Protector
After he'd paid respects to his fallen kin, he remained a moment in that humble kneel, peering to the vibrant, familiar sunrise in his eyes, a solemn triumph. While the promise Waylon beckoned into the waning moments of his life had been fulfilled...to come back home, it wasn't in the way Maynard would have treasured most. Still, with that lone settlement on the horizon, it seemed to wordlessly demand Maynard's attention. He didn't care to fire up the engine of The Renegade again, last he was sure, it didn't have any spaceport to accomodate it, certainly not one he'd trust keeping a close eye over his modified freighter.
Harlan. He'd not walked these streets in decades. They weren't much the same as they were in his youth. The familiar foundation and framework, certainly but the change of hands in both Galactic and local regimes had seen it defaced from its original appearance, not that he was too familiar with them from the onset. The salt of the earth of Concord Dawn were the homesteads, the surrounding farms and land claims occupied by the same families for generations. Of course, last Maynard had seen of the Treicolt homestead, it was burnt to a crisp by the Sith who'd stomped down these golden fields in their first bout of occupation over the world.
When they first set foot into Harlan proper, there was little sign of whoever might've been the principle authority over it, be it Mandalorian Unionist remnant, Sith, Protector...difficult to appraise and thus, he had to ask some questions. He did a decent enough job in equipping himself to blend in with the surroundings, the armor's coat of blue and yellow paints chipped and worn down to the metallic beneath, the patterned cloak thrown over his shoulder not unlike contemporary Concord Dawn designs. He appeared to be a hired gun and little else, save for the saber at his hip. Loske had her own means of equipping herself for this dusty world, even if it meant veering away from attire which she would've found more appealing since reclaiming herself from Shursia. A styling which Maynard certainly bared no opposition to.
This desolate town was a remnant of the frontier, those segments of the Galaxy untamed by any Galactic government and in spite of its proximity within the net of being within this galaxy, seemingly centered between several bustling civilizations, it seemed to be all of void from it. Strife and toil had a certain way of building up its people, but often left their quality of life lagging far behind. It was evident here, buildings still in need of repair, a choked to breath infrastructure, signs of abject poverty evident on the streets as people weaved through it all to conduct their day to day business. After all, in spite of it being a small settlement, twenty nears absent, in these conditions meant there were basically no familiar faces save for the remnants of burning memories, easily mistaken for deja vu as he glanced through the passing townspeople.
"Worse than I remember...not that I remembered this place being much to begin with..." He remarked, speaking to Loske alone.
He managed to spot the flickering neon marking the entrance of the cantina, the very same establishment here during his youth, not that he went inside it more than once or twice.
"We'll get the lay of the land here, I guess." The metallic door slid open with a shrieking hiss, a strained and worn mechanism. The first thing to hit him was the smell along with the dimmed lighting. Not only was there the usual grasp of the breath of stale liquor but so too did the stench of harder narcotics hit his nostrils. Tough times called for more rigorous means of coping. As much as Loske was clearly capable in handling herself, he was instinctively and expectedly protective, continuously glancing back to her with each step.
Most of the crowd of the day was human, lower energy, less likely to cause trouble, mostly farmers, couriers or traveling merchants finishing overnight work. Maynard took them to the counter, leaning forward before knocking a faint rhythm in line with the errant music being played through the cantina to get the barkeep's attention. Human but evidently, abrasive. A man slightly younger than middle age, at the brink of departing his prime and any inch of exposed skin covered in tattoo artwork, Mandalorian, contemporary spacer filth, given Maynard's previous line of work, he'd seen the whole nine yards. And given again, the lack of familiarity, he could only assume the fate of this man. Spacer, shipwrecked planetside, needing to make a living and just stuck around.
"How's it goin' Wanted to get a lay of the town if you got a second-" He was cut off with a wave of the hand by the barkeep.
"I don't talk unless you're paying for something, friend." The barkeep replied. Standard procedure, if you were going to take up the barkeeps time, at least make it worth the while.
"Ardees, then." Good drink to keep at his side if he expected to pay attention. It was cheap and far too bitter to enjoy, which meant it was easy to stave off the temptation. He watched him fill the glass, glancing back to Loske and the rest of the cantina for a moment before facing the barkeep once more.
"So how's Harlan faring these days? Who's calling the shots?" The man released a faint exhale from his nose in amusement.
"Harlan is Harlan - shitty as always. You asking about a constable?"
"Barely much of anyone calls any shots around here, Sith, Mandos, most any brand of banditi can pillage as they want around here. Homesteads been having the short of it for a bit now." Yeah, it was worse than he remembered
"The Constables aren't able to do squat. They ain't as much as a force as they'd care to be."
"There any stationed here, still?" Maynard inquired, arching a brow. It was only just then he took his first sip of Ardees, immediately remembering why he didn't drink it by choice.
"Tanau and Brandall. They've been managing it for a little bit now, Mandos hung around here not too long ago, kept things under control but, they seemed to have taken the money and run so to speak." Not that there was much to take or at the very least, they didn't leave much left.
"I guess just follow the trouble and I'll find 'em. Have something I need to drop by them."
"Yeah...maybe, if you give a sh*t, could look into the kidnappings going on 'round here." The barkeep remarked, seemingly offhandidly.
"Kidnappings?" As if he needed to feel more ill at ease.
"I don't care to speak too much on it, ask the Constables." If he didn't want questions, Maynard wouldn't press it. Subject matter like that wasn't easy to handle.
"No worries...I'll leave you to it-." He said, leaving the nigh full glass of Ardees on the counter, before turning to leave, motioning for Loske to follow.
"A lead on...something. I told you, if you came up around here you'd be a spacer too, anything to get off this dustball. And now...here I am...by choice." Maynard laughs to the irony to himself as they walked unto the street once more.