Good Morning Mandalore: Every Day Is An Open Door

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Gray Raxis"]'s going and passing had been noted by the Thyrsian mercenaries led by Itash, but he was left alone.

Not a threat until Merrill made him one.

In the meantime Itash looked on with amusement as [member="Tryp West"] commanded his men from here to there- they were following her orders well enough. Something in her voice or the glance of her eye that made them think they wouldn't enjoy a discussion with her. Besides, her guidance was accurate and made everything more effective, so those were two reasons to go along with it.

It was for this reason that neither Tryp nor Itash had been really engaged in the whole drama showdown with the Mando'ade.

They weren't here for the show- one had been hired, the other was just interested in getting these darn crates sorted. "You make a habit out of ordering heavily armed men around, miss?" Tash asked, leaning against a set of crates, looking up as he watched her work.

 

[Tryp West]

Brushing the back of her hand (gloved, which might seem odd, considering) across the back of her forehead and pushing dark hair out of her face along with a light sheen of sweat, she looked down at the man from her perch halfway up the current stack of crate. She smiled easily, laughing and shaking her head.

"Dun tend ta make a habit a' it, naw," she called down.

Making sure the last crate was steady, she clamored down. Her movements were perfectly comfortable, as if she handled rough terrain every day. She balanced easily and without thought. She almost made it look easy, until one realized she was often balancing on the edge of a crate that only jutted out a couple centimeters.

"But when I see a job dat's gotta get done?"

She hoped down to the floor, booted feet making a light thud as she did.

"Well, jus' do what ya gotta do, ya know?"

Still gloved, she held out a hand, easy smile on her face.

"Name's Tryp. Dees yer men I take it?"

[member="Itash Mecetti"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

It was customary to take a hand of a lovely one and kiss it in the true style of Tapani.

Sometimes it made them uncomfortable, which had its own purpose. The hand was taken, gently and brought up in a fluid movement. Lips not brushing but instead hovering with a single breath. Not a kiss, no, who knew where that glove had been after all. "Lord Itash of House Mecetti." The response came easily and the same went for her hand as he released it without delay.

"They are indeed. Didact Defense Solutions- We... Have Your Back, as they say." That tagline had come from... Cassandra, he thought, but wasn't quite sure. It was amusing enough to keep it either way.

"Can I ask why you are wearing gloves? I am sure they could turn up the heat for you, if you asked them as nicely as you did my men."

A smile was returned.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"Come home, [member="Gray Raxis"]." Yasha said over the private comm. "I need to punch you in your gorram glass jaw."

 

[Gray Raxis]

The message came in over the coms as Key began to cheer about figuring out their location. Seemed [member="Yasha Mantis"] was not happy at him after all. What was a bit of a surprise for him was that she told him to come home. He considered Mandalore his home no matter where he lived by now, but it was strange for someone else to as well. A small smile crossed his face as he thought about that. A spark of hope that maybe Mandalore would recover after all. Everyone was so focused on the planet's current distress that they were missing how much healing the people and culture needed as well. Perhaps this was the beginning of it.

" Alright Key. Little Yasha wants me back. Let's head home." Gray said to his droid. Key beeped happily and positioned the shuttle towards Mandalore. Then the white streaks surrounded the craft. He could not see them, but it was a sensation he could never forget. The trip was going to take a bit of time, but soon enough the shuttle came back from hyperspace with Mandalore in full view. It was a sight that Gray wished he could see again, but knew he never would. As the shuttle slowly approached the atmosphere, Gray got on the com system. " I'm back Yasha. Where do you want me or should I stay off the planet? Don't feel like breaking any laws today I don't have to." With that he sat back. The response would tell him what to do and he would obey. There could be people waiting with the cure for him for all he knew, but he had faith. The Manda would guide him down the path it needed him to follow one way or another.

 

[Yasha Cadera]

"I said come home, Gray-Buir. You have landing clearance to Sundari. There's been enough weirdness today, get down here." Yasha put forth the codes to Key to allow [member="Gray Raxis"]' shuttle clearance down to the small pad beside Yasha's Mantis family home. While the Yalilyr and Death Watch were keen on protecting the Palace and Katlaydr's house beside it, they begrudgingly allowed Gray passage to what used to be Yasha's family's kitchen.

With Malika missing, Preliat gone and Silas on a revenge kick, the house was empty.

Yasha no longer slept there, instead sleeping in her quarters in the Palace... when she slept at all. She was too busy doing what nobody expected:

Fixing her planet without hacking off limbs.

 

[Quoron Cadera]

Sitting in high orbit on the bridge of his ship Quoron was resigned to a deep sense of worry. Seeing the events of the day play out in font of him he had hope that people would still be willing to care for others who struggle in the galaxy. Despite his Mandolorian upbringing and aggressive fighting style Quoron was at peace due to the graceful art of the blade. He wanted this whole mess to be over so he could go to his shop and begin to forge his next creation. He had hope for the future of Mandalore and for those in charge. "Deploy our gunships and transports to see if we are needed anywhere, and if so go there. If anyone at all request your aid go to them and do not return until they have been helped." He hoped he could do something to make the unloading of supplies easier. He looked out the view port and looked to the planet below with hope.

 

[Gray Raxis]

Well Gray was clear to land it seemed. Key didn't even need to wait for Gray to say a thing before heading to the landing zone. Things were getting chaotic on Mandalore again. It was not hard to see. But the thing was that chaos didn't mean that Mandalore was weak or vulnerable. How many knew this was an issue. But that was a line of thought Gray would need to explore later. Right now he needed to focus on meeting up with [member="Yasha Mantis"] and taking that punch she promised him. From there who knew how things would go.

His shuttle landed safely and as soon as the ramp finished lowering, Gray stepped off of it. He kept his helmet on just in case. His clan all wore the same armor as each other, himself included, so it was not possible for anyone to recognize him that didn't already know he was landing. The desire to remove bucket over his head and gauntlet from his left hand hit him strongly however. He wanted to taste the air and feel the soil. It was how he experienced Mandalore now without sight. As much as he wanted to, he needed to meet up with the young woman. So after his pause to fight his more primal urge, he continued on his way to find her.

 

[Vidalu Na'an]

Location: HWK-100 Light Freighter "Hawk", Mandalore High Orbit
Training Room.

The treads ratcheted the speed up again, and feet pounded harder to meet it. The woman using the equipment had been running for forty minutes already, but aside from the thin sheen of sweat coating her skin and soaking her shirt, it didn't even seem to have registered at all. Had a casual observer entered the freighter's makeshift training room, they would not have been noticed either. They would have been able to even get close enough to see, without getting caught, the vague, faraway look in her eye as it fixed on something only it could see.
It had been forty minutes, but Vidalu Na'an had slipped into the zone after only ten.

Na'an had never been able to explain to Leigh what that meant, but then, her partner had only an academic understanding of the Force. The fact that other Jedi didn't seem to feel the urge to run while meditating seemed to amuse her whenever the topic came up. But then, Na'an had never been a very good Jedi, after all...that, and the strain seemed to empty something inside her that needed emptying before...well, before anything worthwhile.

So they had made one of the barracks into a training room, and so Na'an ran.

Leigh had always been kinder than Na'an deserved.

The treads beeped again, tilting themselves at an angle without slowing, and the young woman's body leaned into it without missing a beat. The machine was a decent one, able to mimic hills and even irregular terrain; if she closed her eye, she could almost imagine that she was running the rough fields of the farm on Dantooine. The tritacale would be blooming this time of year, and Karre Noba would be sending the workers out to clear the weeds before the crop could be choked out. The sun would be beating down on the fields, glowing gold against the gold of the grainheads, and that warm musty smell would be everywhere, seeping into her clothes and her skin and the air of their home...

Two things happened at once--her left eye stung, bringing her out of the vision, and the communication panel on the wall beeped cheerfully.

Na'an swore mildly, rubbing at her eye socket with one hand, and slapping at the Stop button with the other. As the treads slowed, she reached for a small bottle she'd been keeping nearby just in case, unscrewing the cap with her thumb and forefinger. She leaned back with the practiced gestures of one who'd done this many times before, and peeled back her left eyelid, baring grey durasteel instead of white eyeflesh.

The tiny bottle only let out a few drops at a time, but she only needed two to wash the sweat off the prosthetic. It wasn't as bad as grit, but it still stung when the salt got into the socket.

As Na'an's vision cleared, she could see out the porthole as she got down off the machine and made for the wall panel. There was a planet in view that hadn't been there when she had started running, huge and silver-green in the light of its sun. On the line where the planet's day faded into night, she could see city lights like tiny stars.

She depressed the wall button.

"Mandalore?"

[member="LE-03 (Leigh)"], [member="Adelle Bastiel"]

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Nothing woke up Adelle. Nothing literally woke her up. Adelle swore under her breath at that realization. It had just been the engines reverting back to normal space. Which was literally machines cutting power and growing quieter. Adelle swore again and sat up. The sheets of her bunk lay tangled around her legs and waist, completely untucked. She got maybe an hour? Hour and a half tops of REM sleep. Sweat drenched the grey sheets and made her tank top cling to her skin. She ought to get up and get a shower before Na'an or Leigh saw the state of her.

But curiosity compelled her to know why and where they came out of hyperspace. Adelle kicked the sheets off and picked her cargo pants off the floor, dragging them on. She staggered across the cool durasteel floor to the door and palmed it open. From the cockpit, she could hear Na'an ask "Mandalore?" She shook her head. Na'an's voice was coming from two directions. Her admittedly distant voice from the cockpit had a tinny quality to it. She must be in the Training Room. Training Room hog.

Shuffling, Adelle entered the cockpit and then half-sat, half-collapsed into the co-pilot's chair. Leigh sat at the helm, quiet and efficient as always.

"Why?" she asked the droid.

LE-03 (Leigh) [member="Vidalu Na'an"]

 

[Tryp West]

She laughed, but it was without malice, as he kissed her hand. She saw him going for it, and it was uncommon enough to get a response. It didn't make her uncomfortable in the least, just bemused. So of course, when he said his name she wasn't that surprised. Oh, she had no idea who he was specifically, but it was a certain subset of the galaxy that did that- no two. The actual aristocracy, or a particular slice of the criminal underworld who liked to think of themselves of princes in their own right. It could be tolerated and understood from the former, at least, so he got amusement rather than an eyeroll from her.

"Please ta meet ya. Didact huh? I'll keep ya in mind, doh I'm not much one fer needing mah back watched. But a company dat's not jes boots on da ground in a time a' need, but 'oo's boss is der too? Wort' keepin' an eye on, yah?"

She smiled easily, habitually and without ulterior motive. Her hands went to her pockets and she rocked forward on her toes, then back on her heels in an unconscious gesture.

"Hah, nah, temp's perfectly comfert'ble in 'ere. Dun like ta touch random t'ings when I'm tryin'a concentrate on sometin' else." She tilted her head slightly, pale Kiffar clan tattoos reflecting the light. "Psychometry runs in da family- gotta be careful or I'd never git anyting done, ya know?"

[member="Itash Mecetti"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

It wasn't as hard to follow her as one might expect.

One, Tash had been rubbing elbows with the criminally-inclined for a while and more often than not those had heavy drawls too. Two, putting his pulse on her thoughts allowed him to fill the rest in with context as much as possible. It was... odd, her mind. Free and relaxed in all the ways that sentients usually weren't. So wrapped up in their little filthy lies, that they forgot how to live.

"Putting me in quite the pickle, miss West." Tash smiled and inclined his head. "On one hand I could acknowledge it and come off as a braggart, on the other... I'd be a bad salesman for Didact."

Not that Itash figured she had the money for his services.

Maybe at the beginning? But these days people were throwing large numbers at him for his personal attention. "Let's just say I do my best and leave it at that, yes?" Brows furrowed in thought at the next section. Psychometry? Oh, Itash had noticed that tattoos, but... they were tattoos. That didn't actually mean much. He had seen so many people branding tats onto their faces trying to be en vogue in the Coruscanti society...

Yeah, it didn't mean much.

"I don't actually know what that is, I am afraid to say. Psychometry?" He wondered if he had just kissed the hand of someone afflicted with something.

 

[Tryp West]

"Well, da best is all anyone kin do," she agreed with a chuckle.

Glancing behind her for a moment, she settled her rear against the top edge of a crate, stretching out her legs in front of her before crossing one ankle over the other. One booted foot tapped absently in the air, but not out of boredom, rather tapping out a subconscious rhythm.

"Eh, I git dat a lot." She held her hands up, waggling her fingers.

"I kin read mem'ries offa stuff. Touch it and bam, der it is. Dun get alotta say in whatcha see, da strongest stuff comes first- which kin be good 'r bad, dependin'. Keep holdin' on, ya kin get more, the subtl'r tings. Alotta stuff is pretty benign, savvy? But boy howdy some stuff ain't. When I'm workin', it's fine. Dat's da point. But when I'm tryin' ta do somet'ing else, well, it's jes distractin'."

"Mm. Any object and you can read it like a book with enough time?"

She waggled a gloved hand back and forth, grimacing a little.

"Sorta. More like a holo. Sometimes it's like watchin' one, sometimes it's like being in one, depending. Mostly I use dat ta make music-" she paused, catching the look on his face and laughed. "Nah, truth I swear," she said, crossing one finger over her chest in an 'x'. "I ghost write stuff fer artists in da core. Coupla top 'its," there was a note of satisfaction and pride without being boastful.

"Bet wit war breakin' out all ova, der's not alotta call fer it." She shrugged, not particularly upset by it. It was normal to have periods where she was flush and times when things were lean. This was just one of the lean times. "So I take odd jobs- sometimes readin' history offa somet'ing fer someone, sometimes guide work, sometimes salvage." She smiled, tilting her head to the side. "Pro'lly not da kinda ting a 'Lord' would find all dat interestin', but pays da bills and keeps me movin'."

Straight forward and forthcoming. Tryp wasn't someone with anything to hide.

[member="Itash Mecetti"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Tryp West"]

Oh, but this Lord was very interested.

He'd have to research this psychometry in greater detail, because it opened up all kinds of possibilities for him. There were numerous artifacts uncovered where Tash simply had no idea what they were or what they did. It was always risky to test them out, because even something as benign as a spoon could disintegrate someone just by manner of a simple touch.

That one had happened once before.

It had been bothersome. "Oh, surprisingly enough it does interest me." Tash retorted with an easy laugh. "This Lordling is quite interested in archaeology, tomb excavation and the sort. A personal hobby- I see it's your time to be surprised." A lazy shrug followed as he shifted and let himself lean against the crate next to Tryp. Not touching, because something told him that if this psychometry was as powerful as he expected it to be? That having her touch him even lightly might cause a reaction that both of them would learn to regret.

Best to avoid that.

"Maybe I will be the one hiring you, I have been planning an expedition and it sounds like you could use some extra funds." Money wasn't a problem for him and with Didact growing... that only became more true.

 

[LE-03 (Leigh)]

"Why Mandalore?"

The oversized droid had been sitting easily in the modified seat at the helm, flipping through controls with the rhythmic ease only a droid could achieve. Most of her processing power was dedicated to the landing process--getting clearance from the local government to land, for one. However, she still had plenty to turn to addressing the question coming from both the comm panel, and from the mildly damp woman now beside her.

"Mandalore is a planet currently unaffiliated with any Jedi Order, with a robust economy and plenty of demand for what we are carrying. Their ruling body also has little patience for criminality or outside influence, meaning we are unlikely to be accosted by...extra-legal authorities the way we would be on one of the Hutt worlds." Her dome flickered and glowed to life, suddenly revealing a pretty freckled face framed with blonde hair. The face turned smiled at Adelle, an affect made slightly unusual by the fact that the droid body did not have to turn as well to do so--the image merely swiveled as if on an axis.

"I believed," she said with only the mildest hint of irony, "that as of late, this would be a highly desired quality. Should I have judged otherwise?"

[member="Adelle Bastiel"], [member="Vidalu Na'an"]

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Adelle frowned, both with confusion and judging the droid's implications. "I didn't start that last fight. That was your girl Na'an."

She yawned wide, arching her back to stretch her spine, and shivered as the ship's interior atmosphere chilled the sheen of sweat on her skin. One of the tank top's straps lazily fell off her shoulder; she didn't bother fixing it. Leigh specifically had mentioned Hutt worlds. The only two they could—currently—land on were Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa. Nal Hutta, neither of them wanted to touch with a ten-lightyear long pole. So that only left Nar Shaddaa. But they had made the trip to Nar Shaddaa several years ago multiple times and never had any—Oh. Oh.

"Or . . ." Adelle said, nibbling the edge of her thumbnail. "Were you referring to someone else?"

[member="LE-03 (Leigh)"] [member="Vidalu Na'an"]

 

[Vidalu Na'an]

"Knowing her, she's referring to about six things at once."

A damp hand clapped onto Adelle's equally damp shoulder as Na'an sidled her way into the cockpit. She hadn't bothered to shower or change before coming up, and she shivered as the cold air in the space seemed to slip right past her sweat-soaked shirt. Leigh always kept it so cold up here; she always felt the urge to lean against Leigh's chassis to absorb its warmth as a response.
In the viewport ahead, the planet loomed larger than it had when she'd first gotten the news that they were preparing for landing. The ship was circling around to one of Mandalore's main cities; Na'an could see the spiderweb of lights expand and brighten. That change--the broadening of small details into a bustle of life--never really got old.
"Actually," she mused, "Mandalore's not a bad choice. I was treated pretty nice last time I was here, and I wasn't even a trader then. As long as we don't advertise our...previous affiliations, we shouldn't have a problem, right?"

She turned to Adelle and gave her a half-smile. "Although we should probably dress a little better. They're big on respect."

[member="Adelle Bastiel"] [member="LE-03 (Leigh)"]

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Na'an's voice made her jump a little but the hand on her shoulder was reassuring. Adelle relaxed a bit underneath the warmth of Na'an's palm. Na'an always did run hot, complaining about the need for a bigger vent in their modified training room. The skin-to-skin contact, while comforting, suddenly reminded Adelle about her state of dress. Rather, the lack thereof. A sweaty tank and crumpled pants did not attire make. Especially when she hadn't bothered with underwear. And while she grew more and more comfortable with Na'an each day, she wasn't that comfortable.

Adelle scoffed at Na'an, trying to hide her growing discomfort and the rising flush. "'Scuse you, I always dress respectably in public."

But with both of them almost soaked with sweat—Na'an's clinging shirt showed as much—and only one refresher, getting cleaned up for disembarking was going to be a challenge.

"Dibs on the 'fresher."

[member="LE-03 (Leigh)"], [member="Vidalu Na'an"]

 

[LE-03 (Leigh)]

Leigh's hologram flickered, her expression unreadable. She was nonresponsive as Adelle left the cockpit, instead choosing to focus on the task of maneuvering the ship towards the descent point. It was only when she was alone with Na'an that she spoke.

"You might have contested her 'dibs', for your own sake. Even I can tell that you smell like unwashed armor."

Her hologram flickered to life, making a face that organics could easily read as disgust. While the markers for organic odors--sweat and pheromones and dander aerosolized in the tiny space--did not disturb her greatly, Leigh knew from experience that civilized people would respond much differently when they exceeded acceptable concentrations. The fact that Na'an herself never seemed bothered was one of the great mysteries of their partnership. Did organics just...not notice their own smell?

Or the fact that sweat lingered? Her partner was leaning bodily against her side, touching her cannon arm and her dome. All that salt was going to leave smudges. She wiggled her bulk with mild annoyance, trying to shake her partner loose.

[member="Vidalu Na'an"], [member="Adelle Bastiel"]

 

[Vidalu Na'an]

Na'an's mouth popped open in mock offense. "How dare you! Unwashed armor is the bane of Mandalore, Leigh--say something like that here and you'll get us all killed."

She hop-skipped away from the droid, collapsing into the seat where Adelle had been only moments before, and shot her a grin. For most people, it was all but impossible to tell the difference between when Leigh was joking and when she was serious; unlike the other Life Emulators, she had fully embraced the synthetic parts of her nature rather than hold close to a semblance of humanity. The result was that, to the untrained eye, she seemed to have few emotions at all--she looked like an unfeeling hulk of a killing machine, right down to the cannon.

Not that that was true. Na'an knew from experience that that wasn't true. Life Emulator 03 felt everything she could, even if she felt it differently than an organic people ever would. It just meant that, if that untrained eye could easily tell what LE-03 was feeling, you knew that she really meant it--perhaps to a terrifying degree.

It was one of the things Na'an liked best about her.

That, and her deadpan made her funnier than she would be otherwise.

"I'll get my own shower in a minute," she continued blithely. "Besides, 'dibs' is sacred. You don't contest 'dibs', especially when it comes to the refresher."

[member="LE-03 (Leigh)"], [member="Adelle Bastiel"]