Dank Farrik!

“Are you sure about this?” Bo-Katan asked, lifting her handcuffed hands to examine them. They were of Imperial make, a style that had been around her wrists more times than she cared to remember.

Din nodded, serious as a funeral. “We’re talking about the leaders of the Imperial remnants,” he said. “They weren’t going to give some bounty hunter the time of day unless I had a high-profile capture.”

“I’m flattered,” Bo-Katan said drily. She tested the quick-release the Armorer had installed, smiling as the binders opened and slid onto her lap. Din resecured them. He rested one hand over hers.

“This will be over quickly,” Din promised. “I know you don’t particularly like being used as bait.”

I reached 50, I’m so happy! 

Anyway,  I’m not really liking the Din Grogu thing, so this is my attempt to make sense of it. Kinda. Hope you enjoy New weapon/Pride!  Here are the rules for the challenge if you want to participate.

************

“Din Grogu? Well that’s even worse.”

The Mandalorian sighed and Grogu lowered his ears in Peli’s arms. He was sure that if he still had IG-12 at his disposal, a series of loud “No” would be heard.

“Why’s his name even Din Grogu? Isn’t your name Din Djarin?” she asked, unmoved by their reaction. Peli had never bothered using his own name, and had been very vocal in the past regarding the boy’s patronym – she didn’t like either and would keep on calling them what she pleased. He was usually “Mando” when she was in a good mood, which was rare. More often, it contained the words “bucket” or “idiot”. The child was luckier in that department. Until now at least.

“It’s tradition,” Din replied, hoping that she wouldn’t request him to elaborate. But of course she did, her eyebrows rising impatiently. She was Peli after all.

“He’s my apprentice. I’ve adopted him and he will bear my first name for the duration of his training. Once he’s ready, he’ll be Grogu Djarin.”

The boy nodded, looking at him intently – he’d gone over all of this with him already, and he was showing the same reaction now: a deep sense of pride. Din smiled, remembering how proud he’d also felt when he started as an apprentice all those years ago. That sense of finally belonging, something he’d yearned to find for a long time before being given a real place among his new family.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Peli noted, squarely bringing him back to the present.

“It’s just tradition,” Din tried again with a shrug. “And honorific – people will still call him ‘Grogu’.”

“Well it’s a stupid tradition.”

Din had never liked thinking too much about some aspects of his Creed. He’d just been happy to be given a place somewhere, even if it meant agreeing to things he didn’t fully understand. But part of him sometimes wondered if he should make an effort, because he thought Peli’s remark was warranted. Why shouldn’t Grogu have his last name already?

“So why did you comm me?” he asked her instead – he’d think about all of this some other time. “You mentioned a new weapon?”

He’d learned to be wary of the vocabulary the mechanic used when she was trying to lure him back to Tatooine.  Too many times she had almost managed to drag him there with the promise of a new Razor Crest or amban sniper rifle she’d somehow found. So the fact that she had been so vague this time had piqued his interest. Knowing her, it meant it was probably something big.

“Right!” she said, putting Grogu down on top of a nearby crate and rifling through her (many) pockets. “It’s this!”

Peli was holding some kind of rock. Small, with polished surfaces. It was almost transparent and very pretty to be sure, but this was no weapon.

“What is it?” Din still asked, not realizing that his son’s ears had reached epic height on his head.

“This, my bucket-headed friend, is a kyber crystal.”

Another drabble to celebrate the conclusion of The Mandalorian’s third season! I rolled Pog soup/Bored this time, and this made me want to try the recipe. Let me know if you have and if it was successful! Here are the rules for the challenge if you want to participate.

************

“You haven’t visited Mandalore for months, you left without saying goodbye and now you’re finally using your comm station to ask me how to cook pog soup?”

It did sound a bit strange when she said it like that, but at least Bo-Katan didn’t look too cross. Well, her blue image didn’t at least. It had been a relief to learn that Gideon had been the one blocking all communications from leaving the planet, but it didn’t mean Din had suddenly become that much more sociable. And he thought Bo already knew he didn’t do goodbyes. It wasn’t as if he’d completely disappeared from everyone’s radar. He had reached out to the Armorer every once in a while to see if his tribe needed anything, but they seemed all set for now.

“I figured you’d be busy,” Din reasoned, Grogu cooing happily when Bo finally noticed his frantic waves and replied with one of her own.

“But not busy enough to share family recipes?” she remarked with an arched eyebrow. There was a smile there, Din thought. He should update his station to a better one, the quality of the image made it hard to tell for sure.

“Grogu’s been asking for it,” he attempted.

“Your son is talking?”

“You’re the one who said I should learn more about Mandalore’s traditions, and I recall it tasted great.”

This was one more lie, he remembered nothing from that soup. In his defense, he’d been recovering from poisoning at the time. And a concussion.

“Ah bah,” the boy finally concurred with a nod, helping his case.

“Are you really so bored that you’ve taken up cooking?” Bo wondered. “I could definitely put you to work here, there’s a lot – ”

“We’re not bored,” Din immediately said. “We’ve been travelling a lot, and following up on some leads from the New Republic.”

This, on the other hand, wasn’t a lie. Din had been doing exactly what he said he would – taking his apprentice on his journeys and working on a case by case basis for Carson as a contractor, which actually paid very well. They had free time, yes. But they were not bored. What did that word even mean? Their days were full enough when they spent them on Nevarro.

So what if they’d both taken a liking to naps under the sun and leisurely evening walks in town? That was allowed. And what if he’d decided to put his newly earned credits to good use to try out some of the fresh ingredients they sold at the market? He’d never had such a big kitchen before, and barely knew what most of the appliances were for, but the boy deserved nourishing meals. And anything they cooked tasted infinitely better than ration bars – which wasn’t a difficult feat – even when he messed up a bit.

“Fine,” Bo sighed, but Din could tell she didn’t believe him for a second. “I’ll tell you if you promise to visit soon.”

Spoilers for the end of Season 3! I want to thank snowtheup on ao3 for giving me this idea. I guess I couldn’t resist some Mandomera to kick off a new batch of chapters to celebrate the end of the season. More prompts to come soon! :)

Please enjoy Marketplace/Curious, and here are the rules if you want to participate!

************

It was Grogu who spotted the stall first. Which was no wonder, the little boy’s head always swiveled in every direction when they visited Nevarro’s marketplace, keen to discover if there was any new food he hadn’t tried yet. He thought his son had simply seen Karga at first, and wanted to say hi. Then he started paying attention to what the high magistrate was buying – spotchka, it looked like, which didn’t surprise Din. The saloon might have closed on the main street, but the man still liked his drink.

It said a lot about him that the first thing he noticed was the rifle on the woman’s back before he recognized the woman herself or the teenager next to her. He could give you the exact reference number of the manufacturer’s model. Tell you how precise it was and how long it could be used for before it needed to be recharged. Which parts were required to fix it should it break down. Where to get them for cheap. He used to own that rifle. It was a very good rifle. And he’d given it to someone who’d meant a lot to him.

But this was years ago, so surely –

The hammering created a deep, metallic sound, almost musical. The various machines and the crackling of the forge fire were a familiar harmony that helped her feel focused and calm, but not today.

No matter the familiar weight of the tools or the rough smoothness of her gloves, her gaze kept straying to the crystallized inscription on the table, her thoughts kept returning to the man who had recently left.

Din Djarin has always been different. A foundling who had lost everything he knew, a strong warrior raised in the Fighting Corps, grateful and loyal. A man willing to carry the weight of being a bounty hunter, the weight of contempt for helping his own.

She remembers the time she spent crafting the mold for his signet, because ever since that time in Nevarro, she knew he would return. She knew that the Child had struck a deep chord in him.

But now everything was different.

– Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet? Have you ever removed your helmet? By Creed, you must vow.

– I have.

– Then, you are a Mandalorian no more. 

Din Djarin has always been different. He was an apostate now, dar'manda. He had removed his helmet and, worse still, he had done it by choice.

But, Din Djarin was now the Mand'alor.

And despite that, he was a man who begged for her forgiveness, for redemption. He didn't tell lies, he didn't make excuses. He was the leader of his clan, a man with his heart stolen by his foundling, a father.

And she could understand that love, that bond, that almost maternal care that made her heart ache every time she saw him go. For the first time, she didn't know if she would see him again.

But once again he was here, accompanied by his little one, challenging the rules, looking for answers.

– …then by Creed, the decree of exile will be lifted and I would be redeemed.

Din Djarin has always been different. As if his heart was forged with something purer, with a different beskar. And although redemption was no longer possible, deep inside her, she wanted to be wrong.

– This is the Way.

– Then, I will see you again.

The rhythmic sound of the hammer stopped at the same time as the memory, and the armorer's gaze once more drifted to the relic on the table. He always came back, he always did.

– We will meet again, Din Djarin.

Dank Farrik Drabble Week 55

Prompt by @dankfarrikdrabbles

Spoilers for Episodes 1 and 2 of Season 3 of The Mandalorian! I’m going to try and go back to weekly drabbles, because they are so fun… Please enjoy Pod/Worried, and here are the rules if you want to participate!

************

Get to Bo-Katan.

Grogu could do it. He could save him. He just had to fly to that planet on the map. Easy.

But first, he had to exit the cave.

As he rushed and leaped into his pod, cranking it as fast as it would go and never looking back, he told himself this was a game. That his dad wasn’t in big trouble. That they were playing. That this was just one more drill, one more exercise.

But as his heart started beating faster and his little hands shaking over the pod controls, Grogu came to the painful conclusion that he couldn’t think like that anymore. This was too important. His father counted on him and he had to prove to him he’d been listening to everything he taught him.

This wasn’t a game, this was real. And Grogu was a Mandalorian.

And so with that conviction firmly set in his mind, he realized he had nothing to fear. No one would stand in his way. He pushed the scary creature at the entrance of the tunnel back and he felt no strain afterwards.

He jumped into the ship, and Peli’s droid understood what he meant immediately.

One day, he’d be able to save his dad completely on his own. Without risking passing out, that is. Maybe he’d be stronger with the Force or he’d have cool weapons at his disposal. But until then, he’d rely on allies. And despite the woman’s coldness when they visited her last, he knew she was just like him. He knew she was just like dad. She was a Mandalorian, and she would come to their rescue.

I can’t believe it’s been so long, I’m so sorry! I promise to write more in the future, if only to keep me busy until the start of Mando S3 and stop me from stressing out too much. I hope Din & Grogu will have the chance to do fun things together but I somehow doubt it, so I guess I’ll keep writing those domestic scenes… Please enjoy Mug/Keen, and here are the rules in case you want to participate.

************

“Starcaf!” Grogu exclaimed as they were slowly making their way back to the ship, pointing a tiny hand towards the brightly lit store. Din had hoped he wouldn’t see it, but they were hard to miss, and the child had always been extra captivated by the color green.

“You wanna go now?” Din sighed, as it was bound to delay them – again. But the boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright,” he eventually agreed – a shot of caf wouln’t hurt. “You know they might not have them,” he reminded him as they entered the store, in the hope that it would prevent a tantrum should it prove to be true – it sadly wouldn’t be the first time. But he exhaled in relief when he spotted the colorful tiny mugs near the register.

It was a good thing their new ship had room to spare, because Grogu’s obsession with Starcaf cups was getting concerning. The cafhouse chain had stores all over the galaxy, and although he could find cheaper, better caf in some places, they had the advantage of being open at all times and provide a decent enough brew.

And as his son had also discovered, they sold small ceramic mugs depicting the specific city or planet of most of their locations, the bright graphics catching his eye every time. It was a nice enough way to keep track of the places they visited, he supposed, even if they were not all equally memorable. The cups were only big enough for a shot of caf, but they were just the right size for the kid to drink his soup or his milk.

Din grabbed a new cup with a roll of his eyes and ordered a caf to go, Grogu already bouncing happily in his arms.

Maybe he shouldn’t have encouraged this in the first place. But then those mugs did have a purpose. He just never thought they’d need more than two or three. And now they owned a grand total of –

Din was at the edge of his abilities, his mind focused like never before. He could hear the blood thrumming in his ears, and he could sense the resonant frequency of the ship’s idle engines. The left one would need attention soon, but the thought was quickly dismissed as he tried to visualize the little container of sweetener lifting off the crate across from him.

He had done this before, on a smaller scale. Why would lifting a container of sweet liquid be that much more difficult than a pebble?

And yet. Din exhaled, slowly, unclenching his jaw.

“Don’t rush!” he heard the training echo in his head as he sipped the now disappointingly lukewarm tea. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but smile and sneak a glance at Grogu in his lap, still out like a light.

This one was great fun to write, I hope you enjoy Notes/Jealous! Anyone going to take part in Comfortember by the way? 

************

“What’s this?”

They were still setting up on Glavis, and going through what they’d managed to bring from Nevarro. Soon, they would have to leave the space station, as more had found their way back, but the Armorer would have recognized that grumble anywhere.

She approached Vizsla carefully – he’d been in a fractious mood lately, and anything could set him off. There had been enough fights already with the newcomers, and she was tired of having to fix damaged armor. Still, that didn’t mean she would suffer fools either.

“What does it look like to you,” she sighed, looking inside the crate he had just opened.

“A list,” he replied gruffly.

“A list of what?”

“A list of parts.”

“Is the list unreadable?”

“No.”

“Are some of the parts listed missing from the crate?”

“No,” he conceded, annoyed.

“Then what is the problem?” she pressed, knowing the answer already.

“That’s Djarin’s handwriting.”

“Yes, he’s always been good at keeping things in order, hasn’t he?” the Armorer couldn’t help remarking, fed up with his recent behavior in the group – he deserved to be riled up a bit. “Also has an excellent penmanship.”

Paz predictably stormed off, refusing to hear any more on the subject. Too bad, the Armorer thought, it would have been the perfect opportunity to remind him he’d completely butchered his opportunity to claim the Darksaber for himself. Again. She exhaled deeply and closed the crate. Djarin had always been the smarter fighter, but she’d seen something in him on that day. Less recklessness. More purpose. As if he’d intended to win that fight. As if he’d found a worthy motivation, one other than simply survive another day.

She was getting too old for this, she realized, observing other members of the tribe bicker and complain as they worked. They needed someone new. Someone with a different purpose, perhaps.

The Armorer looked up towards the stars, and wondered if the idiot had already found a way to visit the mines on Mandalore.

“I never knew they did that.” Din said, never taking his gaze off the subject matter.

“Well it sure wasn’t in the user manual.” Peli replied, uncrossing her arm only long enough to glance at her watch.

Pit droid number Six, or maybe Nine, difficult to tell at the moment was bracing itself on the edges of a rusty barrel, head hanging low, leaking black lubricant from seams no one knew were there. Every time it seemed to finally finish spewing its guts out, it would dive back seconds later in a chorus of very unflattering sounds.

“You could have warned him!” Peli said.

“That reptile should have been atomized in the drive.”

“Well clearly it wasn’t!” she pointed at the remains of something that used to be scaly and cold-blooded, being mopped up by the rest of the crew.

“You did say Six needed an oil change last week.” Din hazarded, trying to salvage the unsalvageable.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Peli said, scratching her chin. “Only, that’s Nine. You’re not getting out of the Mandalorian surcharge again.”

I’d been so close to catch up on the prompts I’d missed, so close! Well, let’s try again, shall we? Here’s Straw/Inspired, hope you enjoy!

************

The place was utterly quiet when Grogu woke up, the twin suns just discernible over the hangar’s roof, so surely it wasn’t so early everybody was still asleep. Had they all gone? Fennec? Boba? Garsa? The Frog Lady? He wanted to play some more with her children, but he dimly remembered that they had all left to be put to bed around the same time he had.

And speaking of, where was Peli?

Grogu cooed softly, and hoped his dad would come and pick him up soon.

He was bored. Worse than that, he was hungry. Where was breakfast?

The little boy shuffled towards the table where they had all gathered for dinner the previous evening, hoping to see some leftovers he could satisfy his rumbling stomach with. But he quickly lost interest in finding food when he spied that several glasses were still there. The tall ones with the drinks no one had let him or the froglets sample last night, which they had all thought was very unfair.

It had been so hard to resist! The pretty glasses with blue juice and the most fun bendy straws in them, in wide ranges of pastel colors. His dad sometimes used a straw, but it was to drink iced caf, and that tasted bitter and yucky – at least he’d let him try it, so surely it was fine to try that blue drink too? There wasn’t that much left at the bottom of the glasses after all. Surely he could try a few, and see if they all tasted the same.

***

“What the hell happened?” Din asked, picking up his son – he was dead to the world, snoring away, almost as if – 

“It’s my fault,” said Peli with a shrug, wincing as she shook her head – where was that droid with Garsa’s hangover remedy? She’d sent it ages ago. “He overtaxed himself. Lifted a whole ship up so that I could see under it. Didn’t ask him to do that. Guess he just wanted to show off.”

“Mmh,” the Mandalorian replied, unconvinced. “Well, thank you for looking after him last night,” he grumbled, walking towards his N-1 and nixing the idea of putting the little one in the droid port – he’d have to travel with him in the cockpit. It always worried him when the Force knocked him out. His powers. Whatever.

“Anytime!” Peli replied, a smile plastered on her face as she watched him take off.