Private Two Mandalorians And A Politician

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

Dermos. Typical world in the Outer Rim. It had seas, mountains, oceans, islands, continents and everything in between. However, its climate was hotter toward its core, so certain civilizations had since erected monuments wherein since founded the great cities on the beaches that now existed.

Ocean winds blew in through the waves as birds flew in, swooped to scoop fish in their grip and lifted to the skies. Other predators thrived beneath the surface, and terrible dangers were said to lurk in the darkness of the depths.

Yet, on the shore, the city-state of Orterry reigned supreme. The sea’s breeze permeated the scene. It was bathed in a haze of pink and purple beneath the yellow circle. In this cityscape, in a skyscraper like any other, at a corner table in the Old ‘n’ Gold cantina is where the mercenary waited.

He sat in his armor, helmet not on his head, for he was not a Mandalorian who lifted the rim and shifted his jaw or sipped from a straw. In fact, this man wasn’t really much of a Mandalorian to begin with, and you wouldn’t know he was one by looking at him.

“Reckon one of us should have gone with her?” Korn Kray’ac asked the man sitting adjacent. They both faced the stage where a band played in a lonely space and nobody sang. Korn did have his own instruments, granted, including knife, pistol and rifle.

Meanwhile ‘her’ referred to the ward of both Mandalorian mercenary men serving as wardens for their little mission. The politician was their charge on this planet for whatever purpose. Failed to save face back home. A politician on the run or a bored princess needing two deviously handsome Mandalorians to have fun with?

She went to the restroom while Korn sipped his whiskey, content for the moment to listen to music in a corner, with fire in his eyes, wondering if in this universe and this life he could have been a dancer instead of a gladiator. Then again, Magnet, what’s the difference?

Valerian Calore

 

[Valerian Calore]

Valerian sat with a blank look on his face as he watched where their charge had retreated to, eyes roving over the near empty cantina, once, twice, three times his gaze swept, and each time he saw the same thing, destitution and desperation, but nothing that would ruin their day.

"It'll be fine. Not much trouble she can get into from here to the bathroom." His voice was low and cool, without a hint of worry in his tone. The younger mans helmet sat on the table in front of him, and a hand rested on his cup while the other sat casually on one of his pistols. Valerian had come as armed as ever, his pistols on either side of his waist and his rifle hanging from a sling on his right side, his beskade sat next to his jetpack, thankfully obscured by his dull gray cloak.

A ghost of a smile flickered across the Mano'ades face as he looked at his companion. "Unless you fancy being the one who's gonna follow her highness like a puppy whenever she has to powder her nose."

Valerian never minded nobles, most times they ignored him and his, and that was always fine with him. Sometimes they offered work: "bring back my eloped daughter" "rescue my kidnapped heir", usually cut and dry jobs that put a nice bit of credit in his pockets. This one though, the woman who'd hired them had a nasty barb on her tongue, and never ceased in reminding him of that."

Korn Kray'ac

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC (Recurring)

Well his partner sounded confident enough so there was that much. Then again, how much trouble could that woman get into from here to the bathroom? It was a question for the ages as much as the sexes. Not that this poor excuse of a Mandalorian is sexist anything. ‘Here to the bathroom’ was simply an entire journey for this particularly foul-mouthed lady.

It wasn’t exactly that she had insulted him or something—except for the occasional “nerf herder” and “jackass” and “idiot”. If it wasn’t for the payment then he may have already had enough of her chit to begin with.

“Hell no,” Korn quickly admitted his lack of excitement at such a proposition for her as he sipped his liquor. “She’d probably ask me to guard her stall at the same time as scream at me for being in the women’s loo.”

He shook his head in well warranted dissatisfaction with his current employment. “That one is as rude as a Hutt in the nude.” He didn’t bother explaining those words, didn’t turn to his partner; just shifted his gaze from the stage to the bartender, the counter to the patrons in the greater establishment, and wondered. How many of them are packing heat?

“Although, she probably is powdering her nose at this very moment.” He sniffed mucus back up his own. “Spice, most likely. Not quite my cup of tea. I’ll settle for whiskey.”

Valerian Calore

 

[Valerian Calore]

"She probably would to be completely honest. The woman has no clue what she wants, aside from us to kiss her noble ass from here to wherever the hell we're supposed to get her to." He had half a mind to almost let her get snatched so she'd appreciate the effort her hired help were putting in, but somehow Valerian doubted that the noblewoman would do anything other than complain about how she'd paid them too much.

"And twice as ugly." Hardly true, but Valerian was feeling particularly spiteful after the torrent of abuse they'd both endured so far. He took a long sip, finishing his drink as he watched his partners gaze flick too and fro across the cantina. "You're worrying too much, each of us has more skill in our fingers than most of this rat hole has combined." Now that was true, the pair of Mando'ade were in possession of the experience and armament to handle a small garrison, this group of rabble they called company were little more than a stop gap if it came to a fight.

"I wouldn't imagine that she could be doing anything else for that long. As long as her credits are good, she can do whatever she wants, I sure as krayt spit ain't her keeper, and I don't intend to start trying to parent her now." It'd be more trouble than it was worth to attach himself to anyway other than in a business transaction, and Valerian meant to keep it that way.

Korn Kray'ac

 

[Korn Kray'ac]

Spoiler: Music IC

Sizing up his surroundings was just something that Korn Kray’ac did naturally. Especially when this woman is wanted. Whatever it was that required two guardians.
He didn’t know the specifics of her situation, neither of them did, which led to questions. “The problem with rats,” he sipped his drink. “Is that they can squeak and send for reinforcements.”

Though her nose was not in judgment, Korn wondered whether some kidnapper might be in that bathroom waiting for their employer. In that case, they can have her. He might say. Only it would mean neither merc would get paid.

“That said, you aren’t wrong. I think we could take out the whole lot as quickly as a shot of whiskey. To the clans!” He took a shot of whiskey at that. “And a galaxy free of spoiled brats.”

Theirs had not yet returned to grace them with her presence. Maybe she was meeting someone? A restroom would suit such an occasion. Though he supposed it didn’t matter one way or the other. Get paid. Get laid. Go home.

“How goes your own clan these days?” It wasn’t every day that Korn shared drinks with more than himself for a Mandalorian, and he wasn't much of one.

Whatever became of the pair’s conversation, he remained vigilant for any interruptions in the otherwise idle establishment. A few characters were worth considering dangerous, such as that armored Trandoshan posted in a corner, but nobody's face needing breaking. Not yet anyway.

Valerian Calore