Kyr'bes - King of Crowns

Nibral

"So, if we count what we had left after Tatooine, the Roost...We'll only have enough to make it a few weeks."

"Are you sure your math is right?"

"My math is fine, thank you."

"Empire math doesn't really seem to hold up. Did you count what we had left before our collected fund?"

"I did. That's really all we have left. Besides that, we only have a few days left of supplies on the ship, and that isn't counting the cost of fuel."

You had to paw over the collected amount of credits left on the makeshift table, between you and the Mandalorian. You mentally recounted it again, confirming your worst fear as the ship hummed under your feet, the child sitting to your left, munching on a ration the Mandalorian gave to him.

It had been a while since you left the Roost, after the horrible fight. While Ian was frugal with the credits, only affording the necessities, you were dwindling into the broke range. You had been drifting from planet to planet, keeping off the radar from bounty hunters and the empire alike, only affording an actual day or two of rest between nonstop drops into space.

Between those days, you tried to cycle out the water the Mandalorian had in his ship, but after a while of sitting, distilling and being reused, the water always begins to smell...rusty. Today, you had been lucky enough to beat the Mandalorian into the refresher first thing this morning. You got the first few inches of fresh water, while he had to settle for the slightly off smelling stuff.

With the necessities, you had to include soap, which you argued the Mandalorian over, who insisted that just rinsing off in the shower would be enough to keep clean.

That, and the constant argument about food. He wasn't picky, you knew that, but if you had to eat another dry, tasteless ration bar again, you'd lose your mind.

So, here you were, sitting before him with wet hair, tugging a small comb through your hair as you tried to ration out the last credits the Mandalorian had before he had to relent and get another job. A small bowl of grits was split between you both, evenly in half. His was cooling before him, ignored as you carefully shoveled the grits into your mouth. He was still a bit upset about getting beat to the shower this morning.

"It's inevitable." The Mandalorian sighed, sitting straight in his makeshift seat, another smaller crate he shoved to the table. "I'm going to have to find another job. We can't live off less than what we have."

"Where?" You asked. You were still hesitant to listen to him talk about jobs. The last few have gone terribly.

"Not sure. I can always find another planet between here and our next spot, pick up an odd job." He thought to himself.

"Are you going to let me help this time?"

"Absolutely not." He replied quickly. "Last time you tried to help, you got pushed into a cell with me." You sat up, incredulous, as he finally mixed his own bowl of grits, taking the little utensil into his gloveless hands, staring at the steam rising above the bowl.

It would have been an odd sight to see, if you didn't know him any better. The only amount of skin he ever had exposed were his hands, which were deep in color, honeyed and rough.

The other amount, however, would be the occasional lift of his helmet, only exposing the dark stubble on his chin as he scooped some of the grit into his mouth, pushing the helmet back over as soon as he could. You tried not to stare, lowering your gaze to the credits on the table, grimacing calmly as you also tried to think about what to do.