𝐓𝐄 𝐊𝐀𝐑'𝐓𝐀.

𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙳 :  hello!!  my  name  is  sara  (she/her, 24)  &  this  is  an  independent  rp  blog  for  din  djarin  of  the  mandalorian.  low-activity,  pretty  much  just  here  to  vibe <3   dms  are  open  to  mutuals,  but  happy  to  drop  my  discord  if  needed.  thanks  for  stopping  by!

he doesn’t turn around to meet the gaze behind him but acknowledges the worry with a low hum. “not by choice.” the last word trails off in a quiet hiss. it takes him three more steps and two bent twigs to continue: “couldn’t risk this getting out too early.”

finally, his red visor glances over his shoulder. “besides. i wanted to show you personally.” 

it’s strange to imagine a future so imminent, right at the end of greenery. even stranger to await it but he thinks it will be a memory he’ll practice until it stays. these are the trophies he collects these days, quiet chirps and slotted fingers. out of this want, his pace quickens.

still, he finds time to ask: “had a good hunt?”

a  thoughtful  hum  answers  for  him  first.  he  isn’t  exactly  recounting  the  mission,  focused  more  intently  now  on  the  safety  of  painted  beskar.  and  having  moved  on  from  the  challenge,  ‘good  as  it  could  have  been,’  means  as  little  as  is  revealed.  he  earned  his  keep,  nothing  more.  

‘but  it  was  time  to  come  back,’  he  decides  aloud.  to  think  he’d  ever  miss  the  same  planet  that  wanted  him  dead.  even  now  they’re  treading  over  glass  and  bone,  only  it  isn’t  in  plain  sight.  that  mandalore  has  been  overtaken  by  something  even  older:  so  ancient  that  his  people  wouldn’t  have  recognized  it.  

in  truth,  he  only  knows  the  jedi  by  what  they  are  not.  not  the  enemies  they  once  were,  no  longer  shielded  by  a  fallen  republic.  they  don’t  exist,  really,  and  yet  their  presence  has  left  a  rift  as  wide  as  the  galaxy  itself.   ( he  can’t  make  out  the  shape  of  it. )   catching  green  at  the  edge  of  his  visor,  the  mandalorian  pauses.  he  watches  as  the  child  looks  between  the  two  men,  and  he  has  to  wonder  what’s  being  made  of  all  this.  does  armor  appear  out  of  place  here,  or  is  this  jedi  sanctuary  —  too  different  from  old  temples  and  rusted  starships  — just  as  strange  to  him?

he  isn’t  here  to  challenge  it,  whatever  that  way  proves  to  be.  he’s  here  to  keep  a  promise  made  long  before  this  quest.  long  before  the  foundling,  he  thinks.  knowing  grogu  is  safe,  that  skywalker’s  reassurance  can  be  trusted,  djarin  should  be  content.

montross was jaster mereel’s right hand man while he was mand’alor. he basically assumed he would be next in line, but when jaster died, he lost support of the true mandalorians to jaster’s adopted son jango, who was probably a teenager/20s at the time. jango didn’t ever talk about wanting to become mand’alor, but it fell on him because they’d rather let this actual high schooler lead lmaoooo. it had nothing to do with jango being jaster’s adopted son, but about how jango and montross demonstrated their leadership when given the chance. while montross was ready to betray jaster to take that title, jango went back in an effort to save him and the rest of their group.

@djaryn​ 

the clearing has enough space only for him and the still thrumming ship. he waits patiently for the engines to fall silent and the door to open. his favored hunter steps out and boba approaches, noting the squirming motion between the unpainted gauntlets. 

“you brought him with. good.” a gloved palm is offered to the little one, a furled and relaxed curl of fingers. when the tiny fangs find purchase in the worn-out leather, he cants his helmet at din. “this is for him to see too.” 

the hand is freed, the other helmet pulled down in a quick acknowledgment. and he’d like to breathe here, but he knows this moment will feed them better elsewhere. so he lets him go, cuts the prelude short. the shards mixed with leaves crunch underneath his boots as boba turns around. “follow me.” his visor peeks over the yellow shoulderguard. “it’s good news.” he promises, almost hurriedly.

concern  eases  with  a  tilt  of  his  helmet.  as  the  ship’s  ramp  shudders  closed  and  fett  takes  the  lead,  he  turns  his  attention  back  to  the  bundle  in  his  arms.  

‘see?’  he  says,  just  loud  enough  for  it  to  be  pointed  ahead  of  him.  ‘it’s  good  news.  you  worry  too  much.’  ( it’s  only  when  grogu  mirrors  confusion,  head  cocked  and  eyes  narrowed,  that  djarin  drops  the  act  with  a  shrug. )  maybe  that’s  the  nature  of  this  planet,  he  thinks,  shifting  low-hanging  branches  aside  as  he  follows  a  sound.  even  now,  as  the  clearing  tapers  into  wild  overgrowth,  he  still  considers  mandalore  by  its  past  self — empty  and  noiseless.

@djaryn  ↷  *hands her the bébé*

when  she  looks  at  the  child  she  knows  there  are  things  he  will  never  speak  of,  and  she  understands  that,  the  same  way  she  understands  grogu  would  sense  the  same  secrecy  in  her.  something  about  solidarity  between  children  who  have  seen  more  than  they  should’ve  at  impressionable  ages.  it  makes  her  smile,  not  many  things  do.  her  hands  grip  his  form  tightly,  protective,  and  a  little  anxious,  she  hasn’t  had  any  experience  with  children,  and  doubts  that,  outside  of  the  one  she  holds  dearly,  she  will  ever  have  another.  

little  green  head  tilts  with  a  coo,  maybe  it’s  intrigue,  or  maybe  he’s  calling  for  the  one  that’s  family.  a  wave  of  sadness  strikes  her  at  the  realization  she’s  not  that,  so  she  breathes  deeply  and  forces  a  humorous  smile.    “    he  doesn’t  remember  me.  i  think  i  make  him  nervous.    ”

there’s  no  forgetting  when  it  comes  to  betrayal.  it  may  go  unadmitted  here,  but  djarin  isn’t  convinced  of  the  moving - on,  either:  only  the  illusion  of  it.  if  there’s  any  reasoning  at  the  back  of  his  mind,  then  that’s  what  keeps  the  foundling  where  he  is.  

it  goes  beyond  the  scope  of  his  rifle.  between  them,  at  least  —  silent  until  the  fuse  lights  —  it  would.  words  carry  all  the  meaning  they  can  when  they’re  few  and  far  between. 

so  with  eyes  still  locked  on  the  streets  below,  he  doesn’t  lower  the  weapon  as  that  impression  sinks  in.  there’s  little  evidence  that  the  hunter  heard  at  all:  a  breath  is  as  close  to  invisible  as  armor  allows,  and  armor  can’t  hide  the  loosening  of  his  grip.  he  knows  how  he  might  have  responded  before,  to  those  who  would  have  said  it  and  meant  it.  he  knows,  not  so  long  ago,  he  would  have  been  quicker  to  dismiss.  too  few  had  ever  meant  what  they  said,  and  they  were  buried  on  nevarro.