THE GOLDEN BOUNTY | The Mandalorian

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Before I figure out how the hell I'm going to get off this blasted molten piece of junk they call a planet, I decide to peruse the different stores in town. As I had exited the cantina, leaving that irritable rust bucket behind, I'd snatched up my pouch and it's contents from the table.

I decide to treat myself to a change in outfit, swapping out my worn, scuffed up trousers for a cute little black skirt that covers a pair of tight black shorts underneath for modesty. Upon noticing my armour pads strapped around my shins, the vendor had recommended some full-length socks for warmth and additional protection so that the straps wouldn't rub against my legs.

I also purchase a long, hooded ebony cloak, perfect for the colder climates and for added dramatics when I want to swish it around. Because of course I'm going to want to swish it around.

After changing and giving my new cloak a few practice swooshes, I pay for my items and head out. Next I find the Jawa from earlier, beginning a haggling match with it, trying to get a fair deal on the exchange of the stolen bracelet from earlier.

Eventually we settle on a beautiful, if not slightly flashy, dagger. I slip it into the holster hidden under my skirt, satisfied with my afternoon of purchasing. I've enough left to get myself some grub and a drink, but do I dare return to the cantina?

I know that I should be taking time out of my day to proffer something of value to the Entities, to keep the balance of my debt from calling upon them clean and as a way of remaining whole in myself.

But the idea of a drink to calm my unsettled nerves beckons me away from my instinctive, religious routine.

Surely they won't still be there. I convince myself, turning back on my heels and following my previous path.

My hunch was right, as I enter to find our booth occupied by another pair of inhabitants from the town. I walk over to the bar, not spotting either Greef or Mando anywhere in the room. It seems like a pretty standard, if not slightly dingy, cantina. Yet I know better than to underestimate the residents around me.

"Hey," I catch the bar droid's attention, waiting for it to come over, "You got any more of that blue stuff?" I ask, pointing over to a table where a lone creature puts back a small glass full of the stuff. The droid moves it's head up and down in a nod, before pulling out a jug full.

I sigh. "Great, pour me three." Watching as it fills them to the brim perfectly, not spilling a single drop. I pick up the first one, slamming down some credits in it's place. Before I let the liquid grace my lips, I hum to myself in content.

"I love droids." I chuckle, tilting the glass and my head back, feeling the beautiful sting in my throat as I finish off the first drink.

"Droids are untrustworthy." A calm, collected voice speaks behind me, causing me to choke slightly on the last bit of my drink. I whirl around, hand gripping the hilt of my new dagger, as I come face-to-helmet with Mando once again.

A whispering voice ricochets violently about my head, with the truth being it actually hasn't left me alone since I was initially captured by this Mandalorian. It screams for attention, for a hold of my soul, to succumb to it's invasive power. Do my ancestors truly wish me to fail so epically at maintaining the equilibrium of my sanity and belief, by simply giving into whatever inherited urge springs to my mind?

I roll my eyes before turning back to face the bar, picking up the next full glass in the hopes of using it as a wall to block the ringing in my ears of this damned voice that won't leave me be.

"Why are you here?" I enquire, the lack of enthusiasm in my voice noticeable.

"I came to find you." He admits, much to my surprise.