Haunt Me, either Jango and Boba or Vizsla and Bo-Katan.
Mandolorian theology is a bit.. vague, especially on matters of life after death. This is perhaps at least partially deliberate. Mandos are a contentious lot, prone to fomenting rebellion at the slightest hint of any governing authority, so the high priests tended to let people make assumptions about what kind of afterlife they were dying for. There was the usual nonsense about virgin-filled valhallas and reincarnating at another, cooler mando if you were good-
Neither of them had considered the possibility of Limbo.
The had ESPECAILLY assumed the other was bound to Mando Hell for being a shitty Mando, but here they were, in the shadows of the same shitty bar, their respective tethers trying to get by.
“Death Watch Scum” growled Jango, smoking slightly at the edges and speaking well for the gash trough his neck
“Mandalore my ass- you couldn’t last five minutes against that Jedi!” Vizsla snarled back, ectoplasm leaking through his stomach wound.
“Hey, at least I wasn’t worshiping his kad before I got killed.”
At the Bar, Bo-Katan took another drink, frowning at her datapad, rifling through posted bounties so that the Night Owls could eat this week. In the Corner, Boba was huddled up, trying not to fall asleep from jet-lag as he waited for his client. The two glanced at each other’s tether before glaring at each other again.
“We fucked up, didn’t we?” Pre tried to be political. If he was going to be stuck with this half-shebbed excuse of a Mando, it’d be nice to not be cussed out every ten minutes.
Jango barked a laugh before settling back against the wall. “I died the way I was supposed to, and my legacy is secure. All you’ve got is the spare trying to lead a gang of half-baked-”
Jango was interrupted by Pre’s fist slamming into his jaw, the first physical contact he’d had in close to two years. The two of them stood there a moment, surprised that that worked. Then Jango lunged at Pre, shoulder going into his stomach. Pre’s howl was choked off by one of Jango’s hands clamping down on his throat, the other clenching down on his balls. Pre flailed uselessly as he was lifted over Jango’s head and tossed at Bo’s head.
Bo shivered as a draft passed through her, feeling slightly ill. In the corner, the Kid with the battered helmet stirred as a spoon fell off the bar.
Pre rolled off the bar, groaning and clutching his balls. Jango stalked over, watching Pre roll around on the floor.
“Legacy my ass. Your boy’s alone-” Pre grunted, going for Jango’s pride because his balls were too far away.
“Boba’s regularly taking 10K jobs and got my ship out of hock. He’ll be fine.” Jango grunted, dipping his fingers in Bo’s drink and licking his fingers. he could almost taste it this way. Pre growled from the floor, but only managed to pull himself into a sitting position. “ ‘Sides, that wasn’t the one I was talking about.”
“You got a bastard?” Pre grunted, propping himself against Bo’s stool.
Pre watched Jango laugh darkly, wound smoking more heavily. “A free piece of advice, because I’m feeling sorry for you- When they’re dreaming, you can talk to yer tether.”
Pre blinked, not sure of Jango was stinging him along or being uncharacteristically generous.
“Tell the Spare that if she ever hears “Order 66″ on the republic comms, to get the hell out of dodge.”
Pre glared. What kind of cryptic bullshit-?
“She’ll live longer and I’ll get to enjoy kicking your ass.”
