Din stood his ground when the Mando slid out of the booth, holding steady even when they were very nearly chest to chest, beskar to beskar. It was almost as though he was daring the man to make a move, to give him an excuse to grab for his vibro-knife-- this close he could practically feel the man breathe. Even as he held himself loose and ready, Din felt tight as a spring, ready to just go.
The seconds that dragged out raked through Din’s nerves. He could see every glint of light catching on the beskar plates covering the Mando’s arm, every move making the interlocking metal shift and move perfectly in unison. Between one heartbeat and the next, transfixed on the flawless craftsmanship on that armor-- it suddenly hit him all at once that it wasn’t armor. It wasn’t sheets of metal covering the man’s arm.
It was an arm crafted entirely out of beskar.
Din had never even heard of something like that, of that type of skill-- much less the materials to create such a thing. Every scrap of armor that Din had earned over the years had been passed through countless hands before ending up on him, with the exception of his helmet. Half of it wasn’t even close to pure, mostly comprising of beskar alloys. But there was no doubt that that arm was pure.
It was possibly the most beautiful thing Din was sure he would ever see.
He would absolutely be fucked if he got in a fight with that arm.
Din suddenly realized there was talking going on, and turned just in time for Greef to toss a fob out onto the table. Din snatched it up quickly without thinking, before it hardly had time to touch the table.
“Alive, preferably. But they’re willing to take him cold, for a lesser price. Still better than your last jobs, but not as sweet as a deal if he’s still able to talk.” Greef said, leaning back to make himself look more comfortable.
“Then we’ll bring him alive,” Din said, taking a step back from the Mandalorian and tucking the fob somewhere safe before the other had a chance to protest.
There was still something bristling just under his skin, the adrenaline from being a breath away from taking on another Mandalorian, but some of that tightly coiled hostility had ebbed away. He was still wary, he was still on the offensive over another Mandalorian being on Nevarro-- but some of the heat had leeched out of his stance.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2023-05-07 04:41 am (UTC)The seconds that dragged out raked through Din’s nerves. He could see every glint of light catching on the beskar plates covering the Mando’s arm, every move making the interlocking metal shift and move perfectly in unison. Between one heartbeat and the next, transfixed on the flawless craftsmanship on that armor-- it suddenly hit him all at once that it wasn’t armor. It wasn’t sheets of metal covering the man’s arm.
It was an arm crafted entirely out of beskar.
Din had never even heard of something like that, of that type of skill-- much less the materials to create such a thing. Every scrap of armor that Din had earned over the years had been passed through countless hands before ending up on him, with the exception of his helmet. Half of it wasn’t even close to pure, mostly comprising of beskar alloys. But there was no doubt that that arm was pure.
It was possibly the most beautiful thing Din was sure he would ever see.
He would absolutely be fucked if he got in a fight with that arm.
Din suddenly realized there was talking going on, and turned just in time for Greef to toss a fob out onto the table. Din snatched it up quickly without thinking, before it hardly had time to touch the table.
“Alive, preferably. But they’re willing to take him cold, for a lesser price. Still better than your last jobs, but not as sweet as a deal if he’s still able to talk.” Greef said, leaning back to make himself look more comfortable.
“Then we’ll bring him alive,” Din said, taking a step back from the Mandalorian and tucking the fob somewhere safe before the other had a chance to protest.
There was still something bristling just under his skin, the adrenaline from being a breath away from taking on another Mandalorian, but some of that tightly coiled hostility had ebbed away. He was still wary, he was still on the offensive over another Mandalorian being on Nevarro-- but some of the heat had leeched out of his stance.