THIS IS THE WAY

This  is  an  independent  and  selective  roleplaying  blog  for  DIN  DJARIN  from  The  Mandalorian,  part  of  the  star  wars  universe,  as  hunted  by  luna. Exploring  the  concepts  of  found  family,  a  form  of  transportation  being  home,  community  against  individuality,  the  strain  of  being  an  honorable  person,  and  the  weight  of  a  legacy.   —   Established  June  2022.

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Outside the hut, the planet was quiet except for the croak of a frog and Din thought that perhaps Luke thought he was asleep. Din didn't know how the force worked, still, after all this time, but it seemed like Luke should know if he was asleep or not.

Which meant that the word in the middle of the night, long after the sleep wells had been exchanged, were intentional and meant to be heard.

If Luke knew he was awake.

"I don't need comfort, I have a blanket." Din argued as he pulled his gloves off, blood splattered over the back of them. Not his blood, of course, someone else's - oddly green, in the view of his helmet, so now he knew the way that species bled. Still, the fact it wasn't his blood likely mattered little because arguing with Goran could be like arguing with himself, a useless endeavor when the mind was set on something.

With his gloves discarded, Din's fingers ran across the fibers of the blanket, the poor light making the purple appear so dark that it was like a spill of ink across his lap. Leaning back in his seat, Din winced beneath his helmet as the chance in position caused his back to twinge and sore muscles to scream in protest. Something was likely bruised, but he hadn't taken the armor off to check and didn't plan to.

Goran didn't need to know about that, because then he might get it in his mind that he needed to nursemaid instead of just comfort, as if he hadn't already helped with that. He was the one that bought the blanket, after all, somehow managed to track some Aq Vetina trader that knew how to make blankets. The pattern was something that lurked in the back of his brain as an old memory, but it still felt right the same way hearing an old lullaby from childhood did years later. You didn't remember the words, but you remembered the tune and your mothers voice, and you knew when it was right.

The blanket was right, and even though it never traveled to the planet of his birth, sometimes Din thought he could smell something long lost on it.