Armored Passion | The Mandalorian

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Who knew life could get so shitty after it had gotten so good?

Then again, I can't really say that I'm completely surprised by the turn of events that my life has come down to. 

After my little "training session" with Gideon, I had been fixed up with a sedative and a few bacta patches, thrown back into my old room, and now I've been subjugated to lying alone in total darkness for the rest of eternity. I can't remember how long I've been in my room, but it's definitely been long enough for me to feel lost and far too alone. 

Though, what's really disappointing is that Anakin hasn't come back to speak with me or to keep me company as he said he wanted to before. His disappearance and utter silence through the force are starting to make me think that I had just imagined our entire interaction. 

Fuck. 

I miss Din and Grogu. 

The door of my room quickly slides open and a bright light floods in from the hall, blinding me slightly as I try to adjust from the deep darkness of my room to the harsh light coming from right outside. I slowly prop myself up onto my elbows, struggling to do so since my hands are still tightly cuffed together in a pair of metal binders. The wound on the front of my torso stings and the seared edges of the opening pull against each other in a painful tandem. I ignore the feeling, silently scolding myself for moving in such ways. 

Once my eyes adjust properly, I spot a tall stormtrooper standing in the middle of the wide doorway. He stands frozen in place for a few moments before taking careful steps towards me. 

"Get dressed," the trooper commands, dropping a stack of clothes at the foot of my bed. I narrow my eyes at the broad trooper, furrowing my brows while lazily quirking my head to the side. 

"No," I say, shaking my head before letting my arms slide and give out. I plop back down onto the mattress beneath me, my body bouncing slightly. He grabs onto the heavy comforter that's resting over my figure, yanking it off of me and letting it drop down to the floor. I let out a groan as the freezing air nips at my skin. I slowly prop myself back up onto my elbows, glaring at him as he sets the neat pile of clothes back onto the mattress. "Asshole."

"Moff Gideon requested for your presence. I'll be waiting outside to escort you to the bridge once you're changed," he says, stepping around the corner of my bedframe to make his way over to me. He grabs onto the middle bar of the binders I'm wearing, unlocking them and peeling them away from my already sore wrists. "Hurry up."

He turns around and heads right out the door. The moment it slides shut behind him, I let out a small sigh, knowing that I'm going to have to comply eventually, or else they'll threaten to hurt Grogu again in some way. 

I slowly slink off the bed, grab the small stack of clothes, and hold up each article of clothing to carefully examine them. I was given a tight-looking, red tunic along with a pair of black slacks that fell just at the length of my ankles. A set of clean black boots were set on the floor as well, resting next to the heavy comforter that had been thrown to the floor moments ago. 

Whatever they're planning, I'm going to have to look somewhat decent for some reason. 

I pull the tight tunic over my head, letting the slim cut of the red fabric hug my figure, sliding over the bacta patches before clinging to my skin. I flatten the hem around the top of my thighs, grab the slacks, and pull them on with ease. The high-waisted pants fall nicely in the curve of my natural waist, clinging to my figure just the same as the tunic. 

Whoever dressed me is obviously trying to flaunt something and I'm not necessarily enjoying it. I mean, I look good, but this isn't necessarily the outfit I would want to wear in the situation I'm currently stuck in. This is something I would wear while I'm walking around Canto Bight, not something I would wear the day that I'm going to kick Moff Gideon's ass.