Chapter Text
He wasn’t worried about getting attacked in this dive, no, he honestly felt most comfortable in places like this. They thrived on chaos and the gears that made them work were all the same- money. The currency could be credits, it could be something else, but it didn’t matter in the end. Cantinas like this one kept him busy. Places like this kept him paid and also kept him fed.
He pushed aside the beaded current that was acting like a door to a private room and gave the space a quick once over. Cleaning was clearly not the first thought of the droids that took care of the space. Dust, grime, even something that looked like dried blood speckled the area. There was nasty history etched into the walls. He made a face inside his helmet before moving to sit down at the table. This wasn’t the filthiest place he had ever eaten, he’d make do. The barkeep said someone would be with him soon to take an order, which was fine by him. He was starving and needed a drink.
He was, also, still annoyed his last hunt had ended so soon.
Boba reached up and carefully undid the seal on his helmet since he wasn’t worried about a random di’kut bursting in on this space. Plus, it wasn’t like he was following some strict code. It didn’t matter if anyone saw him without the helmet, he just liked these private rooms because he got fed up with dealing with stupid people while he was trying to eat. He was just pulling it all the way off his head when someone pushed through the curtain. Beads rattled loudly and a faint chirp of a droid caught his attention. The droid wasn’t odd, it was the fact it was riding on the back of a pale, skinny kid that didn’t look much younger than him that gave him pause. His brows knit together when he realized the kid was looking down at a datapad that had clearly seen better days. The electronic device was turning red with age, almost the same color as the kid’s hair. He leaned back in his seat as he studied his waiter. There was a scar on his face, stretching from the bridge of his nose and across one cheek before vanishing into his hair. Boba knew that type of scar, the ones that left angry, shiny welts in the flesh. The kid had taken a kriffing blaster bolt to the face and was still standing.
“Ma said you wanted to order something,” the voice was mellow and almost cautious. How had this kid become a waiter in a place like this? As if sensing Boba thinking about him, he looked up and froze.
Pale flesh somehow went even paler and Boba could have sworn he heard a word uttered.
Except he had to have misheard.
There was no way some womp rat he didn’t know had said vod.
A tension seemed to swirl around the room, brushing up against them both like some demanding tooka, and then the droid said something about a trash compactor and no one would ever know. Boba could feel his eyebrows rising up towards his hairline as he continued to stare. That was extremely violent for a droid, but that isn’t what shocked him most. No, it is the way the kid softened slightly and simply smirked. There was durasteel in that smirk, a promise of violence unlike any he has seen since the purge.
A flash of energy, a hum of a blade.
Danger.
“Are you going to order a drink or not,” the kid says with faint impatience as if they both hadn’t frozen while he had some internal mini-crisis.
“Give me something stiff,” he finds himself saying as his gaze trails to the droid, who is somehow glaring daggers at him without having real eyes. The droid is small enough he could easily just punt it across the room, but somehow still seems to be exuding a protective aura around the kid. “And a nerf steak.”
“You’ll regret that, but whatever, man.” The kid taps something into the datapad and the droid suggests adding on a glass of hyperdrive fuel. Boba is impressed that the corner of the kid’s mouth only twitches.
“Do I get a name,” he asks because he can’t help himself.
“No, I don’t get paid enough for that.” The kid turns on his heel and walks right out of the room, clearly practiced at brushing customers off. What tips that kid gets must have been based on looks alone. Though there are probably plenty of people out there who would tip heavily to listen to that sass, Boba was certainly tempted. He wanted that durasteel bite used against him again. The curtain was still clattering loudly after his exit and Boba found he was left feeling slightly confused. The inflection, the way he had made that remark, it drummed up memories he had thought had shoved deep down into the abyss of his mind. Forgotten on purpose. He began to stew in silence while he waited for his food and drink to arrive. The meeting with the waiter playing over and over in his head like some holonet show.
What had he missed?
What hadn’t he noticed?
He slowly unclipped his blaster and set it on the table, off to the side just slightly. There is no guarantee the kid will bring the food, might pawn it off on someone else, but if he does then Boba wants to show he doesn’t exactly mean harm. He carefully peels his gauntlets off, one gloved finger at a time, and places them carefully over the blaster. He has other weapons on his person, as all good bounty hunters should, and wonders for a brief second if the kid is also carrying weapons.
He slouched down in his seat and glowered at the beaded curtain. He had meant to call a contact while in this room, but now he can’t keep his eyes off the doorway.
Vod.
That is a word he hasn’t heard in years. He could still picture the concerned look of the larger vod’e when he tumbled through yet another air vent cover. They had all been careful around him, but had still treated him like he belonged. Buir had never been cruel to them, just indifferent, and then the jetii had arrived. Everything had quickly unraveled after that and some part of Boba was still angry about how his world had been so thoroughly obliterated because of the jetiise. Kenobi hadn’t quite been the reason, and he knew that, but he still seethed with mild rage as he thought about Mace Windu. The man was dead, as were pretty much all the jetiise, but he still wished he had the chance to punch the dead man in the face. He had stolen buir from him and the vod’e. Everything had just gone horribly wrong after he watched the great Jango Fett decapitated right in front of him.
His nail bit at a scratch in the table while he continued to wait.
The sound of the droid talking bounced into the room first and then the curtain shifted as the kid stepped through again. He walked straight over to the table and slammed a glass of some sickly colored booze down on the table. Boba found he liked his attitude.
“Poison,” he managed to keep most of the amusement out of his voice and the kid snorted hard.
“No. Drink it slow or you’ll go blind. ...or choke on it, I don’t care.” Boba made a point of picking up the glass and draining half as he watched the kid. Another snort, but with an eye roll, and then the kid was leaving. His throat burned, fire settled inside his chest, and he tightened his grip on the cup.
That shit was vile.
Boba pulled his comm out and quickly tapped out a code. Contact later. Not safe.
A moment later and a response came.
Understood.
He knew he had people to answer to, to give jobs to without the Guild interfering, but he couldn't be karked to care at the moment. The syndicate would wait. When he raised the glass to his lips again he made sure to take a smaller sip. The stuff was strong and he could see how drinking a large quantity would have some severe side effects. The flavor was a bit like coolant and he found himself wondering if the kid had actually given him the stuff. The color, thankfully, was the wrong color.
He sat in relative silence while he waited for the other to reappear. At this point, he didn’t even care about the nerf steak. He wanted to interrogate the kid. He wanted to know why that reaction had happened.
Boba wanted to know why the other had said vod.
What was the connection?
The stench of a burnt nerf steak announced the next arrival of his waiter. He didn’t even blink as the plate was dropped hard on the table in front of him. The gelatinous meat bounced and Boba suddenly understood why the kid had said he would regret the order. The nerf steak was riddled with far too much fat and was damn near blackened. The meat looked like it had been cooked with a flamethrower, which meant the cook was horrible at their job. His lips peeled back from his teeth in annoyance as he stared at the plate as if it had given him grave insult. Haran, even the side vegetables looked like they had just been scooped out of the trash. The whole thing was killing his appetite and he had to wonder why anyone ordered food here.
Still, he would eat it. One didn’t waste food, not when they didn’t know when their next meal would be.
“Did you make this,” he asked as he cast a look at the kid, eyes narrowed assessingly.
“Hardly. I’m not allowed in the kitchen, except to wash dishes.”
Well, that was a small relief.
The kid turned away, most likely to go wait on someone else, and Boba moved before he could think. His arm shot out, knocking into his gauntlets, and snagged the kid’s wrist. One of the pieces of armor started to tip over the edge of the table and the droid began a sort of high-pitched sound. The kid, for his part, only twisted to catch the thing before it could land on the questionably clean ground. Then, it happened, Boba felt his eyes go wide as the kid got the strangest look in his eyes. He had seen that before and he tightened his grip on the wrist. Not a sound of protest was made and he knew it was because the kid wasn’t with him anymore.
He was in an echo.
Karking jetii magick.
Quinlan Vos had gotten that same stupid look when he was overtaken by something powerful. He almost felt a spark of pity for whatever had trapped the redhead, but a part of him figured he got what he deserved. He shouldn’t have reached for the gauntlet if he knew there was a risk. Boba frowned as he stared, the kid was wearing a glove on his other hand, but clearly should have been wearing gloves on both hands. The droid called him some fascinating names and he couldn’t help wondering where he had learned those words. Some of those words were Outer Rim insults and some even he didn’t know.
“Easy,” he bit out before using his free hand to dig in a belt pouch. “I’m not going to turn him in.” The droid chirped uncertainly before threatening bodily harm just as Boba struck. He pressed a hypo needle right into the kid’s neck. The unfocused eyes rolled back and he jumped fully out of his seat without a second to spare. The kid collapsed into his arms, the gauntlet still clutched in a hand, and the droid seemed to tremble.
“Yeah, I didn’t think this through,” he informed the tiny mechanical creature. The droid made a rude sound before bumping his head against the side of the kid’s face. “This place isn’t karking safe for either of you. Why would you let him do something so reckless?” The sharp sounds from the droid, oh BD-1, how rude of him not to know the name before hand, were not kind and informed Boba that he couldn’t always get the kid to do smart things. They had needed credits. His lips twitched. “Sorry, I won’t insult your caretaking skills again.”
BD-1 made a rather smug sound before inquiring what was about to happen now.
“...get him back to the ship and I guess figure it out after that.”
Boba manhandled the kid into a seat before going about putting all his armor back on. The blaster was secured back in the holster, clipped neatly in place, and he frowned inside his bucket while staring at the jetii he had just drugged. What the kriff had he just done? BD-1 was humming faintly, some sort of lullaby as far as he could tell, and he was struck with the sudden predicament he was in. How was he supposed to get the waiter back to his ship? Just carry him out?
Kriff, he really hadn’t thought any of this through.
“If I pick him up, are you going to hurt me,” he asked the droid. A faint reassurance was all he needed before he moved to place an arm underneath the back of the kid’s knees and an arm across his back. This was seriously going to slow him down if he had to fight anyone. The scowl growing on his face didn’t lessen any when BD jumped onto the kid’s chest, hunkering down like some sort of guardian.
“Back door?”
BD chirped in agreement and projected a very thorough map of the cantina. Boba was impressed, even while he was thinking to himself the kid didn’t weigh enough. Picking him up had been far too easy.
“Why are you helping me steal your friend,” Boba glanced down at the droid and watched the map vanish from the edges of his vision. Silence carried for a moment before BD said he had a feeling. Feeling, Boba snorted hard, what was with it jetiise and feelings? Why had the droid adopted that dumb statement? They sure hadn’t felt the purge coming. None of them had and the vod’e- He shifted his grip slightly before pushing his way out of the room. No one glanced their way and he walked as quickly as he dared without making noise. A door to a hallway sprang openly easily and he picked up his pace. He’d need to remember to send credits later, to pay for the meal he very much hadn’t eaten.
“We get to the ship,” he told BD, “And then we hit atmo. How likely is he to attack when he wakes up?”
BD took far too much glee in informing him that his human would rip his limbs from his body.
His jetii was a whirlwind of pain against any who stood in their way.
Great.
Just karking great.