#foundjarin

Plotted starter for @foundjarin

The twin suns' scorching heat beat mercilessly onto Tatooine's sand and everything and everyone standing on it. But that didn't stop those who inhabited the planet from going on with their day to day activities; most had been born here, grown used to the heat and the sand storms– the only kind of storms they got on the planet. But it was fine, they were used to it. Because nobody born in Tatooine ever left Tatooine unless they joined the imperial academy and had the luck of being deployed elsewhere in the galaxy, or at least that's the impression look was beginning to get, after almost two decades of being stuck in the dry rock he called home.

However, it wasn't all bad. Living in such a backwater planet meant that the laws and regulations that applied to more popular, touristic places tended to be very loose. Like the age someone could drive and own a skyhopper. Luke's was the proof of a group of friend's hard work; he and Biggs had worked tirelessly to afford all the parts, the tools, and the space a skyhopper needed to be kept in top shape. Now, Biggs was off to the imperial academy with Tank, and it was just his.

He still had about a Tatooine standard month before any of the big races took place, but that didn't stop Luke from training, and there was no better place for it than Beggar's Canyon. Windy and Deak still tagged along, watching him through binoculars and giving him input where they could. This time around, Luke stuck to practicing around the Stone Needle, few racers dared make it through the centre despite the fact it could earn them a few precious seconds ahead of the others, and Biggs had taught him how, but he had yet to try. He was nearing the rocky formations when the Skyhopper cockpit's lights started flashing red as the censors registered an explosion nearby. Luke didn't need to check the censors, he saw the dust it lifted in the distance, and he took a sharp turn away from the Stone Needle.

That wasn't normal for the area, not this early at least. He'd never watched a confrontation that involved explosions and, as he approached, what sounded like blaster fire.

Luke had to see this.

He landed hastily at a safe distance, taking the old, dirty blaster he used whenever they'd go womprat hunting from under the seat and rushing over, he spotted a large Falleen he'd seen before at Tosche Station manhandling the hosts for money he claimed they owed him standing over someone who was on the ground, too far for Luke to see them properly. He had half a mind to pull his white robe up enough to cover his face from the nose down, his hat working to hide the rest, before he fired a warning shot at the gun the Falleen held. Luke's heart threatened to burst out of his chest as he watched the gun fall and the Falleen turn to face him.

"Why don't you mess with someone your own size?!" Luke forced himself to have a better grip on the weapon, to put up a scarier tone, not wanting to risk letting the other realize Luke was, in fact, shorter than him and that the one he'd been attacking. "Leave!"

The falleen seemed to ponder his options before muttering a curse and spitting down at the one on the ground before he left towards the hovercycle he'd gotten here on. It was then that Luke was able to see the armor and helmet the one on the ground wore. He'd heard enough stories and been around the markets enough to know what that kind of helmet meant: a mandalorian, most likely a bounty hunter.

Oh, uncle Owen would lose it if he found out.

“yes,” he groans out the word, clutching his side. “to both.” not all of it, actually, but the majority of it? maybe. at least more of it then he would like. his ship had barely managed to land, it had taken more hits then any of his wing mates but that was on purpose, that was why his ship was a different design then anyone else.

random development questions always accepted!

The one he follows regularly would have to be the Name Day anniversary, which happens a few days after his actual birthday but is generally acknowledged as the same thing as his birthday by people unfamiliar with the customs of the royal family of Alderaan, he doesn't bother to correct them because his birthday isn't widely known outside of his family and his Name Day typically isn't made as big of a deal after the initial announcement. It was usually a quiet celebration amongst family before he fell, something he completely ignored after he fell, and then quietly acknowledged again after he came home.

Though Alderaan was no more and there likely wasn't a way to officially recognize it, he did take an interest in the Day of Demand and the three challenges (Mind, Body, Heart). Though he was at Luke's academy when he reached the age of responsibility and the general age when the Prince or Princess would undertake the Day and Challenges, he did reach out to his mom about how they would handle that. Since she was still recognized as Queen by the remaining people, he would likely be recognized as Prince. He unofficially ( or officially depending on verse / plot ) carried out the Day of Demand with his mother and uncle, and the Challenges of the Mind, Body, and Heart when he was seventeen.

starter  call                  -                  @foundjarin​​  liked

    ❝      as  you  well  know ,    i  was  there  when  Mandalore  and  your  people  joined  the  Jedi  in  total  decimation .      ❞        the  brief  moment  he  walked  through  the  palace ,    he  could  see  the  lingering  touches  of  a  pacifist  on  the  walls .      the  last  of  Satine  Kryze  hidden  beneath  scorch  marks  and  Imperial  insignia’s .      Gideon  remembered  the  conflict  on  Mandalore  during  the  Clone  Wars ,    it  was  truly  a  miracle  the  planet  had  survived  as  long  as  it  did  with  the  people  that  had  been  running  it  for  so  long .        ❝      however ,    the  Empire  can’t  take  total  credit  for  it’s  destruction .      Mandalore  fell  long  ago .      it’s  culture  died  years  before  the  Clone  Wars ,    and  Mandalore’s  own  people  tore  it  apart  from  the  inside  out  during  the  conflict .      you’re  little  friend ,    Bo - Katan ,    could  tell  you  more  about  it .      ❞

Plotted starter for @foundjarin

As eventful as Bracca could feel to outsiders, there was routine in the chaos. Its inhabitants didn't think much of the floods, the scrap rat infestation, the casualties during scavenging, the rampant crime because of the Hutts' unyielding hold on the system. They were used to that kind of stuff.

What they were not used to, however, was having a Mandalorian with a child walking around asking questions.

Rumors spread faster than a fire in the junkyards in Bracca. So by the time the armored being made it to the cantina, everyone already knew he was heading that way, and what he was there for. Multiple pairs of eyes didn't shy away from staring- after all to people that were used to floods, gang fights, and fatal accidents, a Mandalorian in Bracca was like finding a piece of polished metal among all the trash.

There was no music at the cantina, and barely any chatter even before the outsider made it in. After a long day of cutting scrap, climbing rusty machinery, and carrying whatever they could around to take back in exchange for the day's pay, scrappers sought quiet and peace.

Plotted starter for @foundjarin

Bounty hunters had been getting more and more creative with their strategies to capture a Jedi, and Cal had to run out of luck at some point.

Cal had gotten cocky. Far too confident in his skill with how many times he'd managed to get away from far worse threats. But it's the little threats, the ones you overlook, that kill you. He understood that now, begrudgingly, and he'd been lucky enough to not end up dead, just in that same underground prison as the first time- how long had it been since last time, five years? It felt like less, but he'd been keeping himself busy.

They caught him once? That was fine, he was inexperienced against bounty hunters back then. Twice? That was because they got lucky and he didn't. But a third time, while he was trying to break out? That one was on Cal. He'd given too much away upon waking up that first time he'd been here —in that same cell, too— paying no mind to the possibility of cameras and microphones surveying his every move. Clearly, they'd seen him, they'd studied his actions, and they'd clearly noticed that he was predictable in how he would definitely go back for his droid, no matter what it took. There was no way he would ever leave Beede anywhere, and an underground prison would not be the exception.

They'd caught him again shortly after he'd gotten BD-1 back, and now they were using his safety, along with the heavy handcuffs that kept him from using the force, to lead him somewhere.

He didn't speak the language the guards spoke, so he had no idea where he was being taken. But he was being led through the halls, passing multiple other cells, and even other people walking around- not just guards. Two of them caught his attention. Tall, armed and clad in armor that was very distinctive: Mandalorians. Cal didn't like to profile people based on their appearance or where they came from, but two Mandalorians walking around free and armed? They had to be bounty hunters, and if they were bounty hunters, then that meant they knew how to get out.

His mind worked on a plan just as they were about to walk past. The taller one, his armor a darker, more even gray than that of the other one, passed him with a mere glance exchanged between them, expressionless on both ends. But then, the second one was close behind.

Cal took a step to the side, got in the way of the shorter one- a mere hair shorter than him, and pressed his head forward, connecting his forehead with the helmet. His intention was to use psychometry, to see where that helmet had been recently, to sense his way back to the exit towards the echoes in the force that the piece of beskar could show him. But that didn't happen. Something else happened. It was as if an invisible way had crashed into him, his attempt at psychometry ricochet, coming back at him, making his eyes widen as he stared into a visor that didn't show him anything other than his own reflection.

At first, he didn't understand. Something felt different internally, yes, and it was in a way that went deeper than even the force that coursed through every cell of his body. But he didn't realize what it was until he was yanked away. The man whose helmet he'd just pressed his forehead against's armor was mostly gray, so it wasn't until he was being forced away, pulled back by the cuffs that completely enveloped his hands and kept them concealed behind his back, like a scrap rat on a leash that he realized.

The Mandalorian bounty hunter in front of him– his soulmate's chest plate was a brownish red. One pauldron matched it, the other —a dirty, white color with a light blue line— did not.

He had never seen brown, or red, or blue before. But, somehow, deep down he knew those were the colors he was looking at. It was the first time he saw color. The sudden, dizzying presence of the full spectrum that the human eye could catch made him stumble as he was yanked away from his soulmate. Everything around them was colored now– a very dull and somber place, kind of disappointing to have this be the first place where he was able to see color, but what else could he expect from an underground prison other than dullness? It didn't matter, his soulmate's armor had all the colors he needed and wanted to see.

His captors didn't have time for that. They dragged him away, once again threatening BD's safety to get him to move. Cal was pushed forward and he stumbled, still dizzy from the explosion of color —however dull— around him. He managed to get one foot in front of himself that stopped him from falling face first without his hands to cushion the fall- that would have hurt. He glared back at his captors over his shoulder as he walked, reaching the elevator. Then, his expression softened considerably when he spotted his soulmate, still staring his way from where he'd left him.

"I'm Cal!" he called out to him.

Last time, they'd thrown every creature available at him, he could only imagine what they'd make him face this time. Force knows if he'd make it out. It might be his only chance to let his soulmate —Force, he had a soulmate!— know his name. To let his soulmate know anything about him at all.

As soon as he set one foot on the lift, they tossed Beede at him. The droid was, thankfully, able to grab into Cal's vest and climb to his back, beeping a few unflattering things towards their captors while Cal glared at them before his attention was driven elsewhere by a flash of blue. Holos were even more of an eyestrain in color than they were when they were monochrome.

"Well, well, well, look who is back!" Sorc Tormo's hologram greeted him on the lift. He looked delighted. "Baby, you are a sight! You're not getting away from me so easy this time."

Plotted starter for @foundjarin

The armor felt heavy on his body. The black, red and gray a stark contrast with what he usually wore. The armor itself was foreign yet, at the same time, held so much significance. This was the armor Ben Kenobi wore years ago, some time before Luke was born, entrusted to him by a lost love of great influence to sneak around in Mandalore during a period known for the heavy political unrest that had ruled over, along with the Sith that had, somehow, rightfully usurped the throne- Luke didn't understand Mandalorian politics much, and the part about 'rightful usurpation' of the throne didn't make much sense to him, as both the concept of 'rightfulness' and 'usurpation' as he understood them clashed and just couldn't coexist. But Ben had kept explanations of that topic pretty short, mostly focusing on telling him where he could find the armor and that he should take good care of it because it was valuable, not just because it was made of solid beskar, but because of the story it carried. An object of sentimental value. Something Luke thought Jedi couldn't afford to have.

Now here Luke was, bringing it to use after over two decades as a prop to sneak into the bounty hunters' guild undercover.

Han was not happy about this plan, even though it'd been his plan. Apparently, when he'd said 'one of us should pretend to be a captured bounty and the other should pretend to be bounty hunter', Han had been hoping to be the one that played the bounty hunter role. But even Chewbacca had agreed that wouldn't fool anyone- the whole galaxy knew what Han Solo sounded like, and he had too many people after him for people not to recognize his voice, even with the modulator in the helmet.

They walked into the Nevarro headquarters of the guild and to say that they caught some eyes would be sugarcoating it. Everyone was staring at them. For extra effect, Luke pushed Han forward and muttered: "Move, smuggler scum." while making a face under the helmet because of the look Han shot him over his shoulder. He was suddenly all too aware of how loud the armor was as he walked, and how quiet everyone else was. But he straightened his back and pushed on, doing his best to ignore all the eyes on him. As far as these people knew, he was just some new face —new helmet?— who caught the infamous Han Solo when so many others failed, and he had a helmet, so he was safe. Easy in, easy out.

Or so he thought.

As it turned out, a lot of bureaucracy goes into turning in a bounty when you don't bring them in in carbonite- dank farrik.

There's a queue, Luke whined into the mind-link he'd created with Han. Why is there a queue?!

See the forensic droid at the front? Han said. It's going to scan my face to make sure the biometric data matches, so that nobody can cash in on a lookalike.

Luke was about to ask Han how the kark did he know so much about this, but then there was a hand on his forearm forcing him to turn around, and he was met face to face with a flat-nosed, alien face that was not happy to see him. A Noghri. Luke knew enough about Noghris to know that they had an amazing sense of smell. Kark, kark, kark...

"Do I know you?" the bounty hunter questioned.

"No. It's my first time here," Luke blurted out. He didn't need to look at Han to know he was rolling his eyes. "First long space journey too, so I don't think we've met."

The Noghri stepped forward, and Luke gave a step back. But then the bounty hunter was reaching for his head. Luke tilted his body back at the waist to keep his head and, most importantly, the helmet out of the Noghri's reach- only for the back of the helmet to come in contact with something. Luke glanced up to find that it was another bounty hunter, a tall Falleen that seized Luke's arms with bruising strength. The noghri's hands brushed the edge of the helmet and just barely lifted it- the force wasn't an option here. In his panic, Luke pushed his boy back against the falleen, lifted both legs and kicked the noghri. The action made the falleen's grip loose enough for Luke to wiggle free. Despite the resilience and stockiness that characterized the species, the Noghri went down to the ground on his back, growling and glaring.

"I'm sorry-"

"He's sorry for the cleaning droids that will have to clean up your remains if you keep messing with him," Han chimed in. Then, in Luke's head, he heard the smuggler chiding him: Mandalorians don't apologize.

Neither the Noghri nor the Falleen liked that. He was about to get into a 2 vs 1 fist fight because 'Mandalorians don't apologize'. The queue had turned into a crowd that gathered around them in a circle, Han getting pulled to the side by someone in said crowd. The cool and emotionally significant armor be damned, Luke was hating this so far.

"Take the karking helmet off," the Noghri demanded.