It had been a while since Fynta’s last hunt. Too long, to be honest. This little stint was supposed to be a vacation, planned and orchestrated by Verin and his new clan. Fynta had spent so many years hunting down sentient beings, that it almost seemed unfair to stalk animals. However, she’d been invited on a hunt, and Fynta damn well needed a break. Not to mention, spending a little time with her brother.
A strapping male varactyl pawed at the ground not twenty meters away. He shook his head, ruffling pale, blue plumage and snorting at whatever he’d discovered hidden in the dirt. Fynta lifted her rifle and stared down the sight to pinpoint the perfect spot for an instant kill. She’d settled for center mast above the creature's sternum, and began her breathing technique to ensure a clean shot.
Fynta’s finger tightened on the trigger, then just a missile, small and sharp, threw her off balance. When Fynta rolled to face the new threat, she was met with the elongated T-shaped visor of another Mandalorian. Momentarily stunned, the other female caught Fynta’s faceplate with a fierce right hook that would have definitely cracked her jaw were she not armored. Fynta staggered from the blow, impressed by the strength from a creature that only reached her shoulder.
While Fynta gaped at the unexpected interruption, the female threw herself at Fynta, knocking them both off their feet, and landing Fynta in the dirt with a grunt. Her opponent rained a hail of blows across Fynta’s helmet and upper body, sputtering so furiously that she couldn’t make out which language it was in.
Arching her back, Fynta bucked the small female off of her, then gave a shove to disentangle them completely. As she rolled back to her feet, Fynta marveled at how easy that had been, then again when the woman sprang back to an attack. The moment of distraction allowed for her opponent place herself between Fynta and her prey. The varactyl watched from his place in the grass, head tilted to the side and feathers fully extended in warning. When Fynta took a step to the left, the woman countered to keep herself in the middle.
“So, what are you, then?” Fynta asked, searching for any clue as to the woman’s species. There were several who could still lay her flat without breaking a sweat, despite their small stature.
Silence met Fynta’s request, so she shrugged. “Fine, I’ll figure it out myself.”
Diving towards her opponent, Fynta managed to get her arm around the woman’s shoulders, but the damn thing twisted out of her grasp to land a solid kick to her thigh. Fynta retaliated by throwing her weight against the woman’s smaller frame, pinning her for a moment before losing her grip again.
Fynta grunted with the force of another kick that landed solidly against her ribs. “Fierfek,” she cursed, spinning to find the woman standing behind her. “You’re a fast little shabuir, aren’t you?”
The woman remained in a ready squat, arms loose and legs planted for balance. Fynta’s gut told her that this wasn’t some shiny adiik, at least, not judging by the dings in her armor. Slowly, the woman unhooked a length of rope from her belt, winding it purposefully around her hand.
“As intriguing as I find you,” Fynta began, cradling her rifle in the crook of her arm in reply to the threat, then nodding towards the varactyl. “You’re standing between me and my dinner.”
“Boy is not your dinner,” the tinny voice growled back. Fynta smiled behind her faceplate. Those vocal patterns definitely weren’t human. Neither was the predatory crouch that the woman dropped into in preparation for an attack. Fynta noted the rope knotted around the woman’s glove, creaking as she squeezed it tighter.
Fynta sighed. While not having access to such weapons herself, it would be dishonorable to simply shoot an opponent who didn’t draw a weapon. It was custom to meet a challenger on their terms, and this woman had chosen to avoid blasters. So much for an easy hunt.
“That won’t stop me,” Fynta commented, slipping the strap of her rifle over her shoulder. “I’ll finish with you, then take care of dinner.”
Without hesitation, Fynta launched herself at the smaller target and slammed them both into the ground. Fynta pinned the woman, using her knees this time, and landed two solid blows before her target slipped from beneath her. “Haar’chak, how the hell do you do that?” Was this what Cormac or Vik felt like while fighting her?
The rope coiled around Fynta’s wrist before she could stagger to her feet, and she was jerked backward with a force that belied the woman’s stature. Having lost the element of surprise, Fynta relied on brute strength. She gave a solid yank on the rope, snatching it from the woman’s grasp, and slinging the length away. “That’s enough of that.”
Varactyl forgotten, Fynta stalked towards the smaller woman, snarling behind her helmet when her opponent retreated towards an outcropping of rocks. Mandalorians didn’t retreat. It made Fynta feel like a fierfeking ori'jagyc, an over-powered bully taking out her frustrations on a weaker target.
Adrenaline coursed through Fynta’s system, blocking out all other senses except for the drive to fight. By the time she realized that she’d been lured into a trap, it was too late to back out. Perhaps she wasn’t the bully after all, but a lumbering oaf who thought too much of her own skill.
Fynta swung, intending to end their altercation before the woman could launch whatever counterattack she’d planned. The punch flew wide, meeting nothing but air when the woman easily ducked her blow. “Shab,” Fynta cursed over the shriek of beskar scraping against stone.
A weight landed on Fynta’s back, and she cursed the agility of smaller beings. Her skill set was in taking down opponents larger than herself, making her feel unwieldy against someone who so easily outmaneuvered her. And, as the woman locked her arm around Fynta’s throat, she realized that she couldn’t remember ever fighting someone so much smaller. She wondered what Verin would do, and almost laughed when the answer presented itself.
Relaxing her muscles, Fynta let gravity solve her problem, and fell backward. Her weight drove the breath from the woman still clinging to her back, and sent one hell of a shock up Fynta’s spine as well. Rolling over, Fynta scrambled onto her knees and pushed the ache in her left hip to the back of her mind.
The figure groaned.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Fynta snorted, leaning back on her heels to catch her breath. “I’m not that heavy.”
Still, the woman didn’t move.
Curiosity drove Fynta to reach for the seals on the helmet, and her spry little opponent didn’t protest. Not much, anyway. She pulled the elongated faceplate free to meet the furry features of a Bothan. A fierfeking, Bothan Mandalorian. Now, Fynta had seen everything.
Flipping the helmet over, Fynta gazed in awe at the inner workings of a specially tailored HUD built to work with the canine features of its owner’s species. The Bothan female, who had yet to unscrew her eyes, groaned again and slapped her helmet out of Fynta’s hands.
Rivalry no longer at the forefront of Fynta’s mind, she patted the woman’s leg plate. “If it makes you feel any better, I learned that move my brother. My big brother,” Fynta explained with a laugh. “So, who are you?”
“Ahuska,” the Bothan gasped, sitting up slowly to pin Fynta with an angry glare from two of the brightest blue eyes she’d ever seen. “And, you still can’t eat my pet.”
Fynta chuckled, then rubbed at a sore spot on her ribs. Copikla was the word that came to mind, but she imagined that Ahuska wouldn’t appreciate that. So, Fynta changed tactics. “Tell you what. Explain to me how a Bothan ended up in beskar’gam, and the overgrown chicken gets a pass.”
Ahuska narrowed her eyes, and Fynta’s grin widened. This story sounded a lot more interesting than taking another pelt back to the den anyway. Offering her forearm in a gesture of comradery, Fynta prompted further. “Deal?”
