Fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. In the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths...
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✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* Chapter 8 (Part 1): "Kissing is Disgusting" *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
Well, so much for promising yourself to behave around the Mandalorian... Only ten days since you were gutted like a colo claw fish, and you're already back to flirting with a vengeance.
You will never learn, will you?
"Not bad, Ka'r'ika."
You stare at the target, your brows creasing as you assess your hit.
"Not bad? Kriff it, Din! Look at that!" You fling your arm out in the direction of the target. "My vibroblade hit the inner target ring this time! Almost the bullseye!" You spin around, glaring daggers at him. "How about you give me just a little bit of positive praise for once?" You cross your arms tightly across your chest, a smirk tickling on your lips. "Or would that kill you?"
The Mandalorian tilts his head to the side, hooking two fingers in his belt as he stares over at you. "I did give you praise," he grumbles through his vocoder.
"Not bad? You call that praise?" You purse your lips, a smile threatening to break the character you were playing. "Din Djarin, have you ever taught anyone anything before? Positive praise is a crucial part of the learning process."
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at the heavy, long-suffering sigh that slips beneath his helm.
"Fine. You're doing... okay." His voice is dry, utterly unbothered by your grievances.
"Well, if I'm still not meeting the Mandalorian's standards-" you march over to the target, yanking out your vibroblade from where it juts from the board- "you'll just have to show me how to throw the blade again, step-by-step."
You casually stroll towards him, twirling the blade between your fingers. Flashing Din an impish grin, you hold your vibroblade out expectantly.
The Mandalorian sighs, heavy and tired. But you've spent enough time with him that you could now detect the jest, the amusement layered within his tone.
Spinning around to face the board, it takes every ounce of your willpower to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl as his hands curl around your shoulders, pulling you back against his chest.
Maybe it was a tad conniving of you, but...
You've been, uh... faking bad throws... Lots of them.
In fact, you really didn't require any training from the Mandalorian in vibroblade throwing. A few days prior, you took the initiative to do some independent practice. It only took a few initial swings, and your muscle memory kicked back in, each one of your throws hitting the bullseye, true and center.
