Quittin' Time | Mandalorian Social

[Aay'han Ruyot]

[member="Daniel Americus"] | [member="Maggie-Rae Americus"] | [member="Kaptan Americus"] | [member="Roy Americus"] | [member="Shia Kryze"] | [member="Jimmy Americus"] | [member="Jo Americus"] | [member="Rulk Rogan"] | [member="Andi Americus"] | [member="Cale Gunderson"]

 

[Ria Misrani]

Betty pulled down the blinds of the clinic, boots against the wooden floor as she walked across the office. "DJ," she called out without looking her daughter [member="Daisy Americus"], "Kandi." The two girls were her typical help for a closin' shop, "where's the inventory?"

The older blonde set the files together and clipped the last of the notes to them before filing it away. The sun had sunk behind the whiskey colored sky of Sierra Blanca just like it always had and while it was no Concord Dawn. It was home, Jo made sure of that and the work they put into this town and into their home was enough to make her heart swell. She got another look at the files and moved to organize the rest of the notes. The Mandalorian woman got a glance at the chronometer on the wall and hoped to hell that her husband had the good sense to head on into town. "Daisy, Kandi where you two at?" Betty called again and could hear the girls in the clinic gigglin' about one thing or another. The woman shook her hand with a smile as she finished up at the front desk.

She headed down the hall and toward the back, "Alright you two, C'mon, head on out. I'll finish up with this."

They didn't quite have all the technological goods that they had on their old homestead but they had just what they needed. The blonde finished up with the inventory and closed up the supply closet. A smile on her face this wouldn't have been possible if it hadn't been for the kindness of others, most especially the folk from Monastery. Betty moved through the little place and did one final check of each examination room and the small lab they had. When it met her satisfaction she stepped outside of her clinic and locked it up with the key. The dirt road that greeted her boots kicked up dust behind each step as she looked out down the boulevard and at the corner she could see people walkin' into the saloon.

Betty decided that she might as well join the crowd, no point in stickin' on home when the family was havin' it down at the saloon. Ahead of her, she could see her girls and her heart swelled again. Every time she saw them, and so she walked down that dirt road knowing just where things were set, the gunsmith, the banker, the barber and the dressmaker all came from off world to help make their homes here with them and that - that was awful special to the Americus. And while Haeseria didn't have the fertile ground that Concord Dawn did, she knew Jo and the boys would make it work and they did. And as that sun continued to slip behind the sky, and as the moon rose to twinkle in that beautiful night she found her hand on the doors of the saloon.

Saloon doors swung open and in walked Betty, and the first thing she were the Trandoshan and some rando'feller havin' a go. Betty wasn't the kind to take to fightin' inside, if one was gonna fight, take it outside and away from other folk. She slipped her fingers to form a whistle, loud enough to silence the room. "If yer gonna have a fight, take it outside."

"Y'all wanna gawk or talk?" Betty had a way of gettin' to folks. The Saloon went back to business proper as she stepped further in headin' for the bar. Didn't take her long to spot her kin. She took time to stop off at their table a moment, "evenin' darlin'." Betty gave her husband a kiss on the cheek and a small squeeze of his shoulder. "Roy, Andi." She gave them both a greeting and then headed on to the bar. "Well look at you, did you get a new haircut?"

The bartender was the same man that arrived with Americus the day they settled, went by Jesse Angel. Sharpshooter when the times called for it, bartender for the rest of the day and night if he could get away with it. "Yeah it is thanks, Laura likes it a lot."

"She better, how are Laura and the boy?"

"They're good thanks," Jesse served up the typical drink for Betty which meant the local brew.

Betty took her pint and headed back for the table, she gave [member="Shia Kryze"] a look over as she went back to the table the blonde settled into a seat beside her husband.

[member="Jo Americus"] | [member="Maggie-Rae Americus"] | [member="Kaptan Americus"] | [member="Roy Americus"] | [member="Jimmy Americus"] | [member="Rulk Rogan"] | [member="Andi Americus"] | [member="Cale Gunderson"] |

 

[Daisy Americus]

Location: From the Medical Clinic -> The Sierra Blanca
Wearing: This
Intent: Bartender - "Ah'm servin' them good drinks ya'll. None of that watered down apple juice."

“Here—Ah got it right here Mama.”, Daisy responded, hearing her name a second time, as she picked up the correct datapad that contained the inventory for the clinic. She’d spent most of the day double checking the narcotics, antibiotics, and bacta solutions that they were supposed to have on hand for general use. She had counted the blister packs almost a half dozen times but it seemed like they were off. They had more bacta than they ought to but fewer antibiotics than they should have. “Ah triple checked everythang just like you taught me but the count is still all hickey-hockey.”

She at least had the decency to blush a little bit at being caught giggling with her half-sister. There was a new boy in town, tending the stables, and he was mighty fine. The elder Americus kicked them out not long after and both girls headed off on their own. It wasn’t as if they didn’t want to be around their mother, they loved her with the strength of beskar, but both had jobs to get to before full dark. Kandi was babysitting for their new couple down yonder and Daisy had promised to bartend at the Sierra Blanca. “Love you mama—holo if you need somethin’ and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

The young woman changed before leaving, knowing that the pretty white and blue clothes she wore to work with [member="Betty Americus"] would not be appropriate for the saloon. The clinic was professional, and a place of business, and she would never embarrass her mother on purpose. Granted, she was sure it would happen one day, but she would do her best. She took her favorite juiced up speeder along the dirt road and arrived just in time to see the fighting begin.

Her eyes rolled. Typical. This was what Betty Americus would spend most of the next day cleaning up after, bandaging broken knuckles, and setting equally broken noses. Even though she rarely participated, mostly, because the men-folk seemed to hesitate when it came to throwing a punch at one of Jo Americus’s girls she kinda sorta enjoyed it. There was a thrill to a fight. A sweep of adrenaline that she really didn’t find anywhere else but in a starfighter or during a pod race.

But, she had a job to do.

“Howdy Nate—Sorry Ah’m late! I got a little distracted helpin’ Ma.”

“No harm done Daisy Jane. We just started getting busy so if you want to pick up where I left off that’d be great. I gotta make rounds so just holler if you have any trouble.”

Sometimes, with the brawling, the customer got a little out of hand. He kept a nice shotgun behind the counter just in case.

Daisy smiled at the bartender of the Sierra Blanca and picked up a mostly clean towel to throw over her shoulder. Some customers were family and some weren’t. But, that was fine. There was nothing better than a new face. She also saw, surprisingly enough, [member="Andi Americus"] sitting next to [member="Jo Americus"] and [member="Roy Americus"]. The bubbly blond ball of sunshine gave the pair a joyful wave before also waving to [member="Jimmy Americus"] and [member="Maggie-Rae Americus"]. Bartender Nate, poor man, had been crushing on Andi since the first time he laid eyes on her sister and no doubt wanted to bring over her drink personally. She had hearts all over her mind about the whole thing. It was just too sweet.

There were several gentlemen at the bar including their delivery man, [member="Cale Gunderson"], and the friendly woman cast him a dazzling smile. “Want me to top off your drink for ya’ sugah?”, she questioned, pulling down the cloth from her shoulder to habitually wipe off the bartop. She was clad in a cut off tee-shirt and a pair of washed out skin-tight gray jeans. There were holes in the shirt, holes in the jeans, and a pair of murderously high magenta heels on her feet.

She’d swiped them from Andi some time ago, trading them for a pair of cowboy boots, and hoped her sister wouldn’t notice.

Across the way she could see [member="Daniel Americus"] about to participate in the fighting and gave a heavy sigh. His face really couldn’t take many more beatings or he was going be bantha-behind ugly. She also thought she saw Uncle Sam ([member="Kaptan Americus"]) but she couldn’t be sure. She was too far away. If it was him, she was positive, he would at least come say hello before leaving. There was someone else watching the fight, a pale customer, bald, but female from the looks of her. ([member="Shia Kryze"]) Daisy had never seen her round these parts, but, that could be said for a lot of patrons. She had never spied a man drinking away his troubles ([member="Aay'han Ruyot"]) either—but she was glad for it.

If someone wanted to lose their troubles, forget the heat, and kick back? This was the place to be. Even [member="Betty Americus"] made her way over after closing up. It made DJ happy, content, to have so many friends and family in one place.

That was when a REAL fight started inside the bar. Daisy frowned and pulled out the slugthrower pistol that she preferred from behind the bar, versus the shotgun, and fired several shots straight up in the air. It definitely put a few holes in the ceiling but the owner would be used to patching it by now. There was a reason none of the Saloon’s guest rooms were directly above the bar. “Hey! My mama just said it plain as day. If ya’ll want to fight you take it outside. Don’t make me come over there.”

The Mandalorian woman brought down the pistol and aimed it expertly at the Transdoshan who seemed to be threatening the other man ([member="Aay'han Ruyot"]). Daisy, sweet as the day she was born, passed a saccharine smile at both customers and leaned on the bar a little to get a clearer shot. “Why don’t you two come on over and get a drink instead? I’ll fix it up nice. On the house.”

 

[Olin Pinestep]

Sam continued to smile, even as the wad of crimson left [member="Daniel Americus"]' lips, and he waited for his opponent's next move. It was a learned habit - between the Force and his training, he'd learned that it was easier to counterattack than it was to create and offense. The Force provided impressions, and training backed it up. He relied on his training now; tuning out any other little nagging intuition in his head that would give away his opponent's next move.

It wouldn't be a very fun fight otherwise.

So he took the body blow, because he was curious as to what the plan was. Was it a swing for the jaw? A combination to the other side to force the guard lower? He didn't wait to find out, leaning in to send his elbow up into Dusty's face, even as Dusty's fist cracked against his cheek, the shift in angle meaning they both had bloody mouths now.

Damn, but it felt good to get hit.

 

[Aay'han Ruyot]

Several shots cracked through the air. Aay'han flinched and pulled the trigger. His modified blaster made a fine burning hole in the Trandoshan. He didn't notice any of this, he was back on Mandalore. The neighboring clan used wood slug rifles because they wouldn't set off perimeter alarms. Green and brown armor blended into the trees and shadows. Aay'han watched his father put the finishing touches on a small piece of jewelry for his Aay'han's mother. The village was quiet, the weather was warm, and everyone was relaxing. His mother came out. Crack. She fell. Aay'han and his father stared in shock. Crack. Crack. Crack. The Mandalorians fled. Died with no honor, fleeing, weaponless, many without armor.

Aay'han started. The Trandoshan lay on him, sticky, likely toxic blood seeped onto his armor. Aay'han himself lay limp, helmet-less, staring with empty eyes at a blurred ceiling. He took a deep breath and shoved the carcass aside. It rolled to the floor with a wet thump. Blaster still in hand his eyes fell across a woman holding a slug pistol. Crack. The sound wasn't real, the memory was. The lone Crusader stood over him, arms folded, an expressionless mask. "Honor must earned", he said. "But not through the deaths of my people", Aay'han murmured.

Daniel Americus | Maggie-Rae Americus | Kaptan Americus | Roy Americus | Shia Kryze | Jimmy Americus | Jo Americus | Rulk Rogan | Andi Americus | Cale Gunderson | [member="Daisy Americus"]

 

[Ursula Vizla]

Arriving in Durango was a long and tiresome trip. She didn't have any patience to make so long journeys to whatever dwangholes she had found to lay low while her countrymen ended the killing of brothers and sisters, while she would get rich in Confederacy expenses. It was widely know through the Hutt space that if you needed any fast job and good pay, than with the droid lovers you should stay, and by doing that, her arrival in Durango was not unnoticed by the separatists and a lot of eyes were set on her black pitch armor, different than the bes'kar armor wore by the Mandalorian Protectors in CIS territory. She was a Vizsla, a Alor of her clan and house, by all laws and rights, she was noble, had proven herself better than most and would kill anyone who would say otherwise without a single drop of guilt in her consciousness after ripping any human/alien throat and letting they're warm blood gush through her cold face. In her worst nightmares, she dreamed with yellow eyes staring at her in the pitch black darkness of the space, and in her most found dreams, she remembered when she killed her target in Kashyyyk, and escaped the Wookies by staying in a cave for three nights in a row, surviving by eating the dead man's leg and arm. She started to dislike trandoshas ever since, not just by the horrible flavor they had, but by the nights she stayed in that cave due to her target, a runner. "Sherry... leave the bottle.", she grunted to the bartender with a cocky attitude, throwing the credits in his direction, and putting both hands in the sides of the helmet, removing it slowly, an act that attracted the eyes of half the pub when her long, greasy, thick red hair fell like a waterfall in her back and shoulders, her left hand was holding the disruptor rifle with one hand, the other held the glass, drinking all inside with one sip. And when the waiter came back, she growled at him, her voice more feminine now than with the helmet, in a tough way. "Spread the word... The Commander Zero from Mandalore is looking for work." And after that, she filled her glass and nod with her head for the man to get our of her sight.

 

[Dhakarta]

Dhakarta felt naked without her beskar'gam, but it didn't feel right wearing it, not any more. Not after she'd had to bury her family, murdered on the Infernals orders for all that they'd always heeded the call, always fought for the Mand'alor. If that was what being Mandalorian meant now, then to the Netherhells with it. She was Dar'manda. Her soul had died with her family anyway.

Still, when you'd been raised as Mandalorian as she'd been, in as tight a clan, used to living barracks style, to almost never a moment alone.. Well, as pathetic and sad strill-pup as it was, a body got lonely. Seemed like no matter how hard she tried to distance herself from all things Mandalorian, and her own memories, it was too much a part of her. When she'd learned of an entire colony of folks who'd had to relocate and become a different sort of Mando, for much the same reasons that she had, it had seemed almost too good to be true. And certainly too much for her to resist. So much as it was a bit like a wound she couldn't leave alone, she found herself walking into the Sierra Blanca.

To the sounds of blasterfire.

Well this was exciting already. Yep, really missing her besker'gam. Sure it wasn't fun getting shot even with armour, well, sometimes it was depending on what you were doing and with who, but for the most part you got to walk away even if you had a hell of a bruise. Without.. well her leather jacket wasn't likely to help all too much. Still, it wasn't like anyone was aiming at her in particular yet.

Walking in, she did a quick and almost subconscious sitrep. Two folks stood out. The mustached man sitting at a table that a lot of the other folks seemed to be revolving around, because he screamed man in charge and it was polite to pay your respects. And the guy laying by the corpse with the vacant look that anyone who spent enough time around folks who'd seen a lot of active combat would recognize. That was some full blown PTSD right there. Who knew where the kark he was right now, but it wasn't this bar, that was for sure. And it made him both a threat and a victim.

Dhakarta always felt better when she had a task. Left on her own she thought too much, got lost in her own head. But with a task, you just got it done. So. Deal with the space cadet. That she could do. She walked over, casually enough, squatting down beside [member="Aay'han Ruyot"] and offering him a smile and a hand.

"Su'cuy vod, long day? Copaani gaan? Reckon maybe you should holster that hey? Looks to be all vode her now. C'mon I'll give you a hand up and we'll go pay our respects to the Alor of these parts yeah?"

 

[Aay'han Ruyot]

Aay'han's eyes shifted to this newcomer. One that offered an open hand and a friendly greeting. His head hurt, and his mind was blurred. No one had ever offered to help, not even his father, for that was part of his training. His father always said of one couldn't take car of himself, it wasn't worth living. But Aay'han was tired. He took the hand that helped him to his feet. But his hand remained clenched around his blaster, it was the only thing that made him feel safe. He grabbed his helmet and put it on. He was is in his own environment now, his beskar'gam, that protected him from harm. He tenaciously holstered his blaster. He faced [member="Dhakarta"]."I am Aay'han, member of the once existent clan Ruyot, of clan Wren, of clan Vizsla."

[member="Dhakarta"]

 

[Dhakarta]

He accepted her hand and she helped haul him to his feet. No mean task given how much a proper suit of beskar'gam weighed, but she was used to helping up her comrades. That was what you did. You gave each other a hand when you needed it. Strong alone, stronger together. That was the whole point of the clan. Some aruetyc might have found it off-putting when he put his buy'ce back on, but honestly there had been people Dhakarta had loved like family that she'd probably seen helmeted more often than not. For a Mandalorian, their helmet might as well have been their face, so she took it in stride.

"Dhakar'ta Kotir once, just Dhakarta now that the Infernal is through with my aliit. Dathomirian." She tried to say it in an offhand manner, as if it didn't matter, with a slight shrug, but there was a touch of bitter pain in her voice. The current Mandalorian Empires invasion of their long time allies on Dathomir and the subsequent slaughter and subjugation weren't much of a secret. For all that the mouthpieces of the Infernal kept trying to deny it, the bones that littered that worlds ground and the decimated, 'cured' witch population told a story that could not be denied.

"Now, we'll be good guests and go greet the alor of this Americus clan hey? Interesting lot so far, I like them." She commented with a grin. In truth, Dhakarta was much slower to form an opinion than her words suggested, but [member="Aay'han Ruyot"] still seemed.. a bit shaky. He'd holstered his weapon, and was engaged in the here and now, and this was good, but he still struck her as fragile. She wondered vaguely if he'd suffered mir'shupur, but he didn't bear the sigil, so it was likely just a wound of the soul. Just. Ha.

She turned and headed for the table where [member="Jo Americus"] and some of his clan were seated. She didn't watch to see if Aay'han was following, he would or he wouldn't, and the fact that she let him be at her back, in her blindspot was in its own way a way to reassure him that they were comrades and she trusted him. Watching your allies back was important.

"Su'cuy vode, thought I ought to make my hellos, since this is your settlement, or at least I assume so." From the way people gravitated to, rotated around this table. From how at ease and how little posturing there was. Only dogs out of their own territory felt the need to be all stiff legged swagger, barking away. "Dhakarta."

It felt wrong, not including a clan, but a clan of one was no clan at all.

 

[Aay'han Ruyot]

Too have someone speak to him in words, not including the threatening of his life, was something knew to Aay'han. It's what you got for spending your hours in bottom of the pit bars and cantinas. Safe in his helmet, Aay'han's mind cleared, and he noticed for the first time the details of his surroundings. He still needed a drink. And he was still credit-less. It interested him that [member="Dhakarta"] also had her clan purged. So I am not the only one, he mused. Her suggestion at meeting the Americus clan was less interesting to him. The last time he encountered a clan, insults were flung, and a nasty fight broke out. It still haunted him, a room of Mandalorians laying dead at his feet. Their life choked from them. Blast the force. It was then he knew he was cursed. His father heard about the massacre, but no one ever found Aay'han out, and Aay'han never had the courage to tell his father. It was a matter of honor, but he avenged himself dishonorably.

Nonetheless, he followed Dhakarta, a fellow Mandalorian in a similar state of living was calming. He was not alone. Dhakarta made her greeting, her name feeling uncomfortably incomplete without the Clan name. Aay'han gave [member="Jo Americus"] a neutral gaze, as neutral as one could get through a mask. "I am Aay'han Ruyot." He may no longer have a clan, but he was still proud of the one he once was a part of. The same blood still flowed through his veins, there was no use denying it. Your clan is who you are, regardless of it's numbers. The Crusader taught him that, perhaps he would have the chance to teach it to Dhakarta too.