"You should really work on how to ask someone for help," I nag at the metal man. He walks behind me on the way back to my house. "Because if I wasn't an understanding woman, you would've been sliced in half."
"I apologize. I did not mean to scare you," he says softly. He walks behind me, clanking around in his metal suit. I don't know how he's not sweating under there. It's almost 90 degrees out WITHOUT the metal suit on. Must be over 100 inside that thing.
We walk mostly in silence. It's about a 15 minute walk back to my house, and he doesn't seem particularly talkative.
"So... what's your name," I try to start small talk. I'm leading a stranger back to my house for some bacta and I don't even know his name. Or his face. Or anything else about him. Seems totally safe and responsible.
"I'm a Mandalorian. We don't share those details."
"What do you mean you don't 'share those details'?" I respond with attitude.
"It means I don't share those details."
"So nobody knows your name?"
"No."
"What about your face?"
"No."
"You keep that helmet on all the time?"
"Yes."
"Will you tell me anything about yourself?"
"No."
"Why?"
"This is the way."
It's not far back to my house, but it feels like an eternity with an antisocial block of metal following behind me. I've never met someone so private before. I mean, people at least use a nickname when they don't want anyone to know their real name. This is strange.
We'll get home and I'll just give him some bacta and he'll be on his way. No biggie- quick and easy. What the hell is a Mandalorian anyway?
"What the hell is a Mandalorian anyway?" I break the silence once again.
He sighs and, in an annoyed tone says, "It's... like a religion."
"Your religion says you can't share your name with me? Or show your face?"
"Just call me Mando."
We continue to walk in silence for a few more minutes before returning to my house. I unlock the coded door and walk inside, holding the door open to invite Mando inside. He reluctantly takes a step inside and shuts the door behind him. He takes the blaster out of its holster and sets it on the table. He at least has manners.
"Well, I guess, welcome to my house," I say with grandeur. "I have some bacta in the fresher. Take a seat at the table." I turn and walk to the only close-doored room in my house. I tend to injure myself somewhat regularly when I train, so I'm stocked with bacta. I could probably spare a few vials for him.
"You cook?" he calls from the dining area. "Smells good." He's making small talk? This dude is so weird.
"Yeah, simmering some stew. Should be ready soon if you'd like some." I walk back to the dining area with 6 bottles of bacta in hand. "Alright, where's the injury?"
"Where did you get so much?" he asks, sounding shocked.
"What do you mean? I have, like, 30 more vials back there." Even without seeing his face I can tell he looks astonished. "It's pretty common on this planet. One of the only things we produce here is bacta. I brought a few extra vials for you to take with you."
YOU ARE READING
What's a Mandalorian? || Din Djarin
Fanfiction"Was that a laugh?" I ask, smiling. I haven't heard him laugh yet. It was only a short chuckle, but it was definitely there. I look into the rearview mirror that's sat in front of his helmet to look at him. Who needs a rearview mirror in space? "Hav...
