Chapter Text
It’s incredibly hot.
You thought you had acclimatised to the Tatooine weather by now but here you are, standing in a vacant lay-by waiting for someone who looked like they had anything worth stealing, you knew the script off by heart, do not follow too soon, allow them a good few paces forward, check in with a couple of vendors every once in a while and scan their goods; make it look like you were doing a personal shop, maybe even buy something cheap and meaningless along the way to sell the act but under no circumstances do you let your eyes off of the target.
That‘s all well and good until you can’t see, you have sweat pooling in your eyes and wished for once you’d worn one of the distraction headscarves or hats you’d bought following some other fool along, you wanted this over with – adorned in an outfit of neutral, skin-tight so if a scuffle ensues the chances of snagging are reduced, it’s too damn hot. You crave a Cantina, you’ll take what’s on offer, if it’s cold and can provide any type of numbness from this disaster you’re forced to call life you’ll take it.
That’s when you spot him, cladded in Beskar, parading along with the strength only a man of confidence could. If I could swipe even a shoulder plate I’m covered for the next week at least, you know it’s a challenge but it’s either that, a beating or a fate you couldn’t even imagine. You don’t want this but it’s your only option, death is quicker. You emerge from the lay-by, wiping the sweat from your brow and managing small talk with the closest vendor, “Ronto Skewers, they look amazing”, “Only 2 Wupiupi, I promise they’re fresh”, “Perfect, let me grab what I need and I’ll be straight back here. What a treat” you said with a smile, you knew you it was a lie but it’s better to seem amicable and a potential future customer to sway anyone that may be willing to tell the truth.
Your target doesn’t slow, they don’t check out any vendors, their manners were failing – you were a thief and you still managed to provide a better manner if your target appeared to be innocent, it only secured your determination that at least one part of this Beskar outfit would be yours and allow you if only a couple of days peace.
They didn’t slow as you followed, you knew they were entering the dangerous part of town, the only people to strut with such confidence into here were here to make money or lose it and you didn’t have them pinned as a loser which would mean a fight. That wasn’t a deterrent, you needed a break however the Maker would allow it, you managed to keep up your chase.
Through the heat and sweat wasted you manage to track your target to a well-worn, under restored Cantina, two porgs one stone, as you enter and make your way to the bar as your target takes up a booth, his identity covered by a waitress, you order yourself a beer wanting to cool yourself down after a long hunt whilst appearing as a regular customer, your eyes peek round the room and you notice your target has disappeared. Fuck, you quickly pay for your drink and ask for the flirty barkeep to keep one of their eyes on your drink whilst you use the restroom, you’re panicking and follow the corridor hoping you can track your target and praying they have a weak bladder.
You’re tracing back every possible part of your memory, surely you would have heard the waitress if they had gotten up and left straight after sitting down, criticising wasting their time. You let your guard down and you were going to be the one to pay for it, punishment sooner rather than later is the better option, you make your way to the restrooms, maybe if you splash some water over your face and psych yourself up, the inevitable wouldn’t be as miserable as you’re anticipating.
As you kick the door to the bathroom open you couldn’t help but be angry with yourself, this could have been your ticket out; a few days without owing, no one watching, you could have secured your way off planet and away from all of this. As always life manages to drag you back to your wretched reality with one quick reach.
Leaning down, you cup the cool water, flowing from the tap into your hands and stare into your reflection. Your past bruises are healing quicker than usual, your once purple eye now staining as a nearly ripened peach, the splash across your face allows your reality to hit alongside it, you know what’s to come and there’s no point fighting, you’ve nothing to come home with. You allow your hands to cup another pool of water, what harm will come letting yourself feel the cool water, the last you’ll feel for weeks. You manage to splash your face one last time and give yourself a few seconds of bliss before looking up to gauge your reflection before setting on your return. What should have been your slightly bruised reflection followed by toilet stalls was instead surrounded by a shadow of grey Beskar, before you had chance to turn around a gloved hand appeared and grabbed your throat before pinning you to the mirror that you had only been looking at a few seconds before.
"You’ve been following me and I want to know why" unable to speak and attempt to offer any lie as an explanation. Your attempts to breathe quicken with the lack of oxygen you’re allowed given the grip on your throat, whilst going back home is a nasty fate you’re unwilling to allow yourself to be choked to death against the wall of a dirty Cantina bathroom, you engage with your midriff and lift your legs around your assailants neck, bringing them into a lock. They fall back and you with it, rolling over so that you're pinned underneath them, your left leg locks to the front of their throat whilst the right pins to the back of their neck, now you’re both choked and unable to breathe, you can feel the muscles in your leg need to shake alongside their grip but you’re aware any act of weakness at this point will mean life or death. You both remain in a standoff until one of your bodies does the kind gesture of giving in, that is until you hear a sweet insignificant Patu from the bathroom doorway, it’s only then without any movement from either body you’re dragged as if by the air on top of the armoured body which was once below you, and their grip begins to weaken on your throat