mando moment

Kyreya is fascinated by this woman the trooper is watching. She is tiny, at least compared to Eya’s frame, would barely reach their chest. And yet, her presence seems to command whoever surrounds her, the sway of her hair mesmerising in the strobing lights. Eya’s tendrils curl - they are not jealous, exactly. Hair seems like such a hassle to take care of, but at the same time, Eya wonders what it might feel like, soft and silver and flowy against their cheek…

The blonde woman seems to be in kahoots with a Captain Eya vaguely recognizes - Dex, or Rex or something like that. The dancers like him because he’s nice, though he never orders anything special, unlike many of the other commanding officers. The feeling the trooper next to her emits change as he watches the two of them. It’s not jealousy, not at all… it’s worry. Kyreya scrunches their nose.

“Relax, dude. The captain is a good guy.”

The man startles and looks over, his eyes flicking up and down Eya’s tall, broad frame. Mistrust rises from his skin with such force that it would make Eya’s eyes water if they had any moisture to spare in this hellish atmosphere. The trooper’s eyes don’t linger on Eya’s mismatched ones, and they quietly thank the merciful Ocean Spirit that troopers seem to be used to cybernetics.

“What?” The trooper’s voice is calm, though his emotions betray him in ways he cannot control.

“You’re watching these two like an overconcerned older brother. Have been all night. He’s your vod… I mean, I know that doesn’t mean there ain’t a few rotten fish in the net. But I also know that little blond trooper isn’t one of the rotten ones.”

The guy stares at her, one eyebrow raised, his lip twitching. The tattoos on his chin exaggerate every microscopic expression. The gold line that runs from the bottom of his lip down his chin intrigues Eya, makes them wonder how the artist got the pigment to shine through the skin… Maybe they’ll ask. Might be worth looking into for their next tattoo.

The trooper presses his lips together under the intense stare that is fixated on him, and Eya blinks with their good eye, even though they don’t technically need to. Blinking appeases humans though, and the cybernetic eye can be somewhat… unnerving, though it is doubtful that this is what makes the Captain next to Eya twitch. He clears his throat.

“And how would you know that?”

“Look, I’ve been a bouncer here for months. I know the bad guys… and usually, they don’t return after they’ve met me.” A tinge of pride sneaks into Kyreya’s voice. “But the captain - he seems well liked, by the servers as well as the dancers. Your little friend will be safe with him, I’m quite sure.”

The man grumbles something, but then nods.

“It’s not that I’m worried about,” he concedes. “It’s just… they shouldn’t be this close.”

The blunt statement confuses Eya even more.

“But you’re not jealous, I can tell that much,” they say and gently sway their head, their tentacles curling in the air, though they are careful not to let them touch the trooper. Some humans find it strange, and aside from that it would be rude to do so without being invited.

The trooper leans back a little and looks at Eya; his eyes filled with mistrust as much as curiosity.

“How do you- ah. Forgot about the…” the man hesitates, then vaguely gestures at Eya’s head. “…that whole thing Nautolans got going on.”

A low laugh escapes Eya’s lips. Really, the lengths people will go to not to offend other species is sometimes more trouble than it seems worth. Not everyone’s view, perhaps, but… why beat around the bush when you could just state clearly what you mean?

“If you mean the fact that I can sense and decipher the chemicals your body releases, then yes. It’s surprisingly helpful in breaking up fights. Can always tell the real arseholes from the drunkards.” Kyreya chuckles and takes a sip of their beer.

A smile tugs on the lips of the trooper. He shifts and turns around to face Eya properly, his kama hanging heavy from his hips.

“Captain Storm,” he says and holds out his hand. Eya’s lips twitch. Another human habit one has to get used to.

“Kyreya,” they answer, enclosing the Captain’s hand in their own, lilac skin against tan fingers. Storm’s eyes go a little wide before he returns to his carefully neutral expression.

“Sounds familiar,” he mumbles.

“What?” Panic shoots through Eya - he can’t know, how would he know? His aura has not changed, his signature reads as calm - calmer than when their conversation started, even. He can’t know Eya’s name-

“Just meant that you know the sound of your mothertongue, learn to recognise it even when you don’t expect it.” Storm doesn’t seem inclined to say more, quietly sipping his drink. Eya lets out a breath. Ah. Shouldn’t have used their full name. Of course he of all people would recognise the name to be Mando’a. Eya has heard enough troopers call each other vod, has read enough graffiti in the language of their people to know that the troopers share the Manda.

“Jahaa’la urci, mando’ad.” If he knows anyway, might as well go all in. Mandalorians are too rare in the galaxy to waste this opportunity to connect. Storm’s eyebrows shoot up, and Eya can feel the surprise that surrounds him like a shadow.

“So I was right. I thought maybe… well. Doesn’t matter. Jahaa’la urci, mando’ad.”

Both of them fall silent, but this time, it is comfortable. Content. Eya pulls out a hydro-cig and takes a drag. The fresh water coating their lungs feels like heaven, and they sigh happily. Captain Storm looks over his shoulder, but when Eya turns around to search for the trooper and the blonde woman again, they are gone. Storm groans, then shrugs and turns back to the bar.

“Not my army, not my soldiers.”

Eya cannot suppress the rough giggle that rises in their throat.

“We have a similar saying… my people, I mean. ‘Not my waters, not my fish-friends’, is probably the closest of a translation I could give you.”

A smile lights up Storms face at their words, deep thundering laughter rising from his chest. It’s short, like a storm breaking only to move on before a second thunderclap can resound. Eya wonders distantly if that is how he got his name.

Another few minutes pass in easy silence, both of them sipping their drinks in peace. Storm does not seem like one for small-talk, and Eya does not mind the silence at all. In fact, it’s a nice change from the chatter that usually surrounds them.

A faint whiff of anger makes Eya’s tendrils curl and recoil. They look around, and sure enough, some patron is trying to pull away one of the dancers from a trooper’s lap. The patron - clearly not a clone with his pale white skin and too long limbs - seems enraged, and the trooper is getting worked up as well, holding on to the dancer like a child whose doll is getting taken away from them. Apparently, he does not care that his grip will bruise her skin, will hurt her - too caught up in the moment. Fucking shinies. Don’t know how to behave, sometimes just as much as the natborn patrons.

Eya sighs deeply, nodding at Storm when he looks over at them with a raised brow.

“I’ll be right back, man.”

They get up, their full height imposing to the mostly human crowd surrounding them. Even the troopers barely come up to Eya’s shoulders. Kyreya cracks their neck and knocks the knuckle spikes implanted in their hands together. The sound makes Storm shiver and he turns around, but before he can ask about them, Eya storms off. The crowd parts in front of them - whether it be because of their tall frame or the look of sheer anger on their face, it does not matter. They stop right next to the pale man whose fingers are closed around the dancer’s delicate wrist as he impatiently tugs at her.

“Come with me, doll, I’ll pay so much better than this sad copy of a man, I’ll treat you right-“

“Let. Go.” Eya’s voice is deadly, the husky timbre cutting through the air like a lightsabre through metal. The look on the dancer’s face changes from fear and disgust to relief… and a somewhat malicious joy.

“Hmm, you’re in for it now, boys.” She’s one of the new ones, and Eya’s memory for names is terrible, to say the least. But she always seems nice.

Eya winks at her, then stares down the trooper whose fingers still dig into the girl’s waist, trying to pull her back into his lap.

“You too, trooper. Let go of her. She’s not yours, no matter what the wonderful propaganda of the GAR tells you you’ll get as a reward when you return home from your senseless war.”

The trooper lets go of the dancer as if burned.

“Sorry, Ma-“

“I swear to Nephto, if you call me Ma’am I’ll give you one Keldabe kiss you’ll never forget, boy,” Eya grits out.

“I’m sorry, M- I’m sorry!”

Before Eya can nod, a slimy voice cuts in.

“Thank you. I was trying to make it clear to this… creation, that she’s mine. Or she should be.”

Whatever mix of emotions the pale man emits, it nearly makes Eya gag. When the trooper’s rude behaviour was just slightly drunken ignorance, this man’s actions were intentional. Kyreya turns around slowly, their eyes fixed on the long, thin fingers still wrapped around the dancer’s wrist. Their pale cybernetic eye whirs quietly, and the man stares and stares. It would be rude under any circumstances, but right now, it is the drop that makes Kyreya boil over.

“I did not do this for you.” Their voice is so cold that the pale man recoils, and yet still he does not let go. Eya knocks their fists together again, and the bell-like sound of pure beskar knocking against pure beskar when their mareve beskar meet slices through the air like a freshly sharpened blade. “If you want those fingers to ever be able to touch anything again, you will let go of her and remove yourself from this establishment. Right. Now.”

Eya leans forward, even though the man’s scent makes their throat close up and their gills flutter weakly. They bring their face so close to the other man that they can see the droplets of sweat threating to run into his eyes, can small the fear when they speak on.

“Or I’ll pry your fingers open. And I promise you they won’t be good for holding anything after that for a while.”

The pale man stares at them, a look of disgusted defiance on his face, even though he reeks are pure dread.

“Fine. Keep your whore. But I’m not leaving, I’m a paying customer, better, in fact, than any of these weird little tube-made freaks and-“

He does not finish his sentence before Kyreya’s fist collides with his temple. The force is enough to make him sag to the ground, even though Eya is careful not to let the spikes of the beskar mereve puncture his skin. They would not want a death inside the establishment on their hands. Killing people… not acceptable. Not here, not now. Not anymore.

Eya lifts the pale man up by his collar and lightly taps his cheek until he wakes up. His eyes shoot open and focus, and the fear that crackles through the air when he recognises who is holding him like a disobedient loth-kitten tastes nothing short of delicious. Eya smiles, baring their sharpened silver-coated teeth.

“Touching the dancers without their permission? That alone is enough reason to never let you in here again,” Eya says, then raises their voice for the rest. “But coming to a KRIFFING CLONE BAR JUST TO INSULT CLONES-“

A joyful voice cuts in from beside them.

“KAYSH MIRSH SOLUS, NAYC, VODE?”

Eya rolls their eyes when the troopers in the bar cheer loudly. There’s only one man who would do this, one man who loves the attention and the drama. Eya drops the pale man to the floor, cackling as he scrambles away and out of the bar as fast as his skinny little legs will take him. Then they turn around to ruffle the hair of the trooper standing next to them.

“Hey there, Fives.”

Fives stands up on his tiptoes to knock his head against theirs with full force, even though he can barely reach even when Eya bends down a little to meet him.

“KYREYA CYARE.”

“Oh fuck off,” Eya laughs. “If you call me that one more time-“

“Yeah yeah, you’ll knock the Five clean off my head. That’s what you always say.” Fives grins. One of Eya’s tentacles curls around his neck in a hug - with Fives, that’s allowed. They breathe in the joy and comfort that surrounds the familiar trooper. Much needed relief floods them at Fives’s not exactly calming, but nonetheless welcome presence. Especially after having to get so close the disgusting slimy pale man, Fives feels like a palate cleanser.

“What are you doing here?” Eya asks, then shrugs. “Ah- I saw your Captain earlier. Got distracted before I could look for you. What’s he called again? Dex?”

“Rex,” Fives corrects and laughs, slinging one arm jovially around Eya’s shoulders although they have to bend down for him to do so. “Seriously, you must be the only person in the galaxy who can’t remember his name. Man’s a fucking war hero.”

So was I, to some people. Eya wants to say. And to others, I was the villain, the criminal, the nightmare they don’t tell their children about. And I don’t know who was right about me.

They don’t say any of that. Instead, they just shrug, prying themselves loose from Fives’s arm so they can move freely again, one of their tendrils curled around the trooper’s shoulder.

“I made a new friend tonight. You wanna meet him?”

“You? Made friends?” Fives elbows them in the side, and Eya does their best to suppress a wince. Wrong side wrong side wrong side-

“I thought you didn’t talk enough for that to happen,” Fives jokes. He didn’t notice, then. Good.

“Hm,” Kyreya answers noncommittally. “Very funny. And incidentally, neither does he. Was watching your Captain and this woman-“

“Cap’s got a woman?” Fives interrupts, nearly vibrating with excitement. “Excuse me, but that I gotta go see for myself, I’m gonna-“

And just like that, he is gone, stumbling through the crowd while flashing wide smiles in every direction. Eya shakes their head, and trots back towards the bar. Fives is an ocean of chaos, his own little maelstrom in the middle of an already wild sea. They love him to death for it.

Storm nods when Eya sits back down next to him and flags down the bartender, Raia, for some water. Eya is parched, and hastily takes a few drags of their hydro-cig. The bartenders always have so much to do, but Raia knows how much energy and water these little fights take out of Eya. The two of them have been friends for nearly as long as they have worked here, and the water appears in front of them in no time. Eya shoots Raia a grateful look, and the Togruta winks and blows them a kiss. If Eya could blush, they would. Instead, their tendrils start doing an excited little dance, and Eya quickly brushes them back - not that Raia would know what it means, but it feels… oddly private.

Storm has been silently watching the interaction – somehow, he manages to not feel obtrusive, merely mildly interested. Kyreya can feel the curiosity emanating from Storm, but he does not ask about Raia, nor about the way Eya’s tendrils still jitter behind their back. There is a twinkle of knowing amusement in Storms’s eyes though when he claps a hand on Eya’s shoulder.

“Well done. With the fight, I mean. Appreciate you stickin’ up for us troopers.” He seems genuinely grateful, and Eya smiles.

“No thanks needed, Captain. You all deserve better than that. So much better. Wouldn’t have taken this job if I didn’t think so.”

Storm nods imperceptibly, then shrugs.

“Still. Next round’s on me.”

Eya’s tendrils curl in quiet happiness. A friend.

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