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Myles slams back his shot of tihaar, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth at the way this particular brand clings and cloys with an irritating sweetness rather than the smooth burn he craves. It has been five years since Jango Fett vanished on Galidraan, five years since they have heard word of him, and a year since the few remaining Haat’ade gave up hope of finding him alive anywhere in the galaxy. His armour has vanished from Galidraan, the governor dead, but Jango has not come back to them, and the only acceptable conclusion is that he was injured and died of those injuries. The idea that he might have turned his back on his people, that he might have fled even as the clan wars have once again exploded, is one that none of them wants to consider, that none of them can live with. So they are here, and they are drinking, because it was Jango’s favourite little dive in this particular space port on Manda’yaim and this is their way of honouring his memory.
As is the sabacc game which has taken over the nearest table. Jango struggled to lie, but he could bluff his way around the sabacc table like a professional player. Myles was never good at it, he had the face for it, but he was never as good at keeping track of the cards as Jango. So he watches as the Haat’ade who are with him play, as they are joined by a couple of off-worlders who leave with lighter purses and muttered curses. He watches as a young verd joins the table with a confidence that seems out of place given their youth. Their beskar’gam is a poor fit as well, as though crafted for an older sibling rather than for them, and they do not wear it with the ease of someone who has been wearing it since their verd’goten. This is a recent addition, perhaps someone raised by the Evaar’ade who has drifted from their ideals since Kyr’tsad bombed Sundari, their movements awkward in spite of the confidence they are attempting to convey. Their hair, too, speaks of their unfamiliarity with their beskar’gam. It is too long to be practical under a buy’ce , not styled the way that it is. They are pretty, though, very pretty, that same impractical hair is a brilliant auburn that catches in the low lights of the tavern and their skin pale in a way that speaks of either an easy life, or one spent away from the hot sun that pounds down on the deserts of Mandalore. He is not close enough to see the colour of their eyes, but from the way several of the other players leer at her, he would wager they are as striking as her hair.
He is not sure if it is natural talent or the fact that this verd has used their apparent awkwardness to their advantage, but after losing one or two hands their luck shifts and they begin to win increasingly large pots. Myles watches as they take their winnings, quiet and without the bragging he would expect of one so young who has managed to fleece so many seasoned verde, and he worries. Most of his friends take their losses in good humour, but there are a couple at that table who are poor at accepting when they lose, and this young verd has taken nearly everything that they came with this evening. To their credit, the verd does not outstay their welcome long after they begin to notice the same discontent rumblings that Myles has noticed, gathering their winnings and bowing out far more graciously than Myles would have expected given their otherwise awkward movements. It lends more credence to the assumption that this verd was raised by the Evaar’ade.
“We’ve been cheated,” Merrick says, loudly enough that Myles can hear it even though he is not sitting at the table. “No kid plays sabacc that well.”
“Maybe you just played poorly,” Myles observes, meandering over.
“Go kark yourself, Myles,” Merrick sneers. “That kid was a kriffing cheat, and a thief as well. There’s no way that beskar’gam belonged to her.”
“If it didn’t, it isn’t your call to go after her over it,” Myles says. “And we all know of people who have ended up wearing a sibling’s beskar’gam after their deaths in this war. Don’t go looking for more trouble. We have enough of it with Kyr’tsad sniffing around town as it is.” There are some grumblings at that. “Look, how about I get us another round of tihaar, we get drunk, sing the old songs and we remember our lost Mand’alor rather than worrying about some kid.”
Merrick looks like he is about to say something, but one of the others stops him.
“Spoken like a true goran,” Vash says and Myles instantly feels suspicion coil in his gut. “We’re here to remember, lets remember.”
Myles steps away, turning towards the bar even though his instincts say that the others are going to leave as soon as his attention is turned from them. In fact, as he turns to glance behind him, he sees that the table has been entirely abandoned and it does not take much to work out where they have all disappeared to. He mutters a curse and follows. It does not take a genius to realise that his friends are going after the verd and it makes him wonder how much he is missing out in the galaxy while here training as goran for them to be so changed. It hardly matters now, the first thing he needs to do is beat some sense into them, then he will remind them what it means to be Haat’Mando’ade.
It turns out that he does not need to. The young verd is handling them all on her own. Which does not mean that Myles does not step in. Just because she can handle them alone does not mean that she should have to. Besides, his appearance very quickly convinces these friends that they need to move on and leave the kid alone, and this verd really is not much more than a kid no matter how good she is at holding her own in a fight. It’s a shame really, she’s pretty and clearly has mando’karla in spades, but Myles has a rule about not getting romantically involved with people more than five years younger than him, and he will be amazed if this verd is over twenty standard.
“You fight well,” he tells her, “but that is not your beskar’gam.”
“I know,” she says. “I meant to leave it behind once I found safe passage off Mandalore for myself and my companion.”
“How did you come by it?” He asks, keeping control of his anger at the thought that this one has stolen the rightful property of one of his people. That she has stolen their soul.
“He was trying to kill my companion and I. I killed him first,” she says. “We thought that if I had armour we might be able to move around more freely.”
“Fairly won then,” Myles says begrudgingly. “You are Evaar’ade?”
“My companion is.”
“I will need more than that if I am to help you, verd’ika,” Myles tells her.
“You’ll forgive me, but how do I know I can trust you?”
“I am the future goran of House Mereel, such as it is,” Myles replies, not taking offense now that he can hear her clearly core accent. “You will find that we are more reasonable than the Mando’ade you might normally encounter. And House Mereel certainly has not interest in Kyr’tsad taking control of the planet.”
“But you aren’t exactly fans of Duke Kryze, either,” she replies, “or his family.”
“You are well informed for an off-worlder.”
“It’s my job,” she shrugs one shoulder and Myles suddenly realises who, and likely what she is.
“You are guarding one of the Kryze children,” he says. “Satine or Bo Katan given neither of them have surfaced with the jetii who were supposed to be guarding them.” The verd shifts nervously. “Peace,” Myles says. “I know of the historical enmity between our people, and I was at Galidraan when that boiled over. I am also reasonable enough to know that you are far too young to have been there, and I am not in the habit of holding the sins of their elders against the younger generations.”
“I need to get my companion off Mandalore,” she says. “I just can’t quite raise enough credits. Every time I think I have them, the price goes up or we have to change our lodgings.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I thought I could do this, but I think I might need help.”
“The first step to getting help, verd’ika, is to ask,” Myles says. “What is your name?”
“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she says.
“Very well, Obi-Wan Kenobi, let us see about finding some safe shelter for yourself and your charge. Then we will see about making that armour fit properly.”
Whatever objections Obi-Wan might have to that are soundly ignored, much as he dislikes the idea of aiding one of the Kryze siblings, he is not going to leave this jetii wandering Mandayaim. Who knows what other trouble she will manage to find herself in if he is not watching her.