Credit Where Credit's Due (Closed)

If only he knew how rattled she had been at the end there, he might not have been so free with his praise. In any case, they were safe and that was all that mattered.

“Alright, I will accompany you.” She stood, prepared to follow him into the hold. Though he seemed to be capable, she still couldn’t trust him entirely. Given privacy, he had the opportunity to snoop, and she wanted to prevent that if at all possible.
 
Walking through the interior of the ship, shaking out my arms and dropping the rattled nerves. Careful with the breathing. Let it in deep, hold for a second, let it out slowly. Calms the nerves. The boots clicked on the metal panel floor. Floors that are polished as new that you can see a dull reflection in them.

Her walking behind me, I could feel her eyes boring into me. Trying to study me. A valuable cargo with a new ship, she could just take me out and steal the whole thing. Most likely the Empire marked this ship. Ever encountering it again they would blow it to pieces. A high risk. If she wanted to kill me she would have done it a long time ago. Well before getting into this mess.

Pressing the control access panel for the cargo bay the door slid open showing the compartment empty. Because everything was under the panels as directed.
 
He seemed rather tense, though she supposed it was likely a remnant anxiety from their previous situation. Perhaps she would introduce him to the benefits of meditation at some point. It was very good for the mind as well as the body, and as stressful as their jobs were she figured he could use it.

When they got to the cargo bay, she looked around, wondering where the cargo really was. It had been undoubtedly loaded onto the ship, but she was unaware of how it was hidden. In actuality, she had loaded cargo into the carts and very quickly left them just inside, so she wasn’t sure what the droids did with them after that.

“Where are they?” She asked calmly.
 
"You're standing on them," I replied giving a little wave of the hand to have her stand back. Squatting and following the seam of a panel to the outer edge and taking hold I lifted it up and pulled the rectangular panel to the side just enough for us to look inside and see the cargo was still there, intact, and lashed down to prevent jostling. I couldn't remove the panels all the way. Not without help.

"I always put my cargo. Don't know what I'm taking. Figure that, if a client is using me, what they are hauling isn't exactly legal. This compartment is not on the blueprints. The panels are treated to prevent any sort of scanning from getting through. Had to put this in after a bad job five years ago outside Tantus. Those pirates were relentless," chuckling softly to myself.

"Go ahead and have a look. All of the cargo should be there," stepping to the side and allowing her a look.
 
"Hm," she hummed appreciatively as she bent over slightly to look into the secret hold. "That is quite the compartment- I'm astonished everything fits so well." There was a pause. She scanned a bit more until she was satisfied, straightening back up and nodding at him. "You have my thanks. Nothing has dislodged in the firefight, and everything is intact. When we reach our destination, I may recommend a bonus for you."

Her voice seemed very pleased, her posture relaxing slightly.
 
That was news to my ears. "Thanks. Always glad to have a satisfied customer," chuckling lightly before putting the panel back. "Now that we have that out of the way, why don't you follow me. I will give you a tour of my home," standing up and running both hands over the front of my body to run the wrinkles out and clean off my hands.

The woman's posture wasn't telling me much. It was all hidden behind that armor and helmet. No matter how well I try to study her, not much comes out. Her voice seemed pleased with me. Good. I should take that as the beacon that all was well.

"If worse comes to worse, and we have to abandon ship. There's two escape pods. One's behind the cockpit, next to the boarding ramp. The other is directly behind you," pointing around the armored lady to a closed, circular hatch mounted on the wall with its own electrical panel. "Just press the button and jump on in. It's fitted for two people and enough supplies for two weeks. Same for the other one," gesturing with a thumb over my shoulder back towards the cockpit.

Two-man escape pods was pushing it. Only wanted one. After all, why take up space with two of them when I rarely ever take passengers?

Hidden inside my mind was the thoughts of what this cargo was. Even though I shouldn't consider it, things, outside forces, nibbled at my senses homed by years in the profession. Empire chasing after Mandalorians, and willing to kill her and blow me up in the process. Then again, I do not know much about Mandalorians. Their people. Where they come from and why they are the way that they are.

Stepping around her and going out the door, "If you follow me."
 
So he had two escape pods- perfect. If someone caught up with them and they had to eject as a last resort, she didn't want to be in the same pod as him. It was nothing against him personally, but if they were in separate pods then not only did they have a better chance of survival, but also if they were able to see which pod she was in then hopefully they would leave him alone. It was unlikely, but possible. He knew what he signed up for and was no doubt used to danger, but she hated the idea of dooming him simply by association.

"Excellent. Two escape pods is good. No doubt we will face some heat down the line, so there is a good chance we'll be using them." She nodded at the nearest one and turned to follow him for the rest of the tour.
 
"Perhaps. Hopefully not," nodding to her. Walking out of the cargo bay and shutting the door behind we walked towards the very center of the ship. Not spacious but everything was orderly. As I try to run a tight ship. Tried hard not to keep this a dump. It would make the ship dangerous with loose tools, weapons, and garbage littering the place. It would also give off a horrendous stench like a wet Bantha.

"The interior of this ship is a circle," pointing to the central pillar, "You already know about the ladders to the turrets. Aft compartment there, the 6 o'clock position if comparing the ship to a clock, that's the engine compartment. 4 o'clock position was my quarters. 3 o'clock was the workshop. 2 o'clock was the medical bay. At the 12 o'clock position was guest quarterings."

This was my ship and I knew every in and out of her that there was. She was like a woman. It had a personality making her unique. It would reach the point that I could feel if anything was wrong with the slightest vibrations. It reached the point I felt clairvoyant at times.

Going towards the 12 o'clock position we entered another compartment with a semicircular couch affixed to the far wall around a checkerd board table. If it wasn't obvious already, "This is the lounge. It's right next to your quarters," as we continued to walk.

Walking that way would silently compel her to follow. That should make her feel easy, being near her stuff. "Like I said, normally I don't take passengers, so the quarters are a bit spartan, unfortunately. Feel free to make yourself at home, though," taking a step back to allow her to enter the room.
 
She walked into the room, looking around. It was indeed sparse but that suited her quite nicely. Luxury and excess weren’t things she was used to, nor things she felt she needed. In fact, less items meant less to distract and less to take care of.

“It’s perfect,” she remarked, satisfied. “No need for anything unnecessary. “What do you do to pass the time?” She asked curiously.
 
"There's plenty for me to do," turning around and walking into the next compartment that was the workshop. "I have a bunch of things I need to work on. Gizmos. Things that I would need for my job. You know, flash grenades and energy cells for my blasters. Things I really could have used back there." Opening the door for the work shop and stepping in showed the items in question in plastic bins and stored away.

"Out here I have to be more self reliant. Trust is something that is rare in this galaxy. I cannot trust just anyone to repair my ship. Just as I cannot always trust my clients. There are a long of systems that have a price on my head. Don't know why they would. All I do is move around cargo. To think," chuckling as I went over to the work bench and sat down, "there are governments that would rather see me hanged more than a guy with a death sentence for murder!"
 
“I think that’s very wise,” she walked into his shop and looked around at the assortment of wires, metal parts, bins, and tools. “Trust is not something that either of our lines of work can afford.” It was possible that there was just a hint of sadness in her tone, as though she wished things were different.

She did. It would have been more fulfilling living in a world where she could smile freely, love openly, and relax in the knowledge that betrayal was a distant wisp of a possibility. The only thing that kept her in this life was the fact that she knew it was righteous, and that her efforts would mean the survival of her people. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
 
Looking back at her. Stillcannot read her. Voice through her helmet and her posture, things that doesn't seem to add up. Perhaps I was out of touch with people in all of this time. Social interactions, especially with women, revolve around how many credits I carried rather than the other way around.

Leaning back in the chair and crossing over my ankles and hands up and behind my head in a relaxed posture, the position I normally am in the workshop, chilling rather than doing actual work. If I did do work, it was over in minutes. Then I would just be sitting there with nothing to do.

"Now that we are alone," trying to speak without making it sound creepy to a woman with a blaster on her hip, "what's your story, Gra'tia? Why are you out here on your own?"
 
She walked over and pulled out another chair to sit down with him, though she still didn't fully relax. "I am Mandalorian. The crates we're smuggling are going to Mandalore. That is... what I'm doing, presently."

What more was there to say? She felt a bit awkward, having left it there without much explanation. It wasn't as though she could describe their cause to him or get him further involved, and outside of the cause she didn't live for herself. Gra'tia didn't have hobbies other than cleaning her armor, fixing her gear, and meditating.

"What is... your story?"
 
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Don't ask what's in the cargo. Don't break the golden rule. She truly tries to keep herself mysterious. It's alluring. Drawing me in. Wanting to know more about her. Everything is hidden. As this point I don't know what is real about her and what is an act.

Carefully looking her over. That armor. Did all of her people wear that? Was it all the same color and design like the Empire's stormtroopers? Still can't believe that, in all my years running jobs across the Galaxy, never ran into a Mandalorian.

The crates are going to her people, if we make it, it would answer a lot of my questions. Must really be desperate. If they are desperate then they are willing to pay. If they are willing to pay, then they would be willing to pay a lot. All the more reason to complete the mission. If they don't shoot him on sight.

"Not much to tell, really. I was orphaned as a child. Made my living working in machine shops until I was old enough to run away. Joined a gang or two. Learned to play cards. That's how I got this baby. Won her in a game of Sabaac. Should have seen the guy's face when I laid out my hand, an Idiot's Array. Hehe. Oh, man, he was gutted. Should've thought twice before trying to play against me," stretching myself out a little to relax the muscles.

Speaking those lines brought back a lot of bitter memories. How much I utterly despised working in those shops. It wasn't 'working' as that implies being compensated for my labors. No. It was slavery. Cleaning and pressing and running through ducts and crawl spaces to get scraps for those monsters to sell and keep the credits for themselves. I still have cuts on my back getting through those blasted ducts.

Outrider was my ticket out of there. To a better life. One that I could control myself. I chose to be a smuggler. Not because I was desperate but because I wanted to be something. Having a name and reputation. That's what got me this job. If I had continued to be laboring in those shops, I would have died before I could be an adult. It's a dangerous life. That's what made it so exciting.

Even still my body was a bit tight following last night's romp. Didn't realize, until it was over, that I was tooting my own horn. Perhaps a little too much.
 
“I am… also an orphan,” she stated, trying to be nonchalant about it. She didn’t want him to think that she pitied him, nor that she was making things up to find common ground. Gra’tia truly had no idea who her parents were, her home planet having been laid to waste for refusing to give up its resources to the empire.

“I also have not had the opportunity to engage in card games, but it sounds like you possess quite the game prowess. Perhaps you could teach me the rules if time allows.” She shuffled in her seat slightly, trying to move the conversation along.
 
Part of me wanted to say, you're an orphan, too? Oh, wow! What's that like being abandoned by your parents?

No. Say something better. Something to bond over rather than something sad and bitter.

"I will be happy to teach you. The hame of cards involves a lot more than just getting the right hand. You learn to read your opponent. Study their mannerisms. Their ticks," tapping my left temple with that extended index finger. "Over time I learned to tell when someone was bluffing and when their threats are genuine," speaking with an upbeat tone while also being serious.

"Have to be careful, though. There are a lot of people that, heh, don't take losing well," remembering that time I won a pile of credits in a seedy bar in the Outer Rim. The guy didn't want to give it up, so he pulled a blaster and fired. Missed my head by a couple centimeters. Thankfully he was as lousy a shot as he was a card player.

That really was staunchest by her armor and helmet. That didn't mean she was totally blank. Being close I could read her body language and learn more about her tone.

"That's one if the good things about playing cards. Part of it is chance and Part of it is skill. Learn to play the game and you will walk away a rich man, or woman," smiling widely and giving a firm nod.
 
“I would say that my luck is pretty decent, as is my ability to read people. However it’s not a skill I’ve honed.” She shrugged.

“I’m one of the quickest draws you will ever meet though. I don’t mean to boast, but I’ve been trained from a very young age to fight, and that has its benefits….” The woman looked around the room again. “Do you have any armor polish, by the way? I can compensate you for it.”
 
I had no doubt about her skill for I had seen it first hand. "I really could ha e used you in some of my games!" Laughing with a slap in my thigh.

Mandalorian polishing the armor is lime cleaning your blaster. May be tedious yet it always leads to good results.

"Armor polish? Sure. I think I have some," craning my head about at the marked containers sitting in their little cubbies. It compelled me to stand up to look up close. "Let's see...no. that's wires. Gears. No. That's chips. Oh! That's right. The cleaning supplies are down at my feet.

Dropping to one knee the label showed me the right one. Here we are. A used container of Blitz Cleaner! Some of the good stuff, I felt.

Holding the plastic container tight, it's brown label still wrapped tightly on it despite the spill marks across its body. "Here we are. This should be enough," and tossing it over to her underhand style. "If you're looking for a rag, there a bunch in the work bench right there," gesturing with an extended finger back at the bench. In the upper right corner, under plastic containers marked, "Oil Remover" sat a stack up folded up rags. Like I said I like things to he orderly.

"I should have some more but I only carry Blitz Cleaner," as I spoke I went back to the chair and sat down, crossing the legs and interlocking the fingers. Outstretched arms above my head ked to the knuckles popping. Ah! That felt so good.
 
She caught the can and nodded, "thank you. I'll make good use of this."

The next moment, she moved to the work bench and picked out a rag, sitting back down and setting down both items. At that point, she unholstered her blaster and set it down as well, poised to be able to grab and shoot at him if need be. It seemed she still didn't fully trust him, though she trusted him enough to remove her armor. Well, at least most of it.

The Mandalorian removed all but her helmet, though she wasn't naked underneath. Instead, she had a body-tight black leggings and long-sleeved underarmor. It was thin material, but it was obviously high-quality and would keep her warm even if she was jet-packing at high speeds. Her breasts didn't look very large, but if one was observant they could tell that there was no separation of her breasts either: underneath her underarmor she was binding her chest to make things easier for herself. If that was the case, then one could assume that her chest was quite bountiful when freed from their cloth prison.

Gra'tia started to polish her armor diligently, single-mindedly working on the task.
 
Wasn't expecting such a show. They DO have clothing underneath. Interesting. Learn something new every day. "I wanted to ask, what's your armor made out of?" Had to be strong stuff. Far stronger than the what the Imperials are using. Try to remember what those blasted Stormtroopers use that stuff called plastoid. Sounds like cheap garbage. The woman laid everything out and went to work leaving me sitting over there wondering what I should do because if I remain here sitting and staring, I would feel like a perv as she was down to her leggings and under-armor and that blaster pistol within reach looked really tempting.

Leaning slowly to the side to see around her body and take a gander at what she was laboring on. Of course, I knew it was her armor, but I wanted to see what it was like when cleaned up. Just like me after my long overdue shower, I came out looking and feeling like a new man. Was her armor the same way.

Never really liked armor. It got in the way of my movements. I've always preferred speed and agility over absorbing laser bolts. Those things hurt! Come to think of it, I don't think I have ever used armor outside of a helmet.
 
"It's beskar," she replied, not looking up from her task. "It completely repels blaster-fire, lasers, and light-sabers. It's not very common." There was a pause before she added, "it's something my people use almost exclusively, as it used to be mined from Mandalore. The mines of Mandalore haven't been used in many, many years now, so we're only just now getting new material to work with."

The more she polished, the more shiny and clean it looked. Though her suit was sandy with silver accents, the gauntlet she was working on already looked very spiffy. She intended to use the full can, as she hadn't polished her suit in some time, and she could always replace his polish at their next stop.

"Do you ever wear armor, or are you usually dressed lightly?" Came a conversational question.
 
Beskar? Never heard of it. Must be valuable if it's rare and possesses such strong qualities. Perhaps I can get enough of it to deck out the entirety of the Outlander. What was a light saber? Was that a weapon the Mandalorians used? Only weapon I prefer to use lay on my hip at all times.

That's when I leaned back further into my chair and crossed my ankles again, resting both hands, clasped together, on my lap rather casually. Now my body was feeling less tense while still being close to the Gra'tia that I could see the accents on her armor as she polished it.

"Armor? No. I don't like armor. Makes me heavy and slow. I prefer to be fast. No disrespect to your armor, though" holding out a hand to her. "I prefer being able to dodge my shots rather than take them," buckling my eyebrows and chuckling lightly.
 
"If you train enough, you can get used to it but I understand wanting to be more agile in battle. My armor is indeed very heavy." With that, she actually tossed a gauntlet to him under-handed. Nowadays she didn't notice its weight, but it couldn't be denied that pure beskar was a very dense and heavy metal.
 
She tossed it to me and I caught it with both hands. Holding the gauntlet in palm, hefting it up several times. Wow. It was heavy. Tips of the fingers running over the contours of the object. Pulling it close to my eyes to see the details. Such craftsmanship. All of this was done using Beskar? How long would it take for that to be made if this metal is that strong. There had to be a master forge, or some massive machine to make something like this out of a single piece of Beskar.

"I can't imagine having to walk around with something like on me at all times," cradling the gauntlet in my lap. "What does this one do?" holding it back up to my eye and looking through the loop of the gauntlet, using it as a scope to put Gra'tia in my sights as she continued her cleaning.
 
Gra'tia froze mid-polish, her head slowly turning to look at him as she slowly said in a lower, more commanding tone, "do not point that at me. Not unless you want this ship to catch fire." Depending on the button he pushed, it would either release a jet of flame, or shoot her with a laser-pulse. Her net and cable were on her other gauntlet, and in retrospect she thought to herself that it would have been wiser to toss that one to him rather than this one. As it was, she was in a vulnerable position at the end of his scope and she didn't like it.
 
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