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Jan. 13th, 2021 01:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clan_of_twoThe front door opens and the Mandalorian steps in; a trinket clutched in his hand and a small child cradled in the crook of his arm. Mando’s other hand hangs near the holstered blaster on his hip as he assesses the bar room.
Detecting no obvious threats, Mando steps through and the door closes behind him. His hand near his gun drops and his grip on the Child eases a little while his whole bearing shifts, going from tension to relaxing in exhaustion.
It has been a long night.
Striding across the bar, headed for a booth, the other thing to note about Mando besides the young one he is carrying is what Mando is wearing. Most of the dinged up armor he had worn previously has been replaced with beskar. The metal gleams dully, catching the light as he walks. Here and there, marring only the surface of the armor, are scorch marks; evidence of his recent troubles and left by the firefight he and the Child were just in.
The Child looks about as tired as the man carrying him, but is otherwise unharmed. Looking out past the vambrace on the arm that is holding onto him, the Child takes in the bar. In one of his small, three-fingered hands he clutches a small metal ball, hanging onto it even after the pair have settled into a booth.
Mando sets the Child down on the tabletop while taking a seat and the two just stare at each other for a long while.
“Are you hungry?” Mando finally asks. He does not quite get an affirmative reply, but signals a wait rat over anyways and places an order.
The odd pair then sit in silence, staring at each other again until they both turn their heads to take in the bar at large, each a little awkward in their own fashion.
Detecting no obvious threats, Mando steps through and the door closes behind him. His hand near his gun drops and his grip on the Child eases a little while his whole bearing shifts, going from tension to relaxing in exhaustion.
It has been a long night.
Striding across the bar, headed for a booth, the other thing to note about Mando besides the young one he is carrying is what Mando is wearing. Most of the dinged up armor he had worn previously has been replaced with beskar. The metal gleams dully, catching the light as he walks. Here and there, marring only the surface of the armor, are scorch marks; evidence of his recent troubles and left by the firefight he and the Child were just in.
The Child looks about as tired as the man carrying him, but is otherwise unharmed. Looking out past the vambrace on the arm that is holding onto him, the Child takes in the bar. In one of his small, three-fingered hands he clutches a small metal ball, hanging onto it even after the pair have settled into a booth.
Mando sets the Child down on the tabletop while taking a seat and the two just stare at each other for a long while.
“Are you hungry?” Mando finally asks. He does not quite get an affirmative reply, but signals a wait rat over anyways and places an order.
The odd pair then sit in silence, staring at each other again until they both turn their heads to take in the bar at large, each a little awkward in their own fashion.
