Adjustments
By Rey
Little Tarre is quite an unexpected addition to Din's life. But, like to other unexpected things in life, he adjusts the best that he can.
Story notes: Since people didn't mind the new format of storytelling I was trying in the previous installment, I am doing some of it here as well: Parts of this installment are delivered through all dialogue, with minimal description otherwise, with Din speaking verbally (in regular format) and Tarre either signing or typing or tapping (in bolded letters). The dialogues are all in Mando'a, by the way. And "Té" is Tarre's nickname, generally not "Tar'ika," to honour the not-Mandalorian, not-Jedi part of their personal culture. Oh, and pieces of this particular installment are non-chronological and in fact might have happened at the same time with each other… and I am trying to make them all cute. I need cuteness in my life! Wish me luck?
Story warnings: alien cultural references, Cute, culture shocks, non-sexual intimacy, non-sexual nudity, Cuddling & Snuggling, Plotless, Short Chapters, Non-Chronological, Past Traumas, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
1. Freedom of Movement?
Started on: 1st November 2021 at 08:06 PM
Finished on: 19th January 2023 at 05:28 PM
2. Tarre-Trap
Started on: 21st January 2023 at 08:20 AM
Finished on: 21st January 2023 at 08:49 AM
3. Where He Goes, I Go
Started on: 21st January 2023 at 06:53 AM
Finished on: 21st January 2023 at 07:14 AM
4. Chest of Cold Treasures
Started on: 21st January 2023 at 08:49 AM
Finished on: 23rd January 2023 at 09:23 PM
1. Freedom of Movement?
"Té, you told me to keep the clothes for a while. Now I did. Isn't a week enough to… 'change the echoes'?" Din is confused. And increasingly desperate.
"It is. You have strong emotions. Cosy." His little charge is equally confused. And still naked. While scampering up and down things.
"So, why won't you wear them? And, for that matter, why won't you wear the boots I bought you yesterday? Please, I haven't got time to clean the floor, little one," Now Din resorts to trying to anticipate the next trajectory of the little brat in order to catch and stop them.
And – "We are indoors, are we not? And this is your home?" – damn, the imp knows it, it seems, for they are climbing up the carbonite chamber's frame across the hold from Din, now.
Well, Din has no choice but to pursue the latter, and retorts meanwhile, "Our home. And?"
"Why would one wear anything at home?" is the very confused and very confusing rebuttal.
But at least the imp is at long last in Din's arms, now? Wriggling and wiggling and squirming, and snuggling at length, unheeding of how cold Din's armour pieces must be now that they are in space despite the internal heating of the ship.
Not that Din has an answer to that question that he knows is retorical.
2. Tarre-Trap
"Té, would you please stop running? Aren't you tired?"
"No."
"No to which?"
"Both."
Din snorts. He doesn't believe it. Not for a second. Little Tarre is little, after all, whatever unearthly, otherworldly, superpower strength the little one might otherwise hold, and little ones have littler strength. This particular little one is even barely a third of Din's height, and Din already feels exhausted just watching the little brat dash up and down the Crest's hold.
Besides, now Tarre seems more restless than having fun, and that won't do.
Well, the little brat enjoys snuggling in a nest, don't they? Din has just the perfect crate for that: sturdy, long enough to accommodate that little form in a stretched-out position, and large enough to also accommodate a cushion plus a few blankets. He can even secure that crate plus – hopefully! – its occupant on the co-pilot's seat for takeoffs and landings.
He putters about for the needed materials, then, while occasionally enduring being a jumping board for his odd little companion. And then he situates his proud creation at the end of the stacks of rations and ammo crates that the said odd little companion has been using as some sort of stairs as well as one part of an obstacle track.
He doesn't call for the little menace when he is finished. Because he doesn't want to involve himself in yet another argument with the latter, and doesn't want the mobile nest to seem like a trap, either. But he does attempt to sweeten the deal by putting two frozen bite-pouches of water and a ration bar at one visible corner of the said mobile nest.
And then he leaves for the cockpit, to check their bearing.
And, when he returns, he sees that his not-a-trap is occupied indeed.
By a fast-asleep little form.
3. Where He Goes, I Go
"Where are we going?"
"I am going hunting."
"Where and what are we hunting?"
"I am hunting a bail-jumper. His last location was in the capital city of this planet."
"How are we doing this?"
"You will stay here and I will hunt the quarry."
"Unacceptable."
"The ship needs guarding."
"Are its security measures not adequate, then? They looked fine to me. Certainly better than… before."
"Té…."
"Din…."
"Please."
"What?"
"Stay here."
"No."
"You will distract me."
"No, I will not."
"I will need to guard you."
"No, you will not."
"How will you even keep up with me? You can't be in the open or you will be a target."
"Invest in a sturdy and comfortable large bag that you can reasonably keep on your person, then."
"Isn't a hoverpram better, in that case?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Just… no."
"Why?"
"Shut up."
"You can make a nest in the hoverpram."
"No."
"You can stockpile rations there."
"A suitable bag will cover both points just as well."
"But – oomph."
Little Tarre is suddenly latched firmly round Din's neck. And Din is breathless in more ways than one.
Because that little, skinny form is shaking. And, with warm air blowing from down the ramp, with the little one's biological makeup suitable for cold temperatures in the first place, with the topic of argument not being a humorous one, the not-child no doubt shakes not from chill or laughter.
And now he wonders, suddenly and absurdly and morbidly, how it might feel to have been trapped in a sword-hilt or a stasis field and abandoned for centuries.
4. Chest of Cold Treasures
"What is in that crate, Din?"
"A conservator."
"You have one already, do you not?"
"It's for you."
"…Oh. Why?"
"Well, how else shall we stock up on cold rations and treats? As long as you do not eat just the treats, that is."
"Oh. … Do you have enough money for this?"
"Don't worry about it, Té."
"In that case, could we have a bigger one? One that could be easily modified?"
"What will it be for?"
"Well, it chills everything put in it, does it not?"
Din sighs and gently knuckles the somewhat vertically oval top of his satchel's passenger's head. "What are you concocting in this, huh, kid?"
"A lot of things. And I have a name, you know."
"Is 'brat' perchance one of your names?"
"No, and you cannot distract me just so. Let us return this conservator for a bigger one, please."
"Huh. You're serious. Planning to hoard rations, kid? We can always buy them, you know, and I am ready to go without if it means you have something to eat. I am used to it."
"No. Not that. And I would never want you to do so for me."
"Then what?"
"You will see. Come, let us return this one and trade it for a bigger one."
"Pushy," Din mutters. But he complies, and lets his demanding, secretive, bemusing little charge scamper about among the rows of conservators on display, when they arrive back at the shop he bought the earlier conservator from. He even translates their signed questions – and what odd questions some of those are! Who needs oxygen supply and ventilation in a conservator? – to the equally bemused twi'lek running the shop.
He is relieved because of more than two reasons when they finally return to the Crest. Because there were some heart-stopping moments in which he failed to locate the little brat anywhere, even though the latter never vacated the shop. He will never fathom why they ever thought of measuring the interior size of the conservators with their body when there was a perfectly functional measuring scanner they could borrow from both Din and the shopkeeper!
With that in mind, he installs the new conservator on the ship only when they are already in hyperspace, also while Té is preoccupied with stacking ration bars and hydration bite-pouches into some convoluted, tricky, fragile shape on the floor of the hold.
It is still a heart-stopping moment, however, when he gets up to the cockpit, having finished the installation, and returns to the sight of an intricate structure on the floor but no child at all.
And it is even more so when, after searching everywhere in the ship, even the tiny engine room belowdeck, he opens the door to the new conservator and is met with a pair of large, glowing palish blue eyes set in a curious, confused expression.
And the little brat, snuggled in the mobile nest that they have apparently snuck into this space and stored at the bottom of the conservator – the most spacious part of it, as they insisted being one of the criteria of a "good" conservator – asks so innocently and baffledly, "Did you need me for something, Din? You felt so frantic."