Chapter Text
Jaster was still only a few months gone...and despite himself, Jango felt more than a bit overwhelmed as the new Mand'alor. He was desperately attempting to get a feel for the job, but without his father's guidance it was difficult to maintain the experienced, tough air his father had always seemed to manage so easily. Of course, he's never exactly been a slouch either, and his men (and women) followed him with a fierce loyalty that made him half-desperate to live up to expectations. He hadn't Jaster's age and experience to guide him, and little of both of his own, but his youth made it easier to keep up with the fast pace of learning he had to do. The warrior clans supported him, and the New Mandalorians far preferred him to Vizsla's Death Watch, but if he had any hope of remaining in power, he couldn't allow himself to be too easily cowed by others, especially those older than him.
Advice was one thing...but manipulation was quite another.
The eighteen year-old young man also knew he was rather short. Standing at a mere 5'7", he was a good half a foot shorter than the being standing in front of him...than either being that had been in the room. Hondo had, as per his usual, left with Jango's men, most likely to go drinking...but even Hondo didn't dare rib the Mand'alor too harshly, with the other being present. Jango's power was hanging by a thread, and while his deal with Hondo could be seen as corruption (and part of him, that spoke with Jaster's voice, said it was), the being before him now was...more debatable. Bounty hunters were technically legal when their work didn't make them do anything outright illegal. But that same technicality made them...dishonorable, by the standards of True Mandalorians. But when hired to do a job, they saw it through...even if it meant working with a bounty hunter.
The man before him might tower over him, but he was thinner in every regard than the Mandalorian. That didn't mean Jango intended to underestimate him, there was something dangerous about him...something he hoped he never had to be faced with. He was also very slightly older than himself, which he had not ceased to remind the young Mand'alor of since his entrance and which was grinding on the Fett's nerves. The Codex made him an honorable warrior...but he often struggled with that part of his teaching, and he wondered vaguely if uppercutting the Duros before him would be worth wiping that smug smirk from his face.
He settled for a grim expression that seemed to come all too-naturally since Jaster's death, dark, earthen-brown eyes looking up with cool seriousness as he rocked back on his heels, armor shining slightly in the light where the silver caught it.
“Let me make this perfectly clear, Bane; you and I are equals. I will neither take orders from, nor give them to, you. But I expect the same courtesy. I have no problems hearing your experience and taking your advice; but I expect the same to be returned. We don’t have to like one another, indeed-” the young man smiled, but there was no mirth in the expression, and his earthen brown eyes were colder than space. “- I fully suspect that by the end of this we will wish to never lay eyes on each other again. But I will not lose my men’s payment over an argument with a man I am supposed to work with. Is that clear?”
Bane glared down at him, red eyes narrowing as his folded arms seemed to tighten. They were both quiet for long moments, the small state room in the 'palace' on Mandalor humming with the cooling vents...but finally the Duros snorted.
"Fine. Maybe you'll get yourself killed, anyway."
"Now there's the attitude."
His flippant comment earned him a bared fang and a snarl, but he didn't flinch. He deserved it of course, but he wasn't going to back down. Somehow, he got the feeling that if he had, any chance at truly working together would be gone in an instant...and he couldn't risk losing this payment. It was the first job he'd been on since Jaster's death, and as Myles and Silas fretted over him...he needed to do something productive, and he needed to prove to his people he could do this.
"So, how'd it go with the...bounty hunter?"
Hondo's thick accent called the young Mand'alor from his thinking, his perfectly still form quiet most of the evening. But it was the curl of an amused chuckle that drew the human to smile, shaking his head and finally taking a sip of the alcohol in front of him. Hondo always could draw him from his own head...it was practically his specialty by now, and much as Jaster had disapproved of Jango's choice of friends...so long as Hondo didn't harass anyone in Mandalorian space he was free to travel as he wished...and that rule stood with Jango.
"Well enough...I think I can make it work."
"Good! Then we can drink, as opposed to staring into our cups, hm?"
His attempt at making the Mandalorian smile was met with a tired laugh, and he gently raised his glass to his friend with a shake of his head, and an apologetic expression.
"Sorry Hondo...just so many decisions and things that need my attention...seems I do more in my head than with my hands."
"Understandable, I suppose...but tonight, at least, with me here? Take a page from my book, Jango: relax. All work and no play-"
"-would ensure that you came knocking on my door to throw alcohol and beautiful women at me."
"And why not! It was a fun night, was it not?"
"Oh yes...right up until she drugged me and robbed me blind."
"Details, details, there's no thanks at all!"
The Mandalorian's false glare and Hondo's mock hurt melted into rich laughter quickly, and the alcohol between them quickly began to disappear as Jango allowed his friend to pull him back to himself. Being Mand'alor was an honor, but there was something to be said for just being Jango Fett, the young man whose friend was well on his way to becoming a skilled pirate...and who happened to be visiting him after the death of his father.