I'll fall asleep scrolling through reports, if it's deadly quiet.
The Rancor's Goblet reminded me of the types of places I used to frequent, before I got mixed up with the Blood Battalion. Brokering information and acting as an impartial middleman for criminal enterprises had made me a lot of money in the past, but diplomacy didn't require me to always be armed.
Of course, that was until I met the Mandalorians.
Normally you just buy the idiots a few dinners, ply them with a few drinks and then hit them with your big request just as their trust spikes, somewhere before dessert but a minimum of three drinks into the conversation. These tribal warriors were a different story.
Mandalore the Prosperous stepped into the bar with an aura of authority that was entirely undeserved, followed closely by his weaselly son in that obnoxious orange armor of his.
The third one though wasn't someone I entirely disliked. In fact, I was surprised to see Boot outside of the compound at all.
I looked back down at the table, unable to not chuckle at his ridiculous name.
He was an asshole, but the type of asshole who got things done, the kind I could respect. However, he had been trying way too hard to get into the Huntress's good graces.
Perhaps it was because he was tired of yelling at his comrades to keep their helmets on or not fall asleep on guard duty. He seemed one of the very few who could see just how far into complacency they had fallen.
I continued pretending to sip my drink, keeping it in my hand mostly out of habit and to keep the barkeep off of my back, until I saw something interesting.
A young man had settled at the bar, a face I recognized from one of the reports.
"It's not often you see a dead man," I whispered to myself. It was only an hour earlier that the report had come in about The Lost Purpose showing up in a hangar on the east end of the city.
The boy was quickly approached by another individual, a middleman named Mole, who had been something of a competitor, back in the old days.
As the Mandos wandered about the bar, scaring the pants off of everyone in sight, a thought suddenly crossed my mind.
A boy caught in the crossfire of a Blood Battalion assassination attempt happens to land in this city and show up at my bar? I hadn't had anything to do with the plot against Zheevo, but I kept one hand resting on my blaster just in case.
Teller left a few moments later, after the two exchanged a few words and Mole made a grand gesture of showing his empty hands. They expected to be watched. Maybe they were looking for a fight.
The young smuggler never reentered the bar, but the Mandalorians did finally approach me.
"I was wondering when you would grow a pair," I told Mandalore the Prosperous.
"Very cute," the old man replied. "I was hoping you would step outside when you saw us. You are out in public and not wearing your helmet."
"I know. What a shame."
"Living with us means you follow our rules."
"Maybe she shouldn't live with us at all," Boot chimed in. "I never liked the idea of letting a predator into the pen."
I smiled. "In that analogy, wouldn't you be prey?"
He looked down at me, exuding the same seething rage he always did.
"I'll be back soon, when I'm ready."
"Very well, but know that none of this will make us trust you any more," Mandalore said.
"As if it matters."
"I could approach the Huntress about this," said Boot. "Mandalore, perhaps I should open up direct communications with the Bloods."
"Don't bother." He turned to look at me. "If the Hyne decides to return, so be it. If not, we will continue to accrue wealth either way. It's not like anything can threaten us."
Hyne looked at herself in the mirror, where the scar of Jon Vyrone's attack still stared back at her.
Daydreams of slowly sawing his head off filled her mind, alongside pictures of the Mandalore the Prosperous' walls crumbling to the ground.
It had been a very bittersweet sight for her, seeing all that lethargy come crashing down around his ears, but as she put on her helmet and reminded herself of who she now was, she realized that there was no longer a need to think about him.
There was only one Mandalore who mattered.
