First Reply Shadows of R&R

[Ironwraith]

The settler outpost wasn't much—barely more than a cluster of prefabs, a landing pad, and a supply shack built out of scavenged durasteel. Dust rode the wind in thin waves, scraping across the duracrete walkways and rattling loose shutters on homes that had seen better days. Farmers and traders moved about their business with the tired gait of people used to scraping by under Republic protection that didn't always arrive on time.

Through their midst walked a soldier. White and navy armor scarred and scorched, visor blank and unyielding. He drew glances from settlers, but none dared speak first. Soldiers were not rare here—but one who kept his helmet on even while off duty, who carried himself like the battlefield still clung to him, was unsettling.

He pushed open the creaking door of the supply shack, the scent of dust and machine oil heavy inside. Crates of ration bars, replacement filters, scrap parts, and blaster packs were stacked unevenly against the walls. The settler running the place glanced up, squinting.

The trooper's voice carried through his helmet's modulator, low and tired, yet firm.
"Looking for field supplies. Filters. Ammunition if you've got it. Not charity. I'll pay."

He stood there, unmoving, the weight of his armor filling the small room. Outside, children peeked through the dusty windows, whispering about the armored figure like he was a specter of war come to walk among farmers.

Behind the blank visor, his thoughts stayed with the dead.
The lucky ones rest. I walk through hell for them still.

 

[Casany Praxor]

The dark orange cloak billowed in the wind. A breeze became a gust, blowing dust against the garment’s edges that otherwise covered up the clothes behind it.

Even those garments were hardly visible though. The armor was, however, but that was part of the reason the woman sported the cloak to begin with—it made the Mandalorian’s beskar’gam harder to recognize from a distance.

Hood pulled up, shrouding her helmet, shadowing the black T visor that centered it. Red gold beskar barely glimmered under the sun, already dirtied by the environment, hardly sticking out from under the cloak amid her blasters, daggers and other weapons. The signets embedded in either shoulder were hidden by the fabric.

She walked down the street, not looking at anybody in particular and received the same treatment. A few sideways glances, a bit of inspection for her and him, because you never knew who might be after you even in, or especially in, a place like this.

However, the bounty hunter had only one destination in mind at the moment. Opening the door to the building, she stepped inside, keeping her cloak’s hood over her iron face and jumped straight to conversation.

“Looking for field supplies. Ammun— Oh.” She inclined her head to the shopkeeper’s other guest. From this distance, her helmet might be recognized for a Mandalorian’s but that was fine. His? Some kind of trooper. That much was obvious. “Please don’t tell me you already bought up the shop.” There didn't even seem to be many supplies left.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

The trooper didn't move at first, the blank navy-and-white visor tilting toward the cloaked figure. Dust slid from the edges of his armor as he shifted his weight, a faint creak of durasteel plates cutting through the silence.

"No," his voice rasped through the filter, carrying that gravelly tone of someone who'd spoken too little for too long. "I'm not here to strip the shelves bare."

He tapped a gloved finger against the counter beside a half-open crate of ration packs. "Just a few essentials. First aid. Filters. Maybe something to carry home as a… reminder that this place wasn't as empty as it felt." The last words lingered with an edge that wasn't quite bitterness—more memory than complaint.


The visor fixed on her, black glass against black T-slit. For the first time, he broke the silence with something that wasn't purely practical.
"Your helmet… reminds me of someone I used to know. Korda Veydran . Mandalorian, same cut to the visor." A pause, a faint tilt of his head. "You any kin to him, or is it just the way your kind wear iron?"


His hand stayed on the counter, body language tight but not hostile. Whatever pain lay under the armor, he masked it with the same soldier's discipline that had carried him through hell.

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

Casany simply listened to the man speak, relating to the things he personally came here for. They were relatively the same as her. Everything but the reminder, at least. She had enough memories and trinkets already on her person as much as in her ship.

“Reminder, is it?” She asked rhetorically, indifferent, as she maneuvered around the store but nothing was far apart. She grabbed nothing in particular, searching what little lingered.

Eyes behind her visor, one eye was given to this, the other eye to that, and both eyes to the shopkeeper and her fellow shopper. Finally, she picked up something and came his way.

“Korda Veydran?” She repeated the name as if it had some weight. It didn’t. “Let me guess.” She walked over to the counter to stand beside him, leveling her visor with his. “All us Mandalorians are garbed in beskar’gam so we all look the same and must be related, right?” She spoke in an amused tone more than irritated though.

“Never heard of him.” She shrugged. “But he sounds Mandalorian.” At that, she placed an object on the counter and slid it over to her armored counterpart. “Here’s your reminder.” It was an empty cup collecting dust.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

The trooper's visor lingered on the cup for a moment longer than necessary, his posture stiffening slightly. He then pushed it back toward her with a deliberate motion.


"Not the kind of reminder I'd want," he muttered, his voice carrying weight, though not anger.


He shifted, armor creaking softly. " Korda Veydran ... Outcast Mandalorian from Clan Veydran. Follows a cult called The Majestic Flame of Manda—they worship Kad Ha'Rangir, the Destroyer God. Believe in purging the galaxy through chaos and fire." A pause, the rasp of his breath through the filters faintly audible. "Shock trooper. Breacher. Charges into battle with a vibroblade and a thermal detonator like he's hosting a fireworks show."


He glanced back at her, visor level. "I shouldn't have assumed you knew him. Guess I sounded like every other soldier who can't tell one Mandalorian from another. My apologies."


Then, with a faint tilt of his head, he gestured toward the dusty cup. "Still… thanks for the thought. Even an empty cup's better than empty hands. Though if I drink from it, I expect it to explode or at least start an argument with the dust."

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

The cup returned to her across the countertop but her fingers didn’t grip it. It just sat where it slid, motionless, and almost as forgotten about as this establishment. It was her turn to yet again listen to him.

It was obvious that neither person knew the face behind the mask, could read each other’s eyes or glimpse the expression in their visage, but to say that words carried weight was an understatement. In that same vein, so were gestures.

“It’s just an empty cup collecting dust,” Casany admitted honestly. Her contemporary could make of it symbolically in any way he wished. Token. Trinket. Reminder. Moments later and this visit that would turn into a purchase one way or the other and would be behind her. “A bit different from your tongue.”

The Mandalorian tilted her head. It was the best she could express bereft of an expression for him to witness on her countenance. “Korda Veydran. Outcast. Majestic Flame of Manda. Kad Ha’Rangir. Destroyer God.” She repeated, offering a nod to the Mandalorian as much as the man before her.

“You don’t sound like every other soldier I’ve met to keep that in your head. Most folks might not give a kriff for my people's creeds or clan and history unless they have a reason to.” One hand on the counter, other at her side, both emptyhanded for the moment. She allowed it.

“Chaos and fire.” One in her armor could only wonder after a fireworks show and a man and Mandalorian with a vibroblade and thermal detonator. “Which is it, then? Is this Korda your enemy or your friend?”

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

The trooper's visor remained locked on hers, a tilt of the head the only movement breaking the stillness. He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh through the helmet's filters before speaking.

"Friend," he said slowly, each word deliberate. "In the sense that we've fought alongside each other on certain… missions. Complicated. I'd trust him with the plan—sometimes—but only so far as prisoner ops, hostage extractions, things that stay contained."

He shifted, the armor creaking softly. "Everything else… fire and chaos. That's his world. Not mine. Not mine to stop, not mine to join. And he knows it."

A faint pause, then the dry humor he couldn't quite suppress: "Though if he thinks he can get me to run into a fireworks show wielding a thermal detonator… he's dreaming. That kind of chaos I leave to him."


He glanced at the dusty cup again, then back to her visor. "So… enemy? Not exactly. Ally? Sometimes. Friend? Complicated."

Casany Praxor

 

[Die Shize]

oops

 

[Casany Praxor]

Friend. It was one term of two he could have picked and either meant everything. The weight of words played their part and were worth their weight in beskar when it came to the right kind of conversation. This one wasn’t much different.

Casany had since discovered that you could know all there was about your friend and cherish that knowledge the same way you did your possessions, your family, your very own existence. However, that knowledge tended to extend to your enemy and was no less precious.

Only it seemed that this soldier before her and the Mandalorian he mentioned wasn’t exactly his friend, wasn’t exactly his enemy. It was just a complex relationship.

“I can get behind those kinds of dynamics,” she expressed, tilting her head. “Sometimes that’s all two persons are to each other in this whole universe.” She pinged a finger off of the dusty cup. “Complicated.” At that moment, instead of gazing eyes into eyes, they were visor into visor. “Like fire and chaos.”

“Uhhh…” The shopkeeper piped between his two would-be customers. “You gonna buy somethin’ or just talk in my shop…” He was, all things considered, not wrong.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

The soldier's visor flicked toward the grumbling shopkeep, then back to Casany. He gave a dry little huff. "Guess he's got a point."

He snagged a roll of bandages and a spray of bacta from the nearest shelf, dropping them on the counter. "Fine. I'll buy."

Then, after a pause, he turned back to her. "What about you? I'll cover something if you want. Consider it… complicated hospitality."


His visor tilted toward the dusty cup she'd pinged a moment earlier. "Unless you're really set on that one. Can't imagine it's been touched since the Clone Wars."

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

That was unexpected. Perhaps, in retrospect, Cas had earned the sentiment, whether either person who shared each other’s presence deserved whatever happened to them next in this uncertain universe.

“Much obliged.” If he was going to offer to buy then she wasn’t going to deny. “And nah.” The Mandalorian shifted the cup away from her and the soldier to become a forgotten trinket behind her vision. “Not my kind of souvenir.”

At that, she planted an ammunition pack on the counter alongside bacta and bandages. No memento though. “This should suffice.” She informed the shopkeep then turned to her sponsor. “Thanks for the gesture.”

Ironwraith

 

[Korda Veydran]

oops, wrong one, mb)

 

[Ironwraith]

The soldier gave a low shrug, shifting the strap of his rifle higher against his shoulder. "Suit yourself. Can't say I'd know what to do with a cup either. Doesn't stop me from trying to turn everything into a lesson." His tone carried a dry chuckle as he gestured at the pack she laid down.

"Bacta, ammo, bandages—practical. That's the kind of souvenir that keeps you breathing. Guess I can't argue with that." He flicked a glance to the shopkeeper, pulling a few more credits from his belt and sliding them across. "Add hers to mine."


His visor tilted toward Casany again. "Consider it an investment. If we cross paths on the wrong side of a fight, maybe you'll patch me up before you finish me off."

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

She was really beginning to like this guy. Sometimes when this woman said that about a guy it was to take him to bed that night. This guy? He might become an enemy or a friend down the line but, right now, he seemed to have as much wisdom as humor, no more or less.

“Thanks again for the presents and souvenirs,” she added, attempting to deliver her words in a smirk since her eyes were hiding behind her visor and she had no other gesture. “As for crossing paths…”

At that, the Mandalorian took her bacta, ammunition and bandages to add to her pack. They would make a fine addition to her collection as she made her way to the exit. “Casany Praxor.” She turned before opening the door.

“Tell me your name, stranger, and maybe I’ll remember it if not your helmeted face just in case we end up on that wrong side of that fight.” She tilted her head for effect. "Or in a cantina and the first round is on me." She waited instead of leaving straight away.

Ironwraith

 

[Ironwraith]

The soldier paused, gloved hand brushing against the edge of his visor. For a fraction of a breath, the shop's dusty light caught the lines of his face—short-cropped dark hair, faint scars along his jaw and temple, eyes the pale blue of worn ice.

He didn't bother with ceremony. "Call sign's Ironwraith," he said simply, voice low but steady. "That's all you really need to remember."

A brief pause, and then he let a small smirk curl at the corner of his mouth, just enough for her to see. "If the wrong side of a fight—or a cantina—ever comes, I'll take that first round. Consider it… a placeholder."


He slid the remaining credits across the counter, hefted his pack, and nodded toward the door. "Safe travels, Casany Praxor."

Casany Praxor

 

[Casany Praxor]

"Ironwraith." Casany repeated, tasting the name like someone trying a cut of steak. "I like it. Even has a kind of Mandalorian ring to it." She recognized it was his callsign but it was her actual name she had given him. However, she would not ask for his in return, and his decision was made.

"My callsign's Anvil." She opened the door as the dusty world offered itself from the doorway and gave him her back. "The bounty hunter Anvil." At that, Cas left the establishment to go have a drink alone and didn't look back.

[EXIT CASANY PRAXOR]

Ironwraith