Song hums with nerves as he stands outside the cantina. Pir huffs at the sound from his side, irritated no doubt.
It’s not his fault he's freaking out! Anyone with sense would be nervous!
Koyi slinks up to his other side with a confidence no teenager should possess, stopping in such a way that her long skirt twirls at the movement.
They must look like quite the group.
A nervous young human, flighty in a way that Song just knows must scream runaway. The tallest near-human anyone in this city has likely seen this week, with scars and scowl to match. And of course… the Twi’leki teenager who scares them both with her antics more than than could possibly be healthy.
Not even a revolution in the streets is enough to make them ordinary.
Song would know, they were fighting in that revolution not a week ago.
There are scorch marks from blaster fire on the cantina door.
Song tells himself it’s just because some criminal was hiding out there and then tries his best not to think about the fact they're all probably wanted criminals because that thought just makes everything worse.
“I think I’m going to throw up.” He announces.
Pir takes a step away from him.
“Nonsense! We’ll be fine!” Koyi claps him on the back. It does not help. “I’ve been in places like this before, it’s not too bad.”
“You have no idea how not reassuring that is to me.”
"Just follow my lead." She whispers with a grin and throws the doors open, skirt swirling and head held high.
Song ducks behind Pir’s larger frame and follows.
Koyi is already at the bar by the time they make it through the door, smiling innocently and batting her eyelashes at the bartender.
He grunts and slides a full mug over, Pir intercepts it before she can grab it and takes a wordless sip with a small grimace.
“C’mon, you’re no fun…” She pouts.
“It’s not good for you.” Song intervenes.
“But…” She tries to protest.
“If you say your master used to give it to you, I'm going to find a way to bring him back just so I can kill him again.” Song hisses under his breath.
“Fine.” She huffs. “It makes things so much easier though.”
“I don’t care. We’ll figure something out.” Stars, they’d better.
A couple men have taken to staring at her, not even attempting to hide their intentions. Song tugs Pir over to better hide her from view before she can notice and get any ideas and scans the cantina for anyone who doesn’t look like a slaver or scummy and ambitious enough to try becoming one on a whim.
He swallows at the sight of his most likely choice and surveys the room a second time just to make sure he didn’t miss anyone.
He does not like that option.
He isn’t coming up with anything better.
The shock of Pir’s stature is starting to wear off. They don’t have much time.
Song takes Koyi’s hand and hopes Pir follows.
“Hello.” His voice doesn’t shake and he is terribly proud. “I don’t suppose you’re open to some freelance work?” He meets their visor squarely and revels for a moment in the excitement that that is something he can do now.
The Mandalorian does not move.
Song’s smiles is starting to strain, the spark of excitement at successful eye contact fading.
Koyi twitches and he squeezes her hand in what he hopes communicates please for the love of all that is good in the galaxy do not karking flirt with this one.
The Mandalorian tilts their head slightly in what Song decides to take as an invitation. Koyi slides in first, an enticing false smile plastered on her face. Song and Pir file in right after. He almost sighs with relief, at least with Koyi between them and the wall no one can grab her easily.
“Well met, I’m Song and these are my companions.” He starts to introduce, nodding to Pir and Koyi in turn.
“You said freelance work.” Oh, straight to business. Song can handle that!
“Yes, you see, we’ve had a bit of…” He considers his words. “Mechanical trouble.”
Pir snorts and Song jabs him with an elbow, no need to make it obvious they’re desperate just yet.
“The ship’s toast, nothing for it but, well, we aren’t exactly… from around here.”
The Mandalorian shifts in their seat for the first time, body language somehow managing to broadcast an aura of amusement.
He hadn’t realized it was quite so obvious.
“The point is." He refocuses. "We need a ride and there aren’t exactly any public transports going home at the moment.” Not to mention the trouble of their cargo.
They probably raise an eyebrow at that. He doesn’t know for certain but there aren’t exactly many places without some kind of transport running at least once a week.
“Where is home?” They ask.
He takes a breath, lets it out. “Bandomeer.”
If they didn’t already think they were looking at runaways they certainly are now.
The Mandalorian studies them a little more intently and Song tries not to cry.
“We have credits,” probably not enough to pay for passage to a planet ravaged by rebellion and violence but they might be able to offer their cargo to make up the difference, “and it’s not far.”
That much is true.
They barely made it out of the next system.
He curses the slavers and their last minute sabotage viciously in the privacy of his mind.
They hum, a distorted sound through their helmet, and Song wishes desperately he could see their face, could make some sort of guess as to their intentions.
“I am not going that way.” Song doesn’t let himself react, he feels Koyi slump at his side. “However, something tells me you were not on your way home.”
“We were not.” Song hedges.
“I can bring you with me, if you would like, perhaps make a stop if it is close to my destination.”
“Where are you heading?” He asks, hesitant.
“Tatooine.”
Oh, of course the galaxy would be so cruel.
“Well, how lucky for us.” He smiles tremulously. “That was our original destination.”
“Wonderful, we leave within the hour.” He imagines they grin, cruel and victorious. With that, the Mandalorian stands, leaving credits for their tab on the table and scribbling something on a piece of flimsi they hand to Song.
“Oh,” they pause for a moment and turn back to them. “You may call me Kho.”
He tries very hard not to let his fear show.
“Well met, Kho.” He does not look up at them and hears more than sees them nod and turn away to leave.
He hopes they haven’t made a terrible mistake.
“So…” Song asks as Pir and Koyi shove crates of… Song does not exactly know how he will be explaining the crates without exposing himself to possibly getting murdered by their host, or the Hutts, honestly probably the Hutts. He'll figure something out.
They’ve exchanged a little more information now, Koyi is very delighted to have someone to chat with who she doesn’t consider a threat, which is nice. Apparently her long list of triggers does not include vaguely human-shaped Mandalorian women.
He just wishes it would sink in that there are people who might also be interested in turning her in for a bounty and not… Well, they try not to talk about it.
Kho hums to show she’s listening, he’s getting the impression she does that a lot.
“What brings you to Tatooine? If you don’t mind me asking.” If he knows who she's working for, he'll at least have some idea of how much risk they're exposing themselves to by agreeing to come.
“If I tell you, will you tell me why you find yourselves drawn to its sands?” There is some degree of amusement in her tone, Song hopes it isn’t cruel.
“Ah, well…” He scrambles.
“I thought not.” She chuckles softly and watches the loading process for a few moments. Song resigns himself to ignorance.
“I am looking for someone.” She says slowly. “It has been a long time but… perhaps they still live.”
“Who?”
“Her name is Tah.” There is a sadness to her voice, even flattened as it is by her vocoder. He does not miss the moment’s hesitation on the word is.
“She’s on Tatooine?” He asks, careful not to overstep.
“I have never known her to be.”
Song doesn’t ask anything more.
Koyi squeaks and almost trips carrying a—kark, he’s pretty sure that one’s delicate—box. Kho is there, quick as a flash and steadies her with a strong hand.
“Oh, thanks!”
She nods and heads into the ship without a word.
“She’s so cool.” Koyi breathes, awe in every syllable.
Great, just what he needs.
-
Song is pretending to nap, Pir is not pretending at all.
He’s fairly certain their Mandalorian host knows he isn't asleep but, either she respects his motivations or she just doesn’t care because she hasn’t said anything.
Koyi is taking advantage of the fact her “overprotective” companions are asleep.
“You never take it off?” She asks.
Kho stays silent a moment. “Not with those outside my Clan, and sometimes not even then.”
“Why? Is it like Mirialans? I heard they cover their heads.”
“For some of us, it is religious in nature. There are traditionalist coverts that believe that a Mandalorian’s face is not to be seen.”
“Is it like that for you?” He can almost see Koyi’s lekku twitch with open interest in his mind.
“For me…” She seems to measure her response again and answers gently. “For me, it was the first choice I had faced in a very long time. I don’t think I had a reason, beyond wanting that choice. Now, I am comfortable with my choice, knowing that it will always be mine.”
“Oh.” Koyi, surprisingly, remains quiet at that.
Song opens his eyes slowly but doesn’t draw attention to himself. It seems wrong, somehow, to break the silence.
"I like wearing long skirts. Song stole this one for me." She says after a few minutes, almost a whisper. "I asked for orange."
Koyi pulls her dagger out of its case and fiddles with it absently, a new habit and one that Pir and Song are both terribly proud of her for.
Kho sits back and drags her attention away from the lights of hyperspace.
It’s hard to tell exactly where her eyes are looking but Song can guess.
“How do you hold your knife, ad’ika?”
Koyi shows her, it looks slightly off even to Song’s ignorant eyes. Kho moves very slowly, ready for Koyi to deny her and shifts her hands into a more stable grip.
“It works just fine, I killed a guard with it.” Koyi pouts but Song can see she’s pleased. He really wishes she wouldn’t say such things to near strangers.
“I believe you, but, like this, you may be able to kill two guards.”
Koyi beams.
He hopes that doesn’t become a problem.
-
Song goes to Pir after the third knife throwing lesson and flops down on one of the surprisingly comfortable bunks they’ve been given.
“Do you think we’re making a mistake?” He asks the ceiling, and Pir.
Pir just grunts and Song stops his wallowing enough to glance over.
“I feel like teenagers shouldn’t be learning to throw knives.”
"Teenagers shouldn't be fighting for their lives either, and yet..." Pir signs with an almost dismissive motion. "She's made her choice, just as we have."
“I know…” He groans. He wishes she hadn't, for all that he knows leaving her behind would have left him anxious and terrified.
He glances over to see another signed reminder that none of them exactly know what teenagers should or shouldn’t be doing anyway, so long as it isn’t what Koyi was doing before.
“I know that! Just-, I don’t want to kark her up worse.” Song gestures wildly.
“I’m not sure that’s possible.” He signs back.
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Pir just shrugs and turns back to whatever he was doing before Song came in.
“I’m serious! What if this, like, kriffs up her mental development or something!”
“It makes her feel safe.” Another shrug. “That’s probably a good thing.”
Song sighs.
It probably is.
He’s alone with Kho.
It’s a rare thing to be alone with anyone on the ship, as crammed together as they are in a ship not really designed for more than perhaps two.
They sit in the cockpit, Song shifting and fidgeting with nerves, Kho still with control and purpose.
He wishes he could gather the courage to hum something or better yet stumble his way through some song from his childhood he only half remembers.
Instead he fidgets, nervous but not… afraid, exactly.
It’s a glorious thing not to be afraid.
He doesn’t want to ask.
He needs to.
He doesn’t look at her.
“You know, don’t you.” It’s not exactly a question but he’s certain she’ll understand, and if she doesn’t? Well, all the better for them.
“Know what?”
Of course she isn’t going to make it easy.
“What we are.”
She hums, low in her throat and without threat.
“I know what you were.” She says, something very firm about the distinction. “I have seen Pir’s scars before, I know what they mean.”
That isn’t a surprise.
“Koyi does not like to dance, and yet she knows so much of it.”
Song closes his eyes, pained.
He takes a breath, deep as he can manage, lets it out.
“You forget, sometimes, that you have a blaster.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t just say I’m jumpy.” He chuckles without humor.
She hums again in thought. “There are many reasons for a person to be jumpy, fewer reasons for them to forget they can fight.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
He opens his eyes, he owes it to Pir and Koyi to do so. He doesn’t think he could fight her but he can at least look for the betrayal, make sure it doesn’t burn with broken trust and surprise.
She faces him without flinching, as if she knows why he does it.
“I will see you to Tatooine and wish you nothing but victory.” There is something fierce and vicious in her voice.
Song relaxes against his seat.
They watch the lights in silence, some new kind of solidarity settling unacknowledged between them.
-
Song shuffles and paces, so full of movement he isn’t sure he could stop if he needed to.
He really isn’t sure how to ask.
Koyi makes it look so easy, so simple.
Pir just shakes his head, no help at all.
The thing is, he needs to ask.
He knows how dangerous Tatooine is. He’s going to find out exactly how dangerous soon and he’s acutely aware of how lucky he’s been so far. He can’t let his discomfort keep him from protecting the people important to him.
It’s that thought that spurs him on.
He has the timing perfect.
Kho’s alone again, silent in her pilot’s chair.
“Kho?”
He forces himself to take a seat next to her.
She tilts her head in acknowledgement.
He takes a steadying breath.
“Could you teach me to fight?”
Her head turns fully to face him.
He meets her visor’s gaze head on. He isn’t afraid, not anymore.
“It would be an honor.” She offers him an arm and clasps it hard when he takes it. “May you defend your Clan with pride.”
“Thank you.” He slumps and gives her a grateful smile. “When do we start?”
-
Song may not have considered all the angles when he asked Kho to teach him how to fight.
He’s sore.
It’s a good sore but stars does it hurt.
He spent weeks in those horrible mines! It should have given him some sort of leg up! Not to mention all the fighting in the weeks that followed.
“I’m fairly sure my bruises have bruises.” He complains.
Kho and Pir say nothing, heartless.
Koyi giggles.
At least one of them is having a good time.
“You should go for the knees next time! I bet that’ll work!” She teases.
“I’m sure it would, if you didn’t tell the entire ship what I should try next.” He groans and finally convinces his achy muscles to sit up.
Kho tilts her head with consideration and gives him a nod before walking off without a word.
Song can’t help but flop back onto the floor at the obvious dismissal.
“Tired?” Koyi walks over so she can grin down at him.
Song grumbles irritably in answer.
He can’t quite stop his smile at her answering laugh, clear and happy and, best of all, free and unafraid.
-
Kho hesitates at the threshold, and doesn’t it say something that Song knows what hesitation looks like on her now?
“If you have trouble…” She starts.
“We’ll be fine Kho! Don’t worry!” Koyi chirps, confident and likely itching to run across the sands.
“We’ll comm you.” Song says firmly and finds he means it.
Pir nods from his place by his side.
“Good.” Kho nods and that settles it.
Song takes one of their hands in each of his and squeezes once.
They both squeeze back.
He takes a deep breath and grins.
No more setbacks.
No more delays.
It’s time to spread some foolish ideas.