First Reply Some nights

[Drifter]

The short bark of a laugh clearly indicated that the label 'Jedi' did not apply to him.

[ Oh no, nono no no. Whatever gave you that idea? ] He shook his helm giving a wry chuckle.

[ Not one of the brown coats. ] although he was more than familiar with their concepts and teachings, having been taught at one of the Jedi Academy Houses of his youth. The pro and con of having a mother who enjoyed being a traveling mentor.

[ Just a man, trying to make his way in the underside. ] another grimace regarding the ribs. [ Find work, get paid, fuel my ship — do the things I need to get done. ] locating Kai was his biggest concern. Everything else was ancillary in making sir that for done.

[ But you are right. I’m alive and I still got my gear . ] swinging that polarized helm, Casany Praxor would see her mirrored reflection.

[ so what’s your story?] he asked, while trying to work through the concentration of working on the accelerate healing.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

The thing with speaking impassively is it isn’t easy for the other person to determine whether the speaker is being serious or just jesting. In this instance, it was the latter. The not-a-Jedi chuckled but the Mandalorian just watched in silence, containing her amusement. The visor had its advantages, oh for sure.

Brown coats. It was a term that Cas certainly hadn’t heard too often. A good choice of words, in her opinion, though she didn’t snicker. Granted, if her companion was grimacing, she couldn’t see it. A broken rib or two might leave one pressed for breath but he was speaking easily enough so kriff it.

The woman listened to every word that was given by the man. Just a man making his way. Find work. Get paid. Fuel his ship. Get it done. Then came his question the same moment the server returned and then some.

“Dinner is served,” he gestured as he set out a basket of fries laced with gravy cheese curds, and an order of a burger with fries not bound by dairy. Though they did need to be drowned in the ketchup that came with.

A bottle of lum was given to the guy, a bottle of beer for the gal, but the server did not yet turn around. “Anything else?”

Cas cocked a hidden brow. “Medkit?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” The server promptly handed it over to the helmet that wasn’t Mandalorian. “Well, enjoy your meal.” He dismissed himself.

“So, you’re a drifter,” Cas declared to her dinner partner. It did fit the description. “As for me…” Trailing off, she slid her fingers beneath her helmet. It hissed. She took it off, set it on the tabletop, letting a long braid of brown hair swing loose over her shoulder. Now it was her own brown eyes and feminine face that were reflected in that polarized visor. “I’m a Mandalorian.”

Nuff said? Bet. Cas lifted her burger, bit into it and downed some beer to wash it down.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

[ You know, you'd bring... the entire house down with those jokes. ] Drifter added, laughing only to give another sudden intake of breath. The accelerated healing was helping, but it wasn't an insta patch. Some of the soreness was certainly fading, but that won't make broken ribs heal overnight.

[ Thanks.] He told the waiter, although clearly, he wasn't pleased to provide the medkit. Unzipping it, Drifter went looking for the pain stim. He clearly knew his way around a med-kit. He'll find a place and wrap his ribs elsewhere. For now, something to take the edge off was fine.

Mango took her helm off and colored him surprised. The face did not match the voice. Well, then again, no one did. A helm served in showing anonymity well.

[ I guess that sums it up nicely, Mandalorian. Does your autobiography say that? Mandalorian and my safe word is mango? ] he made a joke, mainly to distract himself from having to drive the pain stim into his thigh though the leather of his pants. To be honest, he never was one for needles. Sure, get stabbed with a lightsaber, arm disintegrated, and alright, maybe a bit hypocritical with the tattoo of his family's crest across his upper chest, shoulder and bicep, but needles just gave him the hibbi-gibbies.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

The Mandalorian watched, eating and drinking along as her contemporary got busy fixing himself. It was the next best entertainment outside of a viewscreen and besides the music. He knew what he was doing, clearly. Wasn’t the first time he was wounded, surely. And it won’t be the last. Not for our kind and not in this life.

Kind, granted, wasn’t limited in this moment to Mandalorians. In this one’s experience, there were many other different warriors in this crazy galaxy. She didn’t know peas or beans about this one but that was half the fun of it within this given audience wherein two strangers sat staring at each other after escaping danger, under a lazy tune, wondering whether one another was gazing back, maybe half-mad with pain or plainly insane, eyes still behind the helmet, till the woman’s came off and there you have it.

“Kriff, I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Mando chuckled at the comment about an autobiography that was not yet written as it is. “Mango is the safe word, though.” She swallowed bread, beef and beer. They had each other’s ear but only one of them had the other person’s naked eyes at this moment. Does he eat his fries through the helmet? It was a question generally given to certain Mandalorians of the religious or fanatic or religious fanatic custom because they did not take off their helmet in public.

Mandalorian. Five syllables in Basic. For some reason it was quite real in that moment. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. Dunking a fry in ketchup, sucking it dry like a vampire might, the woman was reminded of her kin now so distant.

“Casany,” she finally and formally introduced, though traded a handshake for another swig of beer, never breaking her gaze away from his face. “Of Clan Praxor.” It carried weight to her, if not really to this galaxy. “I’m a bounty hunter.” And that was her story. Basically? Hardly.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Well, it was great to know Casany of Clan Praxor had a great appetite. He could respect that. Made Drifter believe that she would at least eat the Grantalope or Katarn he hunted occasionally. Most were not for fresh game, but in the past, his sister and he had an understanding; he'd hunt dinner, and she'd grill or cook it up. It made him miss her all the more.

[ Well then -- Casany... of Clan Praxor. ] he repeated with good cheer as he breathed through the soreness of his ribs. The stim worked fast, but not fast enough. Figuring that at this point, since Casany Praxor took her helm off to eat, he might as well as well, the hunter set the empty stim pack to the side and brought his gloved hands to his polarized helm.

Fingers made quick work of the fastings before tugging off the helm. Tousled locks of inky black hair, damp from sweat, tumbled over his brow, waving along his ears and the nape of his neck. A swarthy jaw, shadowed with scruff, over tanned skin. Dark brows slashed over his eyes, a citrine hue, the color of the setting Tatooine suns swiveled in her direction. They shone with avid humor, with the noticeable wince now and then twitching a nerve along his jawline in pain.

He sent the helm down, and two fingers rose up, giving her a mock salute. "Pleasure to meet, tumble, and roll with you. " he joked, his voice a low tenor with notable wry mischief and wit. A smirk grew over the confident tilt of his lips.

"Well, depending on the day, you can call me a bounty hunter or a glorified taxi service." He gave a roll of his shoulders with a shrug. With a weary sigh, gloved fingers came up, raking through the thick, damp locks to shove them away from his face. He appeared to be a man anywhere between his late twenties and mid-thirties. Indeed, when the teasing and assured smile flashed, he seemed younger, carrying the mischief of a secret shared only with the fortunate few.

"Ah, Mango is not my safe word though," he joked, only to grimace again as the chuckle he gave only put more pressure on his broken ribs. Right, focus on the Force. Returning his attention to the greasy, gravy-saturated cheese curds and chips, he began to dig in fervently. A roll of his eyes, and a "Mmmm." in the back of his throat in pleasure let him ride out the pain in his ribs at how delicious it tasted. Or maybe he was just that hungry.

"You on a job out here?" he asked, curious.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

It wasn’t like seeing a starship take off for the first time. It wasn’t like stargazing all night until you found yourself counting clouds in the sky come sunlight. It wasn’t the first moment after taking someone to bed, or the next, or the last. Yet, Cas paused, stopped her feast between teeth, burger only centimeters away from her face, as she gazed at another’s.

Maybe it was simply the mystery of it. The anticipation of what countenance lie behind that helmet. Human? Pantoran? Rodian? Turned out to be a Human, given the characteristics. Handsome was an understatement. It was a man’s face and no mistake.

A scar that showed he had gotten into some trouble. Hair growth where a woman could not boast amid his stubble. Head of black hair, curled under a helmet and slick with sweat, likely from injury and dealing with it. He sported a chiseled jaw, wore amusement on his bowed lips to show no forfeit.

Those eyes, though. Glassy. Golden. A flash amid the lamp. As they bore into hers, she saw the eyes of a warrior. Cue the two-fingered salute as Cas just stared back, not blinking, but finally biting into her burger. She chewed, savoring the taste of juicy meat.

Tumble and roll. The phrase ‘rough and tumble’ came the way of her imagination but she couldn’t pin it. She dismissed it. Continued to chew, watching and listening. So, he was a bounty hunter too. Or a glorified taxi service. Cas grinned amid shifting lips.

The pain he was in began to reveal itself to peeled eyes as he winced and grimaced. Though it wasn’t like he whined or hadn’t been given every complement of a medkit and the dinner served to go with. Right on time, he ignored his ribs and dipped into his cheese-curd fries.

“Here, there,” Cas began her response, swallowing her burger bites with beer. “Everywhere.” Her turn to shrug. “Not sure about your experience—whatever your name is—but hunts can be long or quick and I’m given a number to undertake any moment.”

Multiple targets on her radar, given some were good at going into cover and others were idiots. “Heard a rumor that a Trandoshan pirate, Zug Kraan, might be hiding out in Canto Bight.” Cas licked her lips, tasting hints of food and drink. “Why? You interested?” She challenged, eyes into eyes.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

“Heard a rumor that a Trandoshan pirate, Zug Kraan, might be hiding out in Canto Bight. Why? You interested?”

A thick brow rose, curious at the challenge tossed by the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. Wait, was that tone indicative that she wanted me to say yes or say no?

Drifter found himself between a rock and a hard place. Either option may end up with him getting a Beskar greave to the face. Popping a greasy but oh-so-delicious cheese curd into his mouth, he chewed happily, winced as his motion to turn his torso towards her caught his ribs again, but then added.

"I don't know, guess it depends if I need a safety word again. " He quipped with a wry grin, mischief glinting in those orange eyes. He was truly doing his best to focus on the accelerated healing. If he didn't get these ribs a plexiplast wrap, he might not be that good of help anyway if she was being serious.

"I'd be happy to lend a helping hand or two." He offered, "What's cut?"

 

[Casany Praxor]

Biting fries at the same time, the grin in his eyes would be met by hers from across the table. His ambers were just a bit brighter than her hazels. “Can trade ‘Mango’ with ‘Pineapple’ if it tickles your whistle.” Fewer cuter safe words in this universe than fruit, from her point of view.

The more Cas gazed at that handsome face, the more she thought about taking him between a rock and a hard place, especially with the pain. Her blood was still up from that one cantina but she was in no rush. Her target, however, was another matter.

“Or two? As in a hand for the mission and one for the bedroom?” She didn’t pause except to chew and watch then went on. “Tell you what, Zug doesn’t go far from his crew and four hands would be better than two.” A swig of beer to wash some thoughts.

“Seventy-thirty my way.” Casany had in fact been the one with the job offer and its information in the first place. “We take him in alive without wasting time and the payout grows and that’ll make me happier than a girl with a burger.” For a bounty hunter, nothing else mattered.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

"Well, if you are willing to trade it for pineapple..." He joked, the wry grin curving over his lips. He wasn't sure if she was being serious regarding the mission and the bedroom. Half the time, it was hard to tell with women. Not that he had time recently between jobs and getting as much information regarding his missing sister's location. It was a sad state of affairs when he had more parsecs under his belt with his hand than he did with another. That came with the territory of high expectations. He could blame his parents for that.

Now, as for the job.

"I rather not leave a lady unsatisfied and only offer one. You can have both." part of him wanted to see if he could negotiate for higher. Most would lowball an offer compared to what they were willing to give. Sometimes, the haggle was part of the expectation and negotiations, much like Squibs. For them, it was an insult to not haggle for a price. Who knew if Mandalorians were the say?

"How about sixty-forty." He began, tossing another cheese curd and chewing, the stim starting to do its job at cutting back the pain. He was even able to arch his brow in mild amusement, curious to see just what Casany Praxor would say.

"And I can probably get close enough to go under the radar of a few of his crew. What kind of guards and base of operations does he have?"

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

And there it is. A sixty-forty split was what Casany had prompted considering she couldn’t consider fifty-fifty for being even. Psychology was simply politics and economics and she didn’t need to be Force-sensitive for it.

“Deal.” The Mandalorian licked salt and bread from her fingers and extended her hand to firmly grip his forearm. What might otherwise be a gesture of groping this gentleman were it not for a cultural equivalent of a handshake instead.

The split settled, Cas chewed on her new partner’s words as the diner’s music shifted, but its patrons stayed the same. Two warriors in one universe. The Mandalorian suddenly remembered a proverb from her kin. Two hearts torn by war.

“Captain Kraan of the Old Abandoned. Mostly a Trando crew with a few odds tossed into the lot—Weequay, Nikto, Quarren. Whatever the case, his base is his ship, a frigate, which means she may not be docked with port authority if she’s even here to begin with.”
Casany’s information was based on a tip which made it just an expensive rumor in the end.

“But I’m thinking if Zug is in this city then the scum is probably here on business, potentially an invitation from a profitable client or a politician otherwise intolerant of pirates except on the condition of profit.”

The Mandalorian took a swig to wet her whistle for the conversation. “If we find the di’kut’s ship then we find the di’kut somewhere on this planet. There’s another rumor of an underground competition tomorrow night—The Hunt—where a pirate like Zug would come.”

A hunch wasn’t much but it was enough. Cas figured her best bet to finding her target was to narrow down whether his ship was in town, the outskirts or somewhere else in the universe if not hell. The pirate had few friends outside of his crew and more than one enemy. In the fighting pit, however, nothing else mattered except for how many credits you could spend. The house of blood always won.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Taking a swig of his Lum, Drifter mused over this information. He mulled over what would be the best way to narrow down to make that determination where Zug's frigate would be.

A muse, and he thought it a wild attempt, but he asked it anyway. " Got anything personal or with this Zug's blood on it?" likely sounded like some sort of hoodoo hogwash, but there was a method to the madness.

The bounty hunter had spent several years under the tutelage of the Draethos force tradition of Keetael. With them, Drifter had been taught the method of using the Force to track individuals as well as a potent form of meditative farsight that allowed the Drifter to see a target's surroundings in great detail. When combined with his other abilities, it allowed him the ability to track a quarry over great, even interstellar, distances.

Granted, for Drifter to make this work even within this world, he would need some sort of focus to try and narrow it down.

"Anything would be great, but the more personal the item, the better. I guess an holoimage would work, but not as well."

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

As the music shifted, Cas half hissed at the man’s first question and half snickered at it. “Nope. No trinkets, no fingerprints, just impersonal business, a rap sheet with blood on it, and two blasters calling this little nerf herder a target as much as payment like a good day on Zeltros.” Amusement, if serious.

At first, Casany simply fancied that her companion was asking for an item to lift prints from for local traces, or any kind of object that might link their target’s presence to this district if not this establishment.

In fact, all she had of this di’kut pirate prick was that very holoimage. More than one. One of the shithead, Zug Kraan, Trandoshan, and one of his ship, Old Abandoned.

“And there it is.” Cas had swiped a hand that sent the images from her datapad to his or whatever device he liked. “Why?” She finished her beer, giving him the curious eye. “Are you some Jedi who knows…Pyromancy…Psychopathy…Psycometry or whatever the kark?” She joked.

Though she wouldn't put it past him. Casany Praxor, born into a clan forged on Mandalore, but where the Praxors were no more there was their daughter, scourged with visions, with emotions, with distant sentiments that made her wonder whether her nightmares were her mind in another universe or just the product of sleeplessness.

"Whatever you can learn from or work with," the Mandalorian admitted; tone bereft of amusement, if languid. "All else fails, well, we've got The Hunt tournament where we might find Zug the thug. Did I mention it's run by a Hutt?" Wherever her bounty was, Anvil would proudly pound his teeth for all they were worth. For now she just finished her burger.

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Drifter snorted in laughter but then quickly regretted it, the ache lancing through his side. He chuckled through the grimace regardless, as Casany Praxor commentary if he was a Jedi with whatever the mark psycho magic was hilarious enough to be worth the sore ribs.

Picking up his forearm, he pressed a few buttons. It was a heavily modified gauntlet of sorts, but an experienced armorer would recognize the metal that protected it as song steel with a well-worn but sturdy leather of unique origin underneath it. The same material ran across his chest with song steel plates and leather for flexibility.

He brought up the image of citrine eyes narrowing on the Trandoshan. It would have been better if he had something personal, but an image would do. It wasn't by far something he could narrow down to the coordinates with something this vague, but it was an overall idea to narrow the field on where to look. Yeah, he could do that.

"Not a brown coat, no. " he chuckled, settling on his seat to get comfortable. No, that's my mother, he thought to himself, once again, caught between missing his family and his duty to find his sister. He pulled what looked like a small talisman of sorts, with two crystals in it: a kasha stone and a nihil smokestone, both were used extensively by the hunter to help him with what he was about to do. It was a focus. Conducting a finding track like this took concentration, and between the meds and his broken ribs, he wasn't sure how well he'd deliver, but he'd give it a try.

"Call it a gift from my grandfather. He's half Kiffar." He explained, popping one citrine orb to look at the Mandalorian, the corner of his mouth perking upwards, "One of many things that he passed down to me." With a teasing wink, he shut his eye again.

"But no... this focuses more on the Keetael tradition of tracking a target through the Force. This time, however, it is more of ... a glimpse of their surroundings. Helps narrow down locations at times. We'll see if it does any good here."

With a deep breath, the hunter held it, tried to ignore the pain in his ribs, and then exhaled. He gave a roll of his neck, and there was a distinct cracking sound as he settled in.

"Alright, here we go," With a summon of the Force, Drifter felt the swarm of that intangible energy roll over him. As he concentrated, his brow perked, furrowing. All the while, his fingers would worry about that talisman as if it were the wheel directing a mental map. Using the Force wasn't an end win at all. No, it was a pain and, more often than not naught, required Drifter to delicately finger through the various weblike connections that connected the Force with all living things. The trick was locating the thread that was Zug the Thug.

A minute ticked by, and sweat began to form over Drifter's face, he gave another grimace and then gave a massive sigh, exhaling hot breath through his mouth, before opening his eyes.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

You go down the longest road to nowhere . . .

An experienced armorer did indeed recognize that metal. Songsteel looked as brilliant as beskar and was forged with similar respect. Shaping and making with this silver metal was a long and slow process, but it paid off in the end.

The Mandalorian had her iron, and it offered her protection against the weapons of men not quite unlike him, like cortosis and phrik did. Beskar could defend against the strike of a lightsaber—and so could songsteel. This man certainly knew his material at least.

It was her turn to chuckle at his words over not being a brown coat. A stereotype of the Jedi, but he’s right on that note. Suddenly Casany was taken to that talisman or trinket. She wasn’t a sorceress but she well knew the bond between ore and metal, metal and master—or a crystal for that matter.

Half Kiffar. Yeah. I can see the resemblance now. Somehow his very visage reflected his descendance. Those bright gold eyes…like my own. She afforded herself a moment to observe him as he spoke and focused with a wink before both his eyes closed.

Hers were open as she listened; not to the music, not even to him, but to a wind of which she could never quite pin. It was more of a breeze that crept between the warrior’s armor and skin on occasions like this.
He spoke of tradition and glimpse, neither of which the Mandalorian recognized—like those stones in his fist.

He focused in, and she honed in on him. His ribs. His pain, she felt it. Wait. What is this? They both grimaced that instant. He opened his eyes. Hers blinked into his, amber into citrine, and either reminded her of fire. The kind that fits the fist of a warrior. A weapon. And one that beckons sweat.
“Are you all right?”

You pull it apart and you're just left there . . .

Drifter

 

[Drifter]

Drifter let out a low chuckle, though the strain in his voice betrayed his fatigue and lingering ache. It was clear that the whole ordeal had taken its toll on him. Maybe it was the broken ribs, the exhaustion, or just the limit to how much one could endure with nothing but a holo-picture for company.

With the charm of a loveable scoundrel, he flashed Casany Praxor a mischievous grin, his citrine eyes sparkling with mischief. "I'm hanging in there, Cas," he quipped, adding a nickname for good measure. She could speak up if the Mandalorian had any objections, but Drifter was known for his stubbornness regarding nicknames.

He twirled the tracking focus on his finger, using the hoop at the end to keep it steady. "Looks like we've got Inari the Reviver on our side, and I've managed to pick up a lead. He's not far."

Drawing his gauntlet back up, he tapped a few buttons and swiped at the screen until the local map appeared. Running his fingers through his hair, he scowled until he found what he was looking for. Just outside Canto, along the cliffs by the beach, was where he had detected Zug the Tug's signal.

"Now, don't take this as gospel," he cautioned, gesturing to the screen, before swiping it to transfer the data onto her datapad. "I didn't have anything personal belonging to him, so it could be a matter of minutes or hours that I tracked him there. But if he's out there, chances are his ship is nearby -- there isn't anything else out there for it to be otherwise..."

Maybe.

 

[Casany Praxor]

Spoiler: Music IC

Well, that was a smile that a woman like this one could not help but return. There was something about this man’s mystery, no less his mischief, like the secrecy of his abilities. He appeared to be neither Jedi or Sith, not that the Force was dependent on either to begin with (a lesson the Mandalorians ought to teach their contemporaries when given the opportunity).

Similarly, there was something about his countenance; how his scar was as sharp as his gaze as much as his wince of pain. A warrior like her would have it no other way. Yet, though this city more than catered to a getaway to a place where they can play, this one was on a mission and had to behave.

Inari the Reviver? Cas looked like she had just been asked how many times she got drunk. Still, if this individual was on their side then all the better and whatever. Zug’s signal proved to be by the beach.

Gospel was taken for her core tenets as a Mandalorian, no more and no less, but she accepted his caution. Without anything personal, like the hide of a Trandoshan, the drifter drifted into the vast expanse and came back with more than a pinprick position for his wounded ass.

“Hitch your tits and pucker up, buttercup.” Casany flicked a finger against her empty glass for a defiant -PING!- “It’s time to feel the pain and peel the paint. We’re going on a hunt.”

Hopefully this pristine citrine gentleman wasn’t proven to be a chicken and would bite through his booboos and bandages given their target wasn’t far to begin with. Out in the cliffs, Zug was either hiding out or doing some shady business with some characters who needed to keep their distance. Whatever it was, the bastard was hers.

“Question,” asked the server. “Who shall I charge the medkit to?”

Drifter