Dank Farrik Drabble #51

It's been forever I've written one of those, but strangely enough it seems the announcement of a Din & Grogu movie made me realize how much I missed them, despite all the doubts still surrounding that annoncement. Hopefully we'll get some clarification soon...

In the meantime, happy new year!

************

Din felt overwhelming tiredness crash over him as he walked through the door. It was late, the cabin was dark and cold, but there was a particular smell greeting him through his helmet filter. One that should have reminded him that they hadn’t been there in weeks and that the place needed to be aired out. But that wasn’t it. It smelled like… He couldn’t quite find the word in his exhausted state. All he knew was that it wasn’t such a bad smell.

With a small shake, he forced himself to refocus on the task at hand. He needed to start the generator, even if the only thing he wanted to do at the moment was to lie down and sleep. Preferably in his own bed, although after the past few nights, any vaguely horizontal piece of furniture would do. Even the carpet at his feet looked inviting right now.

But rest would have to wait.

“Let’s put the food away first, yeah?” he sighed, setting Grogu down. At least they had food, thanks to Greef. The man had kindly provided them with enough leftovers to last for a couple of days when he’d greeted them earlier. Din had to remember to thank him again when he had the chance. That had been very nice of him. That and the bottle of Corellian whiskey he’d gifted him which he always seemed to have at his disposal now that he was – what was it?

Din sighed again. He couldn’t remember. Something grand. Still, that didn’t mean the man had forgotten where he was coming from. Or his friends. He’d wondered at the time if the fur hat he’d gotten him as a present on Taskeed had been too much – Grogu had chosen it – but now he no longer regretted the slightly ridiculous and costly gift. First and foremost, because it was currently unreasonably cold in Nevarro. But really, seeing the smile on his face had been nice. Pleasing, even. And Grogu’s burst of joy when Greef had thanked him, congratulating him on a perfect choice even better.

As he was slowly making his way to their small kitchen, the lights suddenly came on, and their few appliances emitted approving beeps.

“Thanks, kid,” he mumbled in astonishment.

“Ah!” the boy replied from the other side of the cabin. Din was so tired he hadn’t even noticed his short legs had taken him all the way there and that he’d remembered which button to push on the console. It shouldn’t have surprised him. His apprentice had amazing eidetic memory, and he smiled to himself with pride.

“Did you remember to start the back-up generator and the hot water boiler as well?”

Grogu nodded and jumped on the kitchen counter.

“You’re really getting good at this,” he praised, and the small child hummed in contentment, already helping him check what kind of food Greef had saved up for them.

“Looks like we’ll be able to celebrate in style,” Din remarked, spying several containers full of cakes and pies. Also soup, flatbread and dips.

“Yaya!”

“What do you say we heat up a bit of everything and wait for our bedrooms to warm up watching something on the holoprojector?”

Grogu repeated that same word again: “yaya” was the highest level of happiness in his current vocabulary.

It always took a while for the heater to kick in in the small rooms at the back of the cabin, same as for the hot water boiler, and he craved both a warm shower and his bed, but he knew his young apprentice would want food first. Waiting things out on the small sofa under a blanket while watching whatever was on and eating treats was the next best thing.

Tonight – technically in a half an hour – was New Year, which would kick off Fete Week, and a well-deserved five day break here in Nevarro following weeks of intense work for the New Republic. Din no longer celebrated Life Day, and seeing that particular shade of red worn by revelers still filled him with pain, but he had no such qualms about Fete Week.

“Should we check if they’re showing the fireworks on Coruscant? I bet they’re better than the ones on Chandrila,” he suggested, switching the holoscreen on as Grogu settled next to him under the blanket.

“Hmm,” he nodded.

“Dank farrik, I think the remote is still in the kitchen,” Din grumbled, but Grogu raised his tiny arm before he had managed to drag himself from their small nest. The remote flew in their direction and the boy caught it safely.

“Good job,” Din praised. “You find the channel, then.”

He chuckled while his son complained, but this gave him the opportunity to finally remove his helmet and a few pieces of his armor, which eventually earned him a small smile. Grogu had taken that gesture for what it was – they were finally home. And not having to rely on his filter told Din the same thing. That was what this smell meant. The one that had puzzled him so when they arrived earlier.

“Welcome home, kiddo. And happy new year.”

Dank Farrik Drabble #50

I reached 50, I’m so happy! 

Anyway,  I'm not really liking the Din Grogu thing, so this is my attempt to make sense of it. Kinda. Hope you enjoy New weapon/Pride!  Here are the rules for the challenge if you want to participate.

************

“Din Grogu? Well that’s even worse.”

The Mandalorian sighed and Grogu lowered his ears in Peli’s arms. He was sure that if he still had IG-12 at his disposal, a series of loud “No” would be heard.

“Why’s his name even Din Grogu? Isn’t your name Din Djarin?” she asked, unmoved by their reaction. Peli had never bothered using his own name, and had been very vocal in the past regarding the boy’s patronym – she didn’t like either and would keep on calling them what she pleased. He was usually “Mando” when she was in a good mood, which was rare. More often, it contained the words “bucket” or “idiot”. The child was luckier in that department. Until now at least.

“It’s tradition,” Din replied, hoping that she wouldn’t request him to elaborate. But of course she did, her eyebrows rising impatiently. She was Peli after all.

“He’s my apprentice. I’ve adopted him and he will bear my first name for the duration of his training. Once he’s ready, he’ll be Grogu Djarin.”

The boy nodded, looking at him intently – he’d gone over all of this with him already, and he was showing the same reaction now: a deep sense of pride. Din smiled, remembering how proud he’d also felt when he started as an apprentice all those years ago. That sense of finally belonging, something he’d yearned to find for a long time before being given a real place among his new family.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Peli noted, squarely bringing him back to the present.

“It’s just tradition,” Din tried again with a shrug. “And honorific – people will still call him ‘Grogu’.”

“Well it’s a stupid tradition.”

Din had never liked thinking too much about some aspects of his Creed. He’d just been happy to be given a place somewhere, even if it meant agreeing to things he didn’t fully understand. But part of him sometimes wondered if he should make an effort, because he thought Peli’s remark was warranted. Why shouldn’t Grogu have his last name already?

“So why did you comm me?” he asked her instead – he’d think about all of this some other time. “You mentioned a new weapon?”

He’d learned to be wary of the vocabulary the mechanic used when she was trying to lure him back to Tatooine.  Too many times she had almost managed to drag him there with the promise of a new Razor Crest or amban sniper rifle she’d somehow found. So the fact that she had been so vague this time had piqued his interest. Knowing her, it meant it was probably something big.

“Right!” she said, putting Grogu down on top of a nearby crate and rifling through her (many) pockets. “It’s this!”

Peli was holding some kind of rock. Small, with polished surfaces. It was almost transparent and very pretty to be sure, but this was no weapon.

“What is it?” Din still asked, not realizing that his son’s ears had reached epic height on his head.

“This, my bucket-headed friend, is a kyber crystal.”

“It’s a what?”

Dank Farrik Drabble #49

Another drabble to celebrate the conclusion of The Mandalorian’s third season! I rolled Pog soup/Bored this time, and this made me want to try the recipe. Let me know if you have and if it was successful! Here are the rules for the challenge if you want to participate.

************

“You haven’t visited Mandalore for months, you left without saying goodbye and now you’re finally using your comm station to ask me how to cook pog soup?”

It did sound a bit strange when she said it like that, but at least Bo-Katan didn’t look too cross. Well, her blue image didn’t at least. It had been a relief to learn that Gideon had been the one blocking all communications from leaving the planet, but it didn’t mean Din had suddenly become that much more sociable. And he thought Bo already knew he didn’t do goodbyes. It wasn’t as if he’d completely disappeared from everyone’s radar. He had reached out to the Armorer every once in a while to see if his tribe needed anything, but they seemed all set for now.

“I figured you’d be busy,” Din reasoned, Grogu cooing happily when Bo finally noticed his frantic waves and replied with one of her own.

“But not busy enough to share family recipes?” she remarked with an arched eyebrow. There was a smile there, Din thought. He should update his station to a better one, the quality of the image made it hard to tell for sure.

“Grogu’s been asking for it,” he attempted.

“Your son is talking?”

“You’re the one who said I should learn more about Mandalore’s traditions, and I recall it tasted great.”

This was one more lie, he remembered nothing from that soup. In his defense, he’d been recovering from poisoning at the time. And a concussion.

“Ah bah,” the boy finally concurred with a nod, helping his case.

“Are you really so bored that you’ve taken up cooking?” Bo wondered. “I could definitely put you to work here, there’s a lot – ”

“We’re not bored,” Din immediately said. “We’ve been travelling a lot, and following up on some leads from the New Republic.”

This, on the other hand, wasn’t a lie. Din had been doing exactly what he said he would – taking his apprentice on his journeys and working on a case by case basis for Carson as a contractor, which actually paid very well. They had free time, yes. But they were not bored. What did that word even mean? Their days were full enough when they spent them on Nevarro.

So what if they’d both taken a liking to naps under the sun and leisurely evening walks in town? That was allowed. And what if he’d decided to put his newly earned credits to good use to try out some of the fresh ingredients they sold at the market? He’d never had such a big kitchen before, and barely knew what most of the appliances were for, but the boy deserved nourishing meals. And anything they cooked tasted infinitely better than ration bars – which wasn’t a difficult feat – even when he messed up a bit.

“Fine,” Bo sighed, but Din could tell she didn’t believe him for a second. “I’ll tell you if you promise to visit soon.”

“Fine,” Din agreed.

Dank Farrik Drabble #48

Spoilers for the end of Season 3! I want to thank snowtheup on ao3 for giving me this idea. I guess I couldn't resist some Mandomera to kick off a new batch of chapters to celebrate the end of the season. More prompts to come soon! :)

Please enjoy Marketplace/Curious, and here are the rules if you want to participate!

************

It was Grogu who spotted the stall first. Which was no wonder, the little boy’s head always swiveled in every direction when they visited Nevarro’s marketplace, keen to discover if there was any new food he hadn’t tried yet. He thought his son had simply seen Karga at first, and wanted to say hi. Then he started paying attention to what the high magistrate was buying – spotchka, it looked like, which didn’t surprise Din. The saloon might have closed on the main street, but the man still liked his drink.

It said a lot about him that the first thing he noticed was the rifle on the woman’s back before he recognized the woman herself or the teenager next to her. He could give you the exact reference number of the manufacturer’s model. Tell you how precise it was and how long it could be used for before it needed to be recharged. Which parts were required to fix it should it break down. Where to get them for cheap. He used to own that rifle. It was a very good rifle. And he’d given it to someone who’d meant a lot to him.

But this was years ago, so surely –

Dank Farrik Drabble #47

Spoilers for Episodes 1 and 2 of Season 3 of The Mandalorian! I’m going to try and go back to weekly drabbles, because they are so fun… Please enjoy Pod/Worried, and here are the rules if you want to participate!

************

Get to Bo-Katan.

Grogu could do it. He could save him. He just had to fly to that planet on the map. Easy.

But first, he had to exit the cave.

As he rushed and leaped into his pod, cranking it as fast as it would go and never looking back, he told himself this was a game. That his dad wasn’t in big trouble. That they were playing. That this was just one more drill, one more exercise.

But as his heart started beating faster and his little hands shaking over the pod controls, Grogu came to the painful conclusion that he couldn’t think like that anymore. This was too important. His father counted on him and he had to prove to him he’d been listening to everything he taught him.

This wasn’t a game, this was real. And Grogu was a Mandalorian.

And so with that conviction firmly set in his mind, he realized he had nothing to fear. No one would stand in his way. He pushed the scary creature at the entrance of the tunnel back and he felt no strain afterwards.

He jumped into the ship, and Peli’s droid understood what he meant immediately.

One day, he’d be able to save his dad completely on his own. Without risking passing out, that is. Maybe he’d be stronger with the Force or he’d have cool weapons at his disposal. But until then, he’d rely on allies. And despite the woman’s coldness when they visited her last, he knew she was just like him. He knew she was just like dad. She was a Mandalorian, and she would come to their rescue.

Dank Farrik Drabble #42

Obviously I’ve been so excited about the trailer for Season 3 that I couldn’t focus on anything else for the past few days... So please enjoy Trapdoor/Carefree, and if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to watch the video more closely. :D

************

“How did you get in there?”

The boy chirped gleefully, happy with his new trick, settled in his lap and started looking around. Din was too stunned to react. How the hell had he –

And then Din remembered that pointless errand Peli had sent him on the previous day. She’d insisted she would look after the kid, and when he returned – without the Mantell mix she had asked him for, since it was obviously impossible to find on Tatooine – he could have sworn they were both hiding something. But since the N-1 had worked fine when he took off, he’d assumed it was nothing bad, or at least nothing that concerned his ship.

Apparently he’d been wrong, and he could now see the impossibly tiny opening under his feet – a small tunnel that Grogu could use to crawl from the droid port to the cockpit.

“There’s no harness for you here,” he grumbled, knowing very well that the boy usually removed it the second they were off to better enjoy the scenery.

Grogu looked up and stared at him with his big, innocent eyes. Din already knew he was doomed. Why did he keep on encouraging this kind of behavior?

“Fine, but stay put, and try to get some sleep,” he sighed, as he pulled him against his chest and used his bandolier as a makeshift seatbelt. That still counted, right?

Dank Farrik Drabble #41

Have some levity on this strange night with Pan/Puzzled! With some characters I usually don’t write about much. I might just be able to catch up with all the prompts I missed...

************

“I’m still not talking to you.”

If the astromech could shrug, it would, thought Luke. He sighed and focused again on the pasta he was attempting to cook. He’d never really had to deal with preparing food before, as he’d been happy with his aunt’s cooking most of his life, then dependent on rations or instant meals provided by the Rebellion.

But there was a first for everything, and he had time on his hands. More time than he’d expected actually, since his first (and only) student had just deserted him, whisked away in the night by his droid. A droid he’d thought trustworthy until now, if a bit unhinged at times.

“Anything could have happened to you two out there, why didn’t you wake me?” he grumbled.

R2-D2 emitted a series of beeps he interpreted as a long suffering sigh.

“Ahsoka Tano says his father is a powerful warrior. I wouldn’t want a Mandalorian on my back, had anything befallen his son.”

The white and blue droid chirped, stifling an electronic laugh.

“Yes, I know, I said it…” Luke mumbled. “You were right about that, at least. They do share a very close bond. I just hadn’t realized how close, or how much it hurt them both to be separated.”

He’d been too happy about finally being able to share his knowledge. This school was everything to him and he’d despaired not being able to find students.

“Maybe I was a little too eager,” he admitted. “But I know I was able to help him – he needed to remember and use the knowledge he’d already acquired on Coruscant.”

The astromech shared some more of his own knowledge – which was very vast apparently, and Luke turned his back on him to roll his eyes discreetly and hide a smile. Dammit, the water was boiling already.

“Yes, you told me that already, he was so anxious to leave this place he punched the hyperdrive himself, no need to rub it in.”

More beeps and Luke frowned. Surely he wasn’t understanding this right.

“You’re making this up. The Mandalorian wasn’t ‘so distraught’ from missing his son when he came here that he didn’t realize you were building a bench.”

Dank Farrik Drabble #40

I’m back to work tomorrow so feeling a little grumpy. Decided to cheer myself up by writing a Mandomera prompt because Din and Omera always give me wam, fuzzy feelings. So I’m sending warm, fuzzy feelings your way with this Purpose/Cautious prompt.

************

“He’ll be hungry in about two hours and he will let you know about it quite clearly as nothing else will work, there’s plenty of milk, he takes it at room temperature, about two thirds of a bottle, don’t forget to take a break mid-point and he should stay vertical in your arms afterwards for at least twenty minutes, more if he doesn’t burp, and – ”

Din was taking scrupulous care to remember each and every instruction Omera was listing. Every time he thought she was done, there was one more thing. Then one more thing. He had no idea how she managed to still be awake, as she’d told him when he arrived that she hadn’t slept for more than two hours in a row for the past two months.

So now it was his turn.

This, he’d understood immediately without requiring any worded direction when she placed the tiny bundle in his arms.

He hadn’t asked any question or raised any doubt that he would be able to assist. Shown any reluctance or made inquiries about the baby and where it came from – it was obvious. And even if he was wrong, it didn’t matter in the slightest. She trusted him to help with this and he would.

“Hey,” he said to the boy when they were finally on their own. He didn’t think it would take Omera more than five minutes to find sleep in the next room. With Winta staying at neighbors to escape the difficult nights of her two month old brother and Grogu tagging along, he found himself very much alone. Not scared exactly, yet still apprehensive – he might know what to expect from a 50 year old green baby of unknown origins with comically large ears, but a very much human baby with pinkish skin and a shock of dark hair was very exotic indeed.

Especially when said baby felt already bigger than Grogu in his arms, and yet so much more fragile and unfamiliar. He’d watched Omera carefully and noted how she held him earlier. His head, in particular, but it quickly transpired that the tiny being didn’t care much for his gloves or beskar armor, and it took a few precious seconds to remove them, and the boy liked being set down in his cot even less.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he mumbled, picking him up again, and Din was happy to discover that the lack of cold metal was enthusiastically welcomed. Well, enthusiastically for a two month old, he guessed, but he did look wide awake now, his huge dark eyes roaming from his shoulder to his neck to his helmet, taking in as many details as he could with the tiny movements he could manage.

So Din sat down, and let him look his full. He was doing the same, trying to catalog each and every tiny expression crossing his face. Register the strength of his kicks. His small, rapid, and noisy breaths. The uncoordinated movements of his hands. Not so uncoordinated as it turned out, as he kept reaching for his helmet. He wondered if he could see his own reflection in it. The boy didn’t look scared by the lack of face – merely curious. He didn’t think they stopped staring at each other until it was time for his first bottle.

He was fussy for a bit afterwards but eventually fell asleep in his arms as he was slowly walking around the room. It was now dark outside but the infant didn’t seem to like the cold much so he quickly went back in the hut and sat down again. Din didn’t feel hunger or tiredness himself – he just wanted to look at this brand new being some more. The small fingers and covered toes. The barely there lashes and upturned nose. The involuntary smiles as he dreamed – did tiny babies dream he wondered? or did that come later? – and the pouty lower lip when he woke up, turning red fast.

One diaper change later – at least this he’d learned well with Grogu – and they were back in the same spot. The boy would either stare at him or make him understand he wanted a change of scenery. So he’d stand up and move the boy around in his arms until he stopped fussing. Soon it was time for another bottle. More sleep. Another change. The hours blurred and Din paid no attention to the passing time – looking at the boy was the only thing that mattered.

Obviously he kept wondering if his assumption was correct. And he was convinced Omera wouldn’t hand him just any baby but… It didn’t matter. He grinned and looked at the boy some more. After the third feeding, he realized there was actually one thing that did matter, as the baby kept reaching for his helmet. And he remembered how he’d said goodbye to Grogu once, and his last request.

“You didn’t sleep,” Omera concluded, hours later.

“No,” he confirmed – he still didn’t feel tired. She did look far more rested on the other hand, and he smiled, glad he’d been able to offer this small respite while trying not to feel too guilty for not having visited in a year. Almost a year.

“So that’s where he gets it from,” she realized, tracing the dimple appearing on his right cheek. And somehow, having this be her first reaction upon seeing his face was everything. Especially since it quite succinctly answered the question he had refused to ask her.

Dank Farrik Drabble #39

I know, it’s been forever. I have so many prompts to catch up on! Taking the opportunity of being on holidays to start the (very long) list, I promise I’ll soon be back to weekly updates. Here is Shade/Cheerful. Enjoy!

************

His dad was going to be mad.

Din had been supposed to tag along as he checked how the grape picking at the vineyard was going. The little boy both loved and hated that time of year – loved it because the whole farm was buzzing with energy, excitement rising each morning and never dropping until the work was done late at night. But he hated it for the same reason – there was no longer any place to hide, no quiet spot to look at the sky and pretend the whole world belonged to him.

His father’s stress would also be palpable – had he chosen the right moment to harvest? Was the sugar level high enough in the grapes? Would the wine turn out good? Din’s mother was smart enough to linger in town and spend extra time at the library to study during those days. She’d always ask him if he wanted to come along, but the boy took after his father – he’d rather be outside, even if it meant running far and hard to escape the pounding heat and the loud voices of the farmhands as they toiled.

Din looked up from the shady spot he’d found under an old oak. He counted the ships in the sky – a cruiser, then two supply cargos. Merchants, traders. Aq Vetina was popular and well known for its rich soils and ripe fruits. He knew his father’s wine had travelled to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. Din hoped that one day he’d also board one of those ships, and travel just as far.

The boy sighed and raised his hand, small fingers tracing the journey of a fancy starfighter he wished he knew the name of. His skin was tan and dirty and he could already hear his mother’s remonstrances as she’d ineffectively try to wash the muck away in the bath this evening.

“My feral child,” she’d say, with fondness in her voice, as she tickled his sides.

Din closed his eyes and enjoyed the stillness in the air. The smell of the earth under the hot sun. His dad had said he could take part in the crushing this year. And he could already picture himself stomping the grapes with his bare feet. His clothes turning a deep, dark red. Taking part in the celebrations afterwards. And then one day, the farm would be his. And he’d be the one who’d get to decide when the harvest should start. The responsibility hung heavy on his shoulders already, and Din hoped he’d have travelled by then. Or gone to university like his mother. There was just so much to do. So much to discover. So much to learn.

A shadow fell on him suddenly and Din opened his eyes.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” his father admonished. Din stood up, sheepish. “Wherever I go, you go,” the man added as they started walking back to the vineyard, but his serious tone was offset by the small smile on his face, the one that made a dip appear in his right cheek, and Din felt his love wash over him like a warm embrace.

Dank Farrik Drabble #38

Apologies for not writing a drabble in so long, I got caught up in fic writing! I might be tempted to write about Kenobi next, but for this week here’s a Book of Boba Fett/Mandalorian inspired one, using the prompts Deal/Amused.

************

“Come back here!”

“No,” giggled Grogu, once again successfully evading capture and making for the vent shaft. He’d discovered the previous day that he could fit inside perfectly, and that it allowed him to run around undetected all throughout the palace.

“You’re gonna be covered in dirt again!” Boba lamented, as he’d just washed the kid.

“Forget it,” sighed Fennec, more pragmatic. “He’ll show up again when he’s hungry, which shouldn’t be long now, he hasn’t eaten for all of two hours.”

Boba slid down against the stone wall with a long exhale, his back protesting fiercely – he was getting too old for this.

“Why did we agree to this again?” he wondered, as Fennec copied his movement, sitting more gracefully on the floor until their knees touched.

“Djarin asked,” she shrugged.

“And it did sound important, otherwise he wouldn’t have requested to use the suite for a couple of days.”

“What do you think he’s actually doing in there?” Fennec asked.

“I don’t know, that’s his business. It sounded like official Mand’alor stuff so I’m assuming he’s receiving delegates or some such. I gave him access to the landing port and I didn’t have time to check if anyone else had arrived.”

He’d been too busy making sure his son was kept entertained yet didn’t find some creative ways to harm himself – two tasks that strangely seem to come hand in hand with the boy. Why did it all have to be so damn exhausting? He was used to hard labor, sleep deprivation and stress, but this was something else.

“He said he was leaving in the morning, right?” he made sure.

“I think he has a hot date in there,” Fennec replied, completely missing his point.

“A hot date? Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?” Boba scoffed. “You were there when he asked us to look after Grogu while he conducted ‘important business’, and it certainly didn’t sound like he would be entertaining that kind of guests.”

“How can you be sure?” she pushed, clearly amused.

“Let’s go find his son,” he grumbled, refusing to answer. His knees creaked from the effort as he stood up. Fennec shook her head but did the same.

Half an hour later, they still hadn’t been able to locate him. Boba had even sent a probe droid after him in the vent shaft, to no avail.

“Looks like we’re gonna be able to test your theory,” he said, doing another sweep of the kitchen, as it was one of the child’s favorite room in the palace.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to inform the ruler of Mandalore that we lost his son?” Fennec pointed out unhelpfully.

“Do you have a better idea?”

And so they made their way to the very top of the palace and the luxury suite. They walked to the door silently, trying to listen to what was happening inside in case they were interrupting something important, but no sound reached them. It was eerily quiet.

Boba knocked – no answer came. He did it a second time, then Fennec grew bored and opened the door.

The blinds had been drawn, making it hard to see inside. When their eyes got used to the darkness, they realized there were no important foreign dignitaries or hot dates in the vicinity. They found the fearsome warrior lying diagonally on the huge bed, arms extended, deeply asleep. From the discarded kitchen trays and undisturbed furniture, they easily deduced that the Mandalorian had only been sleeping and eating for two days. And after spending a little time with his son, they understood why he had felt the need to resort to such a devious scheme.

“Maybe we should offer to watch his kid more often,” Boba whispered with a small smile, and Fennec nodded.

Said kid had made his way home, and was curled up against his father’s side, sleeping peacefully. But the peace would be short-lived for Djarin…

Dank Farrik Drabble #37

Almost a month with no drabble, yikes, I’m sorry! I will have to write Kenobi inspired prompts in the future, but for now please enjoy some Din&Grogu with Boat/Disgusted.

************

Grogu decided he didn’t like the ocean. Nu-uh. Not one bit.

Sure, it had been fun at first. When he’d been allowed to run around on the deck under dad’s watchful eye and he’d cheered at every wave crashing against the bow, squealing in delight when droplets of cold water landed on his ears.

But that was before.

Before his stomach started feeling all funny and his brow all sweaty. He was miserable and he wanted to curl up somewhere and close his eyes, but the boat just wouldn’t stop moving up, and down, and up again. It wasn’t fun anymore, he wanted it to be over. Even the promise of food, so appealing earlier, now made him want to reconsider ever eating anything again.

“Come on,” his dad said, picking him up gently from the spot on the floor where he had plonked himself down with the firm intention not to move again until they arrived. “Some fresh air will do you good.”

Grogu grumbled. The air was fresh enough where he was. There was no need to get closer to the edge. He didn’t want to look at the water anymore, it made him sick.

“No,” he complained, and his father chuckled. Grogu sighed deeply in retaliation.

“Don’t look at the sea, look at the horizon. Pick a spot and stare at it, then your body will figure out the rest. It can take a while to get used to the motions of a boat.”

This didn’t make any sense to Grogu, and he was still annoyed that he had disturbed him and made – harmless – fun of him, so he burrowed against his side instead and closed his eyes, wishing he could just disappear and stop feeling so awful.

“Grogu…” his father chided him, gently, forcing him to turn around in his arms so that he faced the water again. “Just try, I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

He didn’t want to believe him. He really, really didn’t.

“Look, we can even see the coast, we’re almost there!”

This he wanted to see, so he opened his eyes. And alright, maybe looking at the shore drawing nearer did help. But only a little bit. Still, that gave him an idea. He knew they had been forced to cross the water by boat because the N-1 needed some repairs at the starport. But surely they were now close enough that they could finish the journey more comfortably?

“Fly, dada,” he requested, pointing at his jetpack clipped to his back. It was his father’s turn to sigh.

“Alright,” he eventually complied, and they were soon off, the boat growing smaller and smaller under them as Grogu cheered on, his ears happily flapping in the wind.

“Faster, faster!” he pressed, and his queasiness was soon a distant memory.