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jedibuttercup) wrote2020-06-22 03:36 pm
jedibuttercup) wrote2020-06-22 03:36 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Fighting Words - T; Mandalorian x Leverage
T; The Mandalorian x Leverage. 1700w, for ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
intoabar. Cara Dune meets Eliot Spencer.
He hadn't been Guild the last Cara had heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem.
Title: Fighting Words
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Spoilers: Leverage (post-S3) and The Mandalorian (post-Sanctuary)
Notes: For the "Ficathon Goes Into a Bar" challenge, for the prompt, "Eliot Spencer goes into a bar and meets... Cara Dune (The Mandalorian)!"
Summary: He hadn't been Guild the last Cara had heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem. 1700 words.
Cara grinned to herself as she tucked away the last of her winnings from the afternoon's fight, and gestured for another cup of spotchka from the bartender with a nod. Sorgan's main settlement wasn't so big that she had a lot of variety in opponents, but it wasn't like there was a hell of a lot else to do in the evenings, and a lot of the local log runners seemed to think they'd have to get lucky sooner or later. Especially once they'd taken a few cups of krill-brew on board.
So far, her winnings had been enough to keep her in room and board since Mando had blown through, with a little left over to save up against the day she had to catch her own ride off world. Which might be sooner rather than later if the trickle of bounty hunters that had followed the rumors about the kid here didn't dry up. The Guild might be more a loose coalition than a professional organization, but someone would eventually take notice of so many dues-payers going missing and send an agent to investigate.
Someone, maybe, like the guy just coming in the door. Cara had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye; she kept her gaze on her cup to keep from drawing the intruder's attention in turn as she waited to see if he was going to be a problem. Too firm a step to belong to any of the usual patrons, but not armored enough to be Mando; and too well dressed, from what she could see out of her peripheral vision, to be any of the krill farmers who came into town occasionally. Not armed with any of the usual models of blasters, either, from what she could see of the drape of his shirt, though his stride was definitely ex-military--
Cara stiffened in her seat as he walked across her field of vision and finally gave her a good look at his face. Oh, hell. He hadn't been Guild the last she'd heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem.
Her freezing had been a dead giveaway; he immediately glanced in her direction-- and froze in turn, eyes widening as he registered her presence.
If he'd had any common sense, he would have turned right around and walked back out-- there was no way he didn't know what she probably thought of him. But then again, common sense had never exactly been a requirement for Rebel shock troopers, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he shook his head instead and headed grimly in her direction.
Of all the people to walk into her bar. Eliot Spencer. Cara crossed her arms on the table as she watched him approach, casually putting her weapons in easy reach, and calculated her odds of making it out of the place unscathed. She knew exactly how deadly he could be; she'd been on most of the same drops he'd been, after all. Which, of course, had made what he'd done afterward all the more infuriating.
"Dune," he nodded to her carefully, stopping just back of the chair across the table from her.
"Spencer," she replied, through a tight, toothy smile. "Fancy seeing you here. After all this time."
"Believe me, I'm just as happy to be here as you are," he replied, returning the smile with interest.
"Sounds about right," she snorted, then gestured dismissively to the seat. Not that sitting would slow him down much, but it would draw less attention from the other patrons. "Here for a drink?"
The bartender took that as her cue to walk up, taking a cup off her tray to deposit in front of Cara. Spencer glanced at the tray, then at Cara, then sighed and fished a coin out of his pocket to take a cup of his own. "Sure."
She waited for the bartender to walk away again, watching him settle in his chair, before firing her next question. It didn't look like he'd cut his hair much since growing out the helmet cut; it was longer than hers now, enough to hide the starbird tattoo he used to have under his left ear. His dropper tattoo wasn't visible either; just as well, since she might have had to strangle him if he'd shown up like nothing had changed.
She still might, even so. She wasn't exactly squeaky clean herself these days, but there was her method of retirement... and then there was his.
"So. Wouldn't have thought there was a lot on Sorgan to draw Imperial attention. Unless your buddy Moreau's in the spotchka business these days," she said, sounding him out. If he was here after the kid from the Imperial end, rather than chasing a fob or the missing hunters....
He tilted back the cup-- then wrinkled his nose and set it back down on the table. "Heard about that, did you? I wouldn't know. Though I kinda doubt it, from the taste. What the hell do they make this stuff out of, anyway?"
"Krill," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "And of course I heard about it. Ex-dropper goes to work for one of the warlords we bled ourselves white trying to take down? One of the Emperor's own money men? You better believe that made the rounds. You got a lot of nerve walking in here."
Damien Moreau liked to refer to himself as a banker. But that was a very mild term for a guy who'd laundered half the Emperor's hidden funds, from what Rebel Intelligence had later figured out. When she'd seen the clip of Spencer guarding him on the HoloNet, she'd nearly put her fist through the emitter.
"Not like I knew it'd be you when I walked in here," he replied, shaking his head. "Not going to talk about that, either. You know exactly what it was like when the New Republic pulled the rug out from under all of us. I admit, I did some things I'm not proud of afterward. But that's not why I'm here now."
"Then why are you here now?" she asked, pointedly. "If you didn't know it'd be me, then you were looking for someone. And I gotta tell you, if you're planning to run my chain code...."
He grimaced. "Got a new team, now. Not all of 'em former Rebels, but no ex-warlords, either. Took Moreau down with them a while back, actually. People who fell through the gaps, like you and me, from both sides of the war, and neither. Looking for other folks who might could use a little... leverage... these days."
Cara's eyebrows flew up. If he was serious about that, she might have to let him live after all. Not that it excused what he'd done in the first place. "And what, someone pointed you this way?"
"Heard some chatter from the Guild about hunters going missing out here. One of 'em called in long enough to say he'd spotted an ex-rebel with a particular sort of bounty, before he went dark. Never ran the chain code; our contact figured they were on another unofficial bounty at the time, didn't want someone jumping the claim."
"So you followed their tracks." Or, more accurately, Mando's and the kid's. Not that she minded taking out the trash that had followed in their wake.
"Figured we'd pass on a warning at least, or find out what you need to put things right." Spencer shrugged.
"Yeah, for a small consideration," she scoffed. She knew how these things went.
"No, actually," he countered, offering her a wry smile. "We operate on what Nate likes to call an 'alternative revenue stream'. Funny how many credits there are in taking down the kind of beings who pad their pockets out of shock trooper's supposed compensation funds, just for example."
Ah. "Or a banker who helped fund half the Death Star," she replied, smiling back sharp enough to cut. "Thanks for the thought, but I'm fine right here, thanks."
He winced, but went on gamely. "You sure about that? Now that the word's out you're here...."
"It'll take a little more than a rumor that vague to make things too hot to handle here." Cara shook her head. "I've got my own thing going, and I'm sure they'll find a juicier target, soon enough." If nothing else, Mando would show his shiny bucket again somewhere eventually. Not that she'd mention that to Spencer. She didn't know how a Mandalorian exiled from the Guild and his little green high-value bounty might figure into some 'alternative revenue stream', and for sure wasn't going to ask.
"If you'd rather talk to the rest of my team...." he tried again.
She slipped a hand under the table, still smiling.
He raised his hands carefully, palm-out, and sighed. "All right. If you ever do need help getting out of a jam, though, for old time's sake...."
The other patrons had been keeping their distance as they talked, entertained with their usual business, but one of the regulars wandered over at Spencer's gesture, eying his long hair and less obviously burly physique. "Got yourself another challenger, Dune? I got a handful of flan here says you take him down quicker'n you did m'brother."
Cara blinked, then let her smile widen, gesturing with her chin toward the other fighting belt the last challenger had left on the table. Actually, that might be just the thing to improve her mood.
"What do you say, Spencer? For old time's sake."
He glanced speculatively toward the belt as well; their last spar had been longer ago than she cared to think about, and they'd always been fairly evenly matched. Then he raised a hand to his ear. "Yeah, Nate, I'm sure," he murmured. "C'mon in and have some spotchka; it might be a little while." Then he picked up the belt and strapped it around his waist.
"Little's about the right word for it," Cara taunted, pushing back from the table.
"Them's fighting words," he smirked back, heading for the cleared section of floor.
She laughed, and followed after him. Time to have some fun.
(x-posted @ intoabar and AO3)
intoabar. Cara Dune meets Eliot Spencer.He hadn't been Guild the last Cara had heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem.
Title: Fighting Words
Author: Jedi Buttercup
Disclaimer: The words are mine; the worlds are not.
Spoilers: Leverage (post-S3) and The Mandalorian (post-Sanctuary)
Notes: For the "Ficathon Goes Into a Bar" challenge, for the prompt, "Eliot Spencer goes into a bar and meets... Cara Dune (The Mandalorian)!"
Summary: He hadn't been Guild the last Cara had heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem. 1700 words.
Cara grinned to herself as she tucked away the last of her winnings from the afternoon's fight, and gestured for another cup of spotchka from the bartender with a nod. Sorgan's main settlement wasn't so big that she had a lot of variety in opponents, but it wasn't like there was a hell of a lot else to do in the evenings, and a lot of the local log runners seemed to think they'd have to get lucky sooner or later. Especially once they'd taken a few cups of krill-brew on board.
So far, her winnings had been enough to keep her in room and board since Mando had blown through, with a little left over to save up against the day she had to catch her own ride off world. Which might be sooner rather than later if the trickle of bounty hunters that had followed the rumors about the kid here didn't dry up. The Guild might be more a loose coalition than a professional organization, but someone would eventually take notice of so many dues-payers going missing and send an agent to investigate.
Someone, maybe, like the guy just coming in the door. Cara had caught the movement out of the corner of her eye; she kept her gaze on her cup to keep from drawing the intruder's attention in turn as she waited to see if he was going to be a problem. Too firm a step to belong to any of the usual patrons, but not armored enough to be Mando; and too well dressed, from what she could see out of her peripheral vision, to be any of the krill farmers who came into town occasionally. Not armed with any of the usual models of blasters, either, from what she could see of the drape of his shirt, though his stride was definitely ex-military--
Cara stiffened in her seat as he walked across her field of vision and finally gave her a good look at his face. Oh, hell. He hadn't been Guild the last she'd heard of him; but whatever else he might be, Eliot Spencer was definitely a problem.
Her freezing had been a dead giveaway; he immediately glanced in her direction-- and froze in turn, eyes widening as he registered her presence.
If he'd had any common sense, he would have turned right around and walked back out-- there was no way he didn't know what she probably thought of him. But then again, common sense had never exactly been a requirement for Rebel shock troopers, so it shouldn't be a surprise that he shook his head instead and headed grimly in her direction.
Of all the people to walk into her bar. Eliot Spencer. Cara crossed her arms on the table as she watched him approach, casually putting her weapons in easy reach, and calculated her odds of making it out of the place unscathed. She knew exactly how deadly he could be; she'd been on most of the same drops he'd been, after all. Which, of course, had made what he'd done afterward all the more infuriating.
"Dune," he nodded to her carefully, stopping just back of the chair across the table from her.
"Spencer," she replied, through a tight, toothy smile. "Fancy seeing you here. After all this time."
"Believe me, I'm just as happy to be here as you are," he replied, returning the smile with interest.
"Sounds about right," she snorted, then gestured dismissively to the seat. Not that sitting would slow him down much, but it would draw less attention from the other patrons. "Here for a drink?"
The bartender took that as her cue to walk up, taking a cup off her tray to deposit in front of Cara. Spencer glanced at the tray, then at Cara, then sighed and fished a coin out of his pocket to take a cup of his own. "Sure."
She waited for the bartender to walk away again, watching him settle in his chair, before firing her next question. It didn't look like he'd cut his hair much since growing out the helmet cut; it was longer than hers now, enough to hide the starbird tattoo he used to have under his left ear. His dropper tattoo wasn't visible either; just as well, since she might have had to strangle him if he'd shown up like nothing had changed.
She still might, even so. She wasn't exactly squeaky clean herself these days, but there was her method of retirement... and then there was his.
"So. Wouldn't have thought there was a lot on Sorgan to draw Imperial attention. Unless your buddy Moreau's in the spotchka business these days," she said, sounding him out. If he was here after the kid from the Imperial end, rather than chasing a fob or the missing hunters....
He tilted back the cup-- then wrinkled his nose and set it back down on the table. "Heard about that, did you? I wouldn't know. Though I kinda doubt it, from the taste. What the hell do they make this stuff out of, anyway?"
"Krill," she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. "And of course I heard about it. Ex-dropper goes to work for one of the warlords we bled ourselves white trying to take down? One of the Emperor's own money men? You better believe that made the rounds. You got a lot of nerve walking in here."
Damien Moreau liked to refer to himself as a banker. But that was a very mild term for a guy who'd laundered half the Emperor's hidden funds, from what Rebel Intelligence had later figured out. When she'd seen the clip of Spencer guarding him on the HoloNet, she'd nearly put her fist through the emitter.
"Not like I knew it'd be you when I walked in here," he replied, shaking his head. "Not going to talk about that, either. You know exactly what it was like when the New Republic pulled the rug out from under all of us. I admit, I did some things I'm not proud of afterward. But that's not why I'm here now."
"Then why are you here now?" she asked, pointedly. "If you didn't know it'd be me, then you were looking for someone. And I gotta tell you, if you're planning to run my chain code...."
He grimaced. "Got a new team, now. Not all of 'em former Rebels, but no ex-warlords, either. Took Moreau down with them a while back, actually. People who fell through the gaps, like you and me, from both sides of the war, and neither. Looking for other folks who might could use a little... leverage... these days."
Cara's eyebrows flew up. If he was serious about that, she might have to let him live after all. Not that it excused what he'd done in the first place. "And what, someone pointed you this way?"
"Heard some chatter from the Guild about hunters going missing out here. One of 'em called in long enough to say he'd spotted an ex-rebel with a particular sort of bounty, before he went dark. Never ran the chain code; our contact figured they were on another unofficial bounty at the time, didn't want someone jumping the claim."
"So you followed their tracks." Or, more accurately, Mando's and the kid's. Not that she minded taking out the trash that had followed in their wake.
"Figured we'd pass on a warning at least, or find out what you need to put things right." Spencer shrugged.
"Yeah, for a small consideration," she scoffed. She knew how these things went.
"No, actually," he countered, offering her a wry smile. "We operate on what Nate likes to call an 'alternative revenue stream'. Funny how many credits there are in taking down the kind of beings who pad their pockets out of shock trooper's supposed compensation funds, just for example."
Ah. "Or a banker who helped fund half the Death Star," she replied, smiling back sharp enough to cut. "Thanks for the thought, but I'm fine right here, thanks."
He winced, but went on gamely. "You sure about that? Now that the word's out you're here...."
"It'll take a little more than a rumor that vague to make things too hot to handle here." Cara shook her head. "I've got my own thing going, and I'm sure they'll find a juicier target, soon enough." If nothing else, Mando would show his shiny bucket again somewhere eventually. Not that she'd mention that to Spencer. She didn't know how a Mandalorian exiled from the Guild and his little green high-value bounty might figure into some 'alternative revenue stream', and for sure wasn't going to ask.
"If you'd rather talk to the rest of my team...." he tried again.
She slipped a hand under the table, still smiling.
He raised his hands carefully, palm-out, and sighed. "All right. If you ever do need help getting out of a jam, though, for old time's sake...."
The other patrons had been keeping their distance as they talked, entertained with their usual business, but one of the regulars wandered over at Spencer's gesture, eying his long hair and less obviously burly physique. "Got yourself another challenger, Dune? I got a handful of flan here says you take him down quicker'n you did m'brother."
Cara blinked, then let her smile widen, gesturing with her chin toward the other fighting belt the last challenger had left on the table. Actually, that might be just the thing to improve her mood.
"What do you say, Spencer? For old time's sake."
He glanced speculatively toward the belt as well; their last spar had been longer ago than she cared to think about, and they'd always been fairly evenly matched. Then he raised a hand to his ear. "Yeah, Nate, I'm sure," he murmured. "C'mon in and have some spotchka; it might be a little while." Then he picked up the belt and strapped it around his waist.
"Little's about the right word for it," Cara taunted, pushing back from the table.
"Them's fighting words," he smirked back, heading for the cleared section of floor.
She laughed, and followed after him. Time to have some fun.
(x-posted @ intoabar and AO3)