Closed to [aliit_be_tad]

[make_it_hurt]

 "Mando!" Greef Karga's voice rang through the bar even before his presence could be noticed. The head of the Bounty Hunter's Guild was sitting in his usual place, the other side of the round booth empty. 

Bucky didn't look around as he stepped inside. Voices around him hushed, and suddenly he could hear the clink of his armor pieces touching as he stepped down into the main area. As he strode across the room, the chatter slowly started back up, and it was almost to full volume when he finally slid into the seat across from Karga. 

Out came his two tracking fobs - they had been rather hefty bounties, which was a welcome change from the usual trickle - and he slapped them down with his left hand, keeping them caged in with his fingers. 

Greef Karga sat back in his seat. "Have more work for you, Mando. If you'll indulge me by staying put for a bit, there's one more party we're waiting for. Then I don't have to explain twice." 

Reaching into his jacket, he freed a small handful of credits. Imperial. 

Behind his helmet, Bucky's lip curled with disgust. Outwardly, he reached for them. He couldn't afford to be picky. Not with hungry children at the covert. He traded the fobs for the credits, tucking them away. 

"What kind of job?" 

"One that pays twice what I just paid you." 

"I don't work with others." Meaning, they normally got in the way. He was more efficient solo. 

"I think you'll want to work with this person. In fact, I'm surprised you haven't met." Karga leaned to look past him and Bucky reluctantly turned as, surprise of all surprises, another Mandalorian stepped into the bar. 

Comments

[aliit_be_tad]

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.

[make_it_hurt]

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.

[aliit_be_tad]

Din resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably at the way the Mando described their objective. The man wasn’t wrong, but not thinking too hard about whatever pucks he took on was typically the best way to get through job to job, as far as he was concerned. There was rarely a job he refused to take on, but hunting someone down for the Pyke Syndicate was hardly the worst thing he’d done. He doubted it was the worst this other beroya had done, either. Not if he’d been in the game long enough.

But he kept his mouth shut. The Mando hadn’t argued about the fob, so he figured biting his tongue was a decent trade-off.

He didn’t bother nodding in agreement when the other said they’d meet at the airfield, choosing to just silently watch him leave the bar. Then, he turned and leveled his gaze on Greef.

“What? I thought you two would get along. Seemed like you have one or two things in common. Like that sunny disposition you’re so well known for.” Greef said with a feigned look of innocence.

Din sighed heavily.


It was nearing three hours later when Din finally reached the airfield. There was a sack of supplies over his shoulder, and his pockets lighter of their credits. He had taken his meager earnings to the covert, as well as the news of another Mandalorian on world. The Armorer had taken the news better than he had-- but then again, it was always difficult to read the stoic woman. She had given him words of caution as well as words of encouragement. Reminding him that other Mandalorians were not his enemies.

It left a bitter taste in his mouth, bit he knew better than to entirely disregard her words. That didnt mean he had to like the other beroya.


He slowed as he reached the lava flats, noticing the other Razor Crest for the first time. It must have landed after he had that morning. Without even a doubt he knew the other Razor Crest belonged to the other Mando. He begrudgingly acknowledged that atleast the man had decent taste in ships-- but didn’t bother thinking anything beyond that. The sooner they get this over with, the better.

Din headed to the other Razor Crest and stood there for a moment, taking in the ship, the parts were it differed from his. He was looking for any and every excuse he could give to insist they take his ship. By the look of the fob, just the trip out to the mark was going to take a day or two on its own, not even counting how long it took to track the guy down and secure him. He didn’t want to be stuck in an unfamiliar ship for that long if he had to-- or to leave his own ship unguarded on Nevarro for that long.

After a moment, he sighed, shifting the weight of the bag on his shoulder before calling out to the Mandalorian, “Su cuy'gar?”

Should have been a friendly greeting, but the questioning and -- let’s face it, borderline aggressive tone made it something a little more… rough. He winced under his helmet, knowing no one could see the expression.

Kriff, he was going to turn into Paz at this rate. What was it that the Armorer had said, again…? Other Mandalorians weren’t his enemy..? Well, the message wasn’t having an easy time sinking in through his thick helmet, it looked like.

[make_it_hurt]

Bucky had spent the time waiting for the other Mandalorian packing a bag and preparing his ship to be left on Nevarro. The other Mando's ship had been heavily modified, and would serve them better if it came down to a firefight.

He had also extensively studied the information on the puck, learning all he could about their target.

He had expected the other Mandalorian to take time on the surface. His covert was here, he would need to take them the credits and supplies and see his family.

Idly, Bucky considered if the Mandalorian had a spouse or child. It wasn't exactly common for beroya to be thoroughly attached, since they could die at any time, and it would be hard on those that stayed behind, but Bucky knew that many clans, like his, had no other choice.

He reached up, brushing gloved fingers over the mark painted on the inside of his left wrist. The other Mandalorian had probably not noticed yet, but as they went on this mission, it was impossible it would go unnoticed forever.

It was then, lost in thought about Steve and their foundling, that the other Mando called out to him.

He sounded distinctly aggressive, for some reason. Well, maybe one reason: if he was Death Watch. "I'm here. Are you ready to go?" He stood and turned. The Mando had gained a bag slung over his shoulder - no doubt traded for the credits his jobs had earned him.