#jesse libarra

[mynightingalecomplex]

Don’t Get Too Comfortable Pt. 2

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue.

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader.

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part One 

Jesse led the way down the dimly lit line of doors, boots leaving muddy prints in the dingy carpet. “I usually stay here when I’m in the neighborhood. The owner is an Arcona who served in the Sisti Strike Force during the last rebellion. Let’s just say he’s familiar with the standard modus operandi of his clientele.” She glanced at the number on her card and turned the corner. “Two ways out of every room, and the walls and doors are blaster proof.”

She opened their door and flicked on the lights. A single bed, two chairs, and a table greeted them, startlingly green against glaring red carpet. An ancient holoplayer ogled them in the light of the single lamp. Their reflections looked bleakly back at them from above the open sink. “Well,” Jesse said. “It's, uh, not much.” 

          “But?” 

          “No, no but. It's just not much.”

          Aden looked like he agreed with her, but he didn't complain. His face was gray and drawn down into harsh lines of fatigue. Jesse took his rifle off his shoulder. He blinked but didn't resist. “You get the fresher first.” She forced herself to sound cheerful. “I'll unpack.”

          “Right.”

          While Aden showered, Jesse removed and cleaned her armor, stacking each piece in a neat pile as she finished with it. She cleaned and calibrated her rifle, dug the mud out of her boots, and sharpened the blades on her gauntlets. She looked up with a toothbrush in her mouth as Aden reentered the room. He was glowing with the warmth of the shower, his brown hair bristling in wet spikes all over his head, his face still damp and pink from shaving. 

          He tossed his heap of clothes and armor onto the bed, sorting it back into his rucksack as Jesse unbraided her hair. “Go ahead and get comfortable.” She said, heading for the shower. “I'll take a look at you when I'm out.”

          Already half asleep, Aden raised his head. “Wait, are we sharing?” 

         “Tonight we are. I wouldn't trust you to tie your shoes by yourself.”

          “Nah. No laces.” His voice was muffled by pillows. “They buckle.”

          “See? Even worse.” 

          “What?” 

          “Shut up.” She laughed, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “Give me ten minutes.” 

          “Prima Donna.” Ten minutes was extravagant. Showers in most militaries were limited to three. 

          “You spend three months in a jungle with hair like this.” She tossed her head. “See how you like it.”

          She showered unhurriedly, luxuriating in the warmth, allowing the grunge of months to drain away, letting the water pound the knots out of her muscles and pull the snarls out of her hair. The water was hard and made her skin sticky. The soap was extraordinarily pungent. The shampoo made her hair cling to her hands and snarl around her fingers. With her elbows knocking on the wall with every movement and the soapy steam suffocating the tiny fresher, it was certainly the complete cheap hotel experience, but the months on Taris had been so long it felt like a Naboo health spa. 

          When she emerged in a cloud of steam, dressed in the loose red fatigues of the Grand Army of the Republic, towel turbaned elaborately around her head, Aden was soundly asleep on the single bed, twisted awkwardly around a lump of pillows. Jesse tossed her medic bag onto the bed, but he didn't even twitch when it bounced down beside him. She crawled up next to him, shaking his shoulder until he surfaced. 

           He cracked an eye. “Oh no. There’s a strange woman in my room. What would my momma say?”

          Jesse smirked under her towel turban. “I don’t know what your momma would say, but I say sit up and take off your shirt.” 

         “Not a chance.” Aden mumbled into the pillow. “I’m not that kind of man.”

          “Well, I’m that kind of girl.” Jesse waggled dark eyebrows in a ludicrous caricature of flirtation. “Where’s the fun in spending the night with a strange woman if you’re going to be old fashioned? Shirt off.”

         Grudgingly, muttering darkly about mothers’ warnings and women picked up off the street, Aden struggled to a sitting position. “Are you sure you want the shirt off?” He asked. A bright red glow was spreading up his neck, lighting the tips of his ears on fire. “I wouldn't want you to feel intimidated by my impressive physique or anything.”

          “Take it off.” Jesse waved a hand in his direction, her head buried in her bag. “Doctor’s orders.” 

          He struggled out of his shirt, the blush advancing toward his hairline as she studied him. He was more slender than he looked in armor, lean instead of heavily muscled. Points of bone showed through his shoulders. His ribs were a washboard under olive-colored skin. Muscle rippled with his movement, but it was the muscle built of sweat, privation and hard living, not of nutri-supplements and concentrated training in air-conditioned gyms. 

         Bruises mottled his body, blue, black, and yellow. His right arm and flank were ribboned with long claw marks, recently dressed with sticky topical stitches, the souvenirs, she suspected, of his close encounter with the Barabel on Vurus. One shoulder showed signs of a newly healed blaster wound. She crawled around to sit beside him. More bruises spread their tendrils across his chest, tinting scars and tattoos a hideous yellow. “Vod. You are a mess.”

          “Thank you. That’s what every man wants to hear.”

          Sliding down to kneel on the floor in front of him, Jesse activated her medscanner. “No internal bleeding. No punctured organs.” She began to explore his ribs with her fingers. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. He swallowed a scream and doubled over. “Well, that's broken.” 

          “No kidding.” Sweat glistened on his forehead. 

         She found three more broken ribs under a web of yellow bruises but no other major damage in the front. “Ok, vod.” She patted his shoulder, rousing him from his half doze. “Lay back down for me.” 

         “Thought you’d never ask.” He muttered with bad grace, working himself around until he could stretch full-length on the bed. Gingerly, joint by joint, he eased himself down onto the mattress, hissing with pain as rusty muscles unclenched. 

         “All the way.” Jesse nudged him with her medscanner. “Come on.” 

          He worked his knee down from where it had propped his back into a protective arch. Jesse shook her hair down from its towel and prodded Aden’s knotted shoulders. “Flatten these out, huh? Much as you can.” 

          Grunting, he inched his elbows out away from his shoulders until the knotted muscles eased slightly. “That's it.” His words were muffled by the pillows, but the strain in his voice was evident. 

She raised her eyebrow. “Right. Let’s see what we’ve got.” Jesse touched the mediscanner to his back. Aden jumped. “Did I hurt you?” She pulled her hand back. 

“S’cold.” Aden mumbled through the pillow.

Rolling her eyes, Jesse replaced the scanner and ran it thoughtfully down each side of Aden’s spine. It beeped to itself, displaying on its little screen a pixelated rendering of bone and tissue. It wasn’t a pretty picture. Jesse whistled under her breath. “How did you do that?” 

“What?” 

“You've got two ruptured discs and one that's disintegrating, plus a dislocated rib here, here, and here. Oh, and here.” She walked her fingers up his back. “What happened?” 

“Dunno. What’ll cause it?” 

She shrugged. “Long-term stress, improper lifting, acrobatics, sudden trauma. You didn't get hit by a speeder did you?”

He seemed to be thinking. “I did fall out of a four story window.” 

She looked at his back and saw shrapnel scars and the pink remnants of road rash. “That’d do it.” 

Jesse put her medscanner aside. “I'm gonna set those ribs for you, then we'll work on your shoulders.” 

Jesse carefully set the offending ribs with her thumbs, careful not to flinch as they crunched back into place. Aden squirmed under her hand but didn't make a sound. Gently, Jesse went about his back with her fingers, looking for knots and points of strain. She started at the shoulders, probing with her fingers at the taut muscles, rock-hard under fatless flesh. She had been good at this when she was younger and now the skill came back to her from the purple parlors of long ago, dripping with perfumed memories. It hadn't been a dignified job, but it had paid the bills. 

Aden moaned into the pillow, a little sound between pain and pleasure as his shoulders finally relaxed under her persistent pressure. Grimly satisfied, Jesse worked down the rest of his back until the muscles were no longer rigid, but warm and pliable in her fingers. Finally, she sat back and shook out her arms. “How's that? Better?” No answer. “Aden?” She smiled to herself. He was asleep.

[mynightingalecomplex]

Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue. 

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader. 

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part Two

    Jesse shoved her way through the stinking crowd, making full use of armored shoulders and elbows. She kept one hand on her knapsack -- these freighters always swarmed with pickpockets-- and used her other to clear a path through the shifting press of bodies. When the top of your helmet comes up to most species’ shoulders, “excuse me” doesn't go very far. 

     She trod on a Devaronian’s foot with an armored boot. These places were always the same. Filthy floors, filthy windows, filthy people. The kinds of spacers that went into affordable galactic mass transit weren't the kind of people who worried about whatever sticky thing she'd just stepped in. And when you're as poor as those who crowded around her, things like dirty windows weren't high on your list of priorities. Jesse adjusted her helmet’s air freshener and tried not to think about the credits in her pocket. Some of these scavers could smell a full wallet from fifty meters.

       The elbow room factor in the ship made the spaceport look like the Jundland Wastes. Variations on the theme of destitute ‘migrant’ clogged the ship, filling every chair, corner, and railing. Using her trusty elbows again, Jesse excavated a place for herself in the crush, more glad than usual for the insulating cocoon of armor. Not only did it shield her from the grimy embrace of the mob around her, it also acted like a forcefield. Few beings in any situation would knowingly jostle a Mandalorian in full kit. 

       Jesse dropped her knapsack down between two lumps of dirty brown cloth, and sat on it. Knees up to her chest, she compressed herself into a ball to take up as little space as possible. She didn't mind elbowing her way through a crowd, but she'd sat through too many galactic bus rides to thoughtlessly go the whole way with her boots in somebody’s face. 

        She dozed behind her helmet, listening to the creak of the ship and the sound of seven hundred beings all living, breathing, and suffering together. 

        The ship made several stops while she slept, the crowd ebbing, swelling, and ebbing again as they passed Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa, and Vurus. The population of these cruisers always grew and shrank depending on the proximity to the Core Worlds. People seemed to be drawn to population centers like lumimoths to glow lamps. Jesse shuddered to herself. She'd never understood that mentality. To her, the plains of Dantooine offered infinitely more than the choking slums of Coruscant in the quest for freedom and prosperity. 

     When her stomach woke her by gnawing on her backbone, the ship was almost empty. Jesse stretched out her legs and drug her knapsack out from under her. Asset protection was all well and good, but you could only sit on a bag full of artillery for so long before certain strategic regions began to lodge strenuous protests.

     Her head itched. She took off her helmet and immediately regretted it, --the room reeked of oil and unwashed bodies-- but she left it off. Her nose had developed some serious claustrophobia from days spent in intimate contact with the inside of her faceplate. She scratched her head, enjoying the new freedom of the transport, and looked around. A handful of lumpy robes were scattered around the passenger bay, huddled in groups of ones and twos. The overhead lights flickered out of tempo with the thrum of the engine, making it difficult to see, but she thought she could make out a Mandalorian wedged into the corner across from her. 

        The Mandalorians were a small, tight-knit community. Any mando’ad was a brother and she was bored, so she climbed to her feet and wandered over to see if she recognized him. He was sprawled in his chair, head lolling, arms akimbo. His rucksack was shoved under his chair, protected by armored boots. A rifle had been wedged between his knee and the wall, accessible only by those willing to stretch an arm across his armored chest in potentially the last, most awkward hug they  would ever give. She grinned. The man's breathing was deep and slow, not a doze but a solid, impenetrable slumber. He was either very comfortable in his environment or very, very tired. Judging by the state of his gear, she guessed it was the latter. 

        Unwilling to disturb him, Jesse wandered away. She rebraided her hair, stretched the kinks out of her muscles, and wished fervently for a sandwich. The spacers were usually willing to barter or sell food, but she wasn't nearly hungry enough for that. She enjoyed living, even with an empty belly. 

        The ship made two more landings, gaining three or four passengers, losing twenty or thirty. Through all the klaxons and turmoil, the Mandalorian never so much as twitched. He lay in his chair, still as death but for the rise and fall of his chest. Jesse dozed again, but the insistent growling in her stomach kept her from contentment. 

      The klaxons sounded again. Mos Isla spaceport. All ashore that's going ashore. Jesse consulted her holomap. The end of the line was fast approaching. Those who remained would be stranded on Dantooine for the next three standard months. These transports didn't run every day. She placed her helmet on her head so as to be instantly recognizable, climbed to her feet and crossed the bay again. 

       She rapped an armored knuckle on his chest plate. “Jate Vartuur, vod.” 

       His whole body shivered. He raised his head muzzily. “Whaa..?” His voice was slurred with sleep.

       “This your stop?” 

       “Where…?”

       “Mos Isla.” 

     He jerked his head. “No. Going to Verad. Dantooine.” 

       “Me too.” She smiled in sympathy. “Go back to sleep, vod. I'll get you when we land.” 

        “Vore, vod’ika.” His voice faded even as his head dropped again. She shook her head, chuckling, and returned to her duffle bag. 

        She passed the time to Dantooine researching her potential marks, mentally matching her equipment against their MO’s. Danotoonie wasn’t infamous for galaxy-class criminals, but there were enough small time psychos to keep her gainfully employed. Her usual class of target typically tended toward the detonite side of her range of options, but she had had enough of crime bosses and serial killers on Taris, so she was looking for some knife and blaster work. Dantooine would offer a change of pace and eating money. The absence of rakghouls was an added bonus. 

         “Dantooine. End of Line”. The loudhailer blared. The last few stragglers gathered their belongings. Jesse slung her knapsack over her shoulder and rapped on the other Mandalorian’s chest plate again. “End of line, brother. Rise and shine.” 

       He twitched. “Whaa? Oh. Okay.” His head drifted back down onto his chest. 

     Jesse grinned. She nudged his foot with her boot toe. “Come on, sleeping beauty. Get up and get out or go back where you came from.” 

      He jumped, as if waking up again. “What? Oh. Right.” He shook his head sharply. “Verad. Right.” He unfolded his arms. Very slowly, he sat up, took his rifle, and climbed to his feet. Moving like every joint was a stranger to him, the man picked up his rucksack. She heard him stifle a groan. 

       “You ready, vod?” 

       He looked around. “Where's my helmet?” His words were still thick. 

       “On your head.” 

       He touched his faceplate. “Oh. Right.” The warrior shook himself, visibly throwing off his stupor. He stuck out a hand. “Nasreyc. Aden.”

        She grasped his forearm. “Libarra. Jesse” She grinned. “Well, Nasreyc Aden. You ever been to this corner of the world before?” 

        He shook his head. “First time.” 

Jesse looked around. The passenger bay was now empty, the last of the migrants having disembarked. “Let’s get out of here before they throw us off. Or worse.” She looked around at the grimy, shadow-filled bay. “Before they won’t let us leave.”

Aden followed her as she led the way out of the hold toward the loading doors. “You got any plans?”

“Negative.”

  “Well, I know this great little cantina just around the corner. You look like you could use a drink.”

“I could go for a plate of eggs, that's for sure.”

She checked her chrono and laughed. “At twenty-three hundred hours? In this town? You'll have alcohol and be happy about it.”

He laughed too. They were used to late nights in small towns. Life on the other side of the tracks didn’t always come with an all night diner. Readjusting his rifle, he gave her a loose-jointed salute. “Lead the way, ma'am.” 

He followed her off the transport, down the gangplank, and into the smoky light of the Verad spaceport. She strode toward the exit, glad to be moving, enjoying the easy power of her body, happy to be alive. Everywhere around her shuffled wizened husks, bereft of pride, hope, and ambition, but her limbs were strong, her head was clear, and her pocket was full of money. Behind her helmet, she was smiling. She paused with her hand on the turnstile. “You coming?” 

        Aden was trailing behind her, bumped and jostled where Jesse had moved untouched. He was limping slightly on his left leg, hunched a little forward against the weight of his haversack. Jesse frowned. “You hurtin’, vod? You walk like an old man.” 

        She heard him try to laugh. “I feel like an old man.”

        They walked out together into the night. Jesse led the way down a dark side street, letting old habit drop her into step with Aden. His limp seemed to abate once he had worked the kinks out of his legs, but there remained a tension in him that tickled her medical senses. “How'd you get that paint job, Aden?” His chest and belly plates were gouged and the dingy red paint had been torn away in ribbons. 

      He chuckled ruefully. “Long story. Let's just say there is no maximum safe distance from a Barabel.” 

       She sucked a breath through her teeth. “Nasty sons of banthas.”

       “No kidding.” 

Jesse stopped on the street corner, just outside the circle of light thrown by a street lamp. She pointed across the street. “Well, vod. Welcome to the Shriveled Sarlacc.” The neon lights flickered as if in greeting. A board fell off the single window. 

“Wow. You sure we’re allowed in there?” She could hear Aden grinning. “Should we go around to the servant’s entrance?”

“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Jesse heaved her rifle into a better position on her shoulder. “We will deign to grace them with our presence.”

‘Right.”

They walked through the door and took a table in the back without a single head turning to look at them. The room was dark and full of greasy smoke, empty save for a few robed beings at the bar. Peeling posters waved at them from the walls. The menu was chalked by hand in shaky Aruebesh on a board hung lopsidedly over the bar. Nut shells and bottle caps littered the floor, and a strange, septic smell permeated the entire room. Jesse took off her helmet and grinned. “Welcome to the armpit of the galaxy, my friend.”

Aden sat his helmet on the table, smiling to himself. They studied each other for a while, without shyness, seeing things few species ever beheld. Jesse saw a youngish human male, brown hair flattened by his helmet. His face was honest without naivety, his mouth firm, his eyes used to smiling. He had a sticky bandage above his left eyebrow, and the remnants of bruises on his cheekbone and chin. His eyes were frankly curious as they studied her. She knew what he was seeing. A heart-shaped face under a mop of brown hair. Green, oval eyes, and the jagged scar that ran diagonally down from above her right eyebrow until it fell off the left edge of her chin. They regarded each other a while, pleased to see another face that understood what it felt like under a bucket. 

“Whachyuo want?” 

Jesse looked up at the waiter. He was a loose-jowled human with a towel tucked into his pants. “Tihaar.”

“How’s your caf?” Aden rubbed a gloved hand backwards across his hair, leaving it in a greasy mohawk.

“They don’t have the worst caf in the outer rim.” Jesse said before the waiter could speak, leaning back in her chair. “But it’s close.”

“Bring the pot.” 

The waiter grumbled and shuffled off, leaving Jesse laughing. “What, you don’t want to celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” 

“You’ve returned from battle, you're alive, you’re here.” She paused. “Well, maybe that’s not really something to celebrate, but still. K'oyacyi! Besides, You don’t want to make me drink alone.”

“At this point, Jesse, I don’t need anything that’s going to relax me any further.” The greenish shadows crowded into the hollows Aden’s face, giving him a ghoulish aspect.

Jesse shrugged. “Ehh...I’ll give you that one.”

Their drinks arrived without ceremony, and Jesse knocked back her single celebratory shot of tiharr while Aden filled a mug with caf. Throat burning, Jesse watched Aden thoughtfully. “Vod, you look like a herd of banthas stomped all over you.”

He shook his head, sipped his caf, and made a face. “Nah. Not banthas. Remember? A Barabel.”

“Oh...right. Nasty.”

“Speaking of nasty. This is the worst caf I’ve ever had.” 

She laughed. “I told you.” She poured a little bit of the hot, brown liquid into her shot glass. “So, tell me Aden. Where did you blow in from? It doesn’t look like it was a vacation resort.”

He his face clouded. “Vurus. Three months there, hunting Black Sun leadership.” 

           “Fun.” 

           “Buckets of it. It was all cloak and dagger work until I located my target. And let me tell you. If you've never walked face first into a nest of Black Sun bruisers, it is not an experience I would recommend.”

         “It's never been high up on my list of things to try.” She took another shot of caf. “That's what all the theatrics are about?” She mimicked him limping through the spaceport. 

        “You noticed that, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah.” He looked glumly into his caf, a hand going unconsciously to his ribs. “Buir always said, ‘if it comes down to fists, you didn't do your job’.”

         Jesse cocked an eyebrow. She liked the hand-to-hand times, but a glance at Aden’s bent-up posture quelled the expression of her opinion. She ‘mhmmed’ into her shot glass. “He had a point.”

“No kidding.” He filled his cup again. “Now, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Dirt, kath hounds, and grass as far as you can see doesn’t seem like your kind of vacation.”

“Well, after a tour on Taris any place that doesn’t have rakghouls is a paradise.” 

“Now those are nasty sons of banthas.” He made an exaggerated face. “How long?”

“Five months, after a Twi’lek killer.”

“Just one in particular, or did he have a preference?”

“Definitely a preference. Thirty-six dead across seven star systems before I got his name.” Her face was grim. The memory of those vivid bodies was still fresh. 

“But you got him?”

“Yeah.” Her voice was hard. “Dead. Some people just won’t come quietly.”

“Would you?”

“No, but you can’t blame a girl for trying.” She shrugged. “They’re worth more money alive.”

“So are you.”

“True, that.” She put her elbows on the table, contemplating another shot of caf. “And yours? You brought him in?”

“Yeah. Dead.” He shrugged and winced. “That was what the poster said.”

“Jate.”She spat. “One less lizard.” She filled up her cup again. “Cheers, then.”

He laughed. “To what?”

“To more money than you had yesterday.”

           “I'll drink to that.” They touched shot glass to mug and tossed back their drinks in unison. She turned her glass over and placed it ceremoniously next to the empty pot, putting her elbows on the table. “So, Aden Nasreyc. How long have you been hurtin’ like this?”

He looked startled, and then sheepish, like a child caught with his father’s blaster. “A while. Couple months, maybe.”

“Wounded?”

“Chronic. It's the back, you know. Curse of the elderly.” 

“What’d you do?”

“Don’t remember.” He was hiding his face in his caf cup.

“Have you seen a doctor?”

“No.” Aden made a face. “It only hurts when I’m working, and when I’m working I don’t have time for doctors.”

“Silly question.” Jesse replied caustically. 

“Kinda.” 

They sat in silence for a while, weighing the choice between another pot of caf and the rest of the night’s sleep. Jesse looked at her chrono and made the decision. “Well, vod. It’s officially past my bedtime. You got a place to stay?”

He shrugged. “I have a list of the hotels. I might just camp somewhere. You don’t see many stars on Vurus.”

Jesse snorted. “You won’t see many stars from the inside of a Kath hound. You’re not that hard up, are you?”

He shrugged noncommittally. Jesse frowned. “Well, we can't stay here all night. I'll show you where I stay, and you can make your own decision.”

           Aden nodded, and they gathered their gear.  Shouldering her knapsack, Jesse turned to hand a credit chip to the waiter but an anguished cry whirled her around. Aden was doubled over, arms braced on the table, head hanging down between hunched  shoulders. She was at his side in an instant, her hand on his arm to steady him. 

           “I think your decision’s made, vod. Let’s find a hotel and let me patch you up.”

          Something wicked in his eyes glinted through the pain. “Are you propositioning me, ma'am?” 

           “Uh….no.” Jesse gave him her best unimpressed face. 

           “Then what? Are you some kind of doctor?” He snapped. 

           “Yeah. Didn't you see the bag?” She waved her knapsack at him. He glanced at it and shrugged. She followed his gaze, swore, and swatted the flap down. The red and white sigil of the galactic medical core blazed out into the darkness. “I'm a registered field medic.” 

          “A field medic is pretty far removed from the kind of doctor I need.” He said, straightening. 

          Jesse’s face hardened. “You go into any triage hospital on Mandalore and tell me that. I've worked on everything from snotty noses and skinned knees to broken necks and triple amputations. A little back pain is pretty low down on the difficulty scale.” 

          Aden glared at her. She could see he was going to be stubborn. Di’kut. But with a name like “determined” she couldn't really expect him to be easy to push around. “Jesse, I am fine. Pain is part of life.”

“So it doesn’t slow you down?” Jesse put her hands on her hips, eyes blazing. “It doesn’t keep you from sleeping? It doesn’t make you weak? Why do you think that lizard mopped the floor with you?”

She could see him wavering, but whether the prevailing argument came from her or his aches and pains she wasn’t sure. “I can’t pay you.”

So that was it. “Don’t be stupid.” She folded her arms. “I don’t sell that kind of service to vode. Everyone else, yes. But not to brothers.”

He dropped his head, defeated. “Fine. But I’m paying for breakfast.”

“It’s a deal.”

[mynightingalecomplex]

Don’t Get Too Comfortable

Ok, so here’s a (not so little) fic I’ve been toying with. It’s long, so I’m going to break it into parts. I default to Pre-Disney+ Mandalorians, so the helmets are not an issue.

Synopsis: Just off a successful hunt, Jesse Libarra finds herself traveling in company with another Mandalorian, Aden Nasreyc. The two Mandalorians are looking forward to a few days of rest on a backwater planet but, unknown to them, the Black Sun have followed Aden and are intent on exacting their revenge on the man who killed their leader.

Tags: previous injury, broken ribs, exhaustion, field medicine

Link to glossary

Link to illustrations:

Part One

Part Two

Aden floated up from dreamless sleep into a fuzzy, pink semi-wakefulness. Dreams still niggled about the edges of his mind and his eyelids were stuck shut, but he could feel the pillow under his head and the blankets twisted through naked legs. It had been so long since he had awakened in a bed --an actual bed!-- that he allowed himself to simply lie there without wondering where he was, how he’d gotten there, or who was trying to kill him. He couldn’t remember any reason to get up, so maybe he’d just lay there for five more minutes….

He surfaced again some time later. Judging by the light, it had been more than five minutes. Again he lay still, luxuriating in the feel of sheets and a foam pillow against a cheek that had slept for three months on the inside of a helmet. Golden light played through his eyelids. The enviro-unit grumbled and whined, insulating the room in a cocoon of noise. He drew up his knee and burrowed into his pillow, searching for the fragments of his dream, but it was fruitless. He was awake now and would find no more sleep for a time. 

Aden opened his eyes. Light like liquid gold streamed through the curtains as they danced in the enviro-unit’s breeze. Dust motes floated in a ballet up and down the shafts of sunlight. Somewhere outside he heard a door slam, a voice, but then all was silence. He squinted at the chrono on the table. Fifteen hundred. He yawned. He knew he shouldn’t have slept so long. It was wasteful. It was foolish. It was dangerous. But it had been necessary. 

The hunt on Vurus had been long and dangerous. Three months without a single full night’s sleep, of constant watchfulness and wakefulness, living always with the shadow of death, had left him at the edge of his very considerable limits. He had taken privation, discomfort, and mental and physical punishment, and if he hoped to take it again he had to have rest. It had been a risk to spend so long asleep, particularly after the mess at the space port, but in a blaster-proof room with another Mando’ad on his six the risk had been worth taking. 

Memory jarred him further into alertness. He rolled up on his elbow to look around the room. There on a pallet between the bed and the window, slept the girl from his half-remembered dream. Feet bare, dressed only in red fatigues, long brown hair pooling loose about her face and shoulders, she lay in the sunlight like a porcelain doll except for the blaster clutched in her tapered fingers.  

          Suddenly conscious that he was dressed only in his boxers, he sat up to pull the sheets over his naked legs. The pain that had long been his companion, dulled just enough by sleep and medication to pass out of his mind, flashed through his body and left him gasping. Modesty forgotten, he hugged his legs to his chest and buried his face in his knees, all his efforts concentrated on silencing the string of curses that had lined up on his tongue. 

           When the spots finally cleared from his vision, he found Jesse at his knee, regarding him from the floor with grave green eyes. “Hiya.” She said, her voice low and rusty with sleep. “Do I need to ask you how you're feeling?” 

          He tried to smile. “Bout as bad as I look.” 

          “Sheesh. You belong in a hospital, then.” 

          “You up for breakfast?” His stomach had woken up and was reminding him that the last thing he had eaten was a protein cube on the train to the Vurus spaceport. 

          She turned to look at the chrono. The golden light caught in her loose chestnut hair, glistening like syrup in a crystal decanter. A rogue corner of his mind ran an imaginary hand through that long brown mane before he could stop it. He shoved the thought back into the depths of his subconscious and pulled the sheets up over his legs, trying to ignore the blush that was creeping up his neck. 

          “We might could find breakfast around here.” Jesse said. “I know a little place that caters to late risers.” 

         “Sounds good to me.” 

         She tossed his flightsuit at him and headed for the fresher. Gingerly, Aden eased himself into his clothes. Socks, suit, gloves, tak-vest and ammo belt went on with his usual care. Pushing himself to his feet, he stomped into his flat-soled boots and opened the curtains. He stood at the edge of the window -- no point making himself a target-- and looked out, enjoying the peaceful removal from the afternoon bustle and the warmth of the sun on his face. 

          His stomach growled. He couldn't remember his last meal. There had been a cup of burnt caf at the Vurus police station and a ration cube on the train to the spaceport, but after all the trouble had started an empty stomach had been the least of his problems. He rubbed his ribs absently and winced. Jesse was right; he was slow and getting slower. 

          “Fresher's open.” Jesse padded out in sock feet, tying off the end of her long brown braid. 

          “Vore.” He stepped away from the window. He looked reluctantly at his armor stacked neatly on the chest-of-drawers. “What do you think? Is this a blaster and beskar kind of place, or maybe a little more casual?”

        Jesse shrugged. “Depends on how threatening you find greasy eggs and soggy waffles.”

         Aden considered this. Battle-ready was all well and good, but three months in full kit left a man feeling more like a sardine than a member of society. It was just a diner, after all, not a drug den. Not even a cantina. And they hadn't been on Dantooine long enough to make any enemies. He bounced once or twice on the balls of his feet, enjoying the unaccustomed lightness. “Maybe just the body plates.” He said. “Just so they know we're Mandos.”

          The diner was everything Jesse had promised. Basically a long chrome tube with big glass windows, the diner was alive with beings crowded into red vinyl booths. Waiters, humans and Twi'leks instead of the droids popular on city worlds, bustled about with pots of steaming caf and plates of greasy food, laughing, shouting, and bantering with the customers. Aden felt himself relaxing. This was a small town on a peaceful world, and the sense of community amongst the patrons was almost palpable. It felt like home. 

         They were seated in a booth along the big front window, working through their second pot of caf. The waitress had looked askance at them at first, but in only chest and knee plates, helmets off and sleeves rolled up, they looked less than threatening. Even in Verad, mercenaries were not unheard of and their money was as good as anyone else's, so here they were in a sticky vinyl booth waiting for their pancakes without drawing any more than an occasional curious glance. 

        Aden sipped his caf and looked out the window at the dusty street. “Nice place.” He commented. “Better than Vurus, but I'm a country boy at heart.” 

          Jesse nodded. “Beats durasteel streets and monorails, that's for sure. I grew up in the vhetin'e. Long rolling hills and grass as far as you can see so this always feels like home.” 

Aden watched her as she looked out the window. He knew he shouldn’t ask. It was rude and it wasn’t remotely his business, but her sharp, sad, porcelain face and those deft fingers belonged to something more than an itinerant bounty-hunter on a third-class world. “What are you doing trapped out here, Jesse?” Even he could hear the despair in his voice. ”Don’t you have family waiting for you?”

“No.” She answered first, then looked away from the window. “No family.” He didn’t think she was going to elaborate. There was no reason she should and he was kicking himself for being a di’kut when she went on. “I was with the GAR before the… before the Empire took over. When Kal Skirata and his boys bugged out they went with hundreds, thousands of others, commandos and regular troopers too. The Empire lost almost a third of their fighting force, but they kept it quiet. Whole regiments disappeared at a time, and most of them headed for Mandalore. It was chaos.” She looked down at the cup in her hands but he knew she wasn't seeing it. “One of my boys got out. One didn't. Two didn't even try.”

          Aden tried to think of a way to ask the obvious question without further insult, gave up, and asked anyway. “What about you? You bugged out with the rest?” 

She shook her head. “Not a chance. I’d have stayed. I wasn’t there to serve the Republic. I was there cause my boys were there and it was a steady paycheck. What did I care what symbol the boys had painted on their armor?

“No, when the dust settled, the Imps repainted the troops that were left, brought in the last battalions of Kamino-trained soldiers, and all us irregular non-coms showed up the next morning to find our clearance revoked, our quarters occupied, our possessions confiscated, and our boys renumbered and reassigned.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, Jesse lost in thought, Aden shocked at this first-hand account of what had been only rumors through the Mando’a community. Finally Jesse shook herself and the gloom that clouded her face vanished as if it had never been. “So, here I am, foot-loose and fancy-free, back doing what’s best for the one who's most important.” She tapped her chest plates. “Me.”

Aden didn’t know what to say, but he was rescued from shoving his foot further into his mouth by the arrival of the waitress with their order. After months of hard work on nothing but field rations and will power, Aden felt he could eat an entire nerf by himself, horns, hooves and all, but he had settled on ordering basically the entire menu, because his momma had raised him with some manners. Werris eggs, fried nerf bacon, sausage, crispy potato patties, and stacks of waffles with cream and slices of shefna fruit on top all appeared from the kitchen together, still sizzling in pools of grease or dripping with sticky Alderaanian molasses. It took two waitresses to bring it all to the table. 

          After that, there was no more conversation for a while. Talking was a waste of time with food going cold on the table. Jesse was polishing off the leftover half of his third waffle - - he considered it more a gift to a good friend than an admission of defeat-- when she spoke suddenly, pointing an accusatory fork at him. “All right, pretty boy. Now it's your turn. What's a handsome fellow like you doing on Dantooine without enough money to buy a bed for the night?”

         He winced, but it was only fair. “Oh, you know how far money goes in this economy. Gotta work where you can.” He tried a nonchalant shrug, knowing it wouldn't work. 

         “Vurus to Dantooine's a long jump with no money in your pocket.” She rejoined. ”And this isn't the place to come to turn a quick credit.”

         No, he thought, but it might be a good place to stage a tactical withdrawal. But of course he wasn't going to tell Jesse that. No sense in getting her mixed up in whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into. “It's as close as I could get to Qilura on a passenger ship.” That at least was true. 

           “Family out there?” 

          “A sister. Brother's wife.” He answered immediately, glad to have something he could talk openly about. “She's not Mando, but she did right by him and she's trying to do right by his boy, so I do what I can.” ‘What he could’ meant going hungry and traveling forth-class on passenger ships so Miran and her son could live a step above the poverty line, but he could see Jesse understood that and wasn't going to ask him to elaborate. “It's not the kind of help I'd like to give her, but it's help she needs and it's the least I can do.”

          Jesse nodded and scraped the last of the whipped cream off his plate with her fork. “Good for you. It's hard when they're not Mando'ade. How do you get from here to Qilura? That's another two jumps from here.”

          He shrugged. “There's usually some freighter or other going that way. I'm not above hauling cargo and swabbing decks if it means a free hyperspace jump.”

          “Makes sense.” Jesse said. “Tell you what. I've got a little extra on me this time, so how about I stake you a day's rations and a hyperspace jump and drinks'll be on you next time we run into each other.”

          “Jesse, I…” Aden was at a loss. What could he say? How could he accept? But, on the other hand, how could he refuse? “That would be… “ 

          Then the world exploded.

[mighty-mandoart]

All I Wanted Was a Waffle

[mighty-mandoart]

Five years and an art degree’s difference. 

“Quiet Time”

[mighty-mandoart]

Jesse’s new outfit.

[mighty-mandoart]

More facial expressions.

[mighty-mandoart]

Doodles to try out my new Art-n-Fly pens.

[mighty-mandoart]

New profile picture

[mighty-mandoart]

Happy Lifeday and Merry Christmas from the Mighty-Mando clan. 

Top Row, left to right: Orin, Mor'tak, Arani, Kadshik, Shiv, and Gears. Bottom row, left to right: Janri, Shade, Tal Tracyn, Laaran Senaar and their baby (haven't come up with a name for him yet), Tra'avis Endel, Deacon, and, of course, Jesse. The yellowish monster on the floor is Laaran's strill.

[mighty-mandoart]

Here's a bit of background for my Mandalorian OC. You guys may be seeing a lot of her. :P

 Chapter 1:

 Something was happening. We could see it in the Kaminoan’s heightened fussiness. We could feel it in the air. The flight logs showed more than twenty ships had docked on Tipoca city in the last twelve hours. Scorch wanted to ask the Kaminoans what was going on, but it wasn’t our place. And even if we did, they wouldn’t answer. They don’t care about us. We’re just clones.

                                               ~Personal journal of RC-1140 “Fixer”

 Kamino: 10 years before the Battle of Geonosis

 Jesse sat in the copilot’s seat and watched the huge, black ocean swells break against the spindly stilts of Tipoca city. The rain pounded the watery world without letup, without mercy and lightning split the sky as if to punctuate the severity of the weather. She shivered and took refuge in the fact that she would only be here a few hours.

 They touched down on the rain-swept landing pad and disembarked. Jesse placed her helmet on her head, shouldered her duffle bag and followed Wad’e Tay’haai down the ramp and out into the rain. They sprinted toward the door at the far end of the platform and squeezed through the narrow frame into an empty hallway where they stood shivering.

 She took a closer look at the hall in which she found herself. Her first impression was of white. Pure, sterile, unbroken white. She wondered who mopped the floors. Turning to Tay’haai, she asked “So, what now?”

 He pointed over her shoulder. “Ask him.”

 She turned and studied the figure approaching them. It was tall, over two meters, Jesse thought, and skeletal. Its tiny head, with huge, almond shaped eyes was set atop a snake-like neck. An instant and irrational dislike arose inside her, threatening to choke her. She swore to herself. “What is that thing?”

 Tay’haai shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

 The thing continued its approach until it stood a bare few meters from them. It seemed to study them for a moment, its tiny head weaving gently to and fro on its skinny neck. It opened its mouth and spoke in a soft, even monotone. “Welcome to Kamino. I am Taun We.”

 Tay’haai directed his gaze up at the tall creature. “I’m Wad’e Tay’haai. This is Jesse Libarra. We’re here about a job.”

 Taun We inclined her head. “Yes, Master Jango has been expecting you. This way, please.”

 The two Mandos exchanged glances, and followed the lanky creature down the hall.

  ***

 “Master Jango, two more warriors are here to see you.” Taun We said.

 Jesse peered around Tay’haai to see who the Kaminoan was speaking to. A stocky, broad-shouldered man stood with his back toward them, looking out the window at the crashing waves. He turned at the sound of the Kaminoan’s voice and inside her helmet Jesse’s jaw dropped a good centimeter. It was Jango Fett!

 He nodded coolly at Taun We and she gracefully exited the room. As soon as the door hissed closed, a wide smile brightened Jango’s face and he approached Tay’haai.

 “Su’cuy, Wad’e.” He said, gripping the purple-clad Mando’s forearm in the traditional warriors greeting. “Thanks for coming.”

 Wad’e nodded and spoke curtly “What is this about, Fett?”

 Jango spread his hands. “Just like the message said, Wa’de. I have a job for you.”

 Tay’haai folded his arms. “Is it fast? I’ve got to drop her off on Coruscant.”

 Jango looked over Tay’haai’s shoulder and seemed to notice Jesse for the first time. “Wad’e, who is she?” He demanded.

 Slightly indignant at not being addressed directly, Jesse removed her helmet and extended her hand. “Name’s Libarra. Jesse Libarra.”

 Jango raised an eyebrow and clasped her forearm, glaring at Tay’haai while he did so. “What is she doing here?”

 Wad’e shrugged. “She needed a lift. I was going to drop her off on Coruscant.”

 The Mandalore frowned. “I told you Tay’haai, once you get here, there is no leaving.”

 Jesse’s eyes widened and she looked from Tay’haai to the Mandalore and back again. Wad’e’s posture matched her shocked expression. “You mean” He said, unable to keep his voice level. “She’s stuck here? Forever?”

 Her jaw dropped. “Forever?!”

***

 Jesse sat on the shiny, sterile floor, her legs stretched out in front of her, her helmet in her lap. She stared out across the vast expanse of whiteness that was Tipoca city, her new home. She wanted to cry, to swear, to kill something, but she had a feeling that it would be highly frowned upon by those who had far more worldly experience. From somewhere in the chasm below her, she could hear shouting, almost like that of a cadence caller in the military. In the back of her mind, her interested was pricked, but not enough to call her out of the stunned stupor in which she found herself.

 She looked around at the sound of limping footsteps approaching. A short, gray-haired man in golden armor strolled around the corner. She leaped to her feet, a grin spreading across her face, chasing away the gloom that had resided there. “Kal’buir!” She jogged down the hallway toward him.

 Kal Skirata laughed and shouted “Jes’ika!” He embraced her with a clack of armor plates. “What are you doing here, ad’ika?”

 She made a face. “I was hitching a ride with Wad’e Tay’haai. He was going to drop me off on Coruscant, see? And he thought he could swing by here and see what Jango wanted and then be off again. Only now, we’re both stuck here indefinitely.”

 Kal smiled sympathetically. “That makes three of us, kid.”

 “You’re stuck here too?”

 He nodded. “Yep.” His attention seemed to wander briefly, and a shadow of a frown crossed his face. “Say, do you know where to find the kitchen?”

 She cocked her head. “I can tell you it’s over there.” She pointed in the general direction. “Anything more specific than that, you’re on your own. Why?”

 He focused on her again. “Because, Jes’ika, I’ve got six hungry adi’ke to feed.”

 Her eyebrow climbed toward her hairline. “Um…”

 “Haven’t they told you what we’re doing here, kid?”

 She shook her head mutely.

 He swore softly. “Ok, then. I’ll show you.”

***

 Jesse sat down slowly, her face white. She watched with unseeing eyes as the young boys ate their fill of the sticky Uj cake that Kal had procured for them. They were small, no more than four, with thick, curly hair, and wide brown eyes. One of them regarded her with a solemn, syrup-covered face. Wordlessly he broke off a square of the hard cake he was eating and offered it to her with a chubby hand. Jesse tried to smile as she took the offering from the boy, but she wasn’t sure she was successful. The boy turned back to his sticky snack with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Jesse looked helplessly down at the chunk of nuts and syrup in her glove and blinked back tears. She swallowed hard and beckoned Kal outside.

 “Cloning?” Her voice was an anguished whisper. “Kal’buir, what was he thinking?”

 He shook his head, and answered in a voice rough with emotion. “I don’t know adi’ka. I just don’t know.”

 She looked at him, but couldn’t see the tears shining in his eyes through the tears in her own. Screwing her eyes shut, she took a series of deep breaths and returned her attention to Kal. “Are you going to introduce me?”

   Later that night, Jesse laid awake, watching the lightning split the sky, remembering the fiery explosions of a faraway battlefield, and the wide brown eyes of the young clone troopers.

***

 Over the next year, Jesse settled into her new life in the sterile Tipoca city. She wasn’t yet old enough or trusted enough to be considered a ‘Cuy’val Dar’, but she wasn’t considered completely useless. Thus she was frequently called upon to assist in different demonstrations, and as she seemed to connect very well to the young clones she often served as a liaison between the rough, closed mouthed Mandalorians, and the young, open clone troopers.

 It never ceased to amaze and sadden her how quickly the troopers grew. Within two years of her arrival they had aged almost four. Many of them looked to be approaching her own age. Her closeness in age led to a sense of camaraderie between her and the clone troopers. Although she was unaware of it herself, she became something of a favorite among the Commandos and the older Mandalorians alike. The Commandos enjoyed her easy-going nature and her gentle humor, and the Cuy’val Dar appreciated her ability to delight in the company of their charges with the reckless abandon that comes with youth and the absence of responsibility.

***

 Jesse had been on Kamino almost four years when she met Delta Squad.

 She had just spent the last few hours doing strength training exercises with some of Rav Bralor’s commandos, and she was jogging slowly down the corridor, gently working the kinks out of her muscles. As she ran, she caught up on the informational reading the troopers had been assigned the previous night. Thus, while focusing on the slightly transparent wall of text inside her visor she ran right into a very tangible wall of white plastoid armor. She stumbled back a few steps and fumbled with her HUD in a brief moment of confusion. When her display cleared, she looked down at the commando she had collided with. To her surprise, he sat on the ground, stunned. She pulled off her helmet and knelt down beside him. “Hey. I am so sorry about that!” She said. “Are you ok?”

 He shook his head as if to clear it, and nodded. “Yes ma’am. I’m fine.” He tried once to get his feet under him and his knee buckled. She heard him wince. She offered him her hand. He looked at it blankly for a moment, then accepted the help. She hauled him to his feet and looked him up and down, noting the fatigue in his posture.

 “Are you sure you’re ok, trooper? You look exhausted.” She studied him for a moment. “Where were you coming from?”

 “The simulator, ma’am. We were doing desert training.”

 Her eyebrows went up. “How long were you in there?”

 He looked sideways at one of his squad mates, and the trooper with green sigils answered. “Nearly fifty hours, ma’am.”

 She swore to herself. Fifty hours. “Two days!?” At the commando’s nod, she shook her head. “Who’s your sergeant?”

 “Walon Vau, ma’am.”

 “That explains it.” She muttered. To the troopers she asked “Where are you headed now?”

 The commando with orange splashes on his armor spoke. “We’ve got to go put our gear in the barracks, swing by med-bay to get Fixer’s arm taken care of, and then it’s off to weapons training.”

 She shook her head. “Nope. We’re going back to the barracks, I’m going to take care of Fixer’s arm, and then you’re going to get some sleep.”

 “But ma’am.” The one in orange, obviously the leader, protested. “We can’t--”

 “Yeah.” The commando that spoke had red splashes on his chest plate and helmet. “Sergeant Vau will kill us.”

 She shook her head. “I’ll deal with Vau. You have to have sleep.”

 She removed the packs from the backs of the sergeant and the trooper in red, slung them across her own shoulders, and headed off toward the barracks with the weary squad tagging behind her.

  Jesse stood guard outside Delta squad’s barrack block, waiting for the inevitable appearance of Sergeant Walon Vau. Two hours later, her vigil was rewarded.

 Vau came stalking up the hallway like a bantha stampede. In his solid black armor, his fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders rigid, he was quite an intimidating sight. She braced herself for the conflict.

 He was coming closer. Twenty steps. Ten. Five. She put her arm out to stop him from walking right past her.

 “Before you go in there, Vau” She said. “It’s not their fault.”

 He whirled on her and snapped “What?”

 She squared her shoulders. “I gave them the day off.”

 He just looked at her, whether expecting an explanation or simply unable to speak for rage or shock, she didn’t know.

 She shrugged. “They were exhausted.” In her mind’s eye she could see his eyebrows go up under his helmet.

 “So you canceled their training? Because they were exhausted?!”

 She nodded, fighting to keep a reign on the anger rising in her chest. “They could barely stand up! Lessons wouldn’t have done them any good!”

 “That wasn’t your place.” Vau growled.

 “No!” She snapped. “It wasn’t. It was yours.”

 He stiffened. “You better be glad you’re not under my command. I would have you thrown in the ocean.” With that, he turned to go in the barracks door. She planted herself firmly in his path.

 “Move.” He snarled.

 She glowered at him. “If you go in there now, you’ll have to countermand one of my direct orders. I was under the impression that that is considered bad protocol. If I tell them one thing, and you tell them another, it will compromise my ability to command. Is that how we do it in this army?”

 He scowled at her and she thought for a moment that he would swear. But, as she had often heard him say, gentlemen don’t swear. Therefore, he just leveled a venomous stare at her and stalked away.

 She sagged against the door frame in relief.

[mighty-mandoart]

Jesse Libarra (my OC) vs Walon Vau. 

-KH 10-10-14

(illustration of personal fan fiction)