#indebtedfic

Draped across the sofa is a dress. A burgundy, knee-length thing with a deep neck, no sleeves, and a subtle golden pattern on the hem. The fabric is light but sturdy— perfect for the Nevarro climate. And there’s no doubt that it’s nicer than anything you’ve ever worn in your life. 

You look down at the patchwork jacket in your hand. Most of the patches are faded, blue variants or some kind of brown. But you can’t tell what the original color was anymore, and strings are hanging off of it where the hem has frayed and been stitched back and frayed again. It’s dusty, too. You haven’t had the chance to wash it all week. It’s not much, but it’s completely yours. It’s the only thing that’s completely yours.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Karga asks, picking the dress up off the sofa and holding it up to you.

“Sure,” you agree with a shrug.  

Karga gives you an exasperated look. “Sure?” he echoes. “It is. You should wear it next time you go to the cantina.”

“Oh,” you say. “So, it’s not a gift. It’s a work uniform.”

“Would you just put it on?”

Rolling your eyes, you snatch up the dress and drag it back to your room. It feels funny on your skin when you put it on, but it does technically fit.

Karga seems to think so anyway. He smiles when you walk out in it and says, “Ah, there we are! Give it a spin, let me see.”

You turn in a lazy, disinterested circle. “This is ridiculous,” you huff as you face him again.

“It’s only ridiculous if it doesn’t work.”

You look down at the dress and back to Karga. “What exactly is it supposed to do?”

Karga folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “Listen, I don’t know how you did it,” he sighs. “But somehow, you got Mando to change his mind. There’s something about you he must like. And if we can play that to our advantage…”

“To your advantage, you mean,” you correct him.

He uncrosses his arms and puts his hands firmly on his hips. “No, to our advantage,” he insists. “There’s a bounty I need him to take. Hardly any of my hunters have dared to go after it, and the few that have… Well, there have been unfortunate endings. I need Mando to take it, but the problem is this isn’t the kind of thing he usually goes for. Direct commission work. If you can convince him to take it, I’ll take another five percent off.”

Those few words flip a switch in your brain, and you hate it. Suddenly, something you’re terrified to even try becomes something you’re desperate to accomplish. The dress still seems excessive, but if it helps, then why not? And you still have no idea what you could have possibly said to Mando to get him to take four pucks, but you could figure it out. Over all of these thoughts echoes the constant chorus, “another year of my life, another year of my life, two whole years of my life.”

“Okay,” you agree after only a moment’s hesitation and next to no thought. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”  

In the next couple of hours, Karga hatches the beginnings of a strategy. He debates himself on the best way for you to get the job done. You interrupt him only a few times with some pertinent questions. 

 “Isn’t it going to be difficult to gauge his reaction?” you ask at one point. “Should I ask him to take his helmet off?”

This earns you a stern look from Karga. “That’s a joke, right? Tell me that’s a joke.”

It very much is not. Still, you scoff. “Oh, come on,” you say. “Of course, it’s a joke.” That’s the end of your questions for a while. 

Eventually, Karga decides that you have as much of a plan as you need for the moment. “Besides,” he says. “Mando won’t be coming back for months. We don’t have to worry about this until then.”

You don’t know anything different, so you don’t argue, figuring that anything you need to know can be learned later. But it’s time you don’t have. It’s only a month later when Karga hurries over to your usual seat at the booth. “I got a page from the shipyard master,” he tells you. “Mando’s Razor Crest is landing.”

“What?” you question.

“I know, I didn’t expect this either,” Karga says. “Just get out there, and stick to the plan.” 

“But we never finished the plan,” you remind him in a half-whisper, half-shout. “You said we wouldn’t have to worry about it for months. It’s only been one month.”

Karga isn’t hearing it. In fact, he’s practically pushing you out of the booth. “Just do whatever you did last time.”

“I don’t know what I did last time!”

“Would you just go?”

At this, you stand and smooth out the skirt of your dress. You’re still not entirely used to it. It’s been difficult to see it as anything other than a uniform. A tool. Not yours. Now is the time to put it to the test. How effective is an errand girl in a dress against a hardened warrior? It feels more absurd than ever. “Alright, fine,” you mutter as you walk away.

You make it to the shipyard as fast as you can, and the shipyard master hands you a holopad and directs you to Mando’s Razor Crest. The ramp is still up when you get there, but you’re gripping the holopad like it’s the only floating thing on a planet of ocean. But when the ramp begins to lower and you see him standing right there? That’s when you have to remind yourself not to break the thing.

When Mando sees you, he stops halfway down the ramp. The moment of silence that passes is nearly unbearable until he says, “What is this?”

You look down at yourself and back up to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Um… a dress?”

“No,” he says, continuing down the ramp until he’s standing over you. “You. What are you doing here?”

You hold the holopad closer to yourself. “Karga sent me to take inventory,” you tell him.

“He sent you to the shipyard… in a dress.”

You shrug. “It’s just an outfit.”

“It’s impractical. You look uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t my idea,” you tell him, growing frustrated. “Karga thought you might—”

“Might what?”

The way he’s staring at you, you get the impression that he already knows but wants to hear you say it anyway.  “Might…” you huff, your face going warm. “Might appreciate… it.”

“Appreciate you in it? Is that what you mean?”

You fold your arms over your chest, holding the holopad tight against you as a barrier. Maker, you wish you had your jacket. Wish you had some fabric on your arms. “Yes, I guess, that was the plan,” you answer.  “Like I said, it wasn’t my idea.”

“What does Karga want?” he questions. 

You shake your head and shrug. You could lie, but if there’s one thing you remember from the last time you negotiated with Mando, it’s that he doesn’t mind brazen honesty. “It’s some kind of direct commission bounty he wants you to pick up,” you explain. “He said it was high-dollar but not your usual gig.”

“And Karga wants you to convince me to do it?”

You tilt your head to the side, but you don’t look him in the eye… visor… whatever. “Offered me another five percent if I could. Anyway, I managed it last time, didn’t I?” 

That silences him for a moment. “Let me be clear,” he begins, finally. “I saw four good jobs, and I took them. I don’t do anything because someone begs me to.”

The way your spine goes stiff and your throat tightens is almost immediate. First, he calls you a slave, now this. On your planet, no one would have dreamed of calling— of implying—  “I’m not a beggar,” you tell him, your voice low, and your gaze snapping onto him. “Don’t call me a beggar.”

“Then what are you?”

“I already told you. I’m a servant. An indentured servant. That’s all. Not a beggar, not a slave.”

“If you’re not a slave, why not leave?” he questions. “It’s your grandfather’s debt, not yours.” 

“Because,” you tell him. “My grandfather and my father died paying it off, and I’d rather die than disrespect that. This is the custom where I’m from. It’s shameful to be indebted like this, but it’s worse not to bear it gracefully. So, you give everything you have to the one who holds your debt, and you work for them for as long as you have to. The last thing you give is the clothes on your back, and you do not try to run from it.”

It isn’t the first time you’ve had to explain this to someone, but it’s never any less tiring. A brutal reminder of all the life that has been lost in the wake of a debt you’ve carried with you as long as you can remember only ever serves to exhaust you. But it does nothing for your present self. So, you sigh and straighten your shoulders. “I’m not here to explain all this to you,” you eventually decide. “Karga’s waiting, and I’m just here to take inventory.”

That seems to be enough for Mando. He stalks away without a word.

You’re sure you just fucked up that entire encounter. It’s definitely not what Karga had in mind, anyway. But what else were you supposed to do? Just stand there and take insults from a— a walking, talking suit of armor? 

You can almost hear your father’s voice reminding you that not upsetting your employer also means not upsetting your employer’s friends. Then it’s your grandfather’s voice reminding you that there’s nothing that upsets people more than hearing about other people’s difficulties. And then, of course, it’s your own voice. “Stupid,” you whisper to yourself through gritted teeth. “Fucking stupid.”

That’s about when the actual shipyard crew to take inventory comes to take over, and that reminds you that all you were supposed to do was stand there in a dress and look pretty. And you failed at that so spectacularly you almost want to laugh. The dress was never going to work, anyway. It’s time you finished patching up your jacket.

✦✦✦

He knows exactly what Karga’s trying to do by setting you up just outside his ship. You’re supposed to be the first thing he sees. There’s no way he’s going to believe that the same girl who didn’t know how to open his profile last month is suddenly in charge of taking inventory. You’re a strategic pawn. Meant to either soften him up or break him down. What he doesn’t like to admit even to himself is that neither option is impossible. 

You’ve been on his mind lately. Most of his thoughts consist of what the hell is Karga thinking by keeping an indentured servant? But the fact that you keep showing up in his thoughts at all… The fact that your name has been stuck on repeat in his head ever since Karga said it… 

No, he knows what the hell Karga is thinking. Now that he’s seen you again, he knows exactly what’s going on. Karga isn’t stupid. Karga knows he took twice as many pucks as usual and why. And Karga’s counting on it working a second time.

He’s hyper-aware of the fact as he enters the cantina and approaches Karga’s table. The bastard is leaning back like he’s not on the edge of his seat waiting to see if his scheme paid off.

“Ah, that was fast,” Karga remarks. “Did you catch them all?”

He responds by tossing all four fobs on the table.

Karga looks over the fobs and nods. “Good, I’ll begin the offload.” 

Karga barks instructions in Huttese to someone nearby while he unclasps his rifle, sets it down on the table in front of him, and sits. Karga spends too long rifling around in his satchel until he produces payment and sets it down in front of him.

“These are Imperial credits,” he says.

“They still spend,” Karga points out.

“I don’t know if you heard, but the Empire is gone.” 

Karga leans back in his seat. “It’s all I’ve got.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He grabs up the fobs and begins to stand. 

Karga reaches for the fobs. “Save the theatrics!” he says. “Fine. I’ll… I can do Calamari Flan. But I can only pay half.”

Another of Karga’s games. Paying him what he would’ve gotten for just his two usual fobs anyway, but he's not in the mood to fight it. “Fine,” he agrees, taking the Flan. “I want my next job.” 

“Of course,” Karga agrees, reaching for the unclaimed pucks. “Hmm… I have a bail jumper. A bail jumper, another bail jumper, a wanted smuggler.”

That’s four. That’s what he’s got to start taking from now on if he wants to keep the heat of speculation off. “I’ll take them all.”

“No, hold on. There are other members of the guild, and this is all I have.”

“Why so slow?”

“It’s not slow at all, actually. Very busy. They just don’t want to pay Guild rates. They don’t mind if things get sloppy.”

He can sense where Karga is trying to lead the conversation, but he can’t avoid it. So, he grits his teeth and asks, “What’s your highest bounty?”

“Not much. Five thousand.”

“That won’t even cover fuel these days.”

To his credit, Karga doesn’t immediately jump on that. He takes a second. Hums. Raises his brows in thought. “There is one job.”

There it is. No way Karga was going to trust the entire thing to you. He’s had this orchestrated for a while now, probably even beyond what you know. “Let’s see the puck,” he decides.

“No puck. Face to face. Direct commission. Deep pocket.”

“Underworld?”

“All I know is no chain code. Do you want the chit or not?” Karga holds it up.

It’s a second before he makes up his mind and takes the chit. Holds it for a second before standing to leave. It’s a year of someone’s life, after all. Anyway, it is the highest-paying bounty.

✦✦✦

There’s enough time for you to run back to the house and grab your jacket before returning right back to the shipyard. The final piece of Karga’s grand, pointless puzzle is in place. You were the first thing Mando saw when he arrived. Now, you’re supposed to be the last thing he sees before he leaves. Karga’s purpose in this meticulous staging is still a mystery, but never let it be said you don’t follow orders. You simply refuse to twiddle your thumbs while you wait for Mando to get back.

So, you find a crate to sit on and get busy finishing up the patch that you didn’t have the chance to almost a full month ago. It feels good to have your jacket in your hands again. Patching the bulky, heavy, rough thing is doing a spectacular job of keeping your mind off of the fact that Mando is going to be back soon. Probably no more convinced than he was a couple of hours ago. Probably still pissed. 

Keep it out of your mind. Keep working on the jacket. Why stop at a patch? You could fix the hem that’s coming loose, too. 

You feel it when he enters the shipyard, and you can’t explain that at all. All you know is that the hair stands up on the back of your neck suddenly. A shiver passes through you, and when you look up, he’s walking towards you. 

There’s a new beskar pauldron on his shoulder that wouldn’t look as impressive on anyone else. It adds something that you can’t describe in words but makes you keep staring as he approaches instead of shrinking away from even looking at him.

“So, did you take the puck?” you hear the sound of your voice asking before you have time to make yourself nervous about it. 

He doesn’t answer which tells you that he doesn’t want you to know. Which you’re pretty sure means he definitely took it. 

“Well,” you sigh, going back to your hemming. “Good luck.”

He’s still standing there, and some part of you is bracing for a lecture. A warning. Some kind of confrontation dealing with the attitude you took with him a few hours ago. But his next words are so unexpected that it stops your hands from working. “I realize I offended you,” he says instead. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention.”

That’s… surprising. There’s no face when you look up at him, of course. Just the helmet, tilted down to look back at you. But if you squint, you think you can almost make out an expression. Something genuine in the way he’s holding himself.

You blink through the shock and give him a half-hearted, close-lipped smile in return. “Hey,” you say. “You didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I was begging. You were right.”

“No,” he says. “You were doing your job, and I was ignorant and disrespectful. It won’t happen again.”

Nothing about this encounter is what you expected. No one has ever apologized to you like this before. No one has ever felt the need. You’re just a servant, after all. Unsure how else to respond, you shake your head. “Um… it’s alright,” you tell him. “Indentured servitude where I come from… it’s like the antithesis of religion. Instead of dedicating your life to getting closer to something immaterial, you dedicate it to getting away from something material. But I know that’s not normal, and you couldn’t have known anything about it. It was an overreaction, and I’m sorry.” 

He doesn’t respond. Good. You’re not sure how you would handle a response. You’re still reeling from the fact that this is coming from the silent, stoic Mandalorian. The silence seems to be the natural thing, and it suits you fine.

“What are you doing?” 

You look down at your work and back up to him. “Fixing the hem of my jacket. It’s time I got rid of this dress. Karga kinda threw it on me.”

“He does that.”

You shrug. “Evidently.”

By all means, that should be the end of the conversation. It’s here you would absolutely expect Mando to walk away, fly off, and not speak to you again. But he doesn’t. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and back at you. Takes a step closer. “What if he couldn’t anymore?” he says.

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?”

“You could tell me what Karga’s planning before I’m even on-planet.”

You stare at him a moment, unable to form a coherent sentence. “Why would I do that?” you eventually sputter.

“It would save you the work of convincing me to take a job.”

Good point. It takes a second of utter confusion to think of a counter. “It could also screw up my so far amazing track record that’s taken two years off my debt so far.”

“I’d compensate you.”

“Like an inside job?”

“Like an inside job.”

You drop the needle on your lap, plant your hands firmly on the edge of the crate, and lean back. “I don’t know,” you grumble. “It’s a good idea, but how would I even do it? Karga monitors my personal frequency. He’d catch on before long.”

He pauses for just a moment. Then he reaches for his utility belt, pulls out a comlink, and tosses it in your lap. “Karga can’t monitor that,” he tells you.

Slowly, you reach for the comlink and turn it over in your hand. “Holy kriff, you’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” The way he says it makes you believe he thinks you’re wasting his time with pointless questions. But in all fairness, it seems unlikely.

And yet, you can’t think of any reason to refuse. “I…” you start, trying to make something up. Karga would be pissed but after the humiliating dress debacle? That’s more of a perk, and nothing else comes to mind. “Could you do an advance?”

Mando nods and retrieves a piece of Flan. A whole piece of Flan. Two months of pay for you. Slowly, you reach for it and squish the coin between your fingers. 

“Get back to Karga,” Mando instructs you as you examine the gelatinous currency. “Contact me as soon as you know what he’s planning.”

When you look up to face him again, he’s already walking away. You have no idea what almost compels you to call after him. Gratitude, you guess. But gratitude doesn’t usually feel like your insides are being wrung out. No, that’s what fear feels like, but you’re not afraid either.

Hesitantly, you stand and start walking back to the house. Back to your room, with your jacket slung over your shoulder, the comlink you hid in the pocket making it heavy. By the time you get there, it’s dusk. From your window, you can see the shape of Mando’s Razor Crest taking off. That wringing, twisting feeling is still there. It’s taking over your whole body, making you numb in your limbs.

It doesn’t help when Karga bursts into your room without knocking… again. 

“Oh, he’s taking off, huh?” Karga asks, walking to stand next to you in front of the window.

You shrug your shoulders and wrap your arms around yourself. “He took the puck, right?” you ask him, after a while.

“He took the job,” Karga confirms. “I could give you the five percent for it, but I’m not sure if it was you that convinced him or me.”

You don’t bother arguing or even reacting. All you do is face him and pull out the piece of Flan. “I got this from Mando. I’d like it to go towards my debt, please.”

He takes the piece and examines it. “How did you get this?” he eventually questions.

“I agreed to things,” you answer, purposefully vague. You’re almost positive Karga is going to take it the entirely wrong way. Good. He doesn’t need the context.

Karga exhales slowly as he pockets the Flan. “Well, congratulations,” he says like it’s physically painful to do so. “Five percent it is.”

You exhale with the weight of another year’s worth of debt coming off of your shoulders, but you find that you’re not as light as you were the first time it happened. Once again, you fix your eyes on the Razor Crest fading from view. Once the ship is out of sight, you turn back to Karga. “What happened to the hunters who went after this thing?”

“You mean the few that actually dared?” he asks. Then he shrugs. “All killed. But I wouldn’t worry about it. If anyone’s got a shot at this thing, it’s Mando.”

“But he could die,” you point out. “I helped you convince him to go on a hunt where he could very well die.”

“What are you so worked up over? It’s not like you’re the one pulling the trigger. You did good,” Karga says as he pats your shoulder and walks past you.

You should be happy, you know that. In the brief amount of time you’ve been on Nevarro, you’ve accomplished the impossible twice. Ten percent of your debt is gone within the span of a couple of months. But that suffocating feeling you used to get when the Mandalorian was around is coming to you as he’s leaving, and the fear that it might never change is keeping you underwater.

Nevermind that. Karga’s interviewing a potential new Guild member, and you’re taking notes. But you haven’t written anything down in five minutes, and Karga notices. He’s called your name twice now without an answer. You jump the third time, and Karga sighs. “If you’re not gonna take notes, could you at least make yourself useful and get us some drinks from the bar?”

With a nod, you rise from your seat and walk to the bar, pretending to ignore the stares that follow you. You get it. Karga goes off-planet for two weeks and comes back with some nervous-looking girl and no explanation for her. People are curious. Still, you can’t help but feel on edge. Especially when you notice how many people don’t bother to hide the fact that they’re staring. Especially when you notice how many times the words “errand girl” and “Mandalorian” pop up side-by-side in snippets of all the different conversations. 

After the drinks are ordered, a man with a gleam in his eye slides uncomfortably close to you. “You’re Karga’s errand girl, yes?” It’s the same voice that discussed you earlier. He’s got an accent you can’t place, and a crooked smile like he has no interest in being friends.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but keep quiet. You aren’t interested in being friends, either.

“You know he’s hiring you for the Mandalorian?” the man presses when you don’t answer. “He’ll probably make you fuck Mando to get him in a good mood. Get him to take more pucks.”

Cringing, you turn fully away from the man, giving him the back of your head to talk to.

The man wheezes out a laugh. “Good luck! You’re pretty, but not pretty enough to change Mando’s mind, I think. You’ll freeze him out like that, anyway. Hell, maybe you’ll freeze each other out! Hard to fuck someone when you can’t see their face.”

The drinks you ordered are placed on the counter, and you whisk them away before you can hear another word. There’s a sick feeling settling deep in your chest. Settling in right next to the new word… “Mandalorian.” Karga has made the particularities of your arrangement abundantly mysterious, but he wouldn’t stoop that low. Or you think he wouldn’t, but you can’t be sure. He seemed safer than the man you were almost stuck with. But safer doesn’t necessarily mean safe.

The notion chews you up until the cantina is all but empty, and Karga is reviewing your work. It’s the only time you’ve had all day to ask questions, and you jump at the chance. “Who’s the Mandalorian?”

Karga looks up from the holopad with a furrowed brow and looks back down as he answers. “Mando’s my best hunter. Why?”

“I dunno,” you answer with a shrug. “I just get the impression that… That I’m supposed to know who he is.” And you’d had that feeling before the confrontation at the bar. The second you heard the word Mandalorian, it jumped at you like it was supposed to be important to you. It’s one of those gut feelings that you get every once in a while that you know you’re supposed to listen to.

“Well, it’s inevitable. He’s bound to show up again sometime soon to collect some new pucks.” Karga hands the holopad back to you. “Good work for the first day, but tomorrow should be even better. There’s a lot of room for improvement.” 

You look between Karga and the holopad. “And did I…?”

“Did you what?” Karga asks. “Earn your daily percentage? Oh, sure.”

Good. It might not be much, but .02% off of your outstanding debt every day you work for Karga is a vital step in the long crawl to independence. But knowing you earned your keep for the day opens up your mind to different concerns. “So,” you continue. “When am I gonna meet this Mandalorian?”

“You’re not going to,” he says. “Whenever he decides to show up, you keep quiet. I don’t need you making him even more irritable than usual. I’ve already had a hard enough time with him lately as it is.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. So, it’s not what people think. “What do you mean?” you press.

“You two would clash,” Karga answers. “Trust me when I say that it’s in your best interests to say as little to him as possible.”

That still doesn’t serve as a description. It doesn't explain why you can't see his face or why people seem to think that you’re somehow… intended for him. It doesn’t explain why you have a gut feeling about him. But Karga shuts off the holopad and changes the subject.

“Alright,” he says as the lights in the Cantina go off. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying.” 

Your room is a small one near the kitchen at the back of Karga’s house. Only a small but serviceable cot stands in the room positioned under a window with plain linen curtains. Of course, none of it belongs to you. The only things that truly belong to you are the clothes on your back, and eventually, those won’t belong to you either.

It’s fine. It’s just another person holding your debt while you work to pay it off, that’s all. People have bought your debt before, and the same people have sold it. Nothing changes for you except the place you live, the work you do, and the person holding the documents.

You drag a hand down your face, settle on the cot, and try to forget about it for the night. One day down. Twenty years to go.

The next day, Karga takes you back to the cantina bright and early. Something about a client that’s picky about having meetings at the break of dawn. But once you’re there, it’s full throttle. Hunters and clients alike pour in one after the other, not to mention those who are there for the drinks. The cantina seems louder than it did yesterday, and it doesn’t help when clients are yelling for Guild rates being too high and hunters are yelling about not having enough clients.

You collapse onto the booth next to Karga after dealing with a hunter who didn’t deliver on a bounty with a very specific deadline and bury your aching head in the palms of your hands.

“It gets worse,” Karga promises you, sounding as exhausted as you feel. “But I’m only expecting one more hunter today. You’ll be fine.”

It’s then that the door slides open, and you pick up your head from your hands.

“Speak of the devil,” Karga mumbles to you.

Hunters have been in and out all day. Nothing at all should be striking about one more in the neverending stream. But there’s something different about this one. Something about the way he walks. He’s not cocky. Plenty of Karga’s hunters are cocky. It’s something else. It’s how sure his stride is. Like he knows the specific way he’d take out every single person in the room. Like he knows he wouldn’t even have to think about it. And he certainly doesn’t need to tell anyone. They know without being told.  

He walks directly to Karga. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate. When he approaches the table, even Karga seems like a small man in comparison, and that’s when you notice that the cantina has quieted considerably. And that’s when you know. This is the Mandalorian. 

“Who’s she?” a voice comes from the helmet, deep and vibrating. A perfect match to the intimidating figure before you. The sound of it rattles you so much that it takes a moment before you even consider that he’s talking about you.

“My new secretary,” Karga explains. “She’s all right, Mando. Sit down. We’ll talk business.”

“I don’t talk business with outsiders,” Mando counters, shifting his beskar helmet to look more fully at you.

You’re walking the thin line between fear and captivation. You should be looking to Karga for your instructions, but you can’t rip your wide eyes off of the Mandalorian. There’s no way you’re going to try to stare him down. You wouldn’t dare. But you wouldn’t dare look away either.

“Come on, Mando,” Karga tries after a moment. “How am I supposed to keep track of all the pucks I send out if I don’t have someone to keep a record of them? Besides, she’s contractually obligated to follow my commands. If I tell her that everything stays in these four walls, it does. Now, come on. I haven’t got all day.”

It’s a split-second of hesitation as he considers you. And you can feel him consider you, sizing you up, deciding how dependable you are. He has nothing to go off of except your looks, which are not the best they’ve ever been. “Pretty. Not pretty enough to change Mando’s mind.” The split-second passes, and the judgment is made. He’s turning and walking away without a word.

“Mando, wait!” Karga calls after him. “There you go again with the theatrics!”

The Mandalorian barely looks over his shoulder to acknowledge him.

Karga nudges you. “Wait outside. This shouldn’t take long.” 

With a nod, you stand and make your way to the front door. On the way, you pass the Mandalorian and try not to notice how tall he is or how his stare follows you out the door. It’s the same stare that you’ve gotten from everyone else. New girl. No explanation. But at the same time, it’s so, so different. You can’t put your finger on it. You just know. Maybe if you could see his eyes, you’d understand. 

Once you're outside, you take a deep breath like your head has been underwater for an hour and you just resurfaced. Too much noise in that cantina, you decide. That’s why you’re so dizzy right now. Too much noise, and too many notes. You should be relieved to have a break.

But through the window, you can catch glimpses of the Mandalorian as he talks to Karga. It’s not a sense of relief you feel. You’re insulted. What right does he think he has to throw you out? But Karga agreed to it, so maybe it’s him you should be insulted by. Or maybe, as a servant, you don’t have a right to be insulted by anything at all.

So, if you aren’t insulted, what are you?

It’s only a few minutes before Mando walks out of the Cantina. He spares you a glance before turning his back to you and walking away. Only a glance, but it’s enough. You know what you are now. You are fascinated by what terrifies you.    

Once Mando fades into the crowds of the street, you return to the booth where Karga sits.

“That was the Mandalorian?” you ask. You don’t need to ask. You’re already sure.

“Yes,” Karga answers. “And he’s even more pedantic than usual like I was afraid of.”

You fold your arms over your chest like you’re trying to protect yourself. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“No, no,” Karga agrees, waving your words away. “No, you did fine. Mando doesn’t like me changing his routine on him. He’s very big on rituals. You know how Mandalorians are. I think even just your presence bothered him somehow.”

You choose not to bring up the fact that you have no idea how Mandalorians are. Instead, you ask, “Did he take a puck?”

“I gave him four options, and now I’m giving him time to consider which two he wants. I wish he’d take more than two sometimes. He’s the best hunter we’ve got, and if he took even one more there would be much fewer days like this for you and me.” 

The concept of fewer hectic days sounds nice. “Well, couldn’t someone, I don’t know… Convince him?”

"How would you convince him?" Karga asks, rolling his eyes.

You shrug. "I don't know," you admit. "I'd think of something. If I had an incentive to, of course." You give him a pointed glance.

Karga laughs. “You're more conniving than you let on,” he says. “Sure. If you can convince Mando to change his mind, I’ll take five percent off of your debt. How does that sound to you?”

You nearly choke. How does it sound? It sounds like a whole year off of your sentence. “Deal,” you answer. To be completely honest, you’re not thinking about it beyond the potential payoff.

“You’re out of your mind, girl,” Karga sighs. “No one changes Mando’s mind. Not even Mando changes Mando’s mind.”

It’s little more than a half-hour later when that prayer is put to the test. At an intersection of streets, the glint of the sun off a beskar helmet catches your eye, and you see Mando march across the marketplace with a satchel slung over his shoulder. You’re chasing after him before you know what you’re doing. Your head is swimming again, this time with the idea of a year of freedom you wouldn’t otherwise have. 

You can’t run; the streets are too crowded for that, and Mando wouldn’t respond well to that, anyway. Besides, the idea of approaching him and immediately engaging in a conversation is making your step falter as you get closer and closer. 

He’s bartering with a vendor in a language you don’t understand, and you just hover in the background, trying to map out your plan, pretending to be involved in your surroundings. Every step you take closer to him is more time you have to remind your heart to keep beating. Maker, you've never been so disoriented before, and it scares you to death. 

Still, you persist. When he moves to a different stall, you move too, giving him space to get ahead first. You're still racking your brain for what the hell you say to whatever the hell a Mandalorian is. If you knew anything about him at all, this might be easier. Maybe you should just observe for now.

He goes under a tent that takes up three stall spaces, and you follow him there a few moments later. It’s an artisan’s tent; shards of stained glass in every shape you can think of hang from the posts of the tent, shining in the sunlight and casting rainbows of color onto the dusty ground below. It’s the most color you’ve seen in years, and it nearly distracts you from your task. 

There’s a mobile with shards of deep blues and purples in abstract shapes lined with silver along the edges that catches your eye. You haven’t seen anything quite so vivid in years. Almost without thinking about it, you reach for it. Your fingertips barely brush against the smooth surface— 

“Are you done following me?” a voice from behind you asks.

Mando’s sudden attention hits you like a punch in the stomach, and you drop your hand to the side. He’s no more than a couple of feet behind you, and you hadn’t even noticed he moved at all. You suppose you should’ve known better than to try following a bounty hunter without being noticed. “I—” you start, as you spin around.  “I wanted to apologize. For yesterday, I mean…”

Mando doesn’t shift an inch. “It was Karga’s fault. He should know better.”

Great start. "He wasn’t trying to be rude,” you tell him. You’re still aiming for an apologetic tone, but it comes out defensive. You need to rethink your strategy. What you need is a lie. Well, no, not a lie exactly. Just a different way to frame the truth.  “I wasn’t even supposed to meet you at all, but I pestered him about it. It was all my fault. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…?”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he says. “Tell Karga that if he thinks sending his errand girl to—” 

“Karga didn’t send me,” you interrupt him without thinking, and in the silence that follows, you realize that may have been a mistake. He’s staring at you, helmet tilted to the side. All you can do is take the fact that he hasn’t turned to walk the other way as a prompt to elaborate. “That is, he didn't tell me to talk to you. Opposite, in fact.”

“If Karga didn’t send you,” he starts, “why are you here defending him?”

“Well, I— I’m trying to be a good employee,” you stammer. “I just want to do my job.”

“Never met someone so invested in working for Karga. It’s always something else. I’m not interested,” he points out, and that seems to be the end of the conversation for him. He brushes past you out of the tent without another word, leaving you standing dumbstruck.

By the time you turn to follow him, he’s so far ahead of you that you have to jog to catch up, and he’s certainly not slowing down at all. “Well, isn’t there anything I could do to make you interested?” you insist. You're not even going to attempt feigning pure intentions.

“Are you gonna follow me around all day?”

“If it comes to it,” you answer. “Would you hear me out?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes but keep following. "You don't even know what I'm asking!"

"Don't need to."

“It would help us both,” you promise.

“I said no.”

That's three times he's said no, now. It won't help to become even more of a nuisance, but you can't give up. “You don’t understand. I’m talking about a year of my lif—”

Mando’s arm shoots out suddenly and grips the arm on your far side, stopping you in your tracks just as a heavy-duty transport drives a little too close on the path in front of you. If he hadn’t done anything, you absolutely would’ve walked right out in front of it.

He doesn’t release your arm until the transport is well out of the way of your path. When he does, he turns to look at you. “Go back to Karga. You’re gonna get hurt out here.”

“I can’t—”

He grabs both of your shoulders and turns you around back in the direction of the cantina. “Go,” he tells you, and his hands leave your shoulders.

It’s not worth another shot, you decide. As far as Mando is concerned, the conversation ended before it even started. By the time you turn back around, he’s disappeared into the crowds.

That evening, you cook dinner for yourself and Karga with the groceries you picked up. The usually relaxing process of cutting and steaming does nothing to ease your disappointment in your colossal failure. Maker, you were so stupid just approaching Mando like that. You know nothing about him at all. If you had waited, you could’ve figured out things about him and his culture that could have helped you influence his mind. But you had to take the mudhorn by the horn. Had to do things your way as soon as you got the chance. Had to get drunk on the little bit of freedom you were given and abuse it. You want to kick yourself. 

When Karga returns to the house, he’s even more tired than he was yesterday. “I can’t give you a break tomorrow,” he tells you. “I need to keep training you to take over the records. It’s getting to be too much for me to handle by myself.”

You nod your understanding and have dinner in silence. Sleep comes to you in hazy, broken patches that night.

Once again, it’s an early morning at the cantina, and most of it is spent training. Record-keeping is an even more harrowing job than Karga prepared you for in the weeks before he brought you to Nevarro. Even making entries in the transaction ledger makes your head spin.

Karga lets you practice it a few times, but you think he gets some kind of sick amusement out of watching you struggle with all the fucking numbers. Just when you think you’re about to rain curses on the sick freak that invented math, Karga takes the holopad out of your hands.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s take a break.”

You slam your head down on the table. “Thank you,” you mutter. “Today is a bitch.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” Karga tells you.

“She’s a bitch,” you insist.

“You’re just being irritable,” Karga counters. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You lift your head and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You would be too. First the whole thing with the expired bounty a couple of days ago, then the thing with Mando yesterday, now this—”

Karga holds up his hand. “Hold on, hold on,” he says. “What about Mando? What happened?”

You hesitate, unsure how much you’re willing to say. More and more, you’re realizing that you have tested the limits of what Karga said you could do. “Nothing, I just…”

When you’re silent for too long, Karga leans in. “You just what? What did you do?”

It’s at that moment that the door slides open, and the Mandalorian walks in as he did a couple of days ago.

Karga sits up straight. “Mando!” he says as the Mandalorian approaches. “Didn’t expect to see you back so soon. I assume this means you’ve made up your mind?”

He doesn’t answer, but he takes the seat across from the booth. 

Karga turns to you. “Go wait outside—”

“No,” Mando interrupts. “She stays.” 

He doesn’t elaborate on this sudden change of attitude, but Karga glances at you and seems to come to a realization. What that realization is, you have no idea, but there’s a definite new, conniving spark behind his eyes. 

“Right,” Karga agrees, his voice noticeably controlled. He rises slowly. “Give me a moment. I need a drink. Open up Mando’s profile and the available bounties on the holopad while I’m gone.”

No, wait, what? All you’ve been trained to do is take transaction notes. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to follow all of these new instructions. Especially when the Mandalorian is sitting across from you, staring you down. Nevertheless, you swallow your objections and nod while Karga walks away.

Deep breath. “Okay,” you mutter to yourself, getting only as far as you know how to. You come to a roadblock way sooner than you hoped.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

After the long silence, the question catches you off-guard so much so that you wouldn’t even dream of being dishonest. “Not really,” you admit. “But I can manage until Karga comes back.”

Mando lets go of a deep sigh and reaches his hand out across the table. After a moment’s hesitation, you give him the holopad. He accesses his profile in less than a minute and hands it back to you.

“How do you know how to do that?” you ask him.

“I’m observant,” he answers.

You look down at his profile. Most of his personal information is redacted. There’s no given name. No physical description beyond “beskar helmet.” What little information is available to you is mostly transactions and statistics about his performance as a hunter. No wonder Karga agreed to five percent. There was no way in hell you were gonna be able to find anything out, to begin with. 

“Well,” you say after clearing your throat. “I guess I’m not as observant as that.”

“Apparently,” Mando says. Is that irony in his voice? “You almost got yourself killed crossing the street.” Okay… irony.

Something like dread swirls in your stomach. “Right,” you say, looking up at him. “If you could keep that between you and me, I would appreciate it. Karga doesn’t have to know about that… that whole encounter.”

“How many favors do you want from me?”

He’s playing with you, now. You might not be able to see his face, but you can sense that much. “Please?” you ask him, your voice somewhere between desperate and irritated. 

“Karga doesn’t have to know,” Mando agrees. “As long as you tell me what you meant when you said it’s a year of your life.”

Is that it? Is that the entire reason you’re here now instead of waiting outside while he and Karga talk business? You furrow your brows and shrug. “I had a deal with Karga, that’s all,” you answer him. “If I could convince you to take more than two pucks, he’d take five percent off of the debt I owe him. It would usually take a year to pay back five percent.”

“That’s a twenty-year debt. What did you do to owe Karga so much?”

“I didn’t do anything,” you answer. “I inherited my debt from my grandfather, and Karga bought it a couple of weeks ago from my former employer. I’m honor-bound to pay it back no matter who I owe it to.”

“So, you’re a slave.”

Your jaw clenches at the statement. “I’m an indentured servant,” you correct him. “There’s a difference.”

“What’s your job again?”

“To do what Karga tells me.”

“And you get paid for that?”

“Well… no.”

Mando goes quiet again and tilts his helmet to the side as if he’s trying to make a point.

You let out a huff. “That’s not the point,” you say. “The point is that I was supposed to get you to take another puck. Just one more.”

“I don’t take more than two.”

You blink once. “Hence… the challenge.”

“What was your strategy?”

You take a deep breath and let it out on a hiss. “Didn’t have one, really. I figured I’d try a bunch of different angles until something stuck. Unfortunately, you didn’t let me try any of the angles.”

He just stares at you. If he’s taken aback by your honesty, he doesn’t say so. You, however, are shocked by the sound of your own voice saying nothing but the truth. It’s not really as much a choice as it is something that he seems to draw out of you.

It’s as you open your mouth to say something (anything to fill the silence) that Karga calls your name. You rip your eyes away from Mando as he approaches the table, drink in hand. “Go back to the house and get lunch started, would you? I’ve had enough of cantina food for a week.”

The last thing you expected was for Karga to say something so contrary to Mando’s instructions. But Mando doesn’t say anything, and you can tell that Karga has some kind of purpose he’s not telling you about. So with an obedient nod, you stand and leave the cantina. Once again, the Mandalorian’s gaze follows you out.  

When Karga returns to the house that evening, he calls you to the main living room. “What did you say to Mando while I was gone?”

The question takes you aback. “Um, I don’t know,” you say. “I just answered his questions.”

Karga raises his brows. “Oh, is that all?” he asks. “What questions?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Just about who I am and why I’m working for you. It was like a job interview. Nothing happened.”

Karga lets out a sound somewhere between a sputter and a laugh. “Well, whatever arrangement you’ve got going on, keep it up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell Karga. “There’s no arrangement. As far as I know, as soon as I left, he took his two pucks, and left.”

Karga stares at you a moment. “He didn’t take two pucks,” he says finally “He took four.”

Four? Where the hell did that come from? What did you say to convince him to take double his usual count?

“You really didn’t know, did you?” Karga questions, seeming to finally come to the realization.

“No, I didn’t...” you answer. When you can finally clear your head of white noise for a moment, you look up to see Karga looking at you thoughtfully. “What?”