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@beskarbuir // din djarin
── UNEASE ABIDES IN THE AIR, so gently thawing but not dispelled, and there is hesitation toward the outstretched palm. however, when the first word is shared between a common ( yet scarce to many ) tongue, he finds himself already gripping theirs in a firm greeting. he couldn’t help but echo their words, ❝ su cuy’gar, vod … as do i. ❞ there is solace in their native salutation, like water trickling a parched throat. a beat passes as he stands and observes, still puzzled by the other’s presence and speculating their origins. decoration and individualization is frequent within their numbers, though he hadn’t seen this particular motif. nor do they follow the markings of bo-katan’s faction, intricate in their cobalt hues. the only solid conclusion that arrives is that they are not of the tribe, not of nevarro ─ and now only the unexpected is awaited.
gaze keeps steady on the other’s visor. ❝ you’re after the bounty, right ? ❞ an obvious question, one intending to draw both a ‘yes’ and an elaboration, if willing. he wants to ask, how long have you been here ? though it borders on too personal. do you follow the creed ? the stories taught to me ? i know you don’t, but i had hoped ─ even if i knew better, i hoped. lips purse, and none of this is spoken. it never is.
instead, he treads forwards with a truth. ❝ i hadn’t heard of any other within the guild. not for a very long time. ❞ he would of known, or heard of remnants at the very least ─ so why does one stand before him ?
The handshake is firm, and words returned in earnest. Sabine is...attuned to this person’s pain, can feel what hurt lingers in unspoken words. This is an ache she knows all too well. The ghosts of their people haunt every last Mandalorian that lives. While there is a flicker of hope, it sits heavy in the loss.
There are questions, so many of them, pooling on their tongue, waiting to break the conversation. What clan do you belong to? Who were your people? How did you survive? Do you know anyone else in the faith? They push the inquiries aside, sure the person in front of them wants to ask, too. There is a time and place for that. Those things can be learned later. For now, there are introductions to be made and a bounty secured.
“The bounty, yes. One of the only reasons I’d visit this sandhole, I think,” they joke, and hope it is received well. Of all the weapons in her arsenal, perhaps the most used is humor. “I guess the reason you haven’t heard from the Guild is because I don’t really do my dealings with them.” Sabine weighs what they want to say, careful of where the other Mandalorian’s allegiances lie. “I mean, I follow the code, when I do decide to take a job. But I’m not strictly a hunter by profession. Just something to keep the ship flying and stomach full, you know?”
They pause, watching their acquaintance's body language for any signs of aggression. They notice that this warrior’s armor is pure, practically untarnished by paint and wear. She allows herself to wonder where they got it, and how recently. Was it new, or did they just take meticulous care of it?
“But, I gather this is your profession. Look, I don’t mean to step on any toes-- I can go if you’d like-- but perhaps we could work the job together?”