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entering-mymind · 4 years

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Chapter 6 - The Prisoner

This is the sixth episode of the series where I have inserted my OC character (Mando’s daughter) into the Disneyplus television show. With her addition I believe this helps the viewers understand the choices Mando makes in the series. Would love to hear feedback! I do not own these characters and the story and dialogue goes to the respected credit of the screenwriters and creators of the show.

Mando attended to the child so his daughter could rest, he put the child down to sleep as it quickly drifted away. Mando wrapped it tightly in a blanket and heard the sound of soft snores, the child should sleep through the night, he hoped.

Knowing one child of his was at ease, he went in search of the other in order to inspect the injuries she had sustained. He peered around the corner, not wanting to startle her plus not wanting to bombard her either, but he could see her struggle.

The only mirror young Mando had was a 4x4, not enough to view the damage to her neck, but she still tried. Rolling down her tunic she could see the developing bruise marking her skin from ear to ear.

She stretched upwards trying to inspect the worse of her injury but the mirror was to small and to dirty. Getting frustrated young Mando reached for a healing ointment that could be used for cuts, bites, and burns. She stuck her gloved finger into the cream and saw the mess she was creating, feeling defeated she slammed her foot against the wall sending the mirror to the floor, but was caught mid-air by her father.

Realizing her neck was exposed, young Mando quickly tried to roll her tunic back up when her father stopped her. He sat opposite and reached for her, but she kept her head down hiding her exposed skin, this interaction was seen as violating the code, even if it was an injury but Mando didn’t care, he had to lesson her pain.

“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure her as she kept her head still down.

“But,” she said not knowing what to say.

“I don’t care,” Mando intently looked at her while he acquired the cream and removed his glove.

Snapping her head up faster than she would have liked, she stared up at him in shock that he was breaking the code, but when it came to the safety of his daughter he would break them all.

“Come here,” Mando waved her forward as she slide over gently, “Head up,” he guided her with his other hand and inspected the injury for himself.

The wound was red, most likely from rubbing on the wire when she struggled, and yet was starting to turn purple because the deep bruising began to manifest. He dipped his finger into the cream, so he could spread it evenly across her wound, gently he held the back of her head with one hand when he made contact with the other. Taken aback, young Mando tensed sending a groan through her raspy voice box.

“Did I hurt you?” Mando stopped.

“No, it’s just…” she couldn’t say any more and Mando knew why, the last time the two had skin-to-skin contact was almost a year ago.

His touch felt alienated to her, unrecognizable, and it shouldn’t, she hated that whenever her father caressed her cheek she couldn’t feel his touch, instead her helmet absorbed his gesture and it wasn’t fair.

She tried to stay strong but he knew why she was reacting in this manner. It was hard for him also, everything Omera said to him came to fruition, he had missed out on watching his daughter grow up. All the small details he couldn’t witness over the years since she donned the helmet at age ten, all the tiny quarks she had developed since swearing into the Creed, but he knew nothing else.

Mando didn’t want to upset her but was about to place his hand underneath her helmet to finally stroke her cheek, when he noticed something escape from the back of her helmet. Slowly he finished applying the cream when he moved his exposed hand behind her shoulder and pulled out a handful of brown hair. He let the strands comb through his fingers as they fell over her armor. The ends of her hair slightly curled while reaching the middle of her chest where he couldn’t believe how long it had grown from the previous year.

“I didn’t know how long your hair had become,” he said in awe.

“Yeah, I was restyling it when that jerk ambushed me,” she informed while tucking it back into her helmet.

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t raise your tunic until the cream soaks in fully,” he instructed.

“Okay.”

“You’re a fast healer,” when he put his glove back on and placed his index finger on the bottom edge of her helmet, showcasing for her to keep her chin up. Young Mando nodded her head in agreement when her father made his way to the cockpit unknowing the start of his daughter’s tears.

* * *

The Razor Crest made its way to a free floating space station where it landed with clearance. Taking precaution, Mando lowered the hatch and told his daughter to stay close to him as they went in search for the man who was in charge. Naturally following her father’s orders, they left the ship and were met by several stares, this young Mando was use to, even somewhat welcomed, but the fear came with the name.

“Mando,” a large man with white hair and a beard approached them, “Is that you under that bucket?”

He extended his hand as Mando accepted and greeted him by name, “Ran.”

The two shook hands when Ran’s attention fell on young Mando, “Whoa, never thought I’d see two of you, and who might you be?” Ran addressed young Mando when her father answered for her.

“This is my daughter.”

“Daughter? Didn’t think your kind were allowed to procreate, but here I stand corrected,” Ran pointed at young Mando glaring at her like she was some kind of miracle, “Daughter, huh, never thought you’d be the type,” when Ran began to think, recollecting something from the past when he continued.

“Well I didn’t really know if I’d ever see you in these parts again. Good to see you, you know, to be honest I was a little surprised when you reached out to me. You know, cause I….hear things,” Ran insinuated but then came forth, “Like, maybe things between you and the Guild aren’t working out.”

“I’ll be fine,” Mando kept brief.

“Okay. Well, you know the policy. No questions. And you, you’re welcome back here anytime, and his kin,” Ran put his arms around the both of them and guided them to another location of the facility.

The three of them walked while Mando got straight to business, “So what’s the job?”

“Yeah, one of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught. So, I’m putting together a crew to spring him. It’s a five person job. I got four. All I need is the ride, and you brought it.”

“The ship wasn’t part of the deal,” Mando informed.

“Well, the Crest is the only reason I let you back in here.”

Both Mando and his daughter glared at Ran in frustration.

“What’s the look? Is that gratitude? Uh-huh. I think it is,” Ran began to laugh, “Plus the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, she gets her looks from you,” Ran belted out a hardy laugh while walking off.

The both of them just gazed at one another where Mando could sense his daughter’s unlikeness for Ran, and by what was unraveling before them, technically Mando couldn’t help and agree.

Ran lead Mando and young Mando to an area where a bald man with some red stubble on his face resided as he polished a few of his weapons. He turned when Ran addressed his as Mayfeld.

“Yeah,” he said in a Boston accent.

“This is Mando and his daughter, you know the guy I was telling you about. We use to do jobs way back when,” Ran informed Mayfeld as he drew near.

“This is the guy,” Mayfeld didn’t seem impressed, “Hey and they come pint sized,” Mayfeld pointed at young Mando.

In reaction she took one step forward, Vibroblade already in hand, but her father blocked her with his arm, sparing Mayfeld.

“Whoa, no disrespect there sweetheart,” Mayfeld put his hands up appalled by her actions, “Didn’t know your type were so sensitive.”

Young Mando despised whenever someone called her sweetie, sweetheart, honey, or anything else that was demeaning of her title. She just needed the okay from her father to end this degenerate, but knew she wouldn’t get his approval, she would just have to put up with this loud mouth.

She stepped back, slamming her blade into her gauntlet while never unlocking her glare from the idiot. Sensing the tension, Ran gave a little back story on how he knew Mando.

“Yeah, we were all young trying to make a name for ourselves, but running with a Mandalorian, that was…that brought us some reputation.”

“Oh yeah? What did he get out of it?” Mayfeld questioned staring Mando down.

Ran just laughed and reminisced in the memory, “I asked him that one time. You remember what you said, Mando?” Ran paused and turned to Mayfeld answering for Mando, “Target practice,” Ran belted out a belly laugh,” Target practice,” he repeated, “Let me tell you kiddo your old man sure lived up to his name, those are some tough boots to fill,” Ran stated to young Mando and turned back to her father, “We did some crazy stuff, didn’t we?”

“That was a long time ago,” Mando said to both Ran and his daughter.

“Well, unfortunately I don’t go out anymore. You understand? So, uh, Mayfeld, he’s gonna run point on this job,” Ran informed while Mayfeld waved in a sarcastic manner getting Mando’s attention, “If he says it, it’s like it’s coming from me. You good with that?” Ran said to Mando instead of actually asking him.

“You tell me,” Mando replied staring down Mayfeld.

Ran couldn’t help and laugh at Mando’s response, “You haven’t changed one bit.”

“Yeah, well, things have changed around here,” Mayfeld chimed in with irritation.

“Well, if it’s any conciliation, Mayfeld here, he’s…he’s one of the best triggermen I’ve ever seen. Former Imperial sharpshooter,” Ran stated.

“That’s not saying much,” young Mando said loudly for Mayfeld to hear when he turned in anger.

“I wasn’t a Stormtrooper, sweetheart,” Mayfeld left when Ran let out a chuckle and turned to Mando.

“Don’t take long, does it,” already sensing the distain among the crew.

Everyone met by Mando’s ship as Mayfeld inspected it from the outside.

“Razor Crest? I can’t believe that thing can fly. Looks like a Canto Bight slot machine,” Mayfeld joked but seemed to be completely serious.

As everyone drew closer Mayfeld began to introduce the others who would be joining their team.

“The good-looking fellow there with the horns, that’s Burg.”

A massive Devaronian, with red skin and large devil like horns situated on top of his head, carried a large container and dropped it upon sight of the two Mandalorians.

“This may surprise you, but he’s our muscle,” Mayfeld included.

Burg approached in a menacing way, sizing both up while sniffing and grunting, establishing his supremacy, “So, these are Mandalorians,” Burg circled them like a shark, “I thought they’d be bigger.”

Mayfeld just chuckled keeping his distance and knew the outcome to insulting their stature. Mayfeld moved on and introduced a droid that had an appearance like a bug, “Droid’s name is Zero.”

The machine drew near with no greeting when Mando noticed someone was missing, “I thought you said you had four?” Mando questioned Ran when a woman’s voice came from behind.

“He does.”

Mando turned around to see a purple Twi’lek approach with a hint of hostility inflicted in her voice, “Hello Mando.”

“Xi’an,” Mando replied in distain.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand,” Xi’an twirled a small dagger in her hand when she hissed and made her move, putting the dagger to Mando’s throat but he never flinched.

Young Mando didn’t know how to react or if she should even react because her father seemed calm and stood his ground.

“Nice to see you, too,” Mando blatantly said not at all pleased to see her.

Realizing she wasn’t getting a rile out of him, Xi’an laughed wickedly and removed her blade, “I’ve missed you.”

Everyone sort of stared in confusion wondering the two’s history but Xi’an was pre-occupied by Mando’s armor.

“This is shiny. You wear it well,” she stayed close to Mando really drinking him in.

“Do we need to leave the room or something,” Mayfeld could feel the tension emitting from the two, but it was the wrong kind.

“Well, Xi’an’s been a little heartbroken since Mando left the group,” Ran chimed in.

“Aw. You gonna be okay, honey?” Mayfeld sarcastically said but Xi’an’s attention quickly moved from Mando to his daughter.

“And who’s this?” Xi’an pointed her dagger at young Mando in a threatening way.

“That’s Mando’s daughter,” Ran answered when past events started to clear up for him.

“Daughter?” Xi’an spat.

“Uh-oh is this a family reunion we should be worried about,” Mayfeld stated.

“More like a punch in the gut,” Ran pointed out, “Let me take a wild guess on how old you are,” Ran said to young Mando, “Would you be eighteen?”

“Almost,” young Mando said confused on where Ran was taking this.

“Mando you sly dog you,” Ran smiled gleefully but Xi’an pressed her lips together and bit her tongue.

“What?” Mayfeld was intrigued and so was young Mando, but knew she couldn’t instigate the conversation and was glad Mayfeld could.

“Enough of this already,” Mando demanded but the damage was done.

“Anara,” was all Ran said.

“Anara? Should I know who that is?” Mayfeld questioned looking around for another member.

“Don’t you dare speak her treacherous name,” Xi’an shouted feeling scolded.

“Who is she?” young Mando couldn’t hold back and spoke directly to her father.

Hesitating for as long as he could Mando finally spoke, “You’re mother,” he could see the torment emitting from his daughter by the reveal, and upset she had to find out this way from strangers.

Throughout his daughter’s life he kept the stories about her mother extremely vague, not even telling young Mando her mother’s real name, in fear she would discover who she really was. Mando couldn’t have that and now regretted ever coming here, but he needed the money in order to support his now two children.

“Whoa, that seemed like a big reveal for you sweetheart,” Mayfeld went to pat young Mando on the head when she couldn’t hold back any more and power drove Mayfeld to the floor.

“Easy everyone,” Ran put his hands out hoping no one else would spring into action, trying to calm the tension in the room, “Please let him up,” Ran asked of young Mando when she gave Mayfeld one last push hard in the chest before she rose forcefully.

“Geez, hope you’re not holding a grudge like she is Xi’an,” Mayfeld said while slowly getting to his feet and rubbing his body from the impact.

“Oh, I’m all business now. Learned from the best,” Xi’an pointed her dagger at Mando when Ran had enough.

“All right. Everyone cool it until you get on the ship. Right now we don’t have much time,” Ran finished as the crew walked forward.

Mando sighed in distress and looked at his daughter who ignored his glare when the Devoronian came from behind and grunted, sizing Mando and young Mando again. Burg spoke in a deep groggily voice and said only one word ‘tiny’ and laughed all the way to the ship.

* * *

The droid, Zero, sat in the Razor Crest’s cockpit going over a necessary checklist the ship had to provide for the mission.

“Fuel, navigation, hyperdrive, landing gear, comms,” Zero plugged into the ship’s communications when a previous message from Greef Karga played.

“Mando…I received…I received wonderful news,” the message came in and out, skipping as if being disrupted, “Upon your…upon your…deliver the quarry, deliver the,” and then the message quickly shut down.

Perplexed on why he couldn’t fully obtain the message Zero was about to try again when a voice broke his concentration.

“Why are you snooping?” young Mando released a button shutting off the comms.

“Snooping, I am unaware of that term,” Zero stated.

“Pry, meddle, poke your nose into, take your pick, but stay out of our transmissions otherwise my dad will have no problem turning you into scrap metal, comply?”

“Yes, I comply,” Zero responded.

“Good, wouldn’t want us to get off on the wrong foot,” young Mando patted the wall and exited the cockpit.

* * *

“So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship,” Mayfeld illuminated the plans to an elongated ship, “Now, we got a limited window to board, find our friend, get him out of there before they make their jump.”

“That’s a New Republic prison ship,” Mando pointed out with a hint of panic, “Your man wasn’t taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested.”

“So what,” Mayfeld said nonchalant while Burg grunted in approval.

“A job is a job,” Ran stated.

“That’s a max security transport and I’m not looking for that kind of heat,” Mando informed.

“Well neither are we. So just don’t mess up,” Ran demanded.

“The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids. Still hate the machines, Mando?” Xi’an asked playfully when Zero appeared.

“Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess. The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?” Zero informed as he walked his way towards Ran.

“Cause the Razor Crest is off the old Imperial and the New Republic grid. It’s a ghost,” Ran clarified.

“Yeah, and we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code,” Mayfeld said while putting up a new hologram, “So, when we drop out of hyperspace here, if we immediately bank into this kind of altitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which will give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal,” Mayfeld ended almost in a smile.

“It’s not possible. Even for the Crest,” Mando said.

“That’s why he’s flying,” Ran tilted his head at Zero, which did not sit well with Mando but made Mayfeld laugh hysterically, “Mando, I know you’re a pretty good pilot, but we need you on the trigger. Not on the wheel,” Ran stated.

“Don’t worry Mandalorian. My response time is quicker than organics. And I’m smarter too,” Zero said in utter confidence, but a loud laugh emitted from the entrance of the Crest as young Mando stood leaning on the wall with her arms crossed.

“All right, yeah. That’s good,” Ran pushed off Zero making him join the others as they boarded the ship when Ran turned to talk with Mando one on one, “Forgive the programming. He’s a little rough around the edges. But he is the best.”

“How can you trust it?” Mando questioned.

“You know me Mando. I don’t trust anybody,” Ran put his arm around Mando when he brought up something he knew Mando would be stubborn about, “Now I don’t want to ruffle any feathers, but I think the kid should stay here. This job is really only made for five and with her there I don’t want any complications. I need a done deal job, you understand Mando,” Ran tried to sound confident but Mando just turned and gazed declaring a no deal.

“She’s coming with,” Mando confirmed when he walked on board the Crest as young Mando playfully saluted Ran and followed her father.

“Just like the good old days,” Ran shouted at Mando but there was no response.

Ran stood on the bridge watching the Razor Crest roar to life, rise into the air, and make its way for departure.

* * *

The entire team was kept in the lower deck when young Mando hide all of her art supplies before the mission, she hoped none of them would snoop around because she also hide the child from view.

Mando and his daughter hoped the child wouldn’t make much noise where she gave him some of her old stuff to play with. Just in case Mando told her to stay in the lower deck to keep an eye on them as he monitored the droid.

Burg continued pacing back and forth restlessly while Mayfeld sat and Xi’an occupied herself by balancing a dagger on her finger. She kept seeing Burg out of the corner of her eye and it was starting to annoy her.

“Will you sit down?” she exclaimed but Burg just grunted at her when she hissed back, young Mando kept to the shadows but close enough to view as her presence didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey guys behave yourselves otherwise our babysitter will give us a time out,” Mayfeld joked showcasing where young Mando stood, “We can see you, sweetheart,” he laughed obnoxiously and waved at her but quickly stopped with her reply.

“Good.”

* * *

Zero piloted the Crest in ease, punching in his coordinates as Mando observed from his daughter’s usual seat. He despised being taken out of the pilots seat especially since this was his ship.

“Calculations complete. Jumping to hyperspace now,” Zero pulled a lever and the ship speed off smoothly making its way to the mission, “Feel free to join the others. I will handle it from here,” Zero suggested.

Uneasy with the situation Mando complied because he disliked worse leaving his daughter alone with the three cretins below.

* * *

Not taking Xi’an’s advice, Burg continued his pacing when he began to get curious. He started to go through drawers that were only filled with extra parts for the Crest, unable to find anything he liked, Burg went to press some buttons on a keypad trying to open a hatch when young Mando stepped in.

“Hey, over exposed sun tan, stop going into things that aren’t yours,” she put her hand on the panel and pushed her body in front cutting off his attempt.

“Come on sweetheart, haven’t you ever heard of ‘Mi casa es su casa,’” Mayfeld chuckled hoping to see her get pummeled when Mando intervened.

He pushed her behind his body, situating himself between her and Burg, where Mayfeld could smell an unnecessary fight and tried to settle everyone down.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I’m a little particular about my personal space, too. So let’s just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don’t have to see our faces anymore,” Mayfeld said.

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian?” Burg questioned in a threatening way.

“Well apparently they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say,” Mayfeld stated but a bit skeptic himself, even though young Mando had already demonstrated some moves on him.

“Then why are they all dead?” Burg insulted but Mando kept his arm across his daughter to prevent her impulse.

In disrespect Mayfeld and Xi’an both laughed at Burg’s comment when Mayfeld’s curiosity peaked.

“Well, we know nothing about the kid,” Mayfeld pointed to young Mando, “But Xi’an, you flew with Mando. Is he as good as they say?”

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III,” Xi’an said while still balancing her dagger on the tip of her finger.

Mando despised how they were prying into his past, especially revealing it around his daughter who knew very little about his previous life.

“I did what I had to,” Mando declared in discrete.

“Oh but you liked it. See I know who you really are, or at least I use to, before you got tamed,” Xi’an glared at young Mando declaring her responsible for her father’s tranquility.

“And they never take off the helmet?” Mayfeld asked Xi’an when she nodded ‘no.’

“This is the way,” she mocked their motto and placed a hand over her heart while chuckling.

“Huh, I wonder what you both look like under there,” Mayfeld pondered envisioning all sorts of ideas as Mando and his daughter continued glaring in silence, “Maybe they’re Gungans,” Mayfeld chuckled, “Is that why yousa don’t wanna show your face?”

“Maybe you should spare us from yours, I have a Stormtrooper helmet in the back,” young Mando spat unable to handle the ridicule any more.

In surprise Burg and Xi’an laughed at her insult but Mayfeld just scrunched up his face and shouted, reminding everyone that he was never a Stormtrooper, but no one was listening because they were still too busy laughing.

Once the roars settled down Mayfeld continued putting the heat back on the Mandalorians, “You ever seen his face,” he asked Xi’an.

“A lady never tells,” Xi’an twirled one of her purple lekku’s when young Mando snorted.

“Aw. Come on, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here. You gotta show us something, if not you, then how about the kid. I’m sure she adopted some of your features. Come one. Just lift the helmets up. Come on. Let’s all see your eyes,” Mayfeld told more then requested of them.

Mando continued standing his ground, keeping his arm between them and his daughter when Mayfeld nudged his head signaling for Burg to step in.

“I’ll do it,” without hesitation Burg leaped for young Mando but Mando wouldn’t have it.

He acquired Burg’s arm and swung him to the floor but on his way down Burg hit the panel young Mando was trying to protect from before. The door slide up instantly revealing the child who was busy playing with the items young Mando gave him. Everyone became enthralled upon sight especially Mayfeld.

“Whoa! What is that?” Mayfeld and Xi’an got up from their seats to inspect, “You get lonely up here, buddy? Wait a minute, did you two make that?” Mayfeld looked between Mando and Xi’an, “Oh wait no because you got dumped,” Mayfeld glared at Xi’an who’s face was turning red like Burg’s skin, “What is it, like a pet or something?”

“Yeah, it’s my pet,” young Mando hoped the lie was bought.

“Didn’t take you for the type, for a lot of things,” Xi’an said to Mando while peering at his daughter, “Maybe that code of yours has made you soft.”

Mayfeld wasn’t listening to the others and spoke to young Mando, “Me, I was never really into pets. Yeah, I didn’t have the temperament. Patience, you know. I mean, I tried, but never worked out. But I’m thinking, maybe I’ll try again with this little fella,” Mayfeld went to pick up the child but young Mando was done with his antics.

Her Vibroblade stuck in the side of Mayfeld’s neck, the blade slightly shimmied back and forth causing little cuts that dug into his skin. Mayfeld grunted with some discomfort and rose, Burg and Xi’an was about to act but Mayfeld signaled them down, young Mando had the drop on him and one wrong move he would lose his head.

“Now my father hates when I get paint on the Crest’s floor, imagine if I spilled your blood, my guess I would be grounded for a week, isn’t that right Papi,” young Mando explained.

“It is true, but I would let you off for this one circumstance,” Mando joked when Zero announced that they were dropping out of hyperspace.

The droid pushed a button sending the ship into a sudden halt causing everyone to stumble and lose their balance.

“Commencing final approach now,” Zero was going through the protocol without warning and no one was ready, “Cloaking signal, now,” Zero punched the Crest as everyone went flying about when young Mando caught the child, who also stammered, and safely put him back in his quarters closing the hatch.

“Engaging coupling now,” Zero continued when he locked the Crest to the prison transport ship, “Coupling confirmed. We are down. And relax. Commence extraction now.”

“That useless droid didn’t even give us a proper countdown,” Xi’an spat.

“Z, are you sure they can’t see us?” Mayfeld radioed over his individual comm trying to forget his embarrassing moment.

“The Razor Crest is scrambling our signature. It’s impressive that this gunship had survived the Empire without being impounded.”

“I need you to stay here, watch the droid,” Mando instructed his daughter without the others hearing.

“Of course,” young Mando agreed without argue and left the room.

“All right, we got a job to do. Mando, you’re up,” Mayfeld ordered.

Realizing he had to go through with this Mando opened the Crest’s port hatch with his gauntlet, he grabbed a device and hooked it up to the prison transport while Mayfeld and Xi’an whispered in the distance. Not taking interest with their conversation, Mando continued hacking the transports portal hatch when his device light up green giving them access. Burg looked on and smiled devilishly at his crewmembers somehow knowing what they secretly discussed. Mando finished up when Burg and Xi’an glared at Mayfeld signaling that he was up.

“It’s me?” Mayfeld actually questioned.

“Always you,” Burg clarified.

Mayfeld lowered himself head first into the transport in order to take a gander, he pointed his blaster seeing two droids making their rounds. After the machines passed Mayfeld lowered himself into the New Republic transport as Xi’an followed, taking some cover Mayfeld radioed Zero.

“Get us to the control room.”

Burg lurked at Mando in a menacing way before he jumped and landed with a loud thud below.

“Sub level three, now remember in order for me to have access to the transport I need you to upload the schematics to the Crest, immediately once you get to the control room,” Zero reminded Mayfeld.

Before Mando made his departure he glanced over to see young Mando peering around the corner, he nodded his head and tapped the side of his helmet so she could listen closely in case he had to comm her on their frequency. Understanding his unspoken gesture she nodded back in compliance and headed to the cockpit.

Mando leaped down hearing Mayfeld finish up his conversation with Zero, “Yeah, I get it. Control room priority number one, over. All right, we’re on the clock,” he addressed the team, “When we engage those droids, they’re gonna be all over us.”

“I know the drill,” Mando stated.

“Bio trackers activated. I’ve got eyes,” Zero said where four dots appeared on his monitor.

“All right, let’s go,” Mayfeld lead the charge followed by the others.

The four ran down a main corridor when they came upon a main lane with prisoners on both sides. Each cell was filled with one prisoner of a different species and crime.

“I don’t like this,” Mando came right out and said.

“You were always paranoid,” Xi’an informed.

“Is that true, Mando? Were you always paranoid? Or did your kid instill that in you?” Mayfeld spoke through gritted teeth when a prisoner banged against its cell diverting their attention.

“Approaching control room. Make a left at the next juncture,” Zero informed tracking their whereabouts.

All four followed Zero’s instructions when they heard something approach and took their battle stances. They waited in anticipation, believing a fight would manifest when a mouse droid wheeled ahead. Relieved and yet disappointed everyone’s guard went down but Burg wanted to feel inferior.

“It’s just a little mousey,” Burg took out his blaster and encouraged the droid to come hither, “Come here, little mousey. Come here,” but the droid could sense the danger and backed away.

Not liking its response, Burg shot it causing a ruckus and putting Mayfeld back on edge, “No Burg, what are you doing?” he said upset with his crewmember.

“What?” Burg thought nothing of it but his actions drew unwanted attention.

“Intruder alert. Open fire,” a team of security droids pinned them when Mando blasted the droids first.

The team followed but everyone took cover when the droids rapidly fired back.

“We’re to exposed here,” Xi’an informed.

“If they get a signal out, it’s not gonna matter,” Mayfeld shouted while he shot at the droids with the blaster in his hand and a blaster he operated by a mechanical arm on his back, “Mando let’s go! You’re suppose to be something special,” Mayfeld yelled as everyone looked back to find Mando missing, “I knew it. I knew it,” Mayfeld said to the others when appearing from behind the security droids Mando stood, blaster in one hand, Vibroblade in the other.

Without further ado, Mando slide on the floor taking out a droid’s leg while he shot at the others, once he stood a droid grabbed him pinning him to a cell door while trying to disarm Mando. With his quick reflexes, Mando dodged the droids maneuvers while plummeting his Vibroblade in another droids skull.

Burg and Xi’an were about to join in on the fight but Mayfeld stopped them. The droids opened fire on Mando knocking him off his feet but his Beskar took the hits. Not getting discouraged Mando released his grappling hook around one of the droids head knocking it into its comrade while severing it in the end. Three more droids approached, releasing blaster fire when Mando released his own, Mando ignited his flame thrower torching two of them and then blasting the last one point blank in the side of the head, leaving a huge smoking hole.

The prisoners yelled in approval as Burg, Xi’an, and Mayfeld scoffed in distain. Mando caught his breath when the crew walked past him and Mayfeld stated a snarky comment, “Make sure you clean up your mess,” Mayfeld glared, Xi’an just smirked, while Burg rammed into Mando’s shoulder leaving him behind.

Mando grabbed his blade, shook his head and unwillingly followed.

“It seems your presence has been detected, it’s best you divert it,” Zero radioed.

“Yeah, no kidding, all right Xi’an you’re up,” Mayfeld instructed as they came upon the control room.

Xi’an approached the door panel and began tinkering with the controls. Finding her methods not working, she pulled the panel clean off and jabbed the device with her blade, opening the doors with ease. Upon entering the room, a panicked New Republic guard stood and drew his weapon ordering the intruders to halt.

“Just stop right there,” he instructed the hoodlums, “You put down the blasters right now,” the guard stuttered still pointing his weapon nervously, realizing how out numbered he was.

Mayfeld gandered over the pathetic guard noticing his shiny white shoes and complimented on them. The gang started to encircle the guard when he repeated his orders.

“Put down your blasters.”

“Matches his belt,” Mayfeld pointed out on how the soldier’s uniform coincided.

Burg and Xi’an laughed while pointing their weapons at him when Mando spoke, “There were only suppose to be droids on this ship.”

“Hang on, hang on, starting the upload now Zero,” Mayfeld pressed a few buttons while inserting a chip so the prison transports controls would be downloaded by Zero in the Crests cockpit, “Okie dokie that’s all good, lets see here, cell two-two-one,” Mayfeld informed, “All right, now for our well-dressed friend.”

Suddenly the guard pulled out a small white device sending Mayfeld on alarm, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, easy egghead. Put that down. Come on. Put it down,” Mayfeld lost his patience and also drew his weapon when Mando attempted to get control of the stand off.

“Easy. Nobody has to get hurt here. Just calm down,” Mando said in a calm tone.

“What is that thing?” Burg questioned.

“It’s a tracking beacon,” Mando clarified.

“He presses that thing, we’re all done,” Mayfeld began, “A New Republic attack team will hone in on that signal and blow us all to hell. Put it down!”

“Are you serious,” Xi’an said while sitting in a chair getting a little frantic.

“Yes, I’m serious.”

“You didn’t think we needed to know that tiny little detail.”

“I didn’t think we’d get to this point.”

“Yet here we are,” she said through a sarcastic smile.

“Are you questioning my managerial style, Xi’an?” Mayfeld with drew his blaster and turned to face the Twi’lek.

“No, sir,” she chuckled while saluting and winking.

“Hey listen to me,” Mando tried to wave the guard’s attention onto him, “Hey, hey, hey, listen to me, okay? Look,” Mando put his blaster back in his holster and put his arms up signaling for everyone to follow, “Hey put it down,” Mando instructed the others.

“Are you crazy?” Mayfeld said.

“Put it down,” Mando repeated, “What’s your name?” he spoke to the guard in a civilized tone.

In fear the guard replied in a stutter, “It’s Davan.”

“Davan, we’re not here for you. We’re here for a prisoner. If you let us go about our job, you can walk away with your life.”

“No, he wont,” Mayfeld took out his blaster again and pointed it at Davan.

With his panic escalating Davan redirected his blaster at Mayfeld when Mando pulled his also on Mayfeld. Not taking any risks Mayfeld pulled a second blaster and pointed it on Mando.

“You realize what you’re gonna bring down on us,” Mando said sternly.

“You think I care about that?” Mayfeld stated honestly.

“We’re not killing anybody, you understand?” Mando assured.

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando!” Mayfeld shouted while activating his mechanical arm that held a third blaster.

Burg grunted in anger and redirected his weapon onto Mando as well when he pointed his gauntlet equipped with his flamethrower at Burg. Everyone had someone in their scope except for Xi’an who threw a dagger directly into Davan, sending him to the floor dead.

“Would you both just shut up,” she said while rolling her eyes.

“Crazy Twi,” Mayfeld said as he put his guns away, “I had it under control.”

“Yeah, looked like it,” she chuckled while pulling the dagger out from Davan’s body.

Mando felt ashamed that he couldn’t save the guards life when Mayfeld noticed something beeping.

“Was that thing blinking before?” Mayfeld questioned as everyone watched the hand held device illuminate, “Was it?”

“Zero to Mayfeld. Zero to Mayfeld.”

“What!”

“The upload was a success but I have also detected a New Republic distress signal homing in on your location. You have approximately twenty minutes,” Zero informed.

“We only need five,” Xi’an playfully said when Mayfeld ordered everyone to move out.

* * *

The crew left the control room and made their way towards cell two-two-one when they came upon two large security droids that Burg took out easily, swinging one into the other. They continued their quest without hassle and finally made it to their destination.

Mayfeld radioed Zero to open the cell when the droid informed them that they had fifteen minutes remaining.

“Okay come on, come on, open it up,” Mayfeld shouted when Zero complied and the prison door opened revealing a male Twi’lek.

Immediately seeing the prisoner Mando knew exactly who he was, “Quin.”

“Funny, the man who left me behind is now my savior, Mando,” Quin rose from his seat and exited his cell while staring down Mando.

With this distraction Burg rammed Mando into the cell and Mayfeld told Zero to shut the door imprisoning Mando inside. In a desperate attempt Mando fired his blaster believing this would hit someone before the door closed, but it only ricocheted around the cell eventually hitting Mando in the armor.

“Brother,” Xi’an exclaimed.

“Sister,” Quin picked her up in a loving embrace.

“Attack’s on the way. He’s already dead meat. Let’s go,” Mayfeld stated.

“Come on, it’s better this way,” Quin added.

“You deserve this,” Xi’an yelled at Mando when everyone ran for the Crest.

* * *

Back in the cockpit Zero began to investigate the curious message he tried to intercept from before, but had been shut down by the younger Mandalorian. Zero tried to break through the encryption but received a transmission from Ran.

“Zero, I assume the mission for rescuing Quin is almost complete, unfortunately Mando will have to suffer for his past consequences and be left behind. I don’t want any witnesses so eliminate the kid quickly,” Ran commanded.

“It shall be done,” Zero replied as Mayfeld radioed.

“Zero, we got Quin, Now get us off the ship.”

“I must attain to my own assignment of eliminating the other Mandalorian, but you have ten minutes remaining, continue on your path and make a right,” Zero informed before he got up from the pilot’s seat and drew his blaster.

Zero made his way to the lower deck stealth-like, restraining some of his motor functions so he would be able to create a sneak attack, but upon his arrival on where he believed the young Mandalorian resided she was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Looming around the prison transport blinded, young Mando had no clue on where she was headed and made some educated guessing on which corridor to go down. Not wanting to tap into her instincts, afraid of an unexpected episode, young Mando found a pile of destroyed security droids and recognized the damage as they were clearly taken out by her father.

Knowing she was on the right track, young Mando excavated a small chip from the lead droid’s membrane realizing how lucky she was that her father didn’t destroy it during his fight. Quickly she inserted the chip into her gauntlet and pulled up a hologram on the whereabouts of all the droids. She saw an alert flashing due to cell two-two-one being opened as a small fleet was making their route in order to search. Understanding this was where she had to go, young Mando heard clamor in the distance and made haste in the opposite direction.

* * *

Frustrated beyond belief Mando tried to signal through his comms a distress call to his daughter but it appeared she didn’t have it on, now what was he suppose to do. He analyzed the cell looking for any ways to escape, but it seemed foul proof when a patrolling security droid approached his cell.

“Do you wish to be freed?” the droid questioned.

Confused, Mando tilted his head and replied, “Yes.”

“What’s the password?” the droid teased.

“What?”

“Nope, guess again.”

Mando became very perplexed on how this droid was acting when out popped his daughter from around the corner.

“I thought I told you to stay on the Crest,” Mando reminded.

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t listen.”

“Come on, we have to hurry, they can’t reach the ship,” Mando said while waiting for his daughter to release him but noticed her hesitation.

“No,” she nervously said.

“No, what do you mean no?”

“I’m not sure when I’ll ever have this opportunity again.”

“Let me out,” Mando tried to stay calm.

“Not until you tell me everything,” young Mando demanded but her father lost his patience.

He went to reach for the droid through the slits in the cell door, but with the wave of her gauntlet the droid maneuvered by her motion and out of Mando’s reach.

“We don’t have time for this,” Mando said through clenched teeth.

“Yes we do. I sent a platoon of droids their way, they’ll be occupied for a bit. Now tell me the truth about my mother,” young Mando commanded.

Not wanting to be in this situation, Mando released his grappling hook catching the droid and young Mando by surprise. Quickly he reeled the struggling machine towards the door and reached through the slits. Mando ripped clean off the droid’s arm because this was where the Scump link would be to set him free from his cell. Mando twisted a joint in the droid’s arm but the key wasn’t there, he threw the arm aside and approached the door seeing his daughter holding the key to his freedom.

“Do you really think I’ve learned nothing from you?”

Mando tilted his head up coming to terms he was at his daughter’s mercy, “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Why would you never tell me anything about her and don’t say it was for my protection.”

“But it was.”

“Why? Who was she? You always said she was a nobody, practically a random citizen who got caught in the crossfire. Was she something worse, a thief, a spy, a droid mechanic?” young Mando guessed not even realizing her sarcastic statement.

Mando couldn’t help and half smile at her last guess but knew he had to give her something, “Your mother’s name was Anara Xcee, she was a Foundling like me, but didn’t agree with the Mandalorian ways. In retaliation she deserted our clan when we were teenagers. She tried to get me to leave with her but I couldn’t, I knew nothing else,” Mando revealed.

“It would be years until I saw her again when she was brought on a mission with Ran’s crew. The job seemed routine but had gone sour splitting everyone apart, your mother and I found shelter and were held up for the night, awaiting for our opportunity to begin again. The following morning we were in the clear but your mother was gone. I rejoined the crew, solo, and we continued the mission without her, but once resumed we came to find out she had double-crossed us. We were the pawns, she just needed our assistance in order to get close to her target because she was the Empire’s assassin.”

“So she set you up?”

“Not me in particular because once we were captured by the Empire, I was the only one who escaped.”

“From her help?”

Mando just nodded his head ‘yes.’

“And that’s why Ran is now double-crossing you,” young Mando didn’t know what to think when something occurred to her, “You kept using past tense when describing her, is she really…” young Mando stopped herself.

“Yes,” was all Mando could say.

“Why keep this from me, why didn’t you tell me she use to be apart of the clan? Is it because you thought I might do the same, abandon the Tribe and become an assassin?”

“No, I just wanted you to envision, at least, one parent of normalcy, so you wouldn’t believe you came from two bad seeds.”

“Papi, you’re not a bad seed. I am. So many things I’ve said or done that I’m not proud of, but you know the one thing I am most proud of is being your daughter,” young Mando said when she inserted the Scomp link and opened the cell door.

Mando stood there swelling with pride, he placed his hand on the side of her helmet and caressed it as if it was her cheek. Young Mando knew her father always had a hard time opening up but his gesture said it all.

“Let’s move,” Mando said where the two made their way to the control room so they could gain an advantage.

* * *

Since his mission failed and he couldn’t leave the ship, Zero returned to the cockpit and noticed he was losing schematics over the prison transport. Quickly Zero radioed to Mayfeld about his situation.

“We have a potential problem, the young Mandalorian is missing and Mando has escaped,” Zero informed.

Back on the transport Mayfeld blasted the last security droid and tried to get composure of his crew, but with this news set Xi’an off, “I told you we should’ve ended him and the brat,” she exclaimed.

“I know,” Mayfeld addressed.

“This is your fault,” she blamed when Mayfeld attacked her as Burg and Quin tried to break them apart.

Suddenly, while in their scuffle, the lights went out and the doors around them began to shut. The emergency power kicked in shrouding everything in red while the doors continued closing, cutting off specific routes. Burg commanded for everyone to go as Mayfeld took lead, but the doors were closing faster than they expected separating Burg and Xi’an from Mayfeld and Quin.

* * *

On the Crest, Zero monitored for as long as he could on the crew’s whereabouts but then his screen went to static. In a desperate attempt Zero tried to radio Mayfeld but he couldn’t get through to them and declared to himself that they were on their own. Zero was about to try another tactic but his attention was brought to the child who stood in the cockpit’s doorway.

* * *

Xi’an and Burg banged on the door, which separated them from Quin and Mayfeld when they heard Quin through the barrier, “It’s all right. You and the Devaronian, split up. Find Mando and kill him. Then find a way back to the ship,” he commanded of his sister.

“Zero! We need a path,” Xi’an radioed over her comm but she only received static, in frustration Xi’an screamed and Burg grunted as the two went on their way blinded.

* * *

Becoming curious with this strange child, Zero turned to grab his blaster just in case the young Mandalorian was using this creature as a decoy and trying to take him out. But once he returned his attention back on the child it disappeared, so he went in search for it instead.

* * *

Frustrations were settling in as Quin paced back and forth formulating a plan, “Do you have a name?”

“Mayfeld.”

“Well Mr. Mayfeld, you’re gonna get me the hell off this ship,” Quin told.

“Hey wait. What about your sister?”

“What about her,” when Quin took hold of Mayfeld’s blaster and walked off.

“Nice family,” Mayfeld mentioned to himself and ran after Quin.

* * *

From the control room Mando continued sealing off doors, tracking the four’s every move when a beeping caught young Mando’s attention. She went up to the deceased guard and picked up the device, analyzing it before showing her father.

* * *

Quin and Mayfeld trekked lightly, blasters drawn and hoping they were making their way towards the Crest when they stumbled upon the security droids Mando destroyed when they first arrived. Letting out a chuckle, Quin inspected the damage and stated the obvious.

“Mando always did hate droids.”

“Z, hey Z,” Mayfeld radioed but only static came through.

“Whatever Ran promised, I’ll see to it you get triple share. Just get him,” Quin said.

“You better be good for it,” Mayfeld stated but Quin just laughed as the two went their separate ways to kill Mando.

* * *

Everyone appeared to be going solo, in search for either Mando, his daughter, or in Zero’s case the child. The two began a game of hide and seek, Zero opened several doors and cargo holds with no such luck, but he continued his search always on guard.

* * *

Burg left Xi’an so he could get to the control room in order to clear the transmissions, he surveillanced the area and put his blaster away able to sense a fight. He stood on guard and whispered to himself, “Where are you, little mouse,” when from above- hidden in the ventilation shaft – Mando’s grappling hook ignited and wrapped around Burg’s neck.

Springing from underneath the consoles, young Mando released her grappling hook and wrapped it around Burg’s body trying to prevent him from unhooking the one around his neck, but Burg used all his strength and pulled Mando down making him crash through the rafters.

As Mando’s hold on Burg loosened, Burg flexed his upper torso stretching out the wire young Mando had a grip on when Burg grabbed hold and flung her across the room.

Burg turned his attention onto Mando when he disbursed the last of his Whistling Birds but they had no effect on the Devaronian. Burg picked Mando up as he tried to hit the Devaronian with his blaster but was stripped of his weapon. Burg flung Mando onto the control panels and quickly engulfed Burg in flames but again had no effect.

Burg smiled devilishly and continued throwing Mando around like a rag doll. Young Mando seized her opportunity and jumped onto Burg’s back wrapping her grappling wire around his neck, hoping to ease him into unconsciousness, but Burg backed up into a wall several times knocking her off.

The Devaronian didn’t need much time to regroup when he went for young Mando, “Let’s see your face, Mandalorian.”

Burg grabbed hold of her tender neck, placing his hand underneath her helmet when Mando came down hard on Burg’s arm making him release his daughter. She fell to the ground as Burg put all of his attention back on Mando. The two became engaged in a close brawl when Mando found his window and put a foot on Burg’s chest, flipping him over himself. The two of them rose to their feet sizing each other up again, but Mando saw his opportunity to end this.

With quick reflexes Mando flung his Vibroblade into the doors panel making it plummet straight onto Burg, but to his surprise the Devaronian caught the door on his shoulders. Burg smiled wickedly, practically envisioning the color drain from Mando’s face, but his smile dropped instantly once young Mando pressed a large red button on the console initiating the second set of doors.

Sliding from both sides, the doors closed simultaneously while Burg continued holding the one from above. Unable to move Burg couldn’t do anything and the doors came crashing on him.

* * *

In the distance Xi’an heard the commotion erupting from the control room and made haste in its direction, but kept getting lost because the sound that was directing her seized. Xi’an continued her journey in as much patience as she had but then felt a presence behind her. In a smile, she turned and began releasing daggers in Mando’s direction, knocking his blaster free from his hand and getting one lucky blow as a dagger inserted itself below his pauldron.

Xi’an approached with force continuing her rain of daggers when Mando acquired a few and threw some her way. She dodged her own blades and came one on one with a close range battle between her and Mando. Each one displaying their combat skills but eventually Mando won in the end.

* * *

On the opposite side of the transport Mayfeld loomed with guns a blazing. He had both blasters in each hand and his mechanical arm aiming in all directions with the third. Hearing loud clanking, Mayfeld hide around a corner when three security droids became decoys. Unknowing to Mayfeld he stepped out of hiding and began blasting the droids to bites, becoming distracted he never noticed young Mando sneak up behind him and cut off the device harnessed to his back.

Gaining his attention, Mayfeld turned but young Mando lowered and performed a spinning sweep kick knocking him off his feet and instantly on his back. The wind escaped his lungs but he started to open fire, immediately taking cover young Mando used her gauntlets as shields deflecting the blaster fire back at him.

Trying to divert his own fire, Mayfeld lost sight of his target when young Mando flung her Vibroblade directly into the barrel of Mayfeld’s weapon. Blocking the blaster’s firepower, Mayfeld was unaware and pulled the trigger creating the weapon to back kick the blast onto him. The explosion sent Mayfeld flying backwards, unconscious and with a scorched face.

* * *

Seeing the mission become every man for himself, Quin found the ladder that lead up into the Crest, but upon his ascend was stopped by hearing his name being called out by Mando. From around the corner Mando and his daughter appeared ready for anything. Seeing his defeat, Quin hung his head asking the obvious, “You killed the others?”

“They got what they deserved,” Mando replied.

Quin couldn’t help and snarl when he turned to draw his blaster but Mando and his daughter already had theirs up on him.

“You kill me, you don’t get your money,” Quin pointed out,” Whatever Ran promised, I’ll make sure you get it, and more. Come on Mando. Be reasonable. Huh?”

Quin tossed his weapon but Mando and his daughter held theirs high, “You were hired to do a job, right? So do it,” Quin held out his arms in order to be binded, “Isn’t that your code? Aren’t you a man honor?” Quin ended with a chuckle while young Mando looked at her father unsure of what he was going to do.

* * *

Back on the Crest, Zero continued his search for the unusual child unable to understand the reason for its antics, but this was the child’s favorite game to play back on Sorgan. He remembered the group of children each taking a turn to be the one to hide and the one who would seek.

The child sort of knew he wasn’t the best at the game and since Mando’s daughter hardly played with him he decided to play with the strange droid, but realized once he was found the droid had different intentions.

The child could sense the malicious decision the droid computed once it raised its blaster. Relying on its instincts, the child raised his tiny hand and closed his eyes believing he could perform the same action he did with the Mudhorn, but nothing was happening.

Zero raised his blaster, finger on the trigger, but never got off his shot, instead Zero was hit from behind by Mando’s blast and fell to the side, sparking.

“I warned him you would turn him into scrap metal,” young Mando informed as Mando put his blaster away and they both looked over the child who appeared to be more baffled then scared.

* * *

Mando released the Razor Crest from the prison transport and sped off into lightspeed. It wasn’t long until the Crest landed back at Ran’s station as he awaited for their arrival. The platform lowered revealing only Quin, Mando, and his daughter, a confused look washed over Ran but quickly turned to a smile once he embraced Quin.

Mando and his daughter approached Ran when he tried to mask his disappointment with an obvious question, “Where are the others?”

“No questions asked. That’s the policy, right?” Mando stated bluntly.

“Yeah. That is the policy,” Ran’s words were starting to become a tad hostile.

“I did the job,” Mando declared.

“Yeah, you did,” Ran shook his head and vigorously tossed Mando a small sack filled with credits.

“Just like the good old days,” Mando reminded.

“Yeah, just like the good old days,” Ran repeated when the smile dropped from his face.

Mando and his daughter boarded the Crest, he closed the hatch on the much emitting tension coming from Ran and Quin, when Mando fired up the engines and pulled out of the station.

Ran gradually waved them off while making his way to a podium and pressed a button on an intercom.

“Kill them,” were the only two words Ran spoke.

Upon request the floor behind Ran and Quin opened, a small gun ship rose from the ground ready to go into battle. Quin laughed at the sight and for Mando’s demise when he suddenly heard a rapid beeping.

Quin dug deep into his pocket and pulled out the tracking beacon Davan, the New Republic guard activated. Quin raised it high trying to analyze it when he showed it to Ran asking him what the thing was.

Walking over and taking the fully illuminated device in hand, Ran knew exactly what it was, “That bastard,” he cursed watching the Razor Crest soar past the three X-wings who just dropped out of hyperspace.

“I got a clear signal on the tracking beacon,” the leader X-wing pilot radioed to the others.

“Copy that,” the second pilot said as the three moved into formation.

Fearing for the worst Ran slammed the beacon into Quin’s hand and tried to leave the area as Quin squinted in order to recognize the ships approaching.

“Are those X-wings?” Quin questioned but Ran was not by his side any more.

“Yep. That’s definitely a tracking beacon,” the second pilot acknowledged.

“Looks like they’re launching a gunship,” the leader pointed out.

“Copy, I’m going in,” the third pilot stated when all three X-Wings moved into attack position and opened their wings to fire.

They wasted no time and shot down the gunship which didn’t even have the chance to leave the station’s hangar. With the rapid fire the gunship exploded and the X-Wings made a final pass blowing up Ran’s station, leaving nothing but debris.

* * *

Mando wasted no time and sent the Crest into lightspeed, he sighed with a hint of relief when he spoke sarcastically, “I told you that was a bad idea.”

Young Mando couldn’t help herself and belted out a laugh, “Remind me never to get on your bad side Papi, that sure was sneaky.”

Mando just nodded his head when he heard the child giggle from its seat. Mando turned and unscrewed the shiny ball from the accelerator and gave it to the child to play with, because it was going to be a long flight to the middle of nowhere for his family.

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blankdblank · 4 years

Text

Anaticula Pt 52

“Close your eyes.” A chuckling order from your father came with Harry following it. Around the table in this stunning capture of a memory on film was Harry’s being presented a new Firebolt from your father for his birthday a few years ago. While Neville beamed at the full collection of rare specimens Regulus had gathered on his latest trip alongside the new set of tools to replace his worn ones he wouldn’t dare mention.

You could remember the day clearly and you held onto it forcing the creeping memory of Fenrir stroking your hair had crept up as the ac kicked on in the muggle dining car you were waiting in for your next stop to meet Harry.

With your need to travel north anyways to meet with Bernadette you were tasked with the meeting of a muggle born family along the way. A young girl, who very much like Hermione was scared and forced into hiding her natural gifts. Like the others that had been invited to attend Hogwarts since you met the Grangers the same ‘introduction package’ of books and information had been passed onto the families of muggleborns. To ease their way into the Wizarding world, along with the assigning of sixth and seventh year Prefects to meet them upon a decided date to show them just where to shop and provide a more in depth feel of the school they were sending their children off to.

The past two years it was easy for you, sharing all you knew as a student, however now it was hard not to pause in introducing yourself as a Professor, of potions no less, sure to gain a giggle or roll of the eyes from the still cautious muggles. You however had been fortunate to be given the name of a child of Squibs, with a fair base knowledge on the school name at least since their cousins had attended there. And your name and face especially lit theirs up in awe as you saw in their living room they had been sent clippings of the Prophet and other magazines convincing them more than ever to agree to sending their Gemma to Hogwarts to learn from you.

Seven, you had promised to meet Harry and Dumbledore at the station at seven and with a few technical delays you hoped the Professor might be a bit late himself so you wouldn’t have to try and explain what the big deal a flashing light in the conductors panel could do to delay dozens of passengers half an hour.

Still you tried to calm and relax after writing a note to Harry that you were on your way that he pocketed and returned to pretending not to be staring at the girl behind the counter clearly flirting with him from afar. He loved Ginny and never would make the mistake of losing her, but he did have to admit he enjoyed being found attractive, even with Romilda at school he took her flirtations and blushes and finger waves from afar as a light in his days, especially when it came after his classes he did poorly in.

“‘Harry Potter.’ Who's Harry Potter?” The girl asked.

Harry shook his head, “Oh, no one. Bit of a tosser, really.”

“Funny, that paper of yours. Couple nights ago, I could've sworn I saw a picture move.”

“Really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Thought I was going around the twist.”

“Hey, I was wondering...” She cut him off as he was going to ask her how much the solar powered dancing flower was on the counter he thought Ginny might like.

“Eleven. That's when I get off. You can tell me all about that tosser Harry Potter.”

In the doorway you stood easing your enchanted pouch back into your pocket then brushed your grey sweater lower over your thighs. The black vest over it snugly kept the low dip in the top to yourself and matched your tight black jeans tucked into your heeled booties in a velour marigold. A few steps later your flicked your ponytail over your back in Harry’s stroll out the doorway after his paying his bill. “She’s cute.”

The words made him flinch and sigh in rolling his eyes to answer, “Just talking. Tried to ask how much that flower was for Ginny.”

Walking with him you strolled around the platforms to the other side where you spotted Dumbledore waiting for you both. “Doesn’t make her any less cute.” Making you giggle in his weak chuckle.

Dumbledore, “You've been reckless this summer, Harry.”

“I like riding around on trains. Takes my mind off things.”

Lowering your gaze you noticed the blotchy scaly skin with clear scabbed gashes on his hand protruding from under, “What happened to your hand?”

Dumbledore raised his hand, “Rather unpleasant to behold, isn't it? The tale is thrilling, if I say so myself. But now is not the time to tell it. Take my arm.” He caught Harry’s glance at you then stated, “Do as I say.”

You both obeyed touching his raised arms and he aparated you both off to a quaint little moonlit town in the country. “I just Apparated, didn't I?”

Dumbledore, “Indeed. Quite successfully too, I might add. Most people vomit the first time.”

Harry smirked looking to you in your hand smoothing circles across his back in passing him a chocolate from your pocket, “I can't imagine why.” Quietly he unwrapped it and eased it between his lips, feeling his stomach calm almost instantly.

Dumbledore, “Welcome to the charming village of Budleigh Babberton. Harry, I assume, right about now, you must be wondering why I brought you here. Am I right?”

Harry, “Actually, sir, after all these years, I just sort of go with it.”

“These truly are troubling times, and in this we will need as many allies as possible. That is why I have asked you both here to assist me in this.”

Harry, “With what?”

Dumbledore, “We are in need of a Newts level Potions Professor.”

Harry looked up at him, “Potions? What happened to Snape?”

Dumbledore, “Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and he stepped back to let Dumbledore approach the gate first and you leaned in to whisper, “I’ll tell you later.”

He nodded and Dumbledore said in inspecting the house clearly having been ransacked by the looks of it, “Wands out.”

You both drew your wands and followed after him with his lit wand, yet inside the house seemed familiarly staged, “I’ve seen this before.” Wetting your lips you called out, “Professor Slughorn?”

Into the sitting room you wandered as Harry said, “I doubt if anyone was here, they’d have left by now. Look at the place.” His eyes flinched up at the droplet from the hole in the floor above him falling on his face Dumbledore sampled from his finger.

Dumbledore, “No, we are not alone here.”

Curiously he followed your voice as you said, “There you are,” standing in front of a pink striped chair fully making Harry think you’d lost it, “You finally got rid of the Q on the brand on your foot. That’s good. You don’t have to be afraid, we’ve met once, bout, wow, seven years exactly. I was with my uncle Regulus Black, and Fred and George Weasley, the twins, red hair. You remember?”

Dumbledore spoke behind you, “She is speaking the truth Horace. We are not here to harm you. Even brought along someone we wished you to meet. Though, I must say, you do make a very convincing armchair.”

Wiggling slightly the chair began to shift and Horace began to appear in front of you all looking you three over in Harry’s awed chuckle. “Well it’s all in the upholstery. I do come by the stuffing naturally. What gave me away?”

Dumbledore, “Dragons blood. Oh, yes, introductions. Harry, I'd like you to meet an old friend and colleague of mine...Horace Slughorn. Horace...well, you know who this is. Harry Potter. What's with all the theatrics, Horace? You weren't, by any chance, waiting for someone else, were you?”

Slughorn, “I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Can’t be too careful these days Dumbledore. Never stay the same place twice and never more than a week. The Death Eaters have been trying to recruit me for over a year, do you know what that’s like?” You nodded and he glanced at you partly in shock yet continued on, “and you can’t just keep telling them no without paying for it you know. Muggles owning this place are out in the Canary Islands.”

Dumbledore nodded and stated, “Then perhaps it best we right it for them. Don’t you think?”

Horace nodded and Dumbledore waved his wand making the house repair itself around you while Horace looked at Harry in his asking, “You were approached by Death Eaters?”

Horace nodded, “Yes, my boy,” his eyes wandering over Harry’s with a twinge of regret in them. He looked to you asking, “My dear, pardon my insult, I’d never forget you, however-,”

You shook your head in a giggle saying, “Chuck Lupin.” And his lips parted, “I needed a face to hide behind.” You said morphing to that disguise again freeing a weak chuckle from him as you shifted back again, “But I always guessed you had caught on.”

He shook his head, “That was so long ago, too hard to say what I was thinking. I was all too thrilled when I heard you were alive and well.”

He looked to Albus saying, “My answer was no and it’s the same to you still. Absolutely and unequivocally, no.”

Dumbledore waved his hand, “No need. I know a lost cause when I see one.” He patted your shoulder, “Miss Black here will do just fine molding the minds of our youth in potions. Quite an untouched pool of fresh ideas right under our noses. Just wanted to give young Harry a chance to meet you while you were in town. Do you mind if I use the loo?”

Slughorn nodded and pointed it out to him leaving the three of you, “I’m sorry, you, will be teaching Potions?”

You nodded and flashed him a grin, “Yes. Thought it best apparently, with my Lycan potion and the others I’ve mastered for our shop on Diagonal Alley.”

Harry, “But you’ve just graduated! You can’t teach!”

Slughorn nodded and pointed at him, “Yes, Potter here is correct. You, on your own? Why I had an aid for nearly five years when I began and I was well into my thirties! And even still it was-,” he huffed in irritation, “What is Dumbledore thinking..?”

You shrugged, “Like you said, dark times. Not a lot of people are willing to take up posts at Hogwarts. Students are even shaky on returning.”

“Now I taught your parents and I have no doubts you are marvelous at potions-,” his voice trailed off in his try to word his objection properly.

He looked to Harry as he asked, “You taught our parents?”

He nodded, “You're very like your father. Except for the eyes of course. You have your...”

Harry, “My mother's eyes. Yeah.”

Slughorn, “Lily. Lovely Lily. She was exceedingly bright, your mother. Even more impressive when one considers she was Muggle-born.”

Harry, “One of my best friends is Muggle-born, which is the best in our year.”

Slughorn, “Please don't think I'm prejudiced. No, no. Your mother was one of my absolute favorites.” He turned to show you the rows of pictures of his former students with one of your mothers right up front, “ Look, there she is. Right at the front. All mine. Each and every one. Ex-students, I mean. You recognize Barnabas Cuffe, editor of The Daily Prophet. Always takes my owl, should I wish to register an opinion...on the news of the day. Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies. Free tickets whenever I want them. Of course, I haven't been to a match in some time. Ah, yes. Regulus Black. I taught the whole Black family, except Sirius. It's a shame. Talented boy. I got Regulus when he came along, of course, but I'd have liked the set. Jewels...”

Dumbledore returned breaking off his thought and gaze at you, “Horace? Would you mind if I take this? I am so fond of knitting patterns.”

Horace nodded and said, “Ye, yes. Go ahead. But you’re not leaving, are you?”

Wetting his lips as Dumbledore waved his hand to you two, “The response was made clear. Regrettable. I would have considered it a personal triumph had you considered to return. Oh well. You’re like my friends here, one of a kind. Well, we’ll be off. Best get back. Goodnight Horace.”

Over Slughorn’s face washed both regret and pain in his full body scan over you taking in every detail of you as if to memorize what you were before this task was set upon you. Out the house you both strolled wishing him well after you had given him a card with an incantation to use in case he was found again or ran out of hiding places. The card was cradled in his palms and in the cool night air Harry stepped closer to you saying, “You’re really teaching? What about your shop? And Quidditch? You can’t just quit the team!”

“I’m not quitting.”

Behind you however Slughorn exited saying, “Alright! Alright I’ll do it! But I want Professor Merrythought’s old office not that water closet I was stuck with last time. And I expect a raise. These are mad times we live in. Mad!” His eyes scanned to you and he nodded his head tipping the card to you in thanks.

Turning back to the path ahead Dumbledore stated, “They are indeed.”

Harry, “Sir, exactly what was all that about?”

Dumbledore, “You are talented, famous and powerful. Everything Horace values. Professor Slughorn is gonna try to collect you, Harry. You would be his crowning jewel. That's why he's returning to Hogwarts. And it's crucial he should return. I fear I may have stolen a wondrous night from you, Harry. She was, truthfully, very pretty.” Harry glanced up at him confused, “The girl.”

Harry shrugged, “Not hard. Apologize. Easy to just make up some excuse. Only wanted a flower of hers anyways.”

Dumbledore, “Oh you won’t be going back to Little Whinging tonight Harry. All your things will be waiting for you.”

Making Harry nod then grab his arm as you did only to both be dropped thigh deep into the lukewarm marshes outside the Hollow. Scoffing together you reached over to take his hand he offered to start the trudge to shore, “Really brings me back.”

Harry chuckled, “Yes, all we need now is Cedric, some ghouls and Bulgarians to pop up next.”

Making you giggle in your next step forward sinking you into the mud, “I just bought these shoes.”

“What happened to Snape?”

“Giving Defense a try.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Why you? You are amazing, but why you?”

You shrugged, “Must be from the slap. Parents weren’t keen on sending their kids back again till word broke about me.”

“But your shop?!”

“I’ll manage. Always do.”

“You shouldn’t have to though,”

His hand pulled on yours to make you face him and when your eyes locked on his you said, “It’s a war Harry! Not a fairy tale! As much as I would love to run into some family of dwarves who will lead me to me King and castle up in some magical forest to go on adventures and slay dragons together life doesn’t work that way! I’m not the chosen one! I’m not the Princess, hell most days I don’t even get to be the ugly stepsister of my own story. I’ll manage, maybe after he’ll fire me and I can do as I please.”

Haltingly he asked not certain if he wanted to hear the answer himself, “Did he even ask if you wanted to teach?”

After a moments pause you sighed, “Technically he did ask.”

“Technically?”

“Come on. I smell pot roast.”

Inside Ginny after hearing an owl stepped out of her room and went down to the kitchen, “Hedwig. Mom?”

Molly, “Ginny, what is it?”

Ginny, “I was only wondering when Harry got here.”

Molly, “What? Harry? Harry who?”

Ginny, “Harry Potter, of course.”

Molly. “I think I'd know if Harry Potter was in my house, wouldn't I?”

Ginny, “His trunk's in the kitchen, and his owl.”

Molly, “No, dear, I seriously doubt that.”

Ron stepped out of his room asking, “Harry? Did someone say "Harry"?”

Ginny, “Me, nosy. Is he up there with you?”

Ron, “Of course not. I'd know if my best friend was in my room, wouldn't I?” Hedwig cried out again and he asked, “Is that an owl?”

Molly asked her son, “You haven't seen him, have you?”

Ginny, “Apparently, he's wandering about the house.”

Ron, “Really?”

Outside the marsh you shook your feet off and with a wave of your fingers you and Harry were both clean and dry and you felt his eyes on you again making you sigh, “I’m sorry. I just haven’t been sleeping much.”

Harry, “Is there anything I can do?”

Taking in the details of his face and the helpful grin on his face you answered, “For now, enjoy the time with family and friends. If Dumbledore is plotting it only means darker things are coming. Just be you, don’t change anything, we all need to just be ourselves.”

Harry chortled, “Be ourselves?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes, “Just don’t do anything,” you stopped before finishing your sentence making him smirk.

“Were you going to say stupid or crazy?”

Another giggle later and you answered, “Both, but both would be foolish of me to ask. Whole family is varying degrees of mad.” Making you both giggle on your way to the house. “Just try not to get yourself killed. Hair trigger these days.”

He nodded and peered up at you, “Same to you.” Your eyes were on him again, “I don’t know what you’re up to, or if its about this Horcrux business, but it seems like you’re charging right at everything dangerous.”

You nodded and giggled, “Usually when I do you’re already halfway there if you haven’t noticed.”

Making him chuckle again, “True.”

Passing through the split door into the kitchen Molly grinned reaching out to him, “Harry!”

When she released him Ginny rushed over next for a hug and a kiss on the cheek while Molly gave you a gentle squeeze of a hug, “Harry!”

Molly, “What a lovely surprise. Why didn't you let us know you were coming?”

Harry, “I didn't know. Dumbledore.”

Molly, “Oh, that man. But then, what would we do without him?” Her eyes followed you as you rolled your eyes and made for the cutting board to claim a slice of carrot to nibble on silencing the near growl of your stomach luring her over to you recognizing the downcast gaze you had.

Harry, “I do have to be back tomorrow morning though, promised Aunt Petunia we’d go see a film together, sort of an early birthday thing.”

Ron nodded, “No problem, Bill’s dropping by anyways, something about business with Dad. Seemed like he might be coming closer to home again.” Their conversation moved upstairs and took Ginny with them for the wait for food while Harry’s things floated upstairs.

Molly at your side gave your shoulder a gentle pat asking, “What is it, Dear?”

You looked at her saying, “I’ve been hired as First through Fourth years Professor in Potions.” Making her lips part, “Professor Slughorn will handle the rest.”

“What is Dumbledore thinking? To put that much stress on you.”

You shrugged, “It’s public knowledge I slapped Riddle, students are coming back to Hogwarts after he spread it around.”

Her voice raised to something close to a shrill irritated whisper, “So he’s using you as a shield?! As if that would work. He is the one meant to protect the school!”

You shrugged again picking up a slice of celery then flashed her a teary grin, “I think it’s more than that.”

Instantly her anger dropped back into concern and her hand smoothed along your right bicep, “What else could it be?”

“I don’t think he trusts me. Wants me to be somewhere he can watch me.”

Molly shook his head, “What could you possibly get up to that would make him need to do that?”

“I’ve seen Riddle and haven’t killed him, reason enough it seems.”

Molly, “I doubt,” she sighed then placed her fingers under your chin to say, “I trust you. We all do. Who knows what Dumbledore is up to or what is racing through that head of his. Don’t you pay any mind to him, he’s got his own reasons not to trust the nose on his own face. He’s known people to go dark before, brought Riddle himself to Hogwarts, believed he wasn’t behind the Chamber of Secrets and so much more. He let it slide right by him, and now he’s back and we’re all scared,” at the tear rolling down your cheek she wiped it away, “but now we have you. We have ways to hide now, ways to predict who might be taken next and so many more spies than last time. Now you put him out of your mind, we’ll have supper and just take it a day at a time. We’ll get you through it.” She turned grabbing the bowl off to her side bringing it closer to you, “Now, you have a roll, you look starved.”

You chuckled and accepted one and tore a piece off to eat, “Train was delayed, didn’t have time for a sandwich before Dumbledore arrived.”

“Oh, always spoiling meals this plotting. How are we to win if no one is given the time to sit down and eat.”

Making you giggle and say, “Maybe we should take to carrying snacks,” making her chuckle.

“Maybe,” she said waving her wand from her apron pocket to set the table.

Hermione fresh from her bath glanced at Ginny in her saying, “Got a bit of toothpaste.”

She nodded and wiped her cheek, Harry asked, “So when did you get here?”

She answered, “A few days ago. Though for a while, I wasn't sure I was coming.”

At Harry’s confused expression Ron stated, “Mom sort of lost it last week. Said Ginny and I had no business going back to Hogwarts. That it's too dangerous.”

Harry, “Oh, come on.”

Hermione, “She's not alone. Even my parents, and they're Muggles, know something bad's happening.”

Ron, “Anyway, Dad stepped in, told her she was being barmy...and it took a few days, but she came around.”

Harry, “But this is Hogwarts we're talking about. It's Dumbledore. What could be safer?”

Ginny chuckled asking, “What school have you been going to?”

The trio smirked at her, Hermione said, “There's been a lot of talk recently that...Dumbledore's got a bit old.”

Ron, “Rubbish! Well, he's only... What is he?”

Harry, “115?”

Ron, “Give or take a few years.”

They all chuckled and then Harry wet his lips as Ginny asked, “What were you and Jaqi up to with Dumbledore?”

Harry, “Fetching a second Potions Professor.”

Ron scoffed, “Bet Snape will love that.”

Harry shook his head, “Snape’s taking up Defense.”

They all asked, “What?!”

Harry nodded, “Dumbledore hired Jaqi for First through Fourth Potions and Slughorn for the last three.”

Ginny, “Jaqi?”

Hermione, “What about-,”

Harry shrugged, “She says she’ll manage.”

Ron, “She manages much more she’ll drop off into a coma.”

Hermione, “Is it that bad, that Dumbledore is hiring her?”

Harry, “Dumbledore seems to be up to something. Even Slughorn seemed troubled about him hiring Jaqi,”

Ginny, “He didn’t care at all?”

Harry shook his head, “Barely even acknowledged her till she got Slughorn to come out of his hiding spot, then, he sort of patted her arm,”

Ron, “Like a dog?”

Harry, “Little bit. Like she’d done what he wanted and didn’t need any more from her.”

Hermione, “Why’d he need you then? If she could have handled it?”

Harry shrugged, “Something to do with Slughorn’s collecting students. He sort of used our names to convince him to take the job.”

Ginny, “Like with Lockhart all over again.”

Ron chuckled, “Least if you get detention he won’t make you sign autographs.”

Harry chuckled, “You never know.”

Hermione, “Least he should be better than Umbridge, and Snape should at least teach us something.”

Dinner was called and the group went down to join you around the table along with Remus, Regulus, Arthur, Percy, Draco, Neville, the twins and your father, all already chatting about what the plans were for the rest of the summer.

Pt 53

#New Teacher Smell #HP Crossover

6 notes · View notes

wildefiction · 5 years

Text

Of Course...Mr. Collins

THIRTEEN

Thursday came and went with little excitement, Misha leaving you to your own devices as he was briefed on that weekend’s convention schedule. You spent the day sun-bathing, napping and texting your sister about your first day in Hawaii.

Friday morning, you woke to the incessant buzzing of your phone. Cracking one eyelid, your vision slid into focus as you noted the annoying black device vibrating towards you along the table. Groaning, you winced as the backlight blinded you. It was six in the morning.

“So much for this trip being a vacation, hah.”

The six text messages surprised you and you began to scroll through them, expecting them to all be from Misha. Only that man would wake up six hours before the convention was due to start.

To your surprise, only five of them were from your boss. The sixth, was from Norman.

“Hey [Y/F/N], how ‘bout that ride today? ; )

Your heart fluttered for a moment, chills running down your arms. Sure, he’d said he’d text you - but you hadn’t actually expected him to. Your hands shook slightly as you typed out a quick response.

“That would be awesome! Let me get back to you after I check in with Mish. Woke up to five messages from him!”

Switching back to the group of messages from Misha, you sighed in relief when you realized they weren’t urgent. There was a picture of the sunrise and the beach where he’d gone running. The third was him letting you know the cast was getting together for drinks that night, asking if you wanted to go. Then one mentioning he was on his way back to the hotel, and finally one asking if you wanted coffee or tea since he was stopping anyhow.

The last message had been sent five minutes ago. Hurrying to respond, you asked for an earl grey latte before throwing the phone down on the bed and moving to find clothes for the day.

Fifteen minutes later, a dull thudding sound coming from across the room had you pulling the door open to see Misha, two paper cups in hand and a brown bag clenched in his teeth. Laughing, you grabbed the bag from his mouth and moved back, allowing him to join you in the room.

“I grabbed some of those bantam bagels and a breakfast sandwich for you to go with your tea.” We’ve got a few hours of work ahead of us, but I figure if we get done by lunch, you can have the afternoon off. Did you want to go tonight?”

Realizing you hadn’t answered that text, you quickly agreed.

“Of course! I’m super excited to meet everyone!” Clutching the warm drink in your hand and raising it to your lips, you drank deeply of the caffeine before eyeballing the paper bag you’d set down on the table.

Misha wandered into his room to grab the laptop from his bag.

“Here [Y/F/N], I’d like you to book us tickets to San Francisco for the first week of December and make the travel arrangements. I’m due at the convention Saturday morning, so we should probably get in Friday afternoon. The convention takes care of our hotel, but you should send the co-ordinator an email if you want your own room, they usually need a bit of notice for that kind of thing.”

With a bagel stuffed in one side of your mouth, you nodded in understanding as you pulled your tablet out and began writing a list of the things you needed to do.

“When you’re finished with that, do you think you might be able to find me something to wear to the luau tomorrow night? A fun shirt or something? I’m thinking my usual just isn’t going to cut it. Pick something nice up for yourself too while you’re out.”

As you opened your mouth to protest, Misha held up a hand, effectively silencing you.

“Before you say anything, just consider it a signing bonus.” “Think you can be ready by, say, nine?”

Nodding as you scribbled the notes on your list, you moved out onto the balcony, deciding to work on booking flights in the sunshine.

“Sounds good Misha, want to meet for lunch later?”

“I’ll actually be out most of the day, if you need me feel free to send me a text.” Reaching into his back pocket, Misha pulled his wallet out before rifling through it for a moment and then selecting a card and handing it towards you. Taking it from him, you were surprised at the heaviness of it. The black and cobalt gradient running over the front wrapped around the metal rectangle. Flipping it over, the card number and identifying information were printed neatly in the bottom corner.

“Kindly send me a screenshot of the flights you find before purchasing them please.”

“How much do you want me to spend on your shirt, sir?” You were still writing notes and didn’t look up to see Misha’s body language quiet as he watched you at your task.

“Whatever you like. I’m sure you can figure out what is and isn’t appropriate.” Snapping your head up, you rose from the chair as Misha turned from the room.

“Uh, no. You just gave me a credit card and I’d have a hard time spending thirty dollars on a shirt, so, I mean, can I at least have a range?! And, I don’t even know your style, what are you looking for?”

Misha turned as your cool fingers touched his skin and he smiled at the apprehension on your face. Grabbing both of your hands in his, he looked straight at you, demanding eye contact as a smile spread on his face. You stilled as you looked back at him - damn if those eyes weren’t easy to fall into…

“I have complete faith in you [Y/F/N], pick something that you’d like, doesn’t have to be fancy. And keep it under two-hundred?” “You’ll do fine.” With a final squeeze to your hands, he turned again and disappeared back into his room, leaving you with your assignments.

Settling into the table, being warmed by the morning sun you dove into searching for flights immediately, comparing the differing airlines and seat arrangements. As simple as it seems, you enjoyed this kind of work. It kept you busy while placating the organization skills that you couldn’t function without. Within the hour you’d found suitable flights for a pretty decent price and took a screenshot to send to Misha. Your phone notification sounded almost immediately; “Well that was fast,” you mused - sliding the menu screen open.

“Busy, busy eh? How about that ride?”

At first, you were confused, thinking it was Misha that had responded so quickly. Realizing it was Norman, you cursed to yourself. You’d completely forgotten to text him back. Glancing down at the clock, you noted it was only almost eight.

“Wanna meet for lunch around eleven?”

Another text. This one from Misha.

“Try again [Y/F/N] - how can I utilize your assistance properly if you’ve put yourself in coach?” “Dates and times look good though, just update your seat and send me the confirmation.”

He’d included his email address in the message. You sighed, but made the changes he requested anyhow before clicking on the checkout button. Buzzing twice in a row, you picked up your phone and saw that Misha had received the confirmation, and Norman had responded:

“It’s a date” ; )

Crossing the flights off of your list, you moved on to making travel arrangements. Several driving companies surrounded the airport you planned to fly into and you quickly made reservations with the best reviewed. After shooting a quick email to the convention organizers requesting two hotel rooms, you closed your laptop and gathered everything before heading back into the dim, air conditioned room.

After taking a quick shower and blow drying your hair, you stepped back into your room to get dressed. Settling on a pair of cut-offs and a Zeppelin t-shirt, you pulled a pair of boots from the closet you’d finally managed to unpack now that it was halfway through the week and laced them up over your socks. While the warm weather made wearing heavy boots less comfortable, one thing you’d remembered from growing up on the back of a bike was that you had to wear good shoes. Technically, you should’ve also worn pants, but you needed to be at least a little comfortable.

As the last hour ticked by, your nerves began worrying at you, and try as you might to calm them, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t startle when a heavy knock sounded on your door. Wiping your hands against the denim covering your thighs, you rose to answer the door.

“Hey, hey sweetheart, ya ready ta go?” Norman stood before you, dark Ray-bans wrapped over his eyes; a black hat pulled down over his shaggy auburn hair.

Grinning widely you turned to grab your phone and wallet before closing the door behind you.

“So, where ya wan’na go? Throwing an arm across your shoulders, he led you down the hallway.

Walking out to the parking lot, you waited as Norman swung one of his long legs over the seat of his bike, slowly backing the machine away from it’s parking spot. Looking up at you, he smirked as he waited for you to join him. Stepping up to the edge of the curb, you straddled the now rumbling monster, balancing yourself with one hand on Norman’s shoulder before seating yourself behind him. With a twist of the throttle, the bike lurched forward, and you pressed yourself against his broad back, gripping his waist with only your thighs as he accelerated out onto the main road.

Pulling into a Hawaiian barbeque place fifteen minutes later, you steadied yourself on his shoulders as you stood up from the bike.

“Ya like bar-ba-que lady?” The deep voice reminded you of the bike you’d just stepped off of and it sent a chill through your body as the smell of smoked meat drew you to the front doors.

“Uh, does a bear shit in the woods?” Norman laughed as he held the door open to let you pass through.

Sitting down at the outdoor patio, you attacked the brisket and pulled pork you’d ordered from the run-down little establishment.

“So, where’d ya learn ta ride?” Norman sat across from you, momentarily taken aback with the obscene sounds that drifted from your body as you savored the food before you, eyes screwed shut in concentration. Opening them at the question, your face reddened as the man across from you removed his sunglasses and fixed you with his light blue eyes.

“Blue, just like Misha’s, but lighter.” You mused to yourself before answering.

“My dad. I spent a lot of time on his bike growing up. He was a Harley guy too.” Norman grunted in appreciation as he continued eating. Eyeing your t-shirt, he rose an eyebrow, “ya like Zeppelin eh?”

Grinning, you nodded enthusiastically, launching into an animated discussion of your favorite songs and how you liked a lot of classic and modern rock.

Over the next hour, you talked about everything from the weather to relationships - good and bad and your hobbies. You learned that, while they filmed in Georgia, Norman actually lived in New York and spent a lot of time sculpting and painting when he was home, which wasn’t very often.

“I always wan’na be doin’ sum’thin.” “Get kin-a res’less if I’m in one place too long, ya know?”

“Sounds like a helluvan adventure actually.”

Rising from the table, the two of you made your way back to the front of the establishment before climbing back on the bike.

“Ya can hol’ on ya know. I ain’t gonna bite cha…”

“Oh, but biting’s excellent - it’s like kissing, only… there’s a winner!” You laughed, but wrapped your arms low around his waist, sliding your hands under his vest to splay your fingers over his muscled abdomen.

“Well then, darlin’ I’ll hafta keep that in mind.”

The next several hours flew by in a blur, you and Norman spent the time driving along the coast, stopping occasionally to sit in the sand and watch the waves crash over the beach. At one point, you stopped to pluck a plumeria blossom from one of the fragrant trees that dotted the park you were walking through, carefully tucking it behind your right ear. The yellow and white flower striking against your [Y/H/C] hair.

Reaching into your back pocket, you took your phone out and flipped on the camera, taking a picture to send to your sister back home. This island was so amazing, you almost didn’t want to go back.

“Hey, Norman, can we take a picture? My sister will never believe me if I try to tell her what I’ve done with my day.”

Chuckling, he ambled over, throwing an arm around your neck and pulling you harshly against his side. Taking your phone, he held it up in the air before releasing the shutter a couple of times.

“Alrigh’, one more.” Turning the camera sideways, he squeezed you closer into his side and as you looked up into the screen, he turned and pressed his lips to your cheek right as he hit the button. Blushing to yourself, you took the phone back from him and mumbled a thank you as you busied yourself with sending her the pictures.

Upon returning to the hotel, you checked your phone again as you said goodbye to Norman, with the promise to text him later. You were surprised to see there were no messages from Misha, he must be busy you thought to yourself before heading for the outdoor shopping area.

Drifting in and out of several shops trying to decide what to pick up for Misha was pretty challenging, but you ended up settling on a blue Hawaiian print shirt that was nearly the same color as his eyes. Gods that man had beautiful eyes. You’d never seen anything like them. Perhaps you were a bit biased, but you’d always been attracted to guys with dark hair and light eyes, and that rough stubble peppered over his jaw certainly didn’t hurt.

Checking the time, you noted it was nearly seven thirty and you still had to find yourself something to wear. After trying on several things you finally asked for help from one of the sales associates in a store filled with dresses.

“Hi, I’m looking for something to wear to a beach party tomorrow night, something nice but not too formal? Your [Y/E/C] eyes searched hers and she smiled back before bustling out from behind the counter to dig through the racks.

When your phone began ringing, you quickly answered Misha’s call, holding the device up to your ear.

“Hey, [Y/F/N], you gonna be ready soon?” Pulling the phone away to glance at the time, you cursed under your breath when you noticed it was quickly approaching eight. You’d never been more happy that you had showered that morning.

“Uh, yeah, give me twenty? Oh! Wait, that stuff you wanted me to buy is for tomorrow right? Not tonight?!” He laughed through the phone and assured you that was correct.

“Come in whatever you’re wearing now, we’re just going out to a few bars after all.”

Promising to meet him at the room, you spent another ten minutes choosing between a couple of dresses the woman had suggested and paid for your purchase before flying back through the shopping center and up to your room.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

TAGS: @jamielea81 @wings-of-a-raven

#WildeFiction #Misha x Reader #Supernatural Fanfiction #SPN x RPF

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theliteraturenerd · 7 years

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25 MOTIVATIONAL THOUGHTS FOR WRITERS by Chuck Wendig

1. YOU ARE THE GOD OF THIS PLACE

The blank page is your world. You choose what goes into it. Anything at all. Upend the frothy cup that is your heart and see what spills out. Murder plots. Train crashes. Pterodactyl love interests. Vampire threesomes. Housewife bondage. Demon spies! Cake heists! Suburban ennui! You can destroy people. You can build things. You can create love, foster hate, foment rage, invoke sorrow. Anything you want in any order you care to present it. This is your story. This is your jam.

2. INFINITE POWER, ZERO RESPONSIBILITY

Not only are you god of this place, but you have none of the responsibility divine beings are supposed to possess. You have literally no responsibility to anyone but yourself — you’re like a chimp with a handgun. Run amok! Shoot things! Who cares? There exists this non-canonical infancy gospel where Jesus is actually a little kid and he’s like, running around with crazy Jesus wizard powers. He’s killing them and resurrecting them and he’s turning water into Kool-Aid and loaves into Goldfish crackers — he’s just going apeshit with his Godborn sorcery. BE LIKE CRAZY JESUS BABY. Run around zapping shit with your God lightning! You owe nobody anything in this space. It’s adult swim. It’s booze cruise.

3. THE RAREST BIRD OF THEM ALL

The easiest way to separate yourself from the unformed blobby mass of “aspiring” writers is to a) actually write and b) actually finish. That’s how easy it is to clamber up the ladder to the second echelon. Write. And finish what you write. That’s how you break away from the pack and leave the rest of the sickly herd for the hungry wolves of shame and self-doubt. And for all I know, actual wolves.

4. YOU’RE NOT CLEANING UP SOME SIXTH GRADER’S VOMIT

You have worse ways to spend a day than to spend it writing. Here’s a short list: artificially inseminating tigers, getting shot at by an opposing army, getting eaten by a grue, mopping the floors of a strip club, digging ditches and then pooping in them, cleaning up the vomit of nervous elementary school children, being forced to dance by strange dance-obsessed captors, working in a Shanghai sweatshop making consumer electronics for greedy Americans, and being punched to death by a coked-up Jean-Claude Van Damme. Point is: writing is a pretty great way to spend a morning, afternoon, or night.

5. ABUSE THE FREEDOM TO SUCK

Writing is not about perfection — that’s editing you’re thinking of. Editing is about arrangement, elegance, cutting down instead of building up. Editing is Jenga. Writing is about putting all the pieces out there. It’s construction in the strangest, sloppiest form. It’s inelegant. And imperfect. And insane. It’s supposed to be this way. Writing is a first-time bike-ride. You’re meant to wobble and accidentally drive into some rose bushes. Allow yourself the freedom — nay, the pleasure — to suck. This is playtime. (Or, as I call it: “Whiskey and Hookers” time.) Playtime is supposed to be messy.

6. AND EMBRACE THE AUTHORITY TO BE FUCKING AWESOME

It’s your rodeo, hoss. You have the authority to write with confidence, to puff your chest out, to slap your ink-smeared genitals on the table as you utter your barbaric yawp. Aim big. Go bold. Don’t hide from your own most kick-ass desires. Don’t unfurl the story with hands trembling from the fear of what others will think. You have the power to do different. Yours is the authority to choose the road with your name on it. Write the story the tangle of desires and neuroses that comprise you so desire: A love affair between a man and a parking meter! A civil war between robots and other robots! A SPACE OPERA STARRING ROOT VEGETABLES. Fortune favors the bold. And being fucking awesome favors being fucking awesome.

7. YOU CAN CLEAN UP THE MESS LATER

Writers are afforded the glorious possibility of endless do-overs and take-backs. Every draft a new chance to go back and clean up messes and untangle the tangled wires that hide beneath the narrative. Can you imagine that privilege in real life? “Hey, when you go outside today, anything you do can be undone and the whole day can be recreated.” Holy crap, the day you’d have! Bath salts and dolphin sex, car crashes and muddy graves. I’d have an orgy at a candy factory. (So sticky!) I’d kill someone just because I could. I’D EAT DEEP-FRIED LIPO FAT AT A COUNTRY FAIR SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF AMERICA. If I didn’t like it, I’d go back and wipe the slate clean, start over again. That’s your story. Your story is a madcap day whose minutes and hours subject to your whims of rewriting — or unwriting.

8. A ROOM FULL OF STARVING STORY ADDICTS

For all the dire predictions about writing and publishing, I’m going to make a promise to you: the audience is waiting. They’re a subway car full of twitchy story tweakers going around and around, looking for any stop that will give them good story. They’re there for you. They’re waiting for your tale told. Writers often feel like they’re just sobbing into the void, but the audience will hear your plaintive cries, young storyteller. You may feel like a story flunky, but be sure that the audience is full of story junkies. Hey, snap, that rhymed and I didn’t even mean it to. FUCK YEAH WORDS.

9. I’M TALKING ABOUT MOTHERFUCKING ICE CREAM, SON

You are allowed to live a reward-driven life. You want me to motivate you? Go motivate yourself. (That is not code for “go fuck yourself,” unless I don’t like you, then it totally is.) Set a various goals and when you hit them, do something nice for yourself. I mean, the goal shouldn’t be, “Every time I write a sentence, I get an ice cream cone,” because that sir is a high-speed rail straight to the heart of Diabetesburg. But hit your mark of 2000 words a day? Write a chapter? Finish the book? Accept how kick-ass that is and reward yourself. It’s okay. You have my permission. (As long as you don’t bogart that ice cream. Dick.)

10. NOBODY ELSE WRITES LIKE YOU

When all your force fields and filters are down, when you’ve stripped yourself of your presuppositions and your fears and needs and your pants, you discover that nobody in the world writes like you. Nobody has your ideas. Nobody has your narrative memetic code. You are not a unique and beautiful snowflake, no. But your writing — your writing is your fingerprint. Your voice is yours and yours alone.

11. WE’RE TOTALLY BUILT FOR THIS

Someone will look down on you at some point (or, if you’re me, at frequent points throughout your day) for being what you want to be. Writer. Author. Artist. Storyteller. Here’s why that’s a dumpster full of shitballs: we are built for this. One of the things that lashes us all together with rope and chain and psychic plasm is our desire — nay, our sacred fucking need — to tell stories. We’ve been doing it since we drew Neanderthals chasing unicorns on cave walls. We tell stories about the weather, about work, about family and friends, about pets and sex and about that time that friend we have at work had sex with his pet python while a hurricane raged outside. This is what we do. You’re just codifying it. Making it real.

12. ONE WORD AFTER THE OTHER

The technical side of writing — by which I mean, the physical act itself — is one of the easiest things you can do. It’s literally one word placed after the other with some appropriate punctuation thrown in between breaths and ending thoughts. Yes, it gets more complex once you start thinking about narrative, character, meaning, text versus subtext — but for now, fuck all that. Just breathe. Let the tension go out of you (not so much you pee yourself). This is like LEGO. One block upon the other. One word after the next.

13. JUST WRITE 100 MORE WORDS

A frequent phrase said when I was a child or a teenager: just ten more minutes. Meaning, it was time to go to sleep (as a child) or time to get up for school (as a teenager) and all I wanted to do was avoid sleep (child) or sleep longer (teenager). As a writer, play the same game with yourself: you want to give up, close the notebook, save the story? Just 100 more words. That’s all. Push yourself just a little. A hundred words ain’t much (it’s about the size of this text block). And you’d be amazed at how 100 words just isn’t enough.

14. THIS IS HOW YOU GET BETTER

Writing is a muscle: the more you use it the stronger it gets. Writing is like a dog: the more you train it, the smarter it becomes. Writing is like one of your orifices: every time you allow a bigger object to be inserted within (pinky, buttplug, fist, cucumber, wiffle ball bat, railroad tie) you train it to gape wider the next time. …okay, maybe not so much the last one. Still: writing begets writing. You may not be great — or even good — now. But effort yields fruit. Fruit you may later jam up your ass for pleasure. Wait, what?

15. THE MORE YOU DO IT, THE EASIER IT GETS

It’s not just about getting better. It’s about it becoming easier. More natural. More intuitive. The act of writing cultivates both calluses (a metaphorical hardening the fuck up, Care Bear) and instinct (where your decisions as a word-captain and story-slinger are less the product of rigorous thought and more the result of you just having a gut feeling and going with it). Hard at first. Easier over time.

16. YOU ARE NOT THE OMEGA MAN

You are not alone. You are not Lonely Writer Person on Planet Nobody. We all get what you’re going through. We know your triumphs and terrors. The future of writing will be us uploading ourselves to The Cloud (probably on Amazon’s servers), our spirit animals glomming together to howl a single song, but for now, we’re all located at our individualized story pods, cranking out the words by ourselves. But that doesn’t mean we’re alone. We have community. We have shared understanding. Reiterate: You are not alone.

17. YOUR LOVE FOR WRITING IS ENDURING AND IMPERFECT

Some days will be great and other days will be hard. Some days you will love the thing that you’re doing so intimately and so completely that you feel like you achieved some kind of narrative orgasmic apotheosis, whereas other days you will feel nothing but septic hate gurgling in your empty belly and every word slung will feel like a brick flung into your own nose. Your love for this thing you do needn’t be there every day. Every day won’t feel like winning the championship. But the love endures, imperfect as it is.

18. IT’S OKAY THAT SOME DAYS ARE REALLY FUCKING HARD

Some days are difficult. The words feel like dead fish flopping out onto a dirty floor. Hell, maybe they don’t fall out at all but feel like they must be yanked one by one, the act both painful and slow, as if you’re extracting teeth. Some days are shitty. Is what it is. All writers go through it. You want to do this thing then don’t look at the shitty days as a problem: see them as a challenge that prove your pudding.

19. WRITER’S BLOCK IS NOT A REAL THING

You can be blocked. Everybody gets blocked. But it’s not special. It’s not unique to writers. It doesn’t deserve its name or the credit it receives. More importantly, it isn’t a physical thing — it isn’t a gorilla with a croquet mallet who smashes your hand every time you reach for the keyboard. You can get past it. You think past it. You write past it. You kick it in the teeth and step over its twitching body.

20. HOW TO IMAGINE THE HATERS

If there is one thing we have learned upon this old Internet of ours, it is: haters gonna hate. You will ever have disbelievers among your ranks, those who pop up like scowling gophers, boring holes through your well-being, your hopes, your dreams. It is very important not to prove the haters right. It is very important to know where to place the haters in rank of importance, which is to say, below telemarketers, below any television show on TLC, below crotch fungus and garbage fires and anal cankers. Imagine the haters herded into a pen. Eaten by the tigers of your own awesomeness. Then digested. Shat out. And burned with flamethrowers. The only power you should afford the haters is the power to eat curb.

21. MULTIPLE SHOTS AT GOAL

Just as you get multiple chances to fix a single story, you get multiple stories to fill your life — as many as you care to cram into your days, months, years. Our lives are a series of stories untold, and it’s up to you to tell them. This one might not be successful. But the next one might.

22. THE LEPRECHAUN’S GIFT

At the end of this rainbow are whatever rewards you want. Money? It’s there. Some say writers don’t earn out, that you can’t make a living doing this thing that we do. That’s a quiver of broken arrows: don’t sling it over your shoulder. I do it. I know a lot of writers who do it. So can you. But it’s not just money at the end: it’s self-fulfillment. It’s love. It’s confidence. It’s the things you’ve learned about yourself, about the craft of writing, about the art of storytelling. You never know what you’ll find until you climb that motherfucking rainbow. (One time I found a cardboard box of vintage porn and tasty grilled cheese sandwiches.) Writing is a journey. Each story just one leg of the trip. So start walking.

23. YOU ARE YOUR ONLY ENEMY

You have no enemy but yourself. You’re the only one that brings a story into existence, or, as it may turn out, fails to engineer that existence. Your enemy is not your spouse, your kids, your boss, your neighbor, your dog, your mother, your buddy. It is not time, work, addiction, distraction. It is not video games or Twitter, Facebook or television. Your enemy is fear. And indolence. And lack of discipline. And: uncertainty. And: lack of self-esteem. And all those things live inside your heart and your head. That’s hard to hear at first, but the trick is, that means you have the power to sweep all that shit off the table until it clatters and shatters against the floor. You’re the only one standing in your own way so, knock down your own worst inclinations and get to it. Disclaimer: actually, unicorns are frequently the writer’s enemy and if you got a unicorn problem best thing I can recommend is to call a priest. You can’t kill those things with weedkiller. And they deflect bullets with their horns. That’s no lie. Unicorns are pesky assholes.

24. THIS MATTERS

Story matters. Writing is important. Stories make the world go around. Many things begin as words on a page. It matters to the world. And it matters to you. Don’t let anyone rob you of that. Don’t rob yourself of it, either. Don’t diminish. Don’t dismiss. Embrace. Create. Accelerate.

25. UM, WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?

Uh, hello? You should’ve bailed on me ten list items ago. What the fidgety fuck are you still doing here? Whatever it is you want to write — novel, script, short story, blog post, haiku out of fridge magnets — go forth and do it. Don’t wait for me. Don’t wait for all the answers. Don’t wait for permission, motivation, inspiration. It’s time to saddle up and gallop forth — through the white dust and the red sand, through the darkness of your own fears or inadequacies and into the light of a tale told to completion. Quit lookin’ at me. Quit looking for reasons. Quit dicking around. Close this browser and go tell a story, willya?

by Chuck Wendig

#writing #writer #studyspo #books #writers #writing motivation #literature #work

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