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The Mandalorian trainer pulls a knife from the sheath strapped around his vambrace, and twirls the short blade deftly between his fingers. The man isn’t even looking at the weapon, his eyes following the movements of his sparring clone cadets. If he notices the shaggy headed cadet unabashedly watching him in the far corner, he doesn’t give any indication.
Awestruck, Hunter doesn’t notice an enemy attack approaching until Crosshair charges into him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him. “Pay attention, idiot,” Crosshair growls. “It’s no fun getting the advantage if you aren’t even trying.”
Hunter squirms in Crosshair’s hold. “Fine. Get off.”
Crosshair rolls to his feet and puts out a hand to help Hunter up. Hunter grudgingly accepts the offer, his brother yanking him up roughly. The two get back into ready position, and while Hunter does put his all into the exercise, he can’t quite stop himself from occasionally glancing at the Mandalorian, the blade catching the light as it flits in a dangerous dance between his fingers.
Hunter grins to himself. He can do that.
***
“That is not a training knife,” Tech observes critically when Hunter pulls the very real weapon from his bag. “Where did you get that?”
“I found it,” Hunter says.
Crosshair rolls his eyes. “More like stole it.”
“You stole it?” Wrecker gasps.
Hunter frowns. “I borrowed it. I’ll put it back when I’m done.”
“Done with what?” Tech asks.
“I wanted to try something,” Hunter says. He’d been practicing with his rubber training knife for weeks, and he’s gotten pretty good in his opinion.
“Please tell me you are not going to try spinning that sharp knife around your fingers,” Tech says.
Hunter flashes Tech a grin. “I’m not gonna try.”
“Yeah,” Crosshair says, sitting down at the table, folding his arms and resting his chin on them. “He’s gonna cut his fingers off on purpose.”
“Could he really cut off his fingers?” Wrecker cries, alarmed.
“If not his fingers, then his entire hand,” Crosshair says.
“I’m not going to cut anything off,” Hunter assures Wrecker, “I’ve been practicing, and I know what I’m doing.”
***
Hunter holds his bleeding hand over the fresher sink. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a little scratch.”
“A little scratch does not bleed profusely,” Tech deadpans, examining the wound before pouring bacta over it. Hunter hisses, jerking away, but Tech’s tight grip on his wrist prevents a full retreat. “Please hold still.”
Wrecker and Crosshair crowd in the doorway, watching.
“It did look really cool,” Wrecker appeases, “Well, until you sliced your hand open.”
“I didn’t slice my hand,” Hunter growls. “It’s just a scratch.”
“If you keep telling yourself that, maybe it’ll come true,” Crosshair snarks.
Hunter glares. “Maybe if you shut up, I won’t sock you in the jaw.”
Crosshair grins back triumphantly. “I’d like to see you try with that gimp hand of yours.”
“I advise you let the cut heal before you get into a physical altercation with anyone,” Tech says, wrapping a bandage around Hunter’s palm.
Hunter huffs, glancing at the knife balanced on the edge of the sink. He just needs to practice with his rubber blade for a few more weeks before he tries again.
END