There are improvements to the new Razor Crest Peli has managed to find. The sheer size of the thing for starters. It’s spacious enough for their growing family. Siobhan’s also relieved to find out there weren’t any ladders to climb to get up to the cockpit. It’s a straight shot from the hull, passing several rooms and larger alcoves.
She doesn’t want to have to climb up a narrow ladder with swollen ankles when she’s eventually pregnant again.
Peli, at first, wanted to convince Din to get some tiny Starfighter. Both Siobhan and Din weren’t as impressed as Peli had been with the ship. It’s a small, flashy little thing. While Siobhan appreciated her old little ship, this was different, instead of homely, it was…well…something else certainly.
Din doesn’t hold his tongue like Siobhan does regarding his feelings for the ship. “That is a pile of junk.”
“We won’t all fit in there.” Siobhan interrupts before Din and Peli could argue about the state of the Starfighter.
She grins as Peli swings around, too caught up in her eagerness to show Din the “perfect” ship she had found. Peli hadn’t even noticed Siobhan at first trailing behind Din with two armfuls of babies. Peli double takes when she sees a squirming Grogu and Dinah.
“There’s two of them now? Where’d you get the second one?”
“Us.” Siobhan turns her proud, loving gaze towards her husband. “This one’s homemade.”
Dinah being the mini Din spitfire that she is, Grogu’s protector, her Mama’s unyielding support…just fills my heart!
Absolutely in awe of your writing bestie! (I always am!) The comparison of these characters then and now on Endor, how far this relationship and family has grown but Din and Siobhan are still unforgivingly themselves…beautiful.
a/n: Now we’re finally getting into the more fun stuff. Thanks for continuing to slow-burn with me!
As the evening eased deeper and deeper into darkness, Elliotte bid Rhythimi and the refugees a good night and began her walk back to her own home. She stepped onto the porch and made her way down to the side walk, glancing left and right down the empty street. She’d made the walk home at this time of night dozens of times, but tonight something felt… different.
The air felt heavy, and she couldn’t shake the idea that she was being followed. Although the urge to break into a run was growing, she willed herself to maintain her composure and continue the route at a normal pace. The last thing she wanted was to draw unnecessary attention to Rhy’s safehouse.
Elliotte’s boldness wilted, however, when faint footsteps began to tail her, and before she knew it a man was beside her, walking at her side a bit too casually. He didn’t attempt to pass—just matched her pace with each step.
“That’s a nice dress, little flower,” he gruffed after a moment, “You from the palace?”
“No,” Elliotte answered curtly.
“You sure? That’s some expensive-looking bead work.”
“It’s not. It’s homemade.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, noble. I’m going to tell you this just once,” he stopped abruptly and took her by the shoulder, forcing her to stop beside him. Before Elliotte could wrench out of his grip, a blade was pressed to her throat, digging into her skin. “Give me all the credits you have on you—and that nice silver bracelet you got on.”
Elliotte resisted the urge to roll her eyes, grateful she’d already handed her credits to Rhythimi earlier in the evening. “You sure you weren’t born yesterday? If you can’t tell, I don’t have any credits on me. This thing doesn’t have pockets. And this–” Elliotte lifted her silver-clad forearm and shook it in front of his face, “Doesn’tcome off.”
Abruptly, the would-be mugger seemed to realize his mistake… but he held his ground, a snarl on his lip. “Don’t play games with me, girl,” he growled, “Or I’ll kill you and pry it off your arm myself!” Before Elliotte could move, he grabbed her arm and tried to forcefully pull off the silver clasped around her forearm. True to her word, it hardly budged.
“Oh, what a surprise.”
The blade against her throat returned, pressing in a little deeper and causing her to draw in a faint hiss of breath, but before the man could offer another threat, Elliotte’s attention was drawn to faint movement in the darkness behind him.
Suddenly, the pressure against her neck was released as the man was hauled backward with incredible force. A gloved hand covered his mouth quickly, preventing the escape of the horrified cry the man tried to give as he was quickly subdued and knocked out.
Elliotte stumbled back in surprise, a hand coming up to rub at her throat where the knife had been pressed. As her rescuer rose back up to his full height, she caught a glimpse of shiny beskar and let out a soft breath of relief she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Mando–”
“Itoldyou not to make this a habit,” he answered, gently taking her good arm to help her to her feet.
Ell chuckled weakly in response and smoothed out her dress once she had gotten her footing. “It’s not intentional… geniusover there thought I was nobility.”
“You aren’t?”
“Gods, no. My time spent in the palace is only to play music for them, and occasionally read poetry. I suppose I need to rethink my choices if people are beginning to mistake me for one,” Elliotte replied, unable to keep the look of disgust that crept across her face, causing her nose to wrinkle.
Mando didn’t respond to her comment, instead angling his helmet to look down the street. “It’s getting late, and trouble seems to enjoy following you… my ship is far closer to here than your house is. I don’t suppose you’d take me up on an offer of a place to stay tonight, would you?”
Truth be told, Elliotte was exhausted, and the idea of walking all the way back home tonight was stomach-churning. She’d had more than enough excitement for one day. “I’d hate to impose… you’ve already done more than enough.”
“If you prefer, I’ll walk you home instead.”
“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”
“You haven’t asked anythingof me. I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t genuine.”
Elliotte was cautious by nature… under regular circumstances, she would never trust a strange man enough to return with him to his ship, but he’d come to her aid twice in one day. She felt she owed him at least a chance to be trusted. “Then… I suppose… if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“It isn’t. Follow me,” replied the man as he turned on his heel and began to make his way in the direction of his ship.
Elliotte followed close behind, not wanting to take her chances on the streetside any longer. On this side of town, it felt almost impossible to make out distinct shapes in the darkness without the aid of street lamps, and the musician was on edge enough as it was.
Thankfully, the Mandalorian hadn’t been lying; his ship was significantly closer than her own house was, albeit a bit off the beaten path. The houses had grown scarcer until the architecture gave way to the vast wilderness of Listronus’s lush grass fields. The Mandalorian’s ship was tucked away behind the far treeline, well-obscured from view of any common passerby. Although Elliotte was no expert in spacecraft, she could tell the one before her was an older model than the types that normally harbored on her planet. All in all, it was the ideal location for a murder to take place, she thought. Wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of such an eventful day?
As she was questioning the decisions she’d made that led to this very moment, Mando approached the side of his ship and fiddled with a button on the underside, opening the ship’s ramp. Without saying a word to her, he stepped inside. Elliotte reluctantly followed, keeping a fair distance in case she needed to bolt, but her curiosity ultimately got the best of her as she found her gaze drawn to the various boxes of tools and supplies lining the ship’s walls. Elliotte had been on Listronus all her life, and had never travelled elsewhere, so she’d never actually set foot in someone’s ship before.
She was sure her eyes were alight with wonder, but she quickly snapped back to attention when she saw the figure of the Mandalorian shift back into her line of sight.
Despite the lack of personal belongings on-board, Elliotte couldn’t entirely bite back her question: “Do you live on this ship?”
“Mostly,” came the reply, muffled behind the helmet, “Occasionally I’m able to find other arrangements, but usually it’s just easier to stay put.”
Before Elliotte could respond, she became distracted by a faint tugging near the bottom of her dress. Glancing down, she was met with a small green creature wrapped in brown cloth, with ears and eyes seemingly a bit too big for its face. It cooed softly up at her as Elliotte blinked in surprise and slowly bent down to its level. She’d met with countless species over the years, but none who looked anything quite like this. She tilted her head thoughtfully and the little creature mimicked the movement, lips opening in a curious almost-smile.
“… Hi,” Ell said softly, the corner of her lip curling into a smile, “Were you here this whole time?”
The little green creature’s ears lifted slightly as she spoke, blinking its black eyes at her. Before she could say another word, the Mandalorian stepped between them and carefully picked the creature up. “… He’s… supposedto be asleep.”
“What is he?” Elliotte asked, getting to her feet once again.
“He’s a child. I’m looking after him for now,” Mando replied simply, stepping away from her once again. “You’re welcome to use the cot down here. I’ll be upstairs.”
Ell glanced in the direction he’d gestured and noticed a small area to her left, complete with a cot and little shelf. The area formed a little alcove in the ship to offer a fair bit of privacy, much to her relief. When she drew her gaze back to the Mandalorian, he was already climbing the rungs of the ladder to the ship’s upper level. “Thank you,” she said softly, “Thanks again for letting me stay here for the night.”
He angled his helmet in her direction for a moment, offering a small nod while the child in his arms cooed quietly and wrapped his tiny fingers around the fabric of Mando’s cloak. “…You’re welcome.”
With that, he was out of sight and Ell was once again left on her own. It was then that the exhaustion of the day finally caught up to her and she found herself sinking down on the small cot prepared for her. She rolled onto her back and drew the thin blanket over her, already feeling lulled to sleep. Before long, she had drifted off.
CLARITAS. Part 5 (Din Djarin/Original Female Character)
WORDS: 1.3k || WARNINGS: language
a/n: this chapter is a bit of a filler for needed character development. The fun stuff will pick up again in part 6!
Elliotte spent the rest of the daylight hours gradually tidying up the lower floor of her dwelling. It was a much more slow-paced and grueling task than usual, considering she had use of only one arm. She was definitely attempting to heed the Mandalorian’s suggestion, limiting the use of her injured wrist as much as possible. Still, ever since she was a little girl, she found herself unable to sit still for extended periods of time.
Staying in her house and getting absolutely nothing accomplished was definitely off the table. She found her most success when her mind was occupied with other things, so she didn’t have enough time to get caught up in her own thoughts and worries… like what she was going to bring Rhythimi tonight.
Elliotte had managed to evade this question for the majority of the day, but as Cietovus 8’s light began to wane for the day, she could no longer delay the inevitable.
Rhythimi was a kind and patient woman, who never asked a thing of Ell in the first place—Ell knew she had no expectations for what could be provided to her organization to aid the refugees—but that didn’t mean Elliotte didn’t have her ownexpectations. With a sigh, Elliotte opened her bedside drawer and was met with her small stash of savings.
Elliotte cut it close from week to week, saving herself enough credits for rent and food, and a little bit put aside for an emergency… The rest went to Rhythimi to aid her cause. Ell could afford to take a bit out of her savings to make up for her lost income, right?
CLARITAS. Part 5 (Din Djarin/Original Female Character)
WORDS: 1.3k || WARNINGS: language
a/n: this chapter is a bit of a filler for needed character development. The fun stuff will pick up again in part 6!
Elliotte spent the rest of the daylight hours gradually tidying up the lower floor of her dwelling. It was a much more slow-paced and grueling task than usual, considering she had use of only one arm. She was definitely attempting to heed the Mandalorian’s suggestion, limiting the use of her injured wrist as much as possible. Still, ever since she was a little girl, she found herself unable to sit still for extended periods of time.
Staying in her house and getting absolutely nothing accomplished was definitely off the table. She found her most success when her mind was occupied with other things, so she didn’t have enough time to get caught up in her own thoughts and worries… like what she was going to bring Rhythimi tonight.
Elliotte had managed to evade this question for the majority of the day, but as Cietovus 8’s light began to wane for the day, she could no longer delay the inevitable.
Rhythimi was a kind and patient woman, who never asked a thing of Ell in the first place—Ell knew she had no expectations for what could be provided to her organization to aid the refugees—but that didn’t mean Elliotte didn’t have her ownexpectations. With a sigh, Elliotte opened her bedside drawer and was met with her small stash of savings.
Elliotte cut it close from week to week, saving herself enough credits for rent and food, and a little bit put aside for an emergency… The rest went to Rhythimi to aid her cause. Ell could afford to take a bit out of her savings to make up for her lost income, right?
She sighed and scooped a handful of credits into her palm and hid them away in the pouch attached to her dress’s belt loop. Then, she made her way back downstairs and to the front door. Before she could step onto the porch, something near her foot caught her eye—it was the mug Mando had taken with him when he’d left her house. At some point, he must have come back to return it.
In all honesty, she just assumed he’d keep it. It didn’t seem worth making a trip back just to leave it at her doorstep—It was a simple gesture that touched the musician’s heart. Elliotte bent to retrieve it, smiling to herself as she returned to the kitchen to place it in the sink. She’d wash it once she returned.
Once that was taken care of, she made her way back outside and shut the door behind her. The streetlamps were already beginning to illuminate the faint light, brightening Elliotte’s path as she walked. Although Rhythimi’s dwelling was a bit out of the way, Ell knew the route like the back of her hand. It hardly felt like a trek anymore.
Before too long, she’d arrived at her destination. She approached the front porch and knocked in code. The door swung open almost immediately and Rhythimi’s head peeked out, red hair kept in place by dozens of tiny white flowers weaved intricately between the strands. “Come in, Elliotte.”
She stood back and held the door open so Ell could make her way inside. A couple of greetings from the refugees in the common rooms was quick to follow, and Ell gave them a smile and wave before returning her attention to Rhythimi, whose gaze immediately latched on to her gauze-wrapped arm. “The hell happened?” She asked, her voice tinged with thinly disguised panic.
“Goddamn noble tried to get handsy. I’m fine, It’s just a sprain… but see, that’s the problem… I won’t be able to play for a few days, so…” Ell reached for the pouch of credits attached to her belt and passed them to her red-headed friend.
Rhythimi pocketed the fabric-wrapped currency and her delicate hands gently found their way to Elliotte’s wrist, lightly turning her arm over and careful not to hurt her. “We’ll manage, Elliotte… you poor dear. Did he…?”
“No. No, he didn’t. He seemed to come to his senses rather quickly.”
“Good. That’s good. Did you wrap this by yourself…? It’s very precise for only having use of one hand.”
“Oh. No, I had some help… a Mandalorian I met this morning,” Ell said, gingerly retracting her arm from her friend’s grip.
Rhythimi’s eyes shot up quickly. “A Mandalorianis here?”
“Yes. He’s come here in search of fuel. Same as everyone here.”
“Curious… I don’t remember ever seeing one on Listronus. He must come from far away,” Rhythimi mumbled, speaking more to herself than Ell, “… But never mind that for a moment. Sit on the stairs. You could use some artresmour…”
Elliotte opened her mouth to insist that it wasn’t necessary, but before she could, she was being guided to sit and Rhythimi was already taking her place behind her on the stairs, untying the little white flowers from her hair and transferring them into Elliotte’s blonde curls.
A few moments of peaceful silence filled the space between them before Elliotte spoke again. “I’m sorry I won’t be able to bring in any extra credits for a bit… I’ll try to get back to work as soon as possible.”
“Don’t push yourself. If you go back too quickly, you could do some permanent damage. That’ll do none of us any good.”
“But—”
“Elliotte. We’ll be fine,” Rhy replied, pausing to guide her friend’s gaze to the living room where several refugees gathered together, telling stories and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. “Some things are more important than money. We have each other, don’t we? Besides, you get the hard part of this deal… while I get to spend my days surrounded by people with fire in their eyes and love in their hearts, youget to have your wrist sprained by the selfish and ignorant, who know nothing more about you than the silver on your arm.”
At her words, Ell’s gaze shifted to her hands folded across her lap. One forearm was wrapped in gauze—the other wrapped in carved silver, a symbol of an unpayable debt to the royal court. She couldn’t decide which arm made her feel more trapped and powerless.
“You have a bleeding heart, Elliotte,” Rhy said, and Ell was sure she could hear the playful smirk in her voice. “Perhaps you could get your Mandalorian to wrap that for you, too.”
Elliotte reached around to smack her friend with her good arm, and Rhythimi’s hands quickly fell away from her hair as she ducked aside to evade the onslaught, laughing all the while.
“Don’t be so ruthless, Rhy! Haven’t I had a difficult enough day without your torment?”
“Enough theatrics,” Rhythimi replied with a playful roll of her eyes before settling back in behind her and once again returning to her artresmour. “If you want realtorment, I could always bring up the subject of Stangrid Lun!”
Elliotte let out a horrified groan and let her face fall into her palms. “Please don’t mention that wretched man. My mother, Maker rest her soul, was a huge believer in the idea of arranged marriages. I, however, am not.”
Rhythimi laughed as she tied off a row of white flowers and began on the next. “I remember that day so fondly—Stangrid was never one to… take hints, was he? He tried his luck with that kiss of his and next thing he knew he was up to his shoulders in stream water!”
Elliotte offered a chuckle at the memory. “I didn’t know it was possible to call off a wedding that quickly! Neither did my father, I suppose. I got a real tongue-lashing for it that night. Between you and I, though, I’d do it againin a heartbeat!”
“I know this. I’m incredibly surprised you didn’t end up laying that nobleman out in one hit this morning—or did you conveniently leave that part out of your retelling?”
“No, no. No noblemen were knocked out this morning, at least by my hand! If word about that gets out, every bit of my career could be ruined in a matter of hours,” Elliotte answered.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right. As much as I know you hate it, it’s best to bite your tongue and… bide your time.”
CLARITAS. Part 4. Din Djarin/Original Female Character
WORDS: 1.2k || WARNINGS: Language
As Elliotte returned to her home and pulled the door shut behind her, she set her instrument down near the door and tried to turn her wrist over to look at the injury a little closer. The skin was a bit swollen, and two finger-shaped bruises were beginning to form above the bone. Elliotte hissed in a breath as she touched it and was met with a sharp sting of pain.
She pushed away from the door and made her way over to the stove, using her good hand to begin heating some water for tea. As she waited for it to boil, she sorted through various jars of herbs and dried flowers and set them down beside the stove.
Before she could get much further, there was a faint knock at the door. Elliotte turned away from the stove long enough to retrieve a thick knife from the drawer. She slid it into her sleeve as a precaution and turned her attention to the door once again.
Elliotte opened it a crack only to be met with the imposing figure of the metal-clad man. “Oh, you’re here,” she said politely.
“I am.”
Elliotte opened the door a bit wider and allowed him to step into her small dwelling. “Thank you. I apologize, I don’t have company very often.”
Once he was inside, he turned to face her. “You should sit,” he said, nodding to the table and chairs nearby. Elliotte obeyed, stepping backward and sinking into one of the chairs. The metal man pulled the other chair closer and did the same. Only then did Elliotte notice the first aid kit as he set it down on the table. “Let me see your arm.”
Elliotte reluctantly extended her wrist to him, and he turned her arm over so her palm was facing upward. Gloved fingers found the bruises over her wrist, trailing over them feather-light and studying the intensity of the injury. Elliotte was taken aback by his unexpected gentleness, especially as he supported the weight of her arm with his other hand to keep it upright. His helmet tipped upward, once again meeting her gaze behind his helmet. “It’s a sprain. Not fractured.”
The man opened the medical kit and fished around within it for some supplies. When he retracted his hand, he held a roll of gauze and tape. “It’ll need a few days to heal, so be sure to keep it elevated and don’t do anything too stressful,” he unrolled the gauze and began to wrap her forearm tightly, to prevent her from moving her wrist too much and increasing the damage.
A few days…? How will she be able to play her harp? If she can’t perform, she can’t collect credits… she would be able to manage just fine for a few days, but she wasn’t the only one relying on her income.
As the man released her arm, she drew her wrist closer to her body, brow furrowed softly with worry. Now was not the time to panic. Instead, she lifted her gaze. “Thank you, sir. I’m in your debt—truly.”
The man waved her off and got to his feet with a metallic click from his armor. “No, you aren’t. Don’t worry about it.”
Elliotte stood as well and made her way back toward the stove to retrieve the now-boiling water. “I know it isn’t much, but the least I can do is offer you a cup of tea…”
The man stole a hesitant glance in the direction of the front door, shifting uncomfortably from side to side.
“You’re by no means obligated… but it’s a secret family recipe,” Ell tried as she began stirring in the herbs and flower petals she’d set out earlier. As the water boiled away at the leaves, the pleasant aroma wafted throughout the kitchen. Ell poured a bit of the liquid into a mug, careful not to allow the herbs to follow suit.
Elliotte wasn’t sure if it was the smell or the honey-colored liquid in the second mug that enticed the metal man to stay, but he did—albeit obviously reluctantly.
“I’m Elliotte, by the way. Elliotte Cantossan. What do you go by?”
“Most people just call me ‘Mando’,” he answered, looking down at the mug she’d handed to him.
“Well… it’s nice to put a name to the… um. Helmet? I can’t exactly say face, now can I,” Elliotte gave a weak chuckle to hopefully ease the tension and leaned against the counter. “Why do you wear all of that anyway?”
“I’m a Mandalorian… I can’t take the beskar off. At least while there’s another person present.”
None of the terminology was familiar to Elliotte at all—she recalled a few mentions in passing of the race of ‘Mandalorians’ by some of the nobility, but she’d never seen one in real life… it was then that she made the connection and glanced between the mug still gripped in his gloved hand and the t-shape of his beskar helmet. “Oh, shit… you can’t–-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—” Elliotte started, but she was interrupted by a faint sound from beneath the Mandalorian’s helmet, muffled through the modulator. A chuckle. A small one, but still recognizable.
“It happens more often than you’d think.”
“I could step into the other room for a few minutes, if you’d like,” Elliotte offered, now feeling a touch bad.
Mando seemed to ponder it for a moment, but he then dipped his head. “No, it’s alright. I should be going anyway.”
Elliotte chewed her lip thoughtfully, offering a slow nod. “Then… please, at least take it with you. It should be hot enough to stay warm until you make it back to your ship.”
At that offer, the Mandalorian nodded curtly behind his beskar. “… I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you. I haven’t had tea since…” his voice trailed off, and his helmet tipped to the side. How long hadit been?
It was Elliotte’s turn to chuckle. “That long, huh? Well… as long as you’re stranded on this planet, feel free to visit now and again. I have dozens of tea recipes I haven’t practiced with in ages,” she watched quietly as Mando packed all of his supplies back into the medical kit and clamped it shut before speaking again, “And… thank you. I’m sorry I don’t have anything more to repay you with.”
His helmet turned in her direction. “It’s a roll of gauzeand some tape. I think your cup of tea is worth more.”
Mando’s light-hearted response to her apology startled a laugh from her. He did have a point—Elliotte was just touched by his kind gesture. He did come all this way, after all.
“Just don’t make it a daily habit. I’m not sure I have enough gauze for your other wrist,” he said, quietly picking the kit up and heading for her front door.
“Well there go my plans for tomorrow.” Elliotte replied, her heart nearly skipping a beat when her response earned another chuckle from the usually stoic man. She opened the door for him and smiled as he passed her and stepped down onto the sidewalk. He turned to face her once more and pointed sternly around the mug of steaming tea in his hand.
“Remember, keep it elevated. Don’t do anything stressful, or you’ll be nursing it for more than a couple of days.” And with that, he was gone, briskly making his way down the street until he was no longer in sight.
Now back inside the house, Elliotte returned to the counter and retrieved her own mug from beside the stove. She sipped the warm tea from it slowly, and thanked the gods that it tasted like heaven.
CLARITAS. Part 3 Din Djarin/Original Female Character
WORDS: 1.1k || WARNINGS: Attempted assault, sexual references.
Near the end of Elliotte’s time slot, the woman who shared Lord Miryus’s bed decided that it was finally time to call it quits and return to the local brothel, despite the Lord’s protests that he’d make it worth her while for just one more hour, baby, please. He seemed to have not an ounce of shame or sense to his name, as he’d just made the poor musician sit quietly and strum her instrument during their heated exchange between the bedsheets.
Elliotte couldn’t say it was her first time to have to witness such a thing; The nobility spent so much time with their heads lodged up their own backsides that it was hardly surprising they’d take no notice of the company of a working-class citizen in their midst… unless they were paying her for pleasure. The prostitute finally bid him goodbye, and he paid her his dues—and not a cent more. The poor girl left and even Elliotte, seated halfway across the room, didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched in distaste.
Somehow, the atmosphere in the room became even more uncomfortable with just she and the Lord remaining in his quarters. He had not even the decency to cover himself as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, lighting a cigar and placing it between his lips. “You know,” he drawled, exhaling a ring of smoke into the air of the room, “Your music is fine. You have a talent, and all, but you know I’d pay you more if you offered some additionalservices.”
Elliotte’s fingers faltered over the strings of her instrument for the briefest of moments before she steadied herself and continued her song, refusing to further acknowledge his statement.
CLARITAS. Part 3 Din Djarin/Original Female Character
WORDS: 1.1k || WARNINGS: Attempted assault, sexual references.
Near the end of Elliotte’s time slot, the woman who shared Lord Miryus’s bed decided that it was finally time to call it quits and return to the local brothel, despite the Lord’s protests that he’d make it worth her while for just one more hour, baby, please. He seemed to have not an ounce of shame or sense to his name, as he’d just made the poor musician sit quietly and strum her instrument during their heated exchange between the bedsheets.
Elliotte couldn’t say it was her first time to have to witness such a thing; The nobility spent so much time with their heads lodged up their own backsides that it was hardly surprising they’d take no notice of the company of a working-class citizen in their midst… unless they were paying her for pleasure. The prostitute finally bid him goodbye, and he paid her his dues—and not a cent more. The poor girl left and even Elliotte, seated halfway across the room, didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched in distaste.
Somehow, the atmosphere in the room became even more uncomfortable with just she and the Lord remaining in his quarters. He had not even the decency to cover himself as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, lighting a cigar and placing it between his lips. “You know,” he drawled, exhaling a ring of smoke into the air of the room, “Your music is fine. You have a talent, and all, but you know I’d pay you more if you offered some additionalservices.”
Elliotte’s fingers faltered over the strings of her instrument for the briefest of moments before she steadied herself and continued her song, refusing to further acknowledge his statement.
CLARITAS. Part 3 Din Djarin/Original Female Character
WORDS: 1.1k || WARNINGS: Attempted assault, sexual references.
Near the end of Elliotte’s time slot, the woman who shared Lord Miryus’s bed decided that it was finally time to call it quits and return to the local brothel, despite the Lord’s protests that he’d make it worth her while for just one more hour, baby, please. He seemed to have not an ounce of shame or sense to his name, as he’d just made the poor musician sit quietly and strum her instrument during their heated exchange between the bedsheets.
Elliotte couldn’t say it was her first time to have to witness such a thing; The nobility spent so much time with their heads lodged up their own backsides that it was hardly surprising they’d take no notice of the company of a working-class citizen in their midst… unless they were paying her for pleasure. The prostitute finally bid him goodbye, and he paid her his dues—and not a cent more. The poor girl left and even Elliotte, seated halfway across the room, didn’t miss the way her jaw clenched in distaste.
Somehow, the atmosphere in the room became even more uncomfortable with just she and the Lord remaining in his quarters. He had not even the decency to cover himself as he took a seat on the edge of his bed, lighting a cigar and placing it between his lips. “You know,” he drawled, exhaling a ring of smoke into the air of the room, “Your music is fine. You have a talent, and all, but you know I’d pay you more if you offered some additionalservices.”
Elliotte’s fingers faltered over the strings of her instrument for the briefest of moments before she steadied herself and continued her song, refusing to further acknowledge his statement.
The Lord didn’t seem satisfied with this. “Hey. I’m talking to you, Cantossan. Isn’t it your job to servethe court?”
“It is my job to pluck these strings and compose written poetry when requested, Lord,” the musician answered, maintaining her composure.
“Such delicate hands you have, my dear. You could do so much better with them. Come, allow me to show you.”
Elliotte abruptly rose to her feet and began to fold her instrument. “Apologies, Lord, but it seems as though your hour is–”
Before she could finish, her bare wrist was suddenly encircled by his large hand, preventing her escape. “I didn’t say you could leave,” the nobleman snarled, tightening his grip on her wrist until it was painful.
Internally, Elliotte was panicking. Her breathing was coming more quickly and her heart was pounding in her ears, but she maintained defiant eye contact with the large man. “Unhand me, Lord Miryus. I am your humble musician, not your prostitute. Please allow me the dignity of my choice.”
A few seconds of anxiety-inducing silence filled the space between them. Finally, after what felt like ages, Miryus’s grip on her arm softened, then fell away completely. He turned away from her, reaching for a handful of credits in his bedside drawer before tossing them carelessly at her—payment for the performance he cared not to listen to.
Elliotte stooped to quickly gather them up, tucking them in a spare pouch she kept tucked in her sleeve. Then, she picked up her instrument and briskly made for the exit. Only once the door was closed behind her did she let out a soft whimper of pain and clutch her wrist to her chest. It didn’t feel broken, but it certainly didn’t feel right.
She stopped a maid in the hallway and inquired about the possibility of acquiring a pain killer, but the maid informed her she had access to none.
Cursing under her breath, Elliotte had to bite the bullet and clear her schedule for the day. As disappointed as she was in herself, there was no use putting her arm at risk of additional damage by powering through whatever the issue was. She quietly thanked the maid and quietly made her way back down the front steps of the palace. She began to make the trek back to her house, but as she arrived near the marketplace, she figured to try her luck and inquire with the merchants about their available medicines.
Most merchants sold flowers and vegetables, various meats, and some handcrafted jewelry, but occasionally there was a small stall that offered medical supplies. The merchant was called Helio, and Rhythimi was good friends with him. They had arranged deals in the past so Rhy could buy medicine in bulk to provide for her refugees, but there hadn’t been any with injuries lately; Elliotte doubted she’d have any pain killers on hand.
Worse even, it didn’t seem like Helio was occupying his stall today. Elliotte chewed her lip thoughtfully… perhaps she could return to her house and try a home-made remedy? Ready to head home, she took a step backward and away from the stall and abruptly bumped into something hard. Ell whipped around quickly and came face-to-helmet with the man of metal she’d seen just earlier that morning.
She inhaled sharply in surprise and nearly tripped backward into the empty merchant’s stall, but the man caught her arm to prevent her fall. Unfortunately, he grabbed her injured wrist and he must have noticed her immediate wince of pain because he let go just as quickly as he’d reached out.
“… Sorry,” Elliotte mumbled, curling her wrist against her chest.
“You’re hurt,” the metal man observed.
“I’m fine. Just a little accident. I came to the market to get some medicine, but it looks like Helio isn’t around today.”
The man eyed her thoughtfully for a long moment—at least, Elliotte assumed he was, judging by the angle of the t-shape in his helmet—before shifting his gaze away and turning on his heel. “Follow me.”
Perhaps against her better judgement, she did—at least for a couple of steps, until she realized he was leading her further out of the busy city center. Elliotte paused mid-step. “Where are you taking me?”
“I have a first aid kit on my ship,” replied the man, voice distorted by the modulator inside his helmet.
“… I can’t go onto your ship with you. I don’t knowyou.”
“I’m trying to helpyou.”
“And I appreciate it very much, I really do… but sir, the whole reason my wrist is injured in the first place is because I was alone in a room with a man I did not trust… please understand my concern.”
The metal man paused and looked over his shoulder at her. If she looked hard enough, she could pinpoint the exact moment his shield of annoyance dissolved away and his rigid posture relaxed by just a hair.
“If you really mean well, meet me at my house. You were there earlier this morning,” Elliotte said, already retreating back into the safety of the crowd. At least at home, she knew she had weapons and protective gear at her disposal in case this mystery man did have bad intentions with her.
She couldn’t be too careful—not after the morning she’d had.
A/N: Thank you all for supporting this fic so far! The feedback has made me smile and tear up many times this week and I can’t thank you all enough for your kind words.
Once Elliotte’s eyes were covered by a wrap of thick fabric, the Mandalorian held two fingers in front of her face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Uh… three…? I don’t know,” came her response as her fingers sifted through the carefully aligned piles of flowers, all sorted by color, “You’re going to have to let me know what color I’m holding… and yes, it doesmatter.”
Elliotte felt the faint shift in the air as the man settled in the grass across from her. “I will, I will,” he replied, “And you can’t see anything, right…?”
“Even if I could, I have my eyes shut… but please, if you’re uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to–”
“You’ve been nothing but trustworthy since I met you. I can offer you this much as thanks.”
Ell became silent at that, sitting back on her knees and fiddling with the hem of her dress. After a moment came a soft pop and hiss as his helmet disengaged, and a faint thump as he set it aside in the grass. She could hear him draw in a faint breath, and in that moment it was difficult to determine who felt more nervous.
In an attempt to break the uncomfortable pause, Ell lowered her head in the direction of the flower piles and began feeling around for them. “What color is your hair…? Do you have hair? Are you allowed to answer that…?”
