Archive of Our Own

Walon was no stranger to superstition; he was a soldier, commanded soldiers.  Any soldier was well aware of the fickleness of fate and how life and death and success or failure could hang on the tiniest of threads.

Since he’d begun making forays into Kih’dabe chasing a rumor of a Goran who was reputed to be a Mereel, in charge of the apparent return from the dead of House and Clan Mereel he’d been seeing things, hearing things, and getting that faint prickling sense of deep-seated unease that on more recent battlefields had been the precursor to high-grade force osik.

That rumor at least proved true.  Goran Mereel had adopted a rescued slave, one of the lot of deeply disturbing women from Manda only knew where in deep space.

A cook who had all the skills to rally and organize a Mandalorian house made him shake his head and only just hold the scoff of disbelief inside his skull.  He knew quartermasters who were less organized and Jedi who had more modest ideas for dragging people into a better life, kicking and screaming if necessary.

He’d snarked off at one of those women.  This time Walon grimaced.  He knew better than to torque off a baar’ur, not that he’d expected that soft-looking red-haired woman with karking bells plaited into her hair to be an actual baar’ur, medic markings stenciled on her kit and sewn to her kute sleeves aside. She’d had guts, her sharp green eyes tracking from Mird to him and back and then narrowing as she stomped right up into his face and laid out a blistering rant in at least three languages about not inflicting his father's idiocy on his own children.

Walon had scoffed and challenged her.  He’d expected her to back down, not step up where if he’d had his Buy’ce off, she’d have been nose to nose with him even if she was a trifle shorter than he was.  Her stipulation of unarmed and to yield or unconsciousness was so typical for a dispute spar he’d snorted and nodded without thinking too hard about it.

She’d been a half step ahead of him heading to the ring, and they’d collected a following before they’d taken more than a few dozen steps in that direction.

That should have been his first clue that maybe this wasn’t a typical spar.

Only later, when he was reviewing his buy’ce footage, did he realize her bells had been unnaturally silent as she stalked toward the ring.  And that seasoned verd had been quick to clear her path.

They’d had a verd Walon only vaguely knew, step up to mediate the fight and one of the ad had run for a medic ret’linni.

Then he was scrambling.  Pretty and soft-looking was a complete lie.  This medic moved with that eerie mix of sleek gymnast grace and brutal, in-your-face, hand-to-hand.  The only reason his knees weren’t bending the wrong way was because she had deliberately kicked higher and lower and not actually targeted the joints.  She had bloodied his nose with an elbow to the face through his buy’ce, then grabbed the back of his neck and yanked him down as her knee drove up into his chest hard enough that he felt something crack loose as his feet lifted off the ground.

Taking a measured swipe at her just got his arm caught and Walon realizing a second too late she could shatter his elbow with that grip.  She didn’t, just used the leverage to lift him up and over and slam him hard enough into the ground that his ribs very pointedly informed him, yes, they were broken, and he needed to quit karking around, or she might kill him by accident.

He’d managed to rasp out a yield.

Then she’d sat on him, on his stomach thankfully for his aching ribs and given him several open palmed smacks to the buy’ce as she ripped a few strips off for how he’d done that osik to Atin and how did it feel to know he was channeling his own horrible parent on his own innocent children.  The blistering remark of how he needed his head checked just had him letting out a pained groan and unhappily admitting that was why he was seeing a mim’baar’ur.

And just like that, the lecture stopped.

She’d given him a bird-like cock of her head, a tilt that helmed would have been an ‘oh, Really’ comment

Then she was off his gut and offering a hand up.

He wasn’t a fool. He took it, and when she began moving purposefully toward the nearest medical center, he just went.  Mird, the traitor, just let out a happy sound and got a distinctly unimpressed look from the woman.

“Mird, your person is stupid .”

She knew the name of his striil, knew the name, no names of his boys.  She was telling him he’d behave for the other medics, or she’d sic his Delta’s on him.

She knew Sev was alive; they’d only just confirmed Sev was alive and more or less well on the other end of the galaxy from here

He’d asked one of those medics how she knew things and got a shrug but also got the start of an explanation.

Ka’ra touched.

Every single one of the women and children pulled from that tramp freighter cum slavers ship she’d been pulled from had been demonstrably Ka’ra touched.  Force sensitive enough, the Temple jettii had taken in the whole lot and were being very cagey about any information that got out.

But things got out anyway.  That was a hazard to people; even trained ones would talk if they felt safe.  And there were eyayah verd now beginning to be housed in the temple proper.  Some of those commandos might be willing to share some intel on the temple's newest rescues.

It did prick his professional pride that he’d only been able to leave three bruises on this infernal medic when she’d hyperextended both his knees, his right elbow, broken his nose through his buy’ce, and broken four ribs clean off his sternum.

And the medics were commending her control.

Kark.

And Mird was standing on her boot, leaning into her thigh and happily taking vigorous two-handed ear scritches.  If the striil had been anything less than an excellent judge of character, he’d have been offended.

Who was he kidding? He was still offended.

Her looking up and locking eyes left him deeply unsettled for no good reason.

“You need to speak to the Goran.”

Walon winced but nodded.

He did need to speak to the Goran, for more than his treatment of his boys.  And given how many witnesses he had he’d be a thousand times better off walking himself to the Goran on his own two feet.  Getting dragged by the scruff would not make the lecture any shorter and might make the beating worse.

*****

He left the forge feeling bruised but shockingly, not in much worse shape than when he’d gone in.  The Goran had given him a very thorough verbal going over but had considered the beating their child's sibling had given him and the fact he’d taken their instruction to walk himself into their domain as a hint he was capable of learning from his mistakes.

His enlisting the help of a  mir’baar’ur also clearly helped.  And he found himself coming M’Br. Alkiria and doing a quick talk so he could feel a bit less mentally flayed.  He left the call still feeling raw but less like he wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in after him.

Hearing a burst of laughter, familiar eyayah cadenced laughter, had him turning toward the tap café and ducking inside.  With his Buy’ce on he had a good visual of the somewhat dimly lit space.  Like many Mando’ad spaces, it served food.  A meal would be good, it would settle him a bit more, and Mird needed to eat just as much as he did.

The eyayah were all clearly commando track and not his boys, nor were they any of Kal’s that he knew on sight.  All three of them had battered armor that hinted they were supposed to be undercover, and there was enough variance in hair color and style, facial tattoos, and piercings that they might have been mistaken for just brothers.  That they had done the work to adjust their workouts, so they looked like they were only built similarly , not identically , helped. Verd that trained together sometimes moved in a very similar way.

No one was giving them a second look other than to avoid running into them, which did bode well.

But the person they were talking to made him pause a beat.

That blasted medic.

And she was relaxed, leaning her hip on the table as she dealt with one brother pulling out the tooka eyes.  Relaxed like she was used to dealing with verd, and that this particular bar was a familiar and comfortable space.

A love song?

A creepy love song?

Why were they asking for that? 

Why were they referencing A’den?  Was it Kal’s A’den?  If it was, how in haran had A’den Skirata even met this menace of a medic?

Why were other verd at the bar cheering and clearing a path to the tiny stage space this bar had?

Walon drifted toward the bar, ordered a ‘gal and a meal for himself and water and a dish of something meat heavy for Mird.

The questioning helm tilt to the staff got him a snort and a foreboding answer of, ‘You’ll see.’

He followed a verd’ika with a laden platter with his meal and Mird’s over to a smaller table tucked into a corner and settled there, setting his buy’ce where the visor faced the small stage as the medic took the half step up and turned to tease the eyayah.

“One creepy love song from my home world for Trank,” Walon winced.  That was an RC medic then, one he thought might be one of Mij’s personal students.

At first, the words didn’t make sense, but then there was a faint prickling feeling, and the words' sounds were proper words.

“Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
They strung up a man
They say who murdered three
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”

That first verse hit the creepy note; who would want to meet at an execution site?

“Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where dead man called out
For his love to flee
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”

Walon shuddered, memories of his own voice screaming for his lover to run; he’d catch up, rising.  The next verse felt like an uncanny echo of his thought.

“Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where I told you to run
So we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”

That put a vastly different spin on things.  A dead person calling their lover back to the place where they were executed.  Walon could see other verd doing little shuddering twitches as the meaning sunk in.

“Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Wear a necklace of hope
Side by side with me
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree”

Walon had to carefully put his spork down, or he’d warp it in his grip.  Calling a noose a necklace of hope was an echo of words he heard from slaves’ mid-revolt.  They’d be free, or they’d be dead, which was still freedom of a sort.  It also put a more ominous tone under meet me in the tree, not at , not under , in. 

“Are you, are you
Coming to the tree?
Where I told you to run
So we'd both be free
Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be
If we met at midnight in the hanging tree.”

Hearing other voices joining in on the repeats of the verses didn’t make the words less deeply disturbing.

That he and Kaella had a last resort plan to go off the cliff into the sea near her family home really didn’t help.  He’d been exiled, she’d been locked up in a convent, then died of some mysterious ‘illness’ before he could find a way to get back to her and break her out.

The nudge from Mird’s nose under his chin jolted him back from his memories.

He mechanically picked up his spork and began eating.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

*****

Kal was flopped on the shockingly comfortable couch in his assigned rooms under the temple, staring intently through the holoprojection.

Walon let out a resigned sigh.

Of course, Kal would have contacts who would share that particular buy’ce footage.  A more careful look told him it was likely stitched together from six or seven different buy’ce cameras and slowed down to one-quarter speed. It gave him a painfully clear view of his own beating.

“There’s netra’gal in the conservator.  What did you do to warrant that lesson from a baar’ur?”

Walon huffed and set his buy’ce beside Kal’s on the low table between the couch and the holo projector.

“The same thing that had you break my nose.”

Kal’s head snapping up to boggle at him was somewhat amusing.

“Seriously?”

Walon gave Kal a deadpan look and collected a grimace in return, then walked off to get that bottle of ‘gal.  He just hoped this wouldn’t turn into a tihaar discussion.

*****

Kal boggled a bit at the slight limp Walon was doing his best to hide.  When the taller man walked back out to take a seat on the couch, he toggled the projector controls to go back to the start of the recording.

The faint grimace was telling, but he nodded when Kal held up the remote, so Kal hit play.

Even at one-quarter speed, the fight was brutally fast.  The medic moved with an elegant economy of motion that hinted at levels of training similar to what they’d put their commandos through.  The only faults in footwork were tiny hops to get back to solid grounding, dealing with a slightly taller opponent.  Clearly, she could have ended the fight far sooner as the lead-off move was a nasty kick that, if it had gone straight to the knee, would have put Walon on the ground and then in a bone mender and bacta if he was lucky.

She liked going for joints, clearly had trained to go for joints, both to lock them up and to shatter them messily, but in this fight, was deliberately not going for maiming damage.  Kal still flinched a little at the solid ring of beskar when she left crossed Walon with her elbow, then scruffed him and drove her left knee into his chest plate with enough force to drop a Wookie.

“How many ribs did that crack?” Kal was curious if that hit could break bone through armor.

“Four, right off the sternum, and cracked another three.  Med-center medics were complimenting her on her control.

Kal snapped his head around. Surely Walon was joking, he thought. The bland, golden-eyed stare back told him no, Walon was not joking.

“She also rebroke my nose for me, through my buy’ce.”

A closer look at his friend's face told him that while his nose was still crooked, it was slightly differently crooked than it had been at first-meal today.

“The medics did a better job this time,” Kal tried joking. 

Walon just took a measured swallow of his ‘gal.

Kal chewed his lip and watched as the medic perched on Walon’s gut and delivered several open-palmed smacks to his buy’ce, punctuating her lecture about not being his father.

“She’s good in a fight,” he offered softly. “But how does she know your history?”

That got a speaking grimace, just a tiny twitch of facial muscles.

“According to the medics, she’s Ka’ra touched.  Part of the last group of rescued slaves the Guard handed over to the jettii.”

Kal felt like ice water had been dumped down the back of his Kute.

“Jettii… they’re here ?”

The tiny nod had Kal swearing.

“I need to make sure she and Fi never meet.”

That got a rude snort.

“Fai’ika would adore her.”

“I’m too young to be a ba’buir,” Kal snarked back.

That got a tiny curl of a smile.

“Better hope any ad’ike take after her in looks then.”

Kal groaned.  Bad enough Ordo had come back from one cluster kark of a mission with a wife . And he liked Bessany.  The bare idea of a takes no osik medic as a daughter-in-law…

“She knew Sev was alive.”

Kal felt his brain skip a band.

“We only just confirmed that for sure a couple of days ago.  I was going to head to Kyrimorut tonight to get a staging area sorted in case the boys need to do more recon.”

Walon went still.

“I think I’ll go with you.”

There was something else going on, but Walon wasn’t saying anything, and Kal knew better than to poke this particular mythosaur when he went pensive.

He’d just ask his boys on planetary rotation to keep an eye on Kih’dabe and that particular medic.

How hard could she be to find with that blood red hair and those damn bells?

*****

Walon sharing the buy’ce footage of that blasted medic in a Kih’dabe  tap-café of the way from Coruscanta to Manda’yaim was both enlightening and creepy as haran.

The first song verse, being words in a language nobody could understand, sort of made sense; nobody knew where in space that particular shipload of slaves had even come from.  Somewhere near the end of the first verse, Kal’s brain went itchy, and then the rest was clear and understandable; basic was just high caliber force osik.

The content of those words gave him a violent case of the crawls.

Who goes to meet their dead lover in the tree they were executed on.  In. Whatever.  That he could clearly picture the dead man hanging from a rope and his lover creeping up with a rope of her own just made it worse.

Trank clearly shared Mij’s warped sense of humor, asking for a creepy love song.

It didn’t help that the tune was memorable.

The second song she sang was just as bad for an entirely different set of reasons.

A highwayman was clearly just another flavor of pirate, but the soldiers using his lover as bait was grossly dishonorable.  The implications they’d abused her beyond tying her up rigidly at attention with a long blaster wedged up under her breasts left him seething.  Her struggle to get just to the trigger showed all kinds of Mando’kar.  She knew she couldn’t get loose, so she sacrificed herself to warn her lover away.

Him going mad with grief and charging back to his own death on learning who had fired that warning shot was pretty classically Mando’ad.  Poor di’kut didn’t even take the chakar who had done the damage down with him.

The third song was a more bouncy and upbeat tune.

Then he got the words, oh the words, were just as sharp as the first two songs.

Everyone knew someone who, on the surface, was brilliant and strong and beautiful, who hid cruelty and rot under a pretty façade.  The Sith empires were notorious for pretty and petty evil, doing immensely cruel things just for the sake of being cruel.

But the line about it not being the fight you dreamt of, but the actual fight you fought, that made Kal wince at how many young and inexperienced verde had gotten a harsh dose of reality served them when they went into their first firefight and found the reality was much less glamorous than they’d expected.

How many boys had bled out on the sands of Geonosis, their first fight also being their last despite how well-trained those boys had been.

Like the other two songs, it was a catchy tune, and verde in the tap-cafe had been belting out the chorus before the second repeat was done.

 Then the nagging feeling he’d been trying to ignore clicked.  Her voice was familiar.

A’den had been coming home to their combined rooms bouncing more and more often.  That alone wasn’t the issue, no the issue was he’d been sharing out recordings from his buy’ce camera with his brothers.  And Jaing had taken to picking some of those recordings apart because the songs were just enough like ones the other rescued women lingering in another set of sublevel hallways and rooms had been singing in the main stairwell up to the council chamber tower.

 Jaing had a recording of this same infernal medic standing on thin air, singing something that never did resolve into actual words.

 Kal shivered.

Better to focus on things he could do something about.  Getting himself and some of his boys to Manda’yaim, to Kyrimorut and the relative safety of the woods of the northern continent.

 ******

Walon grimaced. Kom’rk getting sick was a complication they really could have done without. But his Delta’s had more confirmation messages, some with holos now proving Sev was alive.

 Seeing his most feral and volatile child giving some small felinoid a perplexed look as it tried to steal a bite of food from him was funny as haran and reminded him yet again that none of his boys had anything resembling a childhood.

 Walon closed his eyes.  Guilt wouldn't serve his children.

Getting in contact with them, assuring them that they had a place, a way out if they wanted it that would serve his boys.

Listening to the songs and stories A’den kept sending back from any stop over he had on Coruscanta also helped, strange though that was.

She called A’den ˈælbɐtɹˌɔs, after a bird from her home world.  A harbinger of fortune, good or bad, depending on how you treated said bird.

The bits and pieces from the temple and Kih’dabe left Walon with the feeling those women had a sort of ruthless kindness that should have meshed well with the jetii’s more bleeding heart mindset.  Except it didn't .

And it didn't in a way that had left several of his boys reaching back with questions he wasn’t sure how to answer.

Seeing holos of one of the women, one he now hesitates to call soft for all her habits of dress and motion appeared designed to sooth and create a feeling of safety.  Seeing her leading a chorus of children singing songs that sounded sweet but once understanding clicked were savage.

Calls to do better, to rise from pain and suffering and be better people for it.

Ka’tini.

Aay’haan.

They were evocative and Walon fully understood why there were glimpses of jetii in the background looking gutted and in some cases weeping.

One he could see the tyrant of the healing halls going from faintly confused to blanching a deeply concerning pale blue.  Like something had just clicked and she was left questioning every assumption she’d had about that particular group.

Seeing a tall Selonian stepping to the Twi’leks elbow should have been faintly reassuring.

But Walon knew that body language, it was the smugness of a buir whose child had just done something far beyond their anticipated skill levels.  A mix of pride and I told you so.

At least Kal wasn’t here to flail and panic.

*****

Walon did a low sigh and closed his eyes when, halfway into making a late meal he heard a com bleep.  Worse it was the distinct one Kal had programmed in for Rav.  She’d been behind the bulk of the build work behind Kyrmorut tucked away in the northern woods of Manda’yaim.  The yaim was built, and Ordo and Bessany were keeping track of things there, so her coming was either routine or all haran breaking loose.

The strangled squawk from Kal made him think it was the latter.

He lowered the heat on the thermopad and covered the pot, at least this was something that shouldn’t suffer from a bit of neglect.  Then he went to see why Kal was spitting out nonsense words and having hysterics.

A text com.

All of this flailing about over a karking text com. Not even one directed at either of them personally, a copy of something sent to Alor Bralor.

It took him grabbing Kal's arm for long enough to forward the note to the main holosuite of their borrowed rooms under the temple, then he could read the note in peace.

Su cuy'gar Alor Bralor

This letter is to update you to the changes in House Mereel as of the meeting in Kih'dabe and the election of Angeline, ad be Goran Verca Mereel, as the new Alor be Mereel.

Kark.

They’d gotten smacked around and called stupid by the Goran, they hadn't even met the Alor yet.

Sol'yc - if there are any shortages or difficulties in armoring and arming your clan, your goran should reach out to Goran Verca Mereel. Any clan lacking a Goran should reach out directly to Goran Mereel to have this corrected.

Well, that boded well.  And was in keeping with the Canons and the Codex Jaster had died for.

Tad'yc - Prejudice based on species, gender, or method of conception will not be tolerated. This includes the Eyayahe of the GAR. Anyone with a problem with this can discuss it with my slug thrower.

Walon let out a soft snort, and slanted a glance over at where Kal was breathing by the numbers to calm back down. It sounded like the Alor was one who would respect your right to an opinion, right up until she planted forty grams of lead into your skull for being a di’kut.

Ehn'yc - I am extending an invitation to all the Eyayahe of the Gar, most of whom refer to themselves as the Vod'e, to swear the Resol'nare and join House Mereel. Anyone with a problem with this can, again, discuss it with my slug thrower.

Taking in the boys, all the boys, would be a very quick way to get House Mereel back to strength, and then some.  And taking in trained verd regardless of origin was practical.

Cuir'yc - Each community should be fortified for siege, stocked with food and medical supplies for all members plus ten percent for a minimum of one year. Five years is the eventual goal, but will mean hydroponics and growing our own bacta cultures. See attached data files for schematics and technical data. If you need assistance, reach out to me.

Walon did a quick skim of the data files and boggled the number of credits casually on offer. No wonder Kal was flailing around. The initial deposit offered to any clan swearing to House Mereel was more than five times what the Kaminii had paid out in contract fees of all of the trainers and Fett’s fees.

What the haran was Alor Mereel doing to rake in that amount of cash?

Clearly it was legal even by Republic standards or the Goran would have said something. Just Walon for the life of him couldn't fathom what the Alor was doing. They had to be offering at least that much to each clan or there would be infighting and posturing.

His brain was refusing to do the math.  He’d have to go to the forge and ask.

Kyr'yc - If you need assistance, reach out to me. The lawfirm of Aliit & Lor is launching a legal battle against both the Republic and the New Mandalorians. Victory in court is less important than dragging the sins of both into the light. House Funds are being shared out to the clans according to the population figures that the Gorane have shared with Gorane Mereel. These funds are intended for the betterment of the clan, for fortifications, education, armor, and medical equipment. Anyone appropriating these funds for personal use will be removed and the surviving clan can elect a new Alor.

K'oyacyi!

Angeline, Alor be Mereel

Walon settled back and shared a look with Kal who was still having issues spiraling into near panic.

“At least they have their priorities straight, and are being practical.”

“But, how, where,” Kal stopped and did a few more five counts of breathing.”Why does she care so much about our boys?”

“Why did that infernal medic know about Sev?  Or care about Sev? Karking force osik.”  Walon knew his thoughts were spinning just as madly as Kal’s were, he just refused to let the flailing show on his face.

Kal winced and looked resigned. Walon knew that shoulder drop, he’d done that shoulder drop trudging to the forge to meet the Goran.

“We need to go talk to Goran Mereel don’t we,” not really even a question.

Walon nodded and rose to go back to tending the pot of stew he had begun.

“We do, we need to eat first though.”  The look he shared with Kal got the shorter man up and moving to pull down dishes and mugs. “No one should be dealing with this sort of osik on an empty stomach.”

*****

Going back to Kih’dabe to ask the Goran if the Alor was available to ask questions was something they were at least trying to be subtle about. That meant taking seats on one of the routine orbital shuttles that moved people across the massive heap and mess that was Coruscant.  The shuttle was faster than the trams, and used often enough that two armored verd and a striil didn’t provoke any kind of comment.

Well, other than a couple of ade wanting to pet kaysh, which Mird was more than happy to allow.

Seeing that infernal medic hauling a familiar verd in armor while heckling them mercilessly toward the medical center had Kal hesitating before mutely deciding Walon's ‘I see nothing, I hear nothing’ attitude might be the smarter option right now.  They could beard A’den later and see just what in haran he’d been doing that he needed help walking this time.  The kid kept mangling his left ankle and really needed to figure out what he was doing wrong before he utterly karked it up.

Walon gave Kal a bit of side eye for his lingering limp as he made a mental note to ask the rest of his boys what mischief they were getting into that needed a medic.  Then again he also needed to remind the buir to be a better example for his ade.

Not like Kal had listened the first six times.

Kal was as bad as his boys, and kept getting distracted.  Walon didn’t even bother to try to yank his friend back on track, he was quietly welcoming the delay as they walked a meandering path toward the forge.

There were verd sparring in the practice circle, one of the Rook verdika, smaller than her brothers and three times as stubborn was working slowly with a tiny little woman in part armor with chiming bells sewn to her tunics.  Walon hesitated, he couldn't quite tell who was training whom. Both were showing clear shifts in form, so maybe a bit of exchange was what was going on.  It wasn’t like one of the brothers hadn't acted like a besom and had his buy’ce handed to him.

Well, kark.

They were at the forge.

Time to pay the piper.

And just for their sins the person they were looking for was coming out as they were hesitating in the entryway.

“I was wondering if I was going to have to hunt you down..."

Walon winced, and clearly had emoted enough that Kal was looking from him to the Alor and back like a spectator at a Meshgeroya match.

Karking traitor.

“Just don’t sic your medic on us.” That medic might be still busy elsewhere but after the comments of some of his boys he had zero doubts that the woman was as persistent as a striil on the hunt. 

Kal just let out a bark of laughter.

“Two on one, how bad could she be?

Walon gave Kal a deadpan look.  Medics knew how to take bodies apart, and make it hurt . The sudden feral smile of the Alor did not reassure him in the slightest.

"Don't worry. Buir told me you had talked to them and were seeing a mind healer. And you've given you ade souls. Otherwise there wouldn't be enough left for the medic to bother with."

He felt like a veh’viin in the sights of a striil.  And Mird was doing the little snuffle whines and wagging tail that said kaysh had seen ade.

“Pˈʌpi!” A delighted squeal of a small child with brilliantly red curls.  Curls that other than color had a striking similarity to a bit peeping out from under the buy’ce of the woman watching them with fathomless eyes behind her visor. “Pˈʌpipˈʌpipˈʌpipˈʌpipˈʌpipˈʌpi!” an older child, clearly a sibling by the resigned look on his face, was trying to corral his younger sibling as Walon firmly signed at Mird to lie down.

Mird did lie down, but was scooting closer to the smaller child as kaysh’s tail began wagging hard enough to trip an unwary verd.

Angeline sighed. "Inside... no use talking out on the street."

The red-haired ad looked pleadingly up at Walon. "Pˈʌpi come inside? Can I pet the Pˈʌpi?"

Walon felt his insides go just a bit goey at how polite this ad was, and that they were smart enough to ask first. Even if Mird would let ade swing from his ears if they wanted to.

“Of course ad'ika, kaysh name is Mird.”

Mird was on his feet and moving to follow the child, Kal took a step forward at the exact wrong time and got a high speed tail slamming into his ven’cabur hard, several times. The strangled grunt made him fight down a smile as he carefully saluted the Alor and followed her inside, at a more careful distance behind the tail of death Mird was wielding with gleeful abandon.

The smaller child was charmingly careful in petting Mird, his striil was shoving kaysh head under the giggling child's hands and huffing happily.  The older one was clearly trying very hard to be mature and not copy their younger sibling even though they were clearly curious about the animal who was being so careful of the smaller child.

Angeline removed her helmet and boots at the doorway, leaving them on the rack. She gave Jason a grin, "Grab the shig and some snacks for the table, then you can join Marie with Mird. Just keep an eye on her, ok?"

 The boy straightened, obviously taking his responsibility seriously, and vanished deeper into the house, returning after a few minutes with a tray with cups, shig, and an assortment of small rolls, sliced meats and cheeses, some dried fruits and nuts. Not a full meal, but certainly more than the minimum hospitality required.

Walon carefully toed off his boots and set his buy’ce on them beside the Alor’s gear and snickered as Kal got nailed again by the tail of doom as he bent over to unlatch the one boot that supported his bad ankle. He was profoundly relieved the Alor was letting them come to table, even if it was a bit belated. 

Kal just cocked his head a bit, but they’d both become Mandalorians relatively late, and Kal’s buir, well, he’d been a bit of a loner compared to the rest of his clan. But he followed behind Walon’s shoulder and followed his lead at settling into a surprisingly comfortable cushioned seat and taking a mug and roll.

The rolls were filled with something amazing, and Walon paused a bit to savor the bite as Kal circled back to the subject of the medic.

“I mean that medic, how bad could she be, it’s not like medics kill people.”

Angeline bared her teeth, it was a little too feral to be a grin. "Medics know how you are put together. That means they know how to take you apart. "

Walon silently toasted that comment with his mug as Kal pondered the very idea.

“Angeline, I’ve got A’den… Oh Hey, look what the Striil dragged in.” The medic in question clearly shared Mij’s talent for showing up when being spoken of. “Mird, your person is still stupid.” Then she plunked down to the left of her Alor and continued her sitrep. “A’den is conked out in my bunk, he actually broke the ankle this time,” Kal let out a pained noise and was silenced with a look. “He’ll be fine but I’m going to ask your buir about better boots for idiots with jetpacks.”

Angeline nodded, "And check the wear pattern on the boots... better yet, snap a holo so you can make sure the soles will be what he needs." 

Walon blinked, and swallowed hard as Kal choked out a vor’ente, and was clearly torn between demanding why she cared and worried over his boy.  The medic oddly just nodded and set those blasted bells chiming softly.

“Did that, I figured it was easier to take pictures than steal his boots. Avoids miscommunications when I’m still short correct words.”

Angeline looked at Kal, "No debt..." She glanced back at Sera. "I'll help with the language lessons as best I can, but I know how I learn isn't... normal." She sighed, "Someone at the bar the other day asked when I got off the farm..." She isn't sure how she picked up the Concord Dawn accent but.. yeah.

The medic rolled her eyes as Walon felt a very rude snort escape his control.

“Locke helps as he can, but we get teased about sounding like someone’s ba’buir.” The shrugs was speaking.

“As long as the intent is clear, who cares about the accent.”

“This coming from someone with an aristocrats tone?” 

Walon succumbed to the temptation and just slugged Kal’s shoulder.

Angeline grinned, "A lot of people judge by accents. It's stupid, but there's no law against being a di'kut." She nibbled at some meat and cheese, and took a sip of shig. Then gave Sera a pointed 'you aren't eating' look.

Walon blinked as the medic laughed and scooped up one of the rolls and took a mug of shig of her own.

“Negotiating at table means everyone eats. Even if I did get to blow Mereels pretty little brain cell earlier today. I found a place that does HotPot.”  She took a sip of the shig and leveled a look at Kal. “Your boys are culturally deprived. I’m fixing it.”

Walon let out a strangled snicker as Kal huffed and tried feebly to protest.

“You can’t cook anything but packet mix, I at least can follow a recipe.”  It was an old argument, but Kal could burn water.  And the pout looked like it belonged on an ikade’s face.  “But this isn’t why we dragged shebs here.  We have questions.”

Angline smiled oddly, "I have answers. Just be sure you want them before you ask the questions."

That wasn’t ominous at all.

“Rav Bralor forwarded on the letter you sent to her Alor.  We both agree that what you want is sensible, but where are you getting the money from?”

“DId you rob a Hutt? Several Hutts?”

"Wouldn't be robbery if they are dead,” muttered the medic with a dark look in her eyes.

Angeline clicked her tongue, "Prepare first, hunt later Sera. Got to get the home front nailed down before getting ambitious." She took a sip of shig.

“Valid.” The sigh of resignation was one Walon found himself sympathizing with.

Angeline continued, "I have a number of patents from technology from my homeworld, and royalties from books we are translating. 'The Art of War' is selling better over all, but 'Seventy Maxims of Maximally Effective Mercenaries' is actually more popular with Mando'ade to my surprise." She looked thoughtful, "Technology on my homeworld is not BETTER than in the Republic. No one remembers here who invented speeders, you've ALWAYS had speeders, someone might if they're passionate know who made a particular improvement but rarely. Back home, we remember who the first persons to achieve motorized flight were. It was less than 200 years ago."

Walon knew Kal was jerking upright in indignation. Seventy Maxims was something that was discussed a lot over netra’gal and skran.  Scorch was sending holo memes with some of the sections back and forth with Sev. The rest had Walon thinking carefully.

“Patents.  And Book royalties.  Patents on what?”  The bare idea of flight being so new to their homeworld was just mindboggling, he’d ponder it later.

"Safety devices for speeders. Specialized seats for ade that strap into those devices keeping them in place and greatly increasing the chance of surviving a speeder crash. A device that suppresses muzzle flash and most of the sound when firing a slugthrower rifle. Doesn't do much for blasters, the bolt is too visible. Modifications to slugthrower rifle design that give it a range of two clicks, though Crosshair can get three out of my own rifle which is totally unfair." Angeline said the last with a smile that made it sound more like she found it totally hot. "Great for dar'jetti hunting."

Sev would be all over anything that would make his range fire harder to backtrack, then Walon grimaced. Slugthrowers? The half snark about another ramser having greater range than she did on her own rifle was deeply relatable.

Wait.

Dar’jetti.

“You know who the dar’jetti the jettsi are hunting is.”

“Was.” The medic sounded utterly confident as she poured out refills of shig to all their mugs.

"Master is dead, Dooku is dead.... Still waiting for Maul to pop up in the criminal world. Ventress has made herself scarce. Still need to deal with Aurra Sing, but she's hiding in the Outer Rim... Bounty Hunter's guild is shielding her." Her eyes were distant, looking beyond the room. "No... Maul is the next Sith threat... but Manda'yaim first..." Angeline blinked and sighed. "So much to get done."

Kal was just staring slack jawed with his half eaten bit of cheese dangling from his fingers. 

Walon fully understood the feeling, even if he wasn’t gaping like a child.

“That’s why Cas hired help.  None of us has to do it all alone.”

“Where can we help Alor?” Kal let out a strangled noise but didn’t argue Walon’s statement.

"Get your own clans in order first... Things are going to get... chaotic. The war ending will mean the Jedi Order leaving to lick its wounds, and the Republic is in for a NASTY surprise when they realize their cheap labor for solving the problems they don't want to deal with, things like repairing war-damaged land or the pandemics that spring up in the wake of wars has just abandoned them. Then throw in the GAR being out of a job and not prepared at ALL for a civilian life, and the civvies not being prepared for THEM..." Angeline sipped her tea. "The Republic is in for a rough time. And they'll want to share the pain around because that's what bullies DO."

Walon felt the corner of his mouth twitch.  His boys were well trained, and once they got the aging nonsense sorted out he would gladly use his bonus pay to get them training for whatever they wanted.

"But, the Jedi would never ditch the Republic,” Kal didn’t sound certain.

Walon snorted. “If they are smart they’ll run.”

Angeline laughed, and it was not an amused sound. "After the last Sith War, after being slaughtered by the millions, there were still three million knights and masters in the Jedi Defense Corp. What is now called the Jedi Order now numbers... about five thousand knights and masters. Do the math..."

Walon could do that math and from the choked sound out of Kal he could too.

“The Sith wanted a genocide.” Kal sounded gutted.

“More than Jedi, they wanted Mandalorians dead too.”

“We would fight to survive and if we can kill Jedi, we can kill Dar’jetti.” Walon was confident of that fact at least.  There was a reason Jango had been selected for their child army.

Angeline nodded, "Which is why they would have glassed Manda'yaim again. Targeted the ade. Put bounties on Beskar. No... the dar'jetti knew we were a threat, and they targeted us. Funded the Nu'mando'ad and Kyr'tsad because who better to kill off Mandalorians than other Mandalorians?"

“Pacifists and terrorists,” Walon murmured.  “I know where my boys are.  And will spread the word and have them spread it as well, quietly. No sense letting the enemy know we are aware and moving.”  He kicked Kal’s good ankle and gave him a measuring look.  This would be a good time for him to properly name and soul all his boys.

Angeline sipped her tea. "And so I'm SPENDING the money I am earning on fortifying the clans. Medical supplies, med-droids, hydroponics, bootleg bacta tanks. We are scattered, yes, but that is a strength. They can't hit all of us at once. And if verde know that those at home can batten down the hatches and ride out a siege, they'll worry less about being away to strike when needed."

Walon rummaged out a stylus and a scrap of flimsy and wrote down several com codes, and the codes for some of the dead drops his boys used.  Then passed both to Kal who grimaced and flipped it over to scrawl out his own set of codes.

“I need to put out the word to my boys and ask Rav and Vhonte to call for theirs. Mij has been gathering up his and hiding boys who those fishmeal cloners would murder and hiding them.”

“There are other allies out there.” The medic said.  “The folks who have Sev for one.” 

Angeline nodded, "I'm heading to Manda'yaim before long... going to send my people ahead. Taking a roundabout route; Bandomeer to have a word with Agricorp, Concord Dawn, then Manda'yaim proper. If there's equipment you need out there that you can't get because of the idiotic Republic export laws, let me know." She gave another of those predatory grins, "Seems that the fat Republic Senators made EXCEPTIONS for those of noble rank or wealthy enough, that they could move goods on the ships they're on and it doesn't COUNT as exporting... because Stars forbid they should have to do without their toys. Well... with my being Alor Mereel and the new income, guess what I count as?"

“They made the loophole, they can cry about someone else exploiting it.”

Walon could see the delighted smile creeping out of Kal’s face. 

Jaster would have adored these women.

It was only later, back snug in their assigned rooms  under the temple, that Walon realized Crosshair was a clone name.

What in haran was she doing letting a clone shoot her sniper rifle?

What else was she letting the clone do?

Then again she was talking about co-opting all of them as proper people into her House, so at least she wasn’t a hypocrite?