He had woken up in the cockpit to the shining sun and was now sitting over his morning caff as the heavy infantry sauntered into the common area. He saw it in his stride and it lingered in the air. He bet the broad man had experienced a nightly boost to his already big self-consciousness.

He watched with a saturnine grin the man's step falter for a second before he continued his strut towards him. With a nerve-wrecking calmness he continued to sip the hot liquid before he unhurriedly pointed towards the kitchen area: "Means to make breakfast for you and your riduur over there."

He knew he was edging the man, but the sooner they would get over with it the better it was: " Just try not to spill too much in the darkness."

He gave his next jibe a long thought while the heavy infantry was working at the kitchen counter. He waited until the man was loaded with the tray full with a breakfast for two when he looked up to him and gave him the most earnest look he could muster: "And maybe you can keep your next rounds less noisy, there's kids on board."

He watched with a fiendish grin that bared his teeth as the seething turn into hot blaze. The quivers that ran up and down beneath the blue armour exploded into action. The tray was all but slammed down on the table he sat at and the massive vambraces and dark gloves shot out to close around his neck.

He was barely able to block one off, but the other tightened round his windpipe. His neckscarf did help only so much to keep the huge hand from closing. He threw himself into the seat as his feet kicked out and the man off him.

He was up and out of the lounge right afterwards. Despite all his bulky appearance Walking Wall was much faster than he would have guessed. A bruise on his throat would tell of his underestimation of the man.

He prepared for the next attack, when he saw the woman rush out of their compartment. At his quirked eyebrow the Nevarro warrior slowly turned his head.

She was definitely not amused. She spat at them with an angry but hushed voice. Of course she was right, waking up the others had not been his intention. She threw tirade at them both and she made very much clear that any part of the ship was off limits. Somewhere along her outburst he lost her but what he very clearly heard was that if they really had to be at each other throats the sparring – she had emphasised the word very intensely – would be done in a proper setting.

His grin didn't subside: "Jate. When we don't wake anyone, and outside."

He was quite astonished how easily the situation then dissolved. She had got the tray and asked him to clean the mess, which of course he had agreed to. He even had admitted with a shrug that it had been his fault.

As he was at it he prepared more caff. He guessed the commotion hadn't gone unnoticed by the others on board, so he made more caff. He was already sitting back in the lounge when the first younglings stormed in.

As soon as the saw him they skidded to an abrupt halt. The smallest didn't know what was happening as a shriek escaped one of the older ones – Demagolka – and made them scramble back to their quarters. All but one. A small boy, he guesses about eight years old stood his ground.

He took a sip from his mug and tilted his head at the boy who stared at him with large green eyes. He gave him a soft smile: "Hungry? Breakfast?"

"Are you a monster?"

He had to chuckle and shook his head: "Neither a devil. I'm a Zabrak, this is what my people look like." He rose slowly and walked over to prepare the food for all. He was sure that the screaming younglings would run to the couple staying with them. He hoped that they would do the explaining needed.

"You like Bantha milk?" he turned to the boy who hadn't moved an inch. "Do you?" He prodded again. There was only a slow not, but those huge green dishes never left his features.

"Are they real?"

"What do you mean?" He tried to follow the eyes of the boy which clearly didn't not linger on his face but slightly higher. He reached up and touched one of his horns: "These?"

Again the boy nodded slowly, but this time he took a step closer.

"Yes, we Zabrak's do have them all." He dished out a portion on a plate and together with a filled mug he returned to the lounge area.

"Does it hurt when they grow?"

He liked the boy's questions, though childlike he had them thought over. He shook his head "Not at all. It is just like with your nails."

He sat down and curled a finger at the boy to come closer. After a minute he did come closer and without taking his eyes off him he sat down in the lounge. Even while he was eating his stare lingered, it roamed, but never left his face. Dargak just continued sipping his caff.

"Can they hurt others?"

This was a question he had never encountered before. He rose an eyebrow as he trailed his fingers over the different sizes horns. "That is not why we have them, but I guess I could hurt someone with them. But I might have a headache afterwards." With a grin he winked at the boy.

Slowly a smile spread on the boy's face then he got very serious. Dargak's smile also slowly fell and he wondered what kind of question the curious boy was coming up next. He thought the braveness of the small warrior to be very admirable. And again he was confronted with a question no one had ever asked him before.

"Can I touch them?"

Dargak let his tongue glide over the sharp ridges of his teeth and thought about it When he looked into the boys eyes it was almost impossible to deny him the wish. These eyes – they reminded him so much – Varya had the same green eyes and it had been impossible for him to deny her anything.

Slowly he got up and moved out of the lounge. He was still undecided as the boys gaze followed him. With a step he was standing next to the boy and lowered on one knee. He smirked and winked: "Careful don't hurt yourself." Then he lowered his head.

From the corner of his eye he saw the boy's hand rise and reach out. Only from the movement of his arm he could make out that his horns were explored one by one. Only when the small hand took hold of strands of his dreadlocks he felt the tingle on his scalp.

"Your hair feels rough."

He slowly lifted his head again and he saw that the boy still had one of his locks in his hands. He nodded with a smile: "Yes, it is different to yours."

He wasn't actually astonished when the small hand reached for his forehead. He felt the small fingers tenderly trailing along his tattoos. It tickled him and then the boy reached his cheeks where his morning stubble still was.

"You do get a beard?"

The questions were so simple they made him laugh with a low rumble: "I can if I wish to."

"Is it also rough then?"

He had to shake his head as he chuckled, the boy seemed to have just warmed up. Where the first questions had come slowly, almost reluctantly he had them coming in quick succession now: "Even rougher."

"Is it normal to have yellow eyes?

The boy way inspecting him thoroughly, noting all the differences: "Yes, but we Zabraks can also have read eyes. Some say these are more beautiful."

The boy tilted his head in consideration: "I like yellow better. They look like fire."

"Oh, thank you." He quickly flashed his eyes at him. "And you have pretty green eyes, just like my ad."

Varya had never done any exploring of that kind. She had been too small when he had found her and then she grew up with the familiar sight. It had helped that many different species could be found in the tribe.

On the one hand he had been glad that she had never asked. On the other hand it had lead to the problems she had had with the tribe's members who were now dead and his failure to tell her.

"You have an ad?"

He ruffled the boys hair "Yes, the pilot is my daughter."

"Does she look like you?"

"No, she is no Zabrak. She got green eyes like you and copper hair, as soft as yours." Again he stroke over the boy's head and marvelled at the large green eyes which never left his.

"Where is she?"

This had his smile falter, he cleared his throat: "Remember that hail storm yesterday? She got into it and got hurt. She's resting in her cabin."

"Oh, I hope she gets well soon." Before he could do anything the boy's arms had sneaked round his neck and he was hugged fiercely. He wrapped his arms round the small form. Then he heard the secretive whisper: "You know, it is ok to be sad when you are sad."

He rose his eyebrows and his voice was as conspiratorial: "What do you mean?"

"It is ok to cry when you are sad, came the whisper back.

"Am I sad?" He wondered, he had been more or less all smiles while talking to the boy.

"I think you are, it feels like you are."

He inhaled deeply, was the boy really feeling anything or did he just transmit his own feelings. " Are you sad?"

"A bit. I miss my buire."

Although it was not his loss, he still felt the grief invade him. With the boy clinging to him he slowly rose. He smiled as the child quickly wrapped his legs round him as he held him: "You know, it is ok to cry when you feel sad."

There was only a quiet nodding, but he felt the small shoulders shaking. That was when he started his slow pace around the lounge area.

He hadn't counted his rounds but somewhere along he had started to hum in a low voice, just for the boy and himself. He was just turning to start his next round when a dark blue wall blocked his way.

Taking a step aside he just walked round the heavy infantry and continued with his round. When to bulky armour intercepted him again he just shook his head and mouthed: "Not now."

He didn't care what Walking Wall wanted. The child in his arms had calmed and he was not going to let anybody interrupt that. He still had a way out and he took that road. Down to the compartment of the maroon couple and the other children.

Sooner or later they would have to get used to the sight of people looking different than themselves. With one of them in his arms it might help to show them that he was no threat.

He waited in front of the open door, the calming voices of the adults could be heard. He addressed them in a soft voice. He was sure the woman was about to tell him that it was not a good time, but then she saw the child in his arms and mentioned him in.

Slowly and quietly to not jostle the boy he sat down. He waited until the last child had settled somewhat again before her started to talk with his most silent voice. The one he knew had always calmed Vayra.

"I'm not a monster or devil. I'm a Zabrak. People from my planet look the way I do. It might look fearsome. But be sure I'm no danger to you. The pilot is my ad, that is why I'm here. She was my foundling, just as you are foundlings. Have a look at your vod. He will be a brave warrior. He stayed and faced me. He dared to ask me and to get to know me. Ask him about me, or better even be brave and talk to me yourselves."

He knew he wouldn't get any results right away, but he had given them two options. He tapped at the boy's back: "Time to let me go now."

When he was released he rose and nodded towards the adults: "Food is ready. I'll be outside, there is still the game she brought to take care of."

Mando'a

riduur: wife, husband, partner
Jate: good
Demagolka: someone who commits atrocities, a real-life monster, a war criminal - from the notorious Mandalorian scientist of the Old Republic, Demagol, known for his experiments on children, and a figure of hate and dread in the Mando psyche
ad: child, son, daughter
buire: parents
vod: mate, comrade