#fun fact: this was supposed to be a new oc but i got infested by chuuya brainworms and this was the result | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mikeisthricedeceased · 3 years

Text

Ghost Stories

Chapter 2: The Mechanic

Mando x OC

Warnings: Language, Angst, Graphic Violence

Word Count: ~3.2k

Chapter 1

A/N: The only storyline taking place in chronological order is the one involving Mando. Just wanted to state that early on.

Summary: We meet Vayik and the Finder, two sisters who have a tense but caring relationship with one another. Mando remains cautious around Toram, despite the fact that she watched over the child in his absence and repaired damages to his ship. The Riever claims another victim.

AO3 | Masterlist

~*~*~*~

Vayik marched down the hall, gripping a fistful of brushes that were stiff with the dried remnants of brightly colored paint. She was glad for the relatively empty path, not trusting herself to keep her temper entirely in check should she so much as bump into someone on her way to confront the one who was undoubtedly responsible.

Her gloved fingers further tightened as she neared the open workshop door, teeth gritted as she stormed inside.

She almost immediately came to a halt, poorly concealed giggles reaching her as she took in the sight before her.

The Finder looked up from where she was tinkering at her worktable, expression calm. Her gaze shifted from Vayik’s tense stance and rigid shoulders, to the leather straining over her knuckles where she held the brushes.

Vayik was more preoccupied with the sight of small arms wrapped around the Finder’s neck and scraped knees tucked tight against her waist, the faint giggles even more noticeable now.

The Finder seemed entirely unfazed. “Good morning, vod,” she said simply.

Vayik brought her eyes back up and furiously held up the brushes. “Care to explain why the ceiling outside of the forge is suddenly very pink and green?” she growled, voice made all the more accusatory by the crackle of her modulator.

“Personally, I think we’re in the early stages of an infestation,” reasoned the Finder. She gave no indication that she heard any of the giggling as it intensified.

When it became clear that the giggles had more than one source, Vayik eased. But only slightly. “Is that so?”

The Finder nodded before taking slow, awkward steps around the table between them, revealing two more small children, one clinging to each of her legs. She gestured solemnly down at them. “As you can see, my workshop has already been overrun. I guess that makes the forge the next target.” She shrugged, all three children dropping any attempt at being sneaky with their laughter. “You should probably warn Kith.”

“I shouldn’t have to warn them about anything,” she said, crossing her arms, “because there shouldn’t be any paint on the walls outside of the mural spaces. And there certainly shouldn’t be any paint on the ceilings or in the forge. Isn’t that right?” Her helmet very pointedly titled down toward Alamak and Lisith, who were still sitting on the Finder’s boots and clinging to her.

The pair of them visibly shrank at Vayik’s words.

“Sorry, buir,” Lisith said as Alamak mumbled his own apology. They let go of the Finder and scrambled up to their feet.

Vayik tilted her helmet, indicating the door behind her, and the two were quick to rush out and find other things to entertain them.

Once they had left, her attention was solely forward again. “That includes you, Kerreeka,” she said, voice stern.

A small face appeared over the Finder’s shoulder. “But—”

“No arguing,” Vayik said firmly. “You know where you’re allowed to paint, and you painted where you weren’t supposed to.”

Kerreeka reluctantly slid down off of the Finder’s back, her head hanging as she shuffled forward. “I’m sorry for painting on the ceiling,” she said softly, pouting. “I won’t do it anymore.”

Vayik just looked the girl over for a moment before sighing heavily and stepping aside. “Go on. Find the others.”

She left the room just as quickly as the other two had, scrambling to get away from the tension.

Then, it was just Vayik and the Finder.

They were both silent for a few seconds, neither of them really wanting to start the conversation, but knowing that it needed to happen.

Vayik’s shoulders slowly slumped and she walked closer to the worktable, setting the brushes down.

The Finder broke the silence first. “Don’t be too hard on them,” she said, dark eyes searching the Mandalorian’s posture.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you would stop encouraging such dangerous behavior,” Vayik huffed.

The Finder’s stance shifted, hands on her hips. “I was with them the whole time, vod. It was perfectly safe.”

She scoffed. “That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that you aren’t always here. The point is that they are just children and they will try to do that kind of shit when no one’s around to make sure they don’t hurt themselves!” She jabbed a finger in her sister’s direction. “You are supposed to be an adult. You should show them how to have fun that doesn’t involve going near the forge while it’s unattended, or painting somewhere that’s impossible to reach when you’re not around! It puts ideas in their heads, makes them forget to be cautious because they assume it’ll all go just how it did when you were there!” Vayik placed her hands flat on the surface of the worktable as she exhaled shakily and tried to compose herself. Her visor shifted level with the Finder’s face. “Those children have your name, vod,” she said flatly.

The Finder tensed immediately. “Don’t,” she growled.

Vayik didn’t back down. “You’re the one who brought them here. The one who wanted to make sure they had a home, a family—”

“Stop it.”

“—after they’d lost everything. And yet here you are, putting them at risk for no reason. Making them feel like they’re invincible, even more so than children already do, when they’re too young to know any better. What are we supposed to do when you’re not here? Kith, Me, Leo, Nevera? We can’t do what you do.” Her shoulders dropped down again, her whole posture seeming very tired. “I need you to tell me you understand that.”

The Finder didn’t look up as she nodded, her voice even rougher than usual. “I understand.”

“Good.”

“I’ll make sure we stay away from the forge, and I’ll keep them grounded the next time they want to paint.” She glanced up at that dark visor. “I’m sorry, Vayik. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Thank you,” she said firmly. And then, quieter, “This all used to be so much easier.”

The Finder took a slow step closer and leaned a hip against the table. “I know.”

The room was silent all over again, but the tension was gone. All that was left was a fractured sort of sorrow.

It was Vayik’s turn to speak first. “I hope they aren’t breaking anything,” she muttered.

One of the Finder’s brows rose. “Kith or the kids?” The subtle tilt of the helmet across from her indicated a harsh glare and she chuckled.

“I’m telling them you said that. We’ll see if you’re still laughing when they melt your little project down into a flimsiweight.”

The Finder shrugged, a grin tugging at her mouth. “That might still make a pretty good weapon. Just have to throw it.”

“Throw it at you, maybe,” Vayik grumbled.

She rolled her eyes at that.

There was a beat before Vayik nodded to the datapad near the edge of the table, out of the way of the main work surface. “Anything new?”

The Finder straightened and walked over to grab the device. “There are a few new parts down in scrap, stuff from older ship models and probably junked droid components. Found some areas to look for information about weaving that specific type of traditional Sullustan robe that Yuumma wants.” She typed something in before handing the datapad to the Mandalorian, smirking. “I’ve also been invited to a party.”

“A party?” asked Vayik as she looked down at the display. Realization set in as she looked over the details and she stiffened. “You can’t do this.”

“I think we both know that I can,” the Finder said slowly. She got the impression that Vayik was scowling down at the datapad.

“That doesn’t mean that you should. Not alone, at least.”

That sounded like a scowl.

The Finder crossed her arms loosely, head tilted. “I’ll be alright. You know I can handle myself if things get complicated.”

That scuffed green helmet lowered a fraction. “And you know that that isn’t always enough,” she said solemnly.

Dark eyes reflexively glanced at the red stripe on Vayik’s left pauldron. There was a matching yellow one on the right. She just nodded, clearing her throat as she looked away.

“Be careful. Okay, vod?” Vayik fixed her with a steady gaze. “Make sure those kids have someone to cause trouble with.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will,” said the Finder, chuckling roughly.

Vayik offered a short nod. “Good.” Her helmet turned as she glanced around the workshop, straightening up and tapping her gloved fingers on the worktable to break the growing heaviness in the air. “Is there anything else?”

She sighed, shoulders slowly relaxing. “Just that little project Kith and Leo have been working on for me. I’d like to break them in before I head out, if I can.”

“Alright. I’ll check in with them,” said Vayik. “I think Kith mentioned that they were almost done.”

“I look forward to comparing them to the old ones. See how the craftsmanship has improved over the years.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted. “Are you saying my riduur wasn’t skilled enough when they helped craft the old ones?” she accused, though there was little real force behind it.

The Finder held up her hands in surrender. “I wasn’t saying anything. Just noting that they’ve gotten even better than they were when I first showed up, which was already a remarkable level of skill.”

Vayik shook her head with a scoff, turning on her heel to head out. “Sheb’urcyin.”

“I heard that,” the Finder called, grinning.

“I know,” came the reply as Vayik turned out into the hall.

~*~*~*~

He stood with his back against the sealed doors of the weapon store, looking as relaxed as could be, hands folded and resting at his belt. From that position, he was easily able to watch over the child quietly playing on the narrow bunk next to him, as well as keep an eye on the mechanic as she finished repairing the side ramp.

His eyes locked onto her when the bright sparks of her welding tools ceased and she stood up to survey her work.

Seemingly satisfied, she removed her goggles, tucked her tools away and hefted her bags up onto her shoulders before ascending the ramp into the ship. Pulling the dark bandana off of her face, she nodded to him. “It’s good to go.”

The scar across her face was made even harsher by the hull’s lower lighting. It spanned from just below her hairline, between her eyes, and down to the opposite side of her jaw. It was old but he could tell it hadn’t healed cleanly.

His helmet dipped in acknowledgement before he took the child into his arms and quickly punched in the code to draw up the telescopic gate and seal it. As it steadily hissed, he made to start up the ladder.

He’d just grabbed a rung and stepped up when she caught his attention.

“Am I allowed up there, or do you want me to stay here?” she asked, a hand on her hip as she pointed in the direction of the cockpit. “I understand if you’d rather keep strangers away, given what happened.” She shrugged in sympathy.

That dark visor turned to her as he considered the consequences of either option. Letting her up meant the possibility of her harming the child or himself, or gaining control of the ship. Leaving her in the hull could allow her to sabotage the ship’s systems, steal supplies, or take advantage of any weapons that were not currently on his person.

The door shut with a dull clunk and his gaze lowered to the blaster at her hip. Being a mechanic, she was likely strong, but he was willing to assume that she relied on scrappiness more than skill in a fight. Still, he’d rather decrease the risk as much as possible.

“Leave your weapons. That includes the tools,” he specified.

For a moment, so brief he might’ve imagined it, tension pulled at her shoulders and something sparked behind her eyes. But it was gone almost instantly, and he wasn’t quite sure if it had been there at all.

She pursed her lips as she looked down at her belt before nodding. “Alright.”

He watched as she unclasped her tool belt and set it down on top of her bags, soon joined by her blaster, still secured in its holster.

When she was done, she held her hands up, brows raised. “Good?”

His posture relaxed fractionally. “Fine.”

Toram waited as he climbed up the ladder, the child carefully tucked against his chest, before she followed. When she stepped into the cockpit, she immediately noticed the open bassinet resting on the foldout seat to the right of the pilot’s seat.

The Mandalorian walked right past it, easing into the pilot’s seat with the baby in his lap.

She just smirked at his protectiveness as she unfolded the chair on the left and sat down, arms crossing over her chest.

He started prepping the ship for flight, the child cooing and watching his movements with those massive brown eyes, ears rising slightly in interest. The rising mechanical whir of the engines powering up overtook the baby’s babbling in the moments before take off, a low rumble spreading through the entirety of the Crest. As it lifted off the ground, he braced himself. The moments he actually had to pay attention to flying would be when he was most vulnerable if she wanted to take advantage of him or the child, even if she was currently stripped of her weapons and he was fully armed.

He was also fighting to press down the guilt that began consuming him upon finding out that the child had been in direct danger while he was away. He couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in it when he had to focus on leaving the atmosphere, calculating a reasonable enough place to jump, and keeping an eye on the Razor Crest’s newest passenger.

The little one seemed to pick up on his unease though, making a troubled noise and reaching for his gloved hands where they gripped the yoke.

He took one hand off the controls and let the baby hold it as a sign of reassurance.

They climbed higher up into the atmosphere, the ship shuddering against the resistance until the air gradually thinned.

Once they reached smoother flying and fully left the planet’s gravitational pull, he paused.

His helmet turned slightly to the left as he asked “Where do I need to drop you off?”

Toram shrugged, more to herself than for his benefit. “Anywhere with a decent spaceport will be fine,” she told him.

He gave no response, turning back to the controls again and taking his hand from the child long enough to charge the hyperdrive and set the coordinates for the jump. Pressing the lever forward, the stars stretched around them until the hyperdrive was fully engaged and the ship was swallowed by hyperspace.

The Mandalorian placed his hand back within the child’s grasp and sat back, allowing the guilt to trickle in slowly to keep from upsetting the baby and to prevent himself from being overwhelmed while still feeling wary of Toram.

Throughout the day, there had been little in the way of physical demand, but he was still being weighed down by exhaustion.

~*~*~*~

The tall Weequay bounty hunter scanned the crowds on the street suspiciously, the hood of his coat drawn up to offer some form of disguise as he walked. Such behavior had become common for him in the last few days, ever since a passing acquaintance had let it slip that someone had put a request on him.

He hadn’t believed it at first, assuming it was some joke or mock threat. These things were common among bounty hunters. However, his vague caution had steadily crept into paranoia. He found himself glancing over his shoulder every few steps, reluctant to accept any new bounties for fear of making his location too obvious.

He wanted to believe that the Riever was just a myth, some creature that those operating in the more...illegitimate businesses across the galaxy had made up in order to threaten one another. Wanted to believe that it was just a grandiose bluff.

But he also couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him.

The Twi’lek and Nautolan couple in front of him stopped abruptly, setting him on edge. His hand closed on the grip of his blaster just as the Nautolan woman excitedly pointed to a fruit stand down the street.

He couldn’t bring himself to relax, even as the couple scurried off. The constant movement and noise of the night market was torture on his already worn nerves. Fingers still squeezing the blaster at his hip, he quickly turned into an alley, hoping to escape the assault on his senses.

The level of noise began to decrease only a few yards into the alley and he let out a quiet sigh of relief. There were a few more blocks before the spaceport and he was hoping to stow away on one of the cargo ships heading offworld. Any opportunity to throw pursuit off his trail would be taken advantage of, whether said pursuit was real or not.

His eyes shifted from one alleyway to the next, constantly bracing for someone to rush him, as he briskly moved through the shadows.

Rounding the next corner, his only warning was a dull gleam before something slammed into his chest.

He let out a pained cry, reflexively drawing his weapon and aiming down the alleyway in front of him. He fired, the charge illuminating the walls around him before pinging against an approaching figure.

He kept shooting at the silent form, stumbling back. His tunic was beginning to stick to him, and he risked a glance down, firing wildly in his panic.

The hilt of a blade stuck out of his abdomen. Nausea brought the sour taste of blood to his mouth.

He looked back up as the figure reached him and his blaster was knocked away, sending it skidding across the ground.

Black eyes bore into him as the knife twisted and he helplessly grasped at the figure, blood rising up into his mouth and spilling down his chin.

“Please,” he gasped, scrabbling for purchase, eyes wide. He made a feeble attempt to push out of its hold, to run away or grab his blaster, but it held firm.

The blade was yanked free. For a moment, the pain was gone and he swayed unsteadily, vision focusing on those black eyes.

Then it was plunged back into him, piercing straight through his heart.

It wasn’t long before all remaining strength bled out of him and he slumped to the ground, eyelids heavy. He listed to the side slightly before collapsing. All movement ceased.

The figure withdrew the blade, wiping it clean on the bounty hunter’s coat and sliding it back into its sheath. It drew another blade, this one larger and heavier, in order to separate the bounty hunter from his head. Again, it used the already stained coat to clean the blade. The head went into a sack connected to the figure’s belt, the body unceremoniously tossed into a dumpster.

Plucking up the discarded blaster, the figure silently disappeared down a dark alleyway.

~*~*~*~

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Taglist

@misslolasworld @stevieharrrr @mrsparknuts @annlandy @readsalot73

@blue-tidal-waves-blog @beskars @that-one-weird-one

@hopelikethesun @maxlordd @absurdthirst @pablopascal @ezrasarm @storiesofthefandomlovers @catfishingmorales @cinewhore @longitud-de-onda @mxndoscyarika @dindjarindiaries @pettyprocrastination @cosmicbug379 @miscellaneous-mando @engineeredfiction @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @fleetwoodmactshirts @hdlynn @softpedropascal @di-kut @forever-rogue @lannister-slings-and-arrows @lestrange2703 @anxiety-riddled-mando @darthstyles @plexflexico @spacegayofficial @aerynwrites @corrupt-fvcker

@tintinwrites @shadow-assassin-blix @flightlessangelwings @agentpike @woakiees @darksideofclarke @velvetmel0n @damerondjarin @poeticandors @thirsty-flygirl @perropascal @writefightandflightclub @yougottakeeponkeepinon @huliabitch @mylifeliterally @maybege

~ Mike

#mando x oc #mandalorian x oc #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian #star wars #ghost stories fanfic #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction

20 notes · View notes