006. A CRYING NEED

( —a definite or desperate need for someone or something. )

»»————-————-««

"I heard that a witch aided you through the commission, Mandalorian."

Din Djarin was swift to realize that admiration and resentment were the same trains, but bound for in the opposite directions. In order to receive a new relationship, one had to deplane onto the platform and wait for the next train to arrive. Whatever it may come bearing. Besides, what was he thinking? A witch and a Mandalorian? It was like forcing two opposing poles of a magnet to attach. Even if the analogy seemed simple, it would always be a disaster. For something so steadfast needed deep trust, something both of them had lacked. 

When the mystery Client spoke of Myra, the hand on his lap had fisted tighter. The child had been wheeled away at this exact moment, its dark, gentle eyes prodding at him with a small coo. It had disappeared behind the door.

"That's none of your business," he managed to spew out, failing to hide the irritation that laid beneath.

"Gone for so many centuries, and one appears on the radar," the Client hummed indifferently, leaning forward in subsistence. He knew where this was going to go and he wasn't going to do it. "Do you know a youthful witch's extent of abilities?"

"No."

And, he did not want to know since he had been on the receiving end of it for a while. It was worse coming from the man who took this innocent child in for who knows what.

"Shaping reality itself," the Client explained. "Ultimate control and unlimited power. Or so I've heard; she is quite the vision herself. They were vamps on my planet."

"Vamps," Din repeated.

"Er..." He made a recollecting gesture with his fingers. "Your vixens. Tramps."

He felt an inferno ignite in his stomach as if he had swallowed a fire-seed at the statement on the latter. He knew Myra's tendency to attract exceeded expectations and he knew the reason now; her power was the cause. While witches were regarded as seductresses, they were hardly anything but. 

From her words, he knew she had never hurt a soul. In fact, he had never seen her use an offensive spell on anyone. Her magick had helped him heal, protect the child and even, defend them when they were in danger. 

The Client reached from under the table to produce another four bars of Beskar steel. He pushed them across the table to place his offer and Din took one into his hands. He already knew.

"You want her."

"Your reputation as a Mandalorian precedes you," the Client said, a distasteful smirk colouring his features. "Two more camtonos will be provided upon the delivery of the witch."

"What are your plans for her, then?" He directed sharply.

"To be in a witch's company is consecrated," he emphasised, easily answering him this time. "As were you. They bring luck, power and pleasure."

"She's not who you think she is," he muttered, his voice lowered with a threat. Those weren't the adjectives he would use to describe Myra. 

"She's not for sale either."

"Very uncommon of your character," the Client sighed, showing all his teeth with stubborn disdain. He pulled out two more slabs of steel over the offered four, smiling away. 

"Two more camtonos. Four, in total."

Din was in a state of conflict. Four containers of Beskar steel meant an integral armour for himself and of course, the attention that would pry away from secrecy. There would be a larger leftover of the foundlings, for their protection and their safety. All he would have to do is find this witch he needed. And yet all her life, Myra had been striving to run away from being shackled in one place. She had a craving for freedom but by delivering Myra back to the Client, she would be fettered once again. Concealed to the Imperials, forced to do what they require.

It wasn't a crying need.

"This bounty is enough," the Mandalorian decided, seizing one camtono in his hand and pushing the rest of the down payment away. 

The Client leaned back, impressed. His eyes calculated his move as Din rose to leave the chamber. His words had Din stricken. "Has it laid with you?" 

"No," the Mandalorian spat, conjuring a quick lie. "It's a sin to catch one."

The Client grunted, shutting his eyes in the decline of his offer. 

"You can find someone else to retrieve the girl."

The Client was astonished, his eyes rounding in horror. "She escaped on your watch?" 

"She left on my watch."

∞

Hate was the devil's path. And all those who had ever walked the path because of him were only hurdled by the jealousy. The envy of the legends of those who tread the way of the Mandalore. With his recently reforged armour, the hate did not ebb; it only multiplied. Eyes fell and drifted, some straying on him with intent. 

"I want my next job."

Distractions were easy when bounty-hunting. It kept Din busy, his mind off the reaches of the past and focused on the present. It was effortless for him—find the package, collect the bounty. In the end, it was a win-win.

Greef Karga was gallantly stunned. But of course, being an agent preceded his status as a friend of the Mandalorian so he was obligated to ask.

"Next job?" Greef scoffed and continued to advise patiently. "Take some time off. Enjoy yourself. I'll take you to the Twi'lek healing baths."

"I want my next job," he persisted.

"What of the enchantress I sent you to deliver?" Greef asked instead, a little confused and shocked. No one failed to be caught by the Mandalorian so this was a first. "There were very few fobs on that one. Strange name, stranger planet."

His heart sank to the depths. "There are no other fobs on her?"

"No," he shrugged simply. "I gave you the only one. Assuming you still have it, and you can set out to find—"

"I lost it." More specifically, he broke it. On accident. A foolish mistake on the price of his poor control on anger. He let out a defeated sigh. 

"Ah, well," Greef clucked his tongue in disappointment. He produced three more bounty pucks on the table after seeing his bad luck. "She's done for then."

Din was immediate to present an alternative. At least, something to consider. Myra couldn't have just disappeared, there was always another way. 

"Can you fix a damaged fob?"

Greef was experiencing one shock after another. It was unusual of him to speak so anxiously about a bounty and assuming it was lost, this one meant a lot to him. 

"What's wrong with you, Mando? Did you hit your head too hard?"

"Can you fix it?" He insisted.

"I could try," Greef scratched the side of his face. His dark face wrinkled in concentration as he sucked in a large breath. "Depends on the damage—oh."

The fob that was presented to him was split open and bursting out in shards. The wires had been torn open and the antenna spliced in two. Greef cast in a disgusted look.

"Did you try and eat it or something?"

"Just repair it at the latest," Din sighed. "This is important. I'll pay you even."

"That's not necessary," Greef refused, granting his a grateful smile. "You made me a rich man already. This one's for free."

"Thank you," he nodded. "I need it now."

Greef signalled for someone behind the bar of the cantina and someone arrived at their table in a flash. He quickly ordered for the replacement of the tracking fob and stressed on its immediate fixture. The host looked at them and the fob weirdly before sauntering off into the distance.

For a moment, the Mandalorian delved into a distracted silence. All around him was a commotion of the common voices in a cantina, the passing of drinks, the clinking of glasses and unmentionable mutters of people. 

His eyes fell on a plate of cut-up, amber fruits that were being passed around, his recollections immediately going back to the time when Myra had first tasted anything. Dark lips had smoothed in to suckle the juice of the fruit, a satisfying sound that had ensued. Was it her favourite fruit now? Had she eaten anything else? 

"But allow me to ask one question," Greef leaned forward, balancing an elbow on the table. He tilted his head and not waiting for the refusal of his friend. "What's with you and the witch anyway?"

"Not anything you should be worried about."

A teasing smile came on his face. "Did you sleep with it?"

"Mind your words, Karga." He spat through tightly clenched teeth. And moreover, why did everyone assume he let her go because he laid with her? Was it another witch stereotype this stupid galaxy abided by?

Greef raised his hands in surrender, patting his chest. "No offence, son. Witches are said to be fine works of art—deadly liaisons."

Din realized how lowly they thought of witches in the galaxy. Demeaned for their beauty, no different from what he had done to her. In all curiosity, he had asked the lone farmer on Arvala-7 for his knowledge on sorcery and surely, he was extraordinaire. The Ugnaught was obviously perturbed by Myra's departure, taking to heart about her announced escape. 

"She's not like that."

"Oh trust me," Greef chuckled. "Their fame in seduction heads them."

"Greef," he stated in a firm tone, warning him about his next words. As if telling him to tread these waters carefully.  

"So, you did sleep with it," Greef grinned in all mischief, folding his arms over his chest strongly. Din rose to leave the cantina, depleted with the conversation, not ready to give him an account of what had happened. He grabbed his amban rifle and slid it back into position. 

"What did it feel like?" Greek asked, genuinely curious. "I heard they can drive a saint to madness. And bring a warrior to his knees."

I heard, he said, she believes—did people ever completely know what witches do?

"Assume what you like. I really don't care."

Greef looked over his shoulder and pointed to the bar. He spotted a dull-looking creature placing the replaced fob forward on the counter and giving it a tap.

"Your fob is ready, Mando. All the best."

∞

How simple was a change of heart? 

So simple yet, the disaster it brewed certainly had no way of escaping. Leaving the child behind was a plan gone rogue so he had to jump on the moment. It had started to kill his soul slowly, as sure as a dagger that gradually weakened him off his effort to stay out of it. And, when he changed his mind, he thought of it as an escape for the kid. Emancipation—just like Myra had gotten hers. 

His mind was fixed on saving the child, seeing how badly they wanted it and the price rate lowered even if it were not sent in alive. Who would have the heart to kill something that young, even if it were different? 

Different didn't still start to cover what the kid was capable of. It wasn't of Myra's beliefs, neither was that true. What he had seen it do—or seen it control—was something that could be weaponized. Maybe that's why the Imperial client needed it; needed Myra. 

Of course, he had done a great deal of damage on Nevarro. Hunters would be sent out for the child and him, seeing how important this was to the Imperial. As his fellow Mandalorians had mentioned, they would have to find another rendezvous for the people. Excluding damage, he had nearly caused the secrecy of the Mandalore at risk.

"All this for you," he looked to the kid. "You're here to foment trouble, aren't you?"

Of course, it didn't answer. The child was a bare seven inches tall and ears that were larger than itself. Its ears perked up when it heard him speak, tilting its head. It looked at him intently, leaning back and clicked on a button. 

"Stop touching things," he scolded when the ship shook dangerously and a rumbling coming from the engine as it did. He clicked the button off, taking it by the waist and bringing it to seat on his lap. 

"Let's see where she is," he muttered, flicking on a tracking-fob adjusted system that showed him the coordinates to a planet not too far from Arvala-7. Of course, her teleportation skills could only span a few kilometres, but for her to use it across the quadrant would mean her fatigue for at least an entire day. 

"Sorgan," he mentioned under his breath. The letterings were clearly mapped out for him. "Looks like there's no starport, no industrial centres, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it's perfect for us."

The kid let out a small coo, almost sounding like it was a delight. "You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat?"

It giggled a little and he let out a sigh. "This is ridiculous."

It was strange to going back for her. Needless to say, this was not his MO. It had only been a few days since she had disappeared and nothing was comparative to the guilt that sat heavily in his heart. 

Myra would obviously choose a place with light, given her strange love for the sunshine. Being born in darkness all her life, of course, she would come to love the light. Beyond all this, he was ready to prove the farmer wrong. 

A witch will get the company she deserved.

X X X

{ watch how he stopped calling Myra 'a witch' and actually starts to see things from her perspective? that's my HEART JUST GOING WHOOOOOOOSH and also, silverfalcons freaking go off on Mando heading to find Myra and I will not stop you }