tritanopia | The Mandalorian

twenty-one

Not belonging is a terrible feeling. It feels awkward and it hurts, as if you were wearing someone else's shoes.

And that was exactly how Fae felt sat in that ship once again. She supposed that if the Child was old enough, old enough to understand, he would probably be as fuming as she was sat in that passenger seat. But he wasn't, he didn't understand,  and he was perfectly content where he perched. Fae started to wonder whether ignorance truly was bliss.

She herself used to be ignorant. As a little girl, which was far from what she soon became, Fae simply did not understand how heinous the actions of those around her truly were. But she was just a child at the time, and evil people rely on the acquiescence of naive and good people to allow them to continue with their evil. And all
those years ago, yet to be burned alive for somebody else's cause, Fae was the dictionary definition of 'naive'. However, the blame for the way she initially followed along like a good little girl did not rest on her shoulders. In fact, the guilt she carried with her was accumulated during the years to come.

From time to time, Fae found herself longing for the way things used to be. Back when the house was burning down around her, but she was too high on the fumes of it to notice.

High.

That was the closest she ever got to the way things used to be. Although, drugs did not make her naive — they simply made her not give a fuck; such a side effect being valuable when it came to overcoming things. It became a routine; as soon as Fae was faced with an event she mentally couldn't
handle, drugs were usually her answer. Fake a fit of hysteria to force the Imps into injecting her full of the stuff — she got rather good at it over the years.

Sometimes Fae regretted it — especially after reaching the conclusion that that was the main reason she was unable to face her emotions without the liquid apathy running in her veins. Because she rarely had. But, on the other hand, she wasn't completely certain she would have made it out alive otherwise.

Perhaps that was what Fae needed, to get along with Mando. Drugs. Not even necessarily the ones she was used to — any of them would do. Anything which took the sting out of his actions — anything which allowed her to not care.  After all, based on the way things were looking as she sat there in that cockpit, they wouldn't be separating for some time. So, Fae was going to take anything which made that time bearable. She just had to find it first.

The sound, or lack there of, of the entire ship suddenly shutting down was what brought Fae's mind back into her body — followed by Mando's frantic switch flipping, and the Child's oblivious giggles.

"What's wrong?" She asked monotonously, her right cheek propped lazily in her hand.

Mando spun around acutely fast, almost as if he had just remembered she was there, before asking rather sharply, and incredulously, "What do you mean? We were just in a shootout." Fae's head automatically lifted from its prior position, to actually support itself, along with her eyebrows furrowing.

"We were?" The worrying thing was that she wasn't even joking. After Mando's blank helmet remained staring at her she added, "Sorry, I was busy imagining my warm, cozy grave."

She heard him quietly scoff underneath the beskar, shaking his head and turning back around to face the dashboard. "I swear, you have a mood disorder," He muttered.

Perhaps he was correct. Only hours prior, Fae had been cursing his name left right and centre and making dramatic proclamations that she never wanted to see his fucking helmet ever again. And yet there she was, making idle chit chat. But in all honesty, did any soul ever truly understand the things Fae did? No — not even her.