Bucky let the other Mando take the fob. "Get the Imp, take him to the people that make the drug that ruins hundreds of lives every day, don't let him die. Got it." He would just as happily kill the Imp and the Pyke Syndicate, but then he wouldn't get paid.
He looked back at the other Mandalorian, who had stepped away a little. His shoulders had finally relaxed a little, and his hand wasn't hovering quite so closely to his knife hilt. "I'll wait for you at the airfield," he told the Mando, then stepped around him. The bar watched him go, voices hushing as he went by.
Then, he was outside. Nevarro was hot. It was a volvanic planet, with active lava flows at basically all times. The ambient heat rising from the ground, combined with the hot air turned all his black painted beskar into an oven. Sweat was trickling down the side of his neck. How a covert survived on this planet underground, he didn't want to consider.
Bucky walked back through the town, keeping pressed to the darker corners and paths, avoiding the way marked on the walls he could see in his HUD, so as not to dark risk leading a tail to the covert. The same way he had been coming and going since he realized there was a covert here. He wouldn't tolerate another Mandalorian risking his clan through inattentiveness, so he wouldn't allow the same in himself.
Once out at the lava flats, though, he stopped. There, parked on opposite sides of the lava flat that made up Nevarro's airfield, were two different Razor Crests. One was his, and the other wasn't. The one that wasn't his had been modified, but it was still, undeniably, a Razor Crest.
It seemed the other Mandalorian also had a good head for ships.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2023-05-07 07:05 pm (UTC)Bucky let the other Mando take the fob. "Get the Imp, take him to the people that make the drug that ruins hundreds of lives every day, don't let him die. Got it." He would just as happily kill the Imp and the Pyke Syndicate, but then he wouldn't get paid.
He looked back at the other Mandalorian, who had stepped away a little. His shoulders had finally relaxed a little, and his hand wasn't hovering quite so closely to his knife hilt. "I'll wait for you at the airfield," he told the Mando, then stepped around him. The bar watched him go, voices hushing as he went by.
Then, he was outside. Nevarro was hot. It was a volvanic planet, with active lava flows at basically all times. The ambient heat rising from the ground, combined with the hot air turned all his black painted beskar into an oven. Sweat was trickling down the side of his neck. How a covert survived on this planet underground, he didn't want to consider.
Bucky walked back through the town, keeping pressed to the darker corners and paths, avoiding the way marked on the walls he could see in his HUD, so as not to dark risk leading a tail to the covert. The same way he had been coming and going since he realized there was a covert here. He wouldn't tolerate another Mandalorian risking his clan through inattentiveness, so he wouldn't allow the same in himself.
Once out at the lava flats, though, he stopped. There, parked on opposite sides of the lava flat that made up Nevarro's airfield, were two different Razor Crests. One was his, and the other wasn't. The one that wasn't his had been modified, but it was still, undeniably, a Razor Crest.
It seemed the other Mandalorian also had a good head for ships.