etraya | UN: d.johnson

Not always, [ Fett says mildly. He understands the woman's desire to cling to her initial narrative: in the wake of such an attack, it must be comforting to think of oneself as having successfully fought of a murderous assailant than it is to acknowledge that the only reason you're alive is because they'd allowed you to be so. Doesn't mean he's going to coddle it. ]

And then? You pushed them back and they just... walked away?

Usually is.

[Daisy counters, arguably a bit immature. But she can’t think of what else they’d be trying to do.]

Something like that.

[She’s not about to tell them about her powers. It’s only after she answers him that Daisy considers his point.

If he had wanted to kill her, he would have. Her stomach drops as the realization hits her.]

What were they trying to do?

[Because he might know the answer.]

[ Fett considers for a moment. He still doesn't have the answer, but the fact that her attacker left after stabbing her and dosing her with whatever poison was on the blade seems significant—as if that had been their purpose in attacking her all along. ]

Do you still have the knife?

It’s probably still on the street where I was attacked, if someone hasn’t picked it up.

[She remembers she hadn’t been far from the apartments when it happened.]

A block south of the apartments.

( for the duration of their conversation clarke is quiet, an off screen presence but one with nothing of note to way in with. daisy asks questions that had never come up during her and fett's drink making competition, and he answers with ready information that clarke just gets to soak up as a third party. you learn something new every day while on a strange new planet, but the overarching theme tends to be that everyone comes from scary places.

two specific talking points manage to elicit a reaction, however. the first: fett's ominous not always in response to daisy saying poison was often meant to kill. she has to agree, sometimes it was used to incapacitate, and in a not-so-distant memory a manufactured drug that might as well have been categorized as poison. it had a nearly 100% fatality rate in the long run, and with the unbidden reminder pushing to the front of her thoughts clarke opens her mouth and makes the slightest beginning gurgle of speech before quieting herself.

the second: oh, she's in the apartments. and a city block is like, a three minute walk? easily done, and this time she pitches in with full volume. )

I can go check.

( she had offered to run errands for daisy just a few minutes earlier, and this doesn't sound like any sort of weapon that ought to just be left out on the street. are there any children running around this city? even if not there had to be a handful of willful idiots...

cue the rustle of clothes and almost immediate squeak of door hinges that indicate clarke's already on her way. )

[ Fett nods to Clarke's offer. ] If you do find it, one of the med-droids at the hospital might be able to analyze whatever it was coated with.

[ Perhaps it won't reveal the identity of the woman's attacker, but it could at least shed light on their motive. If there is a rogue Mandalorian running around attacking people, Fett feels at least somewhat responsible for reigning them in; he is Mand'alor, after all, though whether or not that will hold any sway to a Mandalorian likely from a completely different era remains to be seen.

With Clarke occupied with her errand, he turns his attention back to the dark-haired woman. ]

What happened after you were stabbed? What did the poison do to you?

Thank you.

[Daisy says when Clarke offers to go look for the blade. In the short amount of time thats passed, Daisy has calmed down a little. At least when it came to him, but now she’s worried about whatever the other Mandalorian’s intentions had been.]

It felt like my whole body was set on fire, the pain was—

[Daisy pauses, closing her eyes briefly at the memory.]

My body started to spasm. At some point, I passed out and then woke up in the hospital.

[She really doesn’t want to know, but she asks anyway.]

What do you think their end goal was?

Edited 2024-04-28 12:44 (UTC)

[ Pain and spasms could describe the effects of a whole host of poisons. But it does feel telling that it wasn't a simple paralytic; her attacker hadn't just wanted her incapacitated—they'd wanted her to suffer. ]

I don't know. Sending a message, maybe.

[ Could be an overzealous new conscript looking to intimidate the competition. Still, even that doesn't feel quite right. Stalking and attacking an unarmed woman walking alone at night signals cowardice, not strength. If the goal was intimidation, why not go for someone more formidable? It doesn't make much sense from a Mandalorian point of view.

Of course, Mandalorians don't always commit violence for their own enjoyment... ]

Do you have any enemies here?

Could’ve just used their words to do that.

[Daisy says dryly, shifting on the hospital bed in an attempt to get comfortable.]

Not that I’m aware of, no. But it would be a total surprise either. People tend to have harsh opinions about me.

( as background noise to their continued conversation: the rapid footfall and restrained breathing of someone trying to move their quickest, but who hasn't fiddled with the communication device enough to know how to mute her end of the conversation yet. that'll be her next venture decidedly, after this helpful side quest.

the streets of etraya are not familiar enough to rush through easily, clarke still uses the sun's trek across the sky to orient herself towards the southern block. but she makes good time, and slows to begin picking around the street with keen eyes. be it the helper bots religiously sweeping the streets or simply the fact the populace here is tiny in comparison to any real city, but there's not a lot to pick over. no glint of light off metal to guide her way, but still something distinctly —

huh. that's not like any blade she's ever seen, but the shape fits. )

Hey, I found — hang on.

( maybe unable to mute herself, but it takes barely a fiddle to flip her feed from audio to forward facing visual. same as she looks down at it, the others' screens are now treated to the sight of something... organic-looking? vaguely pink and porous, but curled and shaped into a wickedly sharp point. and hey, there's blood on it, right? dried and flakey but unmistakable. this could be a knife.

a split second into the feed, the video zooms in as clarke bends over and reaches to pick it up. )

[ Fett supposes that's one possibility: that one of the woman's enemies had contracted the services of a recently-arrived Mandalorian to attack her. It doesn't feel particularly likely; Fett doesn't know what they could offer as payment in a place like this, nor what kind of bounty hunter would immediately carry on business as usual after finding themself suddenly kidnapped into a whole new universe. Still, there isn't much else to go on.

He's still mulling it over when Clarke's voice calls his attention back to the message thread and his eyes flicker back to the screen to see—

Oh.

Oh, fierfek. ]

Don't! [ Fett doesn't yell—he isn't the sort to raise his voice, even at times like these—but the word still comes out so harsh and fast it's almost a hiss. ] Don't touch it.

[ That's a Vong weapon—no, not a weapon. Something far crueler than that. A hundred memories come flooding back, memories of Yuuzhan Vong ships and cities liberated too late, those same blades protruding like grotesque tumors out of throats, spines, shoulders, purple-red growths erupting from skin in a perverse facsimile of armor.

That's the poisoned blade their Mandalorian had been wielding? Fett's mind reels.

The rest of him runs on autopilot. ]

Keep the area clear, [ he orders Clarke, his voice terse and clipped. ] Don't let anyone touch the knife until I get there.

[ His own video feed shifts as he begins to move, then cuts out entirely. There's no more need for it now. Still, he continues to transmit audio, this time addressing the other woman. ]

You, in the hospital. Ask one of the med-droids if they have a medical incinerator anywhere on-site. Or off.

[ He's not going to be picky. He'll immolate the karking thing himself if he has to. He just needs to make sure it's destroyed. ]

[Daisy tries to get a closer look at what Clarke's found and she's barely able to get a closer look before he starts yelling at her not to touch it. If she's not even supposed to touch it, what does that mean for Daisy?]

What is it?

[She hears his demand, but she wants an answer first.]

( the tips of clarke's fingers are a mere inch or two from... what she guesses would be the hilt of the dagger, the least pointy part at least. then suddenly fett is shouting directly into her ear, sharp and loud enough that his hissed warning may as well have been an icepick against her eardrum. she stops, predominantly because her hand instinctively jerks up to cradle her ear. and there is a very pronounced wince that neither of the other two can see but she swallows any outward complaint.

because few things illicit that sort of kneejerk response from people as a whole. and from what little she's gleaned here about mandalorians, probably less startles them. so was that a fear response? exactly what sort of weapon is she currently looking at, and how dangerous must it be to demand immediate action on the end of a man dressed in thick metal armor. and, two like minds here, what is that supposed to mean for daisy?

the hospital isn't a far walk from here, clarke thinks she could also manage to track down a companion bot and request services. but at least in this moment she's rooted to the sidewalk, a latent bolt of adrenaline sinking through her legs and gluing her feet in place. fett's video feed blips out of sight, daisy asks the most important question. and she just stays silent and still, waiting... )

It's Yuuzhan Vong surge-coral, [ he answers, still on auto-pilot. And then, because it's unlikely that means anything toeither of the women, he continues: ] It's a torture device. They use it on prisoners to force compliance and... to amuse themselves.

[ Fett's voice is all ice on those last words. He still remembers the first time he'd watched the Vong use their so-called yorik-kul on a prisoner: they'd rammed it straight through the man's sternum while he'd screamed and screamed. It should have killed him; it didn't. Fett still regrets not putting the poor wretch out of his misery when he'd had the chance, but he'd had his own role to play in that long, calamitous war, and it hadn't been a pretty one. ]

Whoever attacked you, they weren't trying to kill you; they were trying to enslave you.

[ And it was a Mandalorian who'd done this? Fett feels a rare surge of anger. His people had played a key and ugly role in fighting the Yuuzhan Vong and they'd paid dearly for it. What kind of Mandalorian turns around after something like that and starts doing their enemy's dirty work for them? ]

Have you felt any different mentally since the attack? Any disembodied voices or strange compulsions?

[It’s a good thing he further explains what this surge-coral is, because she’s never heard of it. Well, it was good until he tells them that the device is a way of enslaving whoever is injected with it.

She can’t help but think of the Kree and their creation of the Inhumans.

Swallowing thickly, Daisy tries to focus on her foggy memories and think back to the last few hours that she’s been in and out of consciousness.]

No, I don’t think so. How long would it take for that to start happening?

[She doesn’t want to know, but she needs to know.]

Normally? It would start immediately. It would just be a matter of how long you could resist.

[ Fortunately, that doesn't seem to be the case for the woman now. Fett thinks it over. ]

It's supposed to place you under the control of a Vong mass-coordinator, but I doubt any exist here. There might not be any orders for you to receive.

[ A pause. ]

You also aren't still screaming, [ he points out. ] So whatever treatment they gave you at the hospital seems to be working.

[This isn’t the first time Daisy has had something like this happen to her, but it doesn’t make it any less unsettling. Even if she does her best to hide those emotions for coming to the surface.]

Well that’s—

Comforting.

[Or as comforting as one can feel after finding out someone attempted to control her.]

Edited 2024-04-29 14:18 (UTC)

[ Fett gives no response to that. It should be a relief, knowing that they have the resources here to nullify the Vong's abominations, but his mind is still on the perpetrator. Is it possible they could be from an offshoot universe of his own, one where the Mandalorians had served the Yuuzhan Vong in earnest? It shouldn't trouble him—what's one more impossibility among all the rest?—but it does.

He says nothing more, his feed going silent as he focuses on finding his way to Clarke and the yorik-kul. He moves quickly and within minutes he's approaching her position, where she's still standing guard over the blade. He says no word of greeting. He just strides over, picks the sharpened lump of coral off the ground—his own hands, as always, covered with thickly padded gloves—and places it into one of the larger pouches at his side. It might be easy to mistake his brisk efficiency for nonchalance. Really, he's just trying to minimize the time he actually spends handling the blasted thing.

His helmet turns towards Clarke. ]

A blade for a blade. Guess this makes us even.

[ It's another bit of suspect serendipity—Clarke helping to find the yorik-kul after Fett had returned her own knife. Though, perhaps this time is actually a coincidence. Fett doesn't know how Echo could have engineered such a series of events.

He reactivates his comm device, shooting a message to Daisy again. ]

Any word on the incinerator?

[Daisy jolts awake at the voice that comes through. She hadn’t realized that she had passed out, until just now.]

Don’t think they have one.

[She explains, her speech slow as she tries to focus on talking. Whatever medication they had given her, it was strong.]

( too many unpleasant reminders of home in too few of days, and honestly she and he really ought to stop meeting over blades, it sets a bad precedent. but it'd be a lie to say there wasn't at least a bit of relief when fett joins her in the street — the comfort of someone else present who at least seems prepared to handle awful looking things, if not also a bit too cavalier about touching the exact same thing he'd warned her off. sure, gloves are a great protective barrier, but only up until they're not.

clarke favors the metal shrouded man with wary side eye; buttons her lips together to prevent outright asking you sure you should do that? because at the end of the day, what does she know. she'd never seen organically grown poisonous blades and would be genuinely content to never see one again, the bulbus yorik-kul is unnervingly ugly to the point it makes her skin crawl. but he packs it away, and asks after the incinerator again, and poor bedridden daisy bears the bad news.

but — oh. in the vein of unpleasant reminders from their home-worlds, clarke does suddenly have an idea for a plan b. )

Is fire necessary? If so I do have — ( her own kidney floating in a jar of formaldehyde back in her apartment, but it doesn't need all that preservative... ) — an accelerant.

[ At the other woman's response over comms, Fett's voice grows pointed. ]

Did you ask?

[ He knows it's no use. He recognizes the sleepy, slightly-slurred speech as that of someone on some very high-quality painkillers. He wonders if it would be worth going to the hospital and asking about an incinerator himself, though he doesn't relish the potential questions doing so might invite. He certainly doesn't trust any of Echo's droids to carry out the incineration without him there. ]

Just need to make sure there are no shards of it left intact, [ Fett answers Clarke gruffly. ] Fire'd be the most convenient way.

[ He has an accelerant, too—the fuel in his wrist-mounted flamethrower—but his is in short supply and with no obvious means yet of replenishing it, he's inclined to accept Clarke's offer. ]

You can go get it. Just be prepared for a trek if you want to tag along.

No one around to ask.

[Or there is, but it's hard to tell when her eyes are closed. When had they closed? She opens them, her vision hazy and she doesn't see any of the robots nearby.]

( clarke can recognize when she's invariably stuck her nose in other peoples business. sure, this particular situation is a bit complicated, and she's to the point where it feels like it concerns her but when offered the option to tag along... for a second, she stalls out. wonders if that's appropriate or necessary, or if there's something more productive she could do like keep an eye out for another man in metal armor and a helmet. but daisy responds, sounding half asleep and still in a great deal of pain, and clarke's heart drives the decision making.

to daisy: )

Hey, how about you just rest, okay? We'll take care of this. You said you were being looked after, yeah? Give your caretaker our usernames if they need to follow up on anything.

( she also wants to caution whomever is at daisy's side — be it person or companion bot — to be on the lookout for whatever rogue mandalorian is running around, just in case they came by to check on the progress of their poison or make another attempt on the other woman's life, but bites her tongue. that feels like sewing the seeds of paranoia, and not everyone has to worry to the same degree clarke does.

then to fett, after a brief pause and a silent nod to acknowledge she's in this and always down for a trek: )

Give me five minutes.

UN: d.johnson | Audio

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