Oyu'baat

So, a droid and a severed Trandoshan head walk into a Mandalorian bar... it seems it’s not a punchline to a joke this time. The door closes behind RA-S6, as the protocol droid smoothly makes its way to the front of the bar, apparently disinterested in the other occupants of the cantina. The protocol droid waves down the barkeep, obtaining a confused half-glare in the process. Undeterred, the robot announces in Basic, not only to the barkeep, but to all nearby listeners:

“Greetings, honored Mandalorians! I am RA-S6, it is a real pleasure to meet you! It is important I obtain a translation module to speak the Mandalorian tongue, my Master was quite insistent.”

The droid casually places the head-in-a-jar on the counter as it continues talking, apparently oblivious to any effect this may have on his listeners.

“I was also informed that the Mandalorians are the only ones skilled enough to create and control the material of Beskar. Is there a shop nearby that sells some- perhaps the module as well? I will need enough beskar to replace the armoring of my entire chassis. A tall order, but your people are known to be extremely skillful, and cost is no object whatsoever!”

The droid looks around expectantly: This couldn’t possibly go wrong. 

RA-S6 lets out a synthetic sigh as every blaster in the room is leveled directly at him. The droid tilts its head left, then right.

"Well. It certainly seems like I've offended you all. Perhaps I should have purchased the translation matrix first... Before you shoot, could I at least have the privilege of knowing exactly what seems to have offended you all? Master will be interested in knowing what knowledge to program into my successor."

RA-S6 keeps his arms still and at his sides, careful not to make any movements that could be perceived as threatening. His risk of permanent deactivation is already high enough without provoking half-drunk Mandalorians further.

"Hmm... I'm almost certain your people still use galactic credits..."

The droid turns to stare into the barrel of the barkeep's blaster rifle helplessly. 

"I would oh-so-greatly appreciate it if you explained before pulling the trigger, good sir."

The droid acknowledges this, putting its hands into the air in a gesture of friendly surrender.

"Ah. That was a... previously unknown bit of knowledge. I fully admit I was not programmed with extensive knowledge of your people. Beskar was assumed to be of superior quality to plasteel and similar in some ways to cortosis... but its rarity was not fully understood. It seems I have accomplished a diplomatic blunder... And rest assured, I have no intention of trying to shoot a Mandalorian in the back for something as petty as stealing their armor. At the very least, it would be a fair fight. But I digress. Forget I said anything about beskar, good sir... is there a place I could acquire a translation matrix? Possibly learn some tidbits of Mandalorian history as well? Propensity to shoot me in the face and destroy my memory core aside, I find your culture quite fascinating. Just give me a destination, and I will let you, and your patrons, get back to heavy drinking and laughing about my bumbling."

Even if a droid COULD feel fear, the basic vocabulator installed in RA-S6 isn't programmed to imitate complex emotional changes. All's well that ends well, though?

"Galaar Fett, merry surprise"

Tor-Ellyas approached the man, who was reviewed something in a datapad, over a glass that could very well be an aged Tihaar -the color of a well aged spirit was slightly darker than usual-, if one knew the tastes of that man. The head of clan Kryze wasn't wearing a helmet -it was resting on the gap of his arm-, the golden arabesque of his chesplate shone slightly under the local artifical lights.

"May I take a seat? Not every day one can partake a drink with a fellow Aliit'ator"

His equally golden, pale blonde hair was carefully combed and trimmed. He was clean shaven and, generally, every detail was taken care of. If he was something is meticulous.

"I've heard some rumors, actually..."

The cold blue eyes inspect Fett's face, a hand on a chair's back, waiting to take a seat.

The younger man placed the helmet on the counter as well, while ordering a drink with a slight gesture of his glove-clad hand.

"Indeed"

He smiled, albeit very slightly.

"I do admit I have but heard the sketchiest details, the minutiae eludes me. Sadly, it seems I will have to wait for the meeting"

The drink was poured in the glass and Kryze takes a short sip.

"It's, however, a truly welcomed addition, in my opinion"

"The disunity of the clans is a disgrace, we must stand united. That much is evident for anyone with a bit of brains inside their helmets"

He said, agreeing with Fett.

"As it's public knowledge you don't crave power, neither seek to increase what you have currently, Galaar"

He sips yet again. His own ambitions were vast, but he had to be prudent and move carefully.

"Clan Marev... I only vaguely remember it, not much I can say about it. Will gladly hear his proposal then, as much I will hear yours"

Another smile.

"But, surely, there're other things to be discussed"

"His feats be sung and remembered across the stars"

He granted, acknowledging the Architect's role.

"I think it's time our leadership changes. The Ordinii have been at the helm for a long time"

Kryze places the empty glass on the counter.

"However, I do not see any candidates to the mantle of Mandalor, you do not seek it and the only one who could claim it again is Ordo"

He glanced at Fett.

"At least, that much was true. Before. But, I have returned to this planet -tired of running around the stars- and it's in the blood of the Kryze to wield power"

His fingers run through the helmet's fringe.

"If the opportunity arises I would gladly pretend the title. We have grow stagnant, idle, pasive. We're no longer what we were. I think you're a man to understand easily that this... relative inaction cannot be, we will grow weak, some clans will go restless and that will bring disunity and, in the end, strife. And, in this troubled Galaxy, disunion will mean we could be defeated and put into someone's thrall"

"The fruits of raiding are fleeting, we need steady sources of income, not ones specifically depending on third parties, which may or might not be prosperous enough"

Said Kryze.

"The time for rebuilding has passed. Galactic powers are on the move and they could very well encroach us. Monstrosities prowl the waters of Dac and now, it seems, Jabiim too. A warlord claimed the whole Corporate Sector and its hundreds of planets. I heard rumors about a Resistance. The Corellian Coalition grows bigger. And, no matter how friendly our terms are regarding the First Order they won't stop growing, such is the nature of an Empire"

He looks at the empty glass.

"We cannot rest idle for long, Fett, else we become tragically obsolete. However..."

He makes a gesture and the glass is promptly refilled.

"The Hutts. Their nature is to grow fat on undiserved riches. They hold wealthy systems in their slimey claws, but they no longer have the strenght to hold them, if someone daring enough were to wrestle those systems from their claws. Else, in my travels I have seen how many planets are ruling themselves after the fall of the Republic, planets who're weak and could be easily subdued, increasing our manpower and strenght"

Kryze sips.

"We, however, cannot waste our strenght in pointless wars of domination. We should be like surgeon droids, strike with precision and good aim. We cannot overextend or become more ambitious than we should, we just have to regain our standing in the galaxy: the Ordinii can no longer lead us considering the current state of affairs, they don't have the nerve or the will to do it"

"No-one questions her rule, at least not me. But we're all free to voice our opinion and complains, like free men that we're. This is no Empire"

He acknowledged.

"I have my helmet to keep it in place, Fett"

He joked. However, at the mention of Kuat his smile went sour.

"That is the price for being too ambitious, I wouldn't commit such a sin"

He swallows the spirit, pouring it down his throat.

"I shall remember this conversation, Galaar"

Tor puts the glass down and his helmet on.

"Will see you in the assembly"

As he departed Kryze allowed himself a slight smile under the helmet's visor.