#cuyanir

@cuyanir​​

     lekku twitched, montrals feeling a slight echo hum through them, like radios receiving a transmission-- even if she couldn’t see him at first, their senses were as razor sharp as her teeth. quickly, the togruta turned, gaze flitting upwards towards the movement they’d picked up on; eyes watched, watched, pupils narrowing into slits as she focused upon their quarry. it’s not without a slight smirk that she finally called out.

✴ ✧ ✴   𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 : @cuyanir​

“𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 since last i saw armor like that,” though he wears it well, she thinks, wears it like a second skin, wears it like a mandalorian would instead of the empire’s usual thieves and scavengers, “must be useful, given your line of work.”

he’s quiet for a moment as he stares at the good marshal. the twin suns are much more manageable from behind a visor and so are eyes of other people.

“you think this was personal.” not a question. boba doesn’t tend to ask them. “it wasn’t.”

he knows what happened to his plates, he tracked their journey across the tatooine sands. everyone that has touched them seemed so intent on giving them a new home, as if they could sense the orphan-like imprint his body left on the inside.

“you do not owe me anything.” another final statement. there’s no need for promises or debts. boba turns his helmet away, choosing to stare at something more neutral. “you saw an opportunity and you took it. i see nothing wrong with that.”

it’s just an armor. unfortunately, it is also his name and his face.

boba lets the pause swelter between them before speaking again.  ”but you are lucky the other guy got to you before i did.”

“… Well. That’s fair ‘nough.”

There’s a beat and then he shakes his head, a brief chuckle escaping him as he looks back out across the horizon, his own dark eyes squinted against the suns.

“Can’t say as I expected any diff’rent either, or that I could’ve faulted y’ for it. That armor meant freedom for me ‘n’ my town, so I did what I had t’ do… but I knew the stories.” 

An exhale.

“ ‘n’ I knew the risks. I figured it’d wind up gettin’ me killed one day. Was just a matter of bidin’ my time 'n’ hopin’ that day didn’t come before I did what I set out t’ do… But. Whatever uncertainty I might’ve had when I let Mando take it away…”

Only then does he look to him again, a certainty and sincerity to both his expression and his voice.

“… I’m glad it’s back where it belongs.”

   “You never thanked me for helping out.”

In all likelihood, Boba mumbled his appreciation at some point or other on the night Ken posed with him, but it’s a non-sequitur. They only want to break the silence that briefly fell between them. It was comfortable, and they did enjoy it while it lasted, but Ken has been picking their lips and fidgeting with words all eve, trying to find a way to introduce a tender conversation to a man who hardly speaks. It’s got to be gotten over with. There will be no easing into it.

   “I did you a favour. I need one back.”

IMAGINE BEING THE MAN WHO CAN SAY ‘boba fett? yea i know him. i stuck his head in a 'fresher for being a little shit’ LIKE WHAT KIND OF POWER MOVE

send “🤝” to hold my muses hand

@cuyanir​ : 🤝 (to moss from baby boba? u_u)

they look down, the sudden, smaller hand in theirs almost-- almost-- catching them off-guard. ( where the kriff did he come from, anyways-- ) she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised by now, and it takes more willpower than they’d like to admit to stifle the proud smirk which threatens to take over.

“thought i told you to stay in the ship, tweeling--” comes the response, looking back to the target as she gives boba’s hand a small squeeze-- “kids-- troublemakers, but you gotta love ‘em, right?” black and blue eyes glint near imperceptibly; the target’s shoulders lower, their stance gets looser, their guard lessens. “he’s my spitting image, yeah?” that draws a laugh from the man, and she has to fight the urge to show fangs at how much smoother this interaction is going with boba at their side. the target offers up a meal, which she readily accepts: it’d be rude not to indulge in a dead man’s hospitality, after all.

YOU SPOT THEM: a figure, across the dunes; it’s not often you see people out this far into the deserts, especially without some sort of speeder or mount-- it’s even less often that you see someone looking as though they’d fallen from a canyon lip and hit every rock on the way to the bottom, yet still moving. you feel a sudden weight to the waterskin you wear tucked beneath the folds of your robes, and you nudge your knees in, urging kts’rah-ah forward towards the wanderer; despite your concern for whoever is out so far, you understand your own need for safety, as well.

     you call out in huttese, the language less-comfortable on your tongue, but you also figure it’s going to be the more common language between the two of you.