going to eat me?”

[cinlat]

Sneak Peek at the upcoming chapter:

As soon as new sand was spread over the residual fluids, gates opened to reveal the final champions. The crowd roared to life, heckling, encouraging, or simply propositioning. A few bottles landed in the sands, and laughter rang out when Fynta picked one up, tried to drink, only to hurl the empty thing back at the crowd with a demand for something better.

[cinlat]

The Weight of Beskar - Ch 11: Second Skin

Summary: Altan joined this mission to find himself and Fynta has no clue that she's become a key participant. Chapter Word Count: 3,344 Chapter Rating: T Ao3 Link

“Fierfek,” Fynta muttered for the third time in as many minutes. 

Altan lay on the bed, scrolling through the net for clues about Nar Shaddaa and where they should start. He’d been nervous about sharing a mattress with the woman, but she didn’t complain when he stuffed the extra pillows down the middle of the bed. Fynta seemed to pass out as soon as she laid down, then was up before anyone the next morning. She didn’t flail in her sleep like his brother either.

”Fierfek.” Four. 

Altan had spent the morning studying everything he could find about Nar Shaddaa. So far, he had learned two important things. The city moon thrived on rumors and loose tongues. It was also the perfect place for someone who wanted to disappear.

Fynta hissed, and Altan sat up to see what was causing her so much stress. The woman sat cross-legged on the bed Caldus had claimed, her teeth bared as she glared into the abyss of her new helmet. Normally, Altan left people to their own devices, but he liked Fynta, and she was clearly struggling with something inside it. 

Standing, Altan crossed the three steps between the beds and leaned over Fynta. He blocked her light so she’d be forced to acknowledge him without him needing to speak. To Altan’s surprise, the malice she held for her new helmet didn’t follow her gaze up to him. He nodded at the thing in her hand. “You good?”

”Fan-fierfeking-tastic.” Fynta sighed, tossing the subject of her distress to the end of the bed and flopping back. “Cin got me a piece of osik.” She waved vaguely towards the helmet at her feet while she stared at the ceiling.

Altan picked it up, noting the internal components were possibly older than him. “Where is your other helmet?”

Again, Fynta gestured in the general direction of her duffle without lifting her head. Altan hesitated. He didn’t like getting into people’s personal spaces, and a traveling bag was as personal as they could get on this trip. Instead, he set the duffle next to Fynta’s metal leg and waited. 

It took Fynta a moment to realize that Altan waited for her to make the next move. With a huff, she curled up and yanked her pack open. While Fynta dug through her belongings, Altan studied the prosthetic. Curiosity burned through him, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

“Lek,” she cheered, lifting the familiar dome from the duffle. Altan noted the tender way Fynta held it before sighing and offering it to him. “You think you can do something with it?”

Altan accepted the helmet, appreciating the way Fynta never second guessed him. To her, Altan wasn’t a quirky younger brother or the child who had outgrown so many awkward social interactions. He was a brother from a different clan and she trusted that he had skills that would benefit their mission. It was as close to feeling like an adult that Altan had ever come. 

Settling on the floor, Altan dragged his pack closer to the edge of his bed. “I think so. If I have your permission to experiment a little?”

“Knock yourself out.” Fynta leaned over the gap to watch as Altan pulled his tools from a smaller case inside his main toolkit. “What are you thinking?”

”This one is old, but still in good condition.” He poked around with tweezers, sure that there was a short somewhere that kept the interface from coming on. He could hear the filters working, so the helmet had power. 

Closing his eyes, Altan focused on the small space within. The helmet unfolded in his mind; layers of foam, wiring, chips, and datacores arranged in a familiar maze—there. He opened his eyes and pulled back a piece of protective foam to find the loose wire. Once plugged in, the HUD came to life.

“Wayii!” Fynta thumped Altan on the shoulder, then winced as the blow landed. “Sorry, vod’ika—habit.” 

Altan nodded. He understood that most people didn’t react like him. They touched, shoved, and grew louder when excited. He preferred the quiet. Not that it mattered. While the display worked, there were chunks of data missing. Outdated software and integral pieces that would need to be replaced before Fynta could safely wear her new helmet. 

Mandalorians had kept rudimentary designs for situations such as this. Externally, each helm was unique, but the things that made them run were the same shape going back generations. Which meant Altan could fix it if Fynta trusted him. 

“I can take the pieces I need from your personal helmet to fix this one.” Altan dug in his bag for a data cable and looked up to find Fynta’s brow creased while she stared at the two helms in his lap. “And I can mirror the software so your HUD and controls behave exactly like your old helmet.” He wouldn’t change anything without Fynta’s approval.

”Shab.” Fynta looked from her old helmet to the new one, then up to Altan. “You can do that?”

Altan nodded. It would take a couple of hours, but the overall process would be simple. Just a lot of waiting for stuff to reset and load. “Only if you want.”

”Yes,” she answered, bouncing on the bed. “Please. You need anything from me?”

Altan almost said no, but he’d learned that Fynta liked to give things. The soft fabric wrapped around him was testament to that. Instead, he offered what he hoped was a genuine smile. “Consider it payment for this.” He tugged on the sleeve of his new hoodie. 

“Absolutely not.” Fynta shoved from the bed and walked to the small kitchenette. After opening and slamming a few of the cabinets, she turned back to him. “Dinner is on me. Any requests?”

“Something high in protein,” Altan answered, because he’d learned long ago that leaving it up to the person offering risked him not being able to stomach what they brought back. “No sweets.”

Fynta stamped her natural foot into her boot and grinned. “You got it. I’ll be right back.” Then, she swung out of the suite with her shoe still untied. Altan wondered if he should have mentioned it.

Taking a breath, Altan set the helmets aside to organize everything he needed. By the time he was ready to begin, the room looked like chaos, but Altan knew where every piece was. Settling himself on the floor amidst the trinkets, Altan pulled the outdated helmet into his lap and began dismantling it. He was passable at many things, but this—this was where he excelled.

Altan wasn’t sure how long Fynta had been gone, but he didn’t look up when she reentered the room. He had nearly everything out of the old one, going so far as to remove, clean, and reattach the tinted visor, and was nearly ready to start working on the original helmet when a bag shook in front of his face.

”I got a few things.” Fynta picked her way across the floor until she perched safely on Caldus’s bed again. She didn’t bring up the mess, just eyed everything with a curiosity that made Altan want to explain. He didn’t get a chance. “Pick whatever you want, ignore what you don’t. The selection was pretty good.”

Altan wiped his hands on his pants and flexed cramped fingers. The detailed work of small components always got to him after a while. Food made for an excellent distraction. 

A confusing mixture of smells wafted from the bag, making Altan nervous. He didn’t want to offend his new friend so soon after they’d gotten to know one another. Reaching in to carefully extract the first item, Altan held it up. “What is it?”

”A delicacy if you believe the server.” Fynta shrugged and tugged the wrapping open. “If you don’t like it, I’ll eat it. I got plenty and I’m not picky.” Altan relaxed. Knowing he could refuse without offending her made choosing something he actually wanted easier.

Altan considered the chunk of glazed substance, then offered it to Fynta. She accepted with the same grin she did everything with and tore a piece off. After chewing for a few moments, she nodded and offered a thumbs up. Altan realized he was staring and went back to exploring the bag. 

“Togruta have two stomachs, right?” Altan nodded without looking at Fynta. He found a familiar skewer and tore off the protective seal. Normally, that question was followed by either open disdain or a thinly veiled jab about the freakishness of aliens. Instead, Fynta took another bite and nodded towards the chiller. “Thought so, I got extra.”

Altan laughed, relieved both by Fynta’s acceptance and the fact that he had more snacks to look forward to later. But he felt it important to correct the misconception before she spent too many credits. “That doesn’t mean that I eat more. On the contrary, I can go longer between meals if needed.”

Fynta’s horrified expression made a cold sweat break out on Altan’s neck. He started to reach for the hood of his sweater to pull it tighter when she spoke. “But, eating’s one of the best things in this shabla galaxy.” 

Relief washed through him so suddenly he had to stop himself from laughing. She wasn’t horrified by his inhuman nature, but by what she considered to be missing out. He didn’t bother explaining his complicated relationship with food and texture.

Flopping onto her stomach, Fynta leaned over the edge of Caldus’s bed. “Can I ask a personal question?”

Altan ducked his head to focus on the task. “As long as you aren’t offended if I choose not to answer.”

”Naturally.” Fynta grew quiet while he slipped a small pin into place to secure the faceplate. She waited until he set that aside and reached for the helmet he needed to pull the components from. “Tell me about your beskar’gam.”

Altan stilled, then tapped the list he’d made on his datapad to double check everything he needed to pull. “It’s heavy.” 

The unyielding plates made him feel trapped in a way he’d never been able to properly explain. Taking off his beskar’gam felt like drawing his first full breath after holding it for hours. The relief always brought a flicker of shame. That wasn’t how a true Mandalorian was supposed to feel about such a prized piece of their heritage.

Fynta rolled onto her back, snatching her datapad in the process. “Have you tried lighter versions?”

“I haven’t found any in my size.” He gestured at his long legs and torso even though she wasn’t looking. “They are usually made for female body types or children. Maybe species of lighter statures. Not for men like me.”

“Beskar’gam is supposed to be like a second skin,” Fynta began, and Altan sighed. It was the same conversation again. He decided it would be better to just agree with what came next and get on with his task. 

Then, Fynta surprised him. “What do you want from yours?”

Looking up, Altan caught a glimpse of Fynta’s datapad as she scrolled through various chestplates. When he didn’t answer, the woman hung her head off the bed to see him. A dark brow raised, though it technically pointed at the floor from her angle. “Um.”

That was the extent that Altan had managed before Fynta went back to scrolling. “Lightweight, obviously,” she answered. “Some form of covering? Maybe a type of beskarweave covering to make up for the loss in durability and so your brother doesn’t murder me.”

”That would be a plus.” Altan set aside his work and climbed onto his knees to see what she was doing. “Could it have a hood? Or maybe a way to close it?” Altan forced himself back, reminding himself not to crowd or become overbearing just because the topic excited him. It was the constant dance of do’s and don’ts of social interactions that still tripped him up. 

Fynta didn’t seem to notice. She snapped her fingers with a grin. “I like it. What about this?”

Altan angled to see the screen better, trying to respect Fynta’s personal boundaries. She was the one who scooted closer so that he could see the line of jackets she’d brought up. They were all a lightweight material, something that he could retreat into without baking in his armour. Altan finally glanced up to ask the question he feared the answer to. “Is that even possible?”

”You see,” Fynta began, selecting the one Altan had paused on so they could see it from all angles. “I practically grew up on Nar Shaddaa, meaning all the awkward growth spurts that drive parents nuts after the verd’goten. Honestly, you’d think they would wait until we reached full size before slapping ridiculously expensive armour on us—anyway, I know this guy. He’s a genius if you’ve got the creds.”

Altan sat back on his heels after Fynta put his preferred jacket in the cart. “What does that mean?” To his knowledge, the production and shaping of beskar was a highly regulated craft. Selling it on the black market always invoked the wrath of enough veterans to hunt down and put the pirate out of business. 

”It means,” Fynta rolled back to her stomach and turned the screen towards Altan. She’d added the jacket to the program, showcasing the sort of armour that he couldn’t even imagine. “We can make you a custom set that suits you, not Mandalorian ideals.”

The chestplate that Fynta displayed was segmented into smaller plates and linked by mesh. It would move more freely than his solid front and back design. “This guy is old as dirt, but he helped keep Verin and I alive during some dark days. I think he’d appreciate the kind of opportunity you bring. If you want, that is.”

”Yeah,” Altan decided, lighting up alongside Fynta’s smile. “That would be awesome.”

Over the next two hours, Fynta scrolled, asked questions, posed scenarios, and bookmarked selections while Altan continued to work on the helmets. They discussed his tool kits, dimensions of his datapad and where it would be stored. Fynta even took into account whether or not his jacket should have clips to keep his weapons accessible when needed. 

All the while, Altan split his attention between her helmets and the imagination of a seasoned warrior unfolding on the screen in her hands. By the time Fynta’s new helmet was updated and ready for testing, Altan had an entirely new set of armour on back order with her mysterious contact.  

The segmented chestplate, lighter, longer greaves, gloves with more flexible fingers that were delicate enough to activate his datapad. Even the boots were smaller. The jacket was Altan’s favorite though. He’d known that beskar could be shaved down and woven into fabric, but he’d never seen it done. That jacket would make up the difference in the thinner metals. He didn’t even care if it was heavy because it would cover him instead of encasing him.

It felt like something out of a dream. For the first time, Altan couldn’t wait to wear this new armour. He’d be protected without being smothered, and still have the option to retreat into his hood and jacket when situations became overwhelming. Still, there was a voice in the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Caldus warning that this was some kind of trick.

A painful knot settled in Altan’s stomach. What if he’d misunderstood? He barely knew Fynta. What if this wasn’t generosity at all, but an elaborate joke at the gullible alien’s expense?

”What colors would you choose?” Fynta interrupted Altan’s spiral with the normality of her question. She still snacked at the bar, flicking through something on her screen with one finger while Altan stood frozen in existential crisis.  

When she looked up, Fynta’s head tilted ever so slightly. “Sticking with what you have now, or thinking of a new theme?”

Altan pushed to his feet, stretching stiff limbs so that he could begin the software downloads. “I hadn’t considered that, yet.” He had chosen to honor his birth parents and their sacrifice when he painted his last set. Maybe it was time to reinvent himself…new armour, new colors, new reputation.

“You don’t have to choose now,” Fynta continued with a nod towards her duffle. “Mine’s been unpainted for years. Never could settle on one aspect that I wanted to represent. Then I learned that was better for camouflage anyway.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Altan decided. He wanted his painted, but it needed to be the right colors. “We have time, don’t we?”

”Totally.” Fynta continued to scroll while Altan set both helmets on the desk. He attached a datacable to each to begin the software updates, then turned to look for something else to do while they processed. He couldn’t work on her config files or HUD settings until everything was up to date, which left him standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Fynta hummed, tapped the screen twice, then looked at Altan. “Tell me about that rifle. How important is it to have on hand?”

Shrugging, Altan went to the chiller to see what else Fynta had brought from—wherever she’d gone earlier. “Not really. It’s just a tool for hunting.”

Altan chose a sandwich and peeled the bread back to see what it held. When he straightened, Fynta was watching him with that unreadable expression again. Altan fought the urge to fidget. “What?”

“How’d you get so good?” She asked, surprising him. When Altan shrugged and picked at the crust on the bread, Fynta stood. “I mean, I’ve met a few snipers in my time, and they are religiously attached to their rifles.”

Altan hated the label sniper. It made him feel like he belonged to an elite club that he’d never asked to join. He wanted to live in peace. Unfortunately, Mandalorian lifestyles rarely offered that opportunity. 

When Fynta stopped at the counter, Altan couldn’t look at her. He didn’t want to be the one she relied on to take down their target. It was selfish, but Altan hoped to skip the confrontation altogether. He could offer technical support, medical aid, but not death. 

Squaring his shoulders, Altan met Fynta’s gaze. “I won’t kill for you.”

Fynta didn't speak, just picked up the leftover crusts that Altan had peeled off and popped them into her mouth. Altan firmed his resolve against whatever argument she was building. “We have to hunt on Rishi. It being what it is, sometimes imports are interrupted and we have to live off the land. I still have nightmares about my first hunt, the way buir winged it and we had to trek for hours while it slowly bled to death. I won’t do that to a sentient being.” He put down the rest of his sandwich and nudged it towards Fynta as a bit of a peace offering for his hard tone. The woman was always hungry. 

”You got good so the next time no one suffered,” Fynta surmised around a mouthful of food. 

Altan couldn’t meet her eyes again, his bravado withering as quickly as it had built. Though no one said it, he’d always gotten the impression his family was disappointed in that part of him. Soft-hearted, Valk had called it.

They stood in silence through another bite, then she smiled. “Good, then you get to be our conscience. If you say we need to take a step back, we will.” 

Altan startled, nearly backing away from the island that separated them. Fynta finished his sandwich and spun the datapad around. “What is your preferred source of protection, then. I know Caldus doesn’t let you walk around unarmed.”

“A small pistol and a utility knife.” When Fynta’s brows went up, Altan managed a smile as he straightened to full height. “People usually leave me alone.”

Head craned back, Fynta grinned. “Touche. I guess I wouldn’t mug a two and a half meter mando either. Okay so let’s discuss carry options for your choices.”

[cinlat]

Caldus didn’t drink how Fynta expected. They were six shots in, three whiskeys for Fynta, and two margaritas, a dacari, and one mojito for Caldus. The Cathar, it seemed, had a sweet tooth.

When Fynta gestured to the latest, frozen concoction, Caldus flashed his teeth in a not unfriendly way. “I spent most of my life eating and drinking shit.” He lifted the the pink drink and tapped it against Fytna’s. “This stuff is good.”

Being raised Mandalorian meant Fynta enjoyed the bitter, spicy things in life. She wouldn’t fault the Cathar for his choices though. With a salute, Fynta knocked hers back while Caldus sipped through a straw.

A low growl rumbled the bar, and Caldus pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. Fynta burst out laughing, started to pat the big guy on the shoulder, then stopped herself. When Caldus recovered, he nodded at Fynta’s metal leg. “What happened there?”