Work Text:
Handing out flowers all day wasn’t exactly living the dream, but it got your bills paid. Working at a plant shop was a unique experience and you couldn’t exactly say you regretted applying. On easy days you got to take your favorite post, and here you were, with a basket of cut wildflowers and enticing passersby to come inside. Your boss had always been eager to drum up business and what better than giving something away?
On the busy and overpopulated planet of Coruscant, most people didn’t spare you a second glance, but tourists were always willing to stop and take a free and beautiful flower. From there, it wasn’t hard to convince them to come inside to see the whole garden and the workers inside were masters at sales pitches. Almost nobody left without a new plant for their homes or a bunch of flowers for their sweethearts.
Standing outside a shop all day was rough sometimes, the sun beating down or the nasty smells but you always find yourself passing the hours people-watching. Even on your off time, you love sitting outside, making up stories and personalities for every being that walked your way. Which is exactly why, when you see the Mandalorian pass by you the first time, you are completely and utterly captivated.
It isn’t that you never saw warrior-types, no, in fact you’d seen many armored figures pass your shop. But you’d never seen one quite like this, covered head-to-toe in perfect, gleaming chrome.
The armor is the first thing that catches your eye. The second is his posture.
If you had a less careful eye, you would have taken one glance and thought that he was inexperienced. Untouched armor is a dead giveaway for someone who hasn’t actually seen battle. Watching him stalk past your shop tells a different story.
Even if he wasn’t wearing the armor, you bet he would still have that confident, broad stature. He isn’t peacocking, not strutting like he owns the place, but every bit of him says “I know who I am”. And Maker, do you like the look of that .
Your inner musings silence all at once when you see his helmet turn towards you. The T-shaped visor gives him an intimidating brow and you feel yourself freeze, unable to look away. He isn’t anywhere near you, at least 10 other people walking past, but you feel like the only two on the street. You wonder if he feels the same.
A hand grabs your shoulder and the bubble suddenly pops, a sharp gasp leaving your mouth as you turn around.
“Whoa! Didn’t mean to startle you,” It’s just your boss. You feel the hair prickle on the back of your neck and you’re tempted to turn back around, but he’s still speaking.
“What? Oh, sorry. Just a little lost in thought.”
He chuckles at you, shaking his head. “I’ve just come to relieve you. Go take your lunch.”
Nodding, you hand him your basket of flowers and try not to rush inside. Your nosy coworkers would want to know what had you all flustered and what would you say? An armored covered stranger walking on the other side of the street looked at you? And you couldn’t even say for sure if he did, because he wore a helmet?
You chuckle at yourself for being silly. He was just another tourist. You see plenty of attractive people walking down the street every day.
But none of them usually spared you a second glance , your traitorous brain supplies.
You shake your head to banish the thought, busying yourself with collecting your bag and credits where you keep it locked up in the back. You take your leave without saying anything, sure that your voice would give your unsteadiness away.
As you walk through the busy streets, you can’t help but fantasize a little longer. What if that armored stranger had been looking for a flower shop? You can’t imagine him wanting a floral arrangement but everyone could use a plant or two for their backyard. Does he even live here or is he from another planet? A silly pang runs through you as you imagine him living off-world - it means you likely wouldn’t see him again.
This time, you roll your eyes at yourself, entering your usual cantina for a hot meal. As the smells overtake you, you force yourself to leave the silly thoughts behind.
“Hey hon! Take a seat and I’ll be right with you,” The kind barmaid, Giala, who loves to waste time gossiping at your table, greets you and you smile.
“You know what I want, Gee, I’ll be over at the booths. She grins back and nods, bussing the table in front of her.
You take out your holopad to scroll through the news, but it’s quickly forgotten. You sit facing the door and a rowdy group of what appear to be businessmen draw your attention. You do your best not to stare, not that people tend to notice you much anyway. You find yourself rolling your eyes again as you listen to their conversation, and this time it’s apparent because Giala walks up to your table chuckling.
“Those fellas are gonna be trouble, aren’t they,” she says, less of a question and more of a statement. She puts down your steaming hot bowl of… well, you weren’t always sure what was in it, but it was always delicious.
“Eh, perhaps, but those types are usually harmless.” You’re quickly captivated by your food, hungry after a long morning on you feet. Your spoon is loaded up and on its way to your mouth when Giala says, “That shiny one over there might be a real issue though.”
It couldn’t be. You turn your head- it is.
The armored stranger from earlier is standing by the bar. He’s obviously not there for a drink, too rigid and hands practically gripping the edge of the bartop. He’s scanning the room and once again locks glares with you, but the spell is quickly broken by Giala blocking the view when she crouches down in front of you.
“I overheard someone say there was a bounty hunter sniffing around. Wouldn’t you think it’s him, just by the look of him?” Her eyes look at you eagerly and you peer around her again to study the figure. He’s looking back down at something in his hand. Something red and flashing, the reflection showing on his visor and it clicks for you.
“He’s a Mandalorian. I think. Supposedly some of the most feared warriors in the galaxy,” Something stirs within you that’s not quite fear, however. “Do you still work for that sleazeball manager?”
You look back toward her but before she can even get a sound out, shots are ringing out through the cantina. You thank the stars that you got your usual booth today, as you hit the ground and drag your friend under the table with you. She’s whimpering and covering her face, but you’re carefully watching the running feet from your position.
Once the shots cease, which doesn’t take long, you hold just a bit longer. You can’t see anyone moving anymore, so you lean slowly towards the edge of the table for a better vantage point. You hear a few clicks and shuffling movements and when your head is out far enough, you see him again, arranging the cantina owner to drag him out by the cuffs on his wrist.
A few other people are cowering under their tables, and there’s some scorch marks on the walls, but it doesn’t appear that anyone’s actually hurt. Well, except for the scumbag the Mandalorian’s got cuffed, but the groans he’s making give away his survival.
The Mandalorian’s about to leave but he scans the room again, and, for what you hope isn’t the last time, meets your gaze. He nods- at you, you think? You hope- and leaves. For as intriguing as he was, suddenly you’re hoping that maybe he doesn’t pay your shop a visit.
___
Of course, he does. Well, not exactly, but just about a week later, you’re stood in front of the shop again and you spot the Mandalorian on your street again. Your stomach does a flip, partially out of fear that you might be the next one in cuffs, and partially at the thought that you might not be entirely opposed to that.
He seems to be just as focused as the first time you saw him, but oh, how wrong you are. You’re staring again, you realize, because his helmet turns towards you, and your stomach is flipping again because now he’s making his way towards me, oh Maker, please tell me I didn’t commit some heinous crime in my sleep that placed a thousand credit bounty on your head and-
“Excuse me.”
You snap out of your spiral at the sound of his voice, a lovely, deep, gravelly voice -
“You work here.”
Fuck, you’ve gotta stop getting lost in your thoughts. He asked you a question. Except- he didn’t?
“Yes?” You manage to make your voice sound somewhat normal, if a bit higher pitched than usual.
“I assume you see a lot of people that go by,” he says and shit , it’s more than a little intimidating to have his attention on you. He’s fully facing you this time, only an arm’s length away. His hands are just resting by his sides, but the sheer amount of weaponry you see on him is not usual, even for this planet.
“You’re not here to arrest my boss, are you?” you blurt out and already you’re regretting it. He tilts his head at you and it’s almost adorable, making you think of a confused loth-cat.
“I don’t think so. I’m looking for this man. I’m told he frequents this area, and I’ve seen you out here every time I pass by,” he takes out a device that lights up with a hologram of a scruffy-looking human. Sure, you’ve seen him before, but wait- every time he’s passed by? As in more than once?
“I thought you found your bounty when you shot up the cantina last week,” and you reprimand yourself again mentally. Sure enough, he doesn’t seem happy with your phrasing when he shifts to cross his arms.
“Sorry- ‘shot up’ is a bit much. I just meant- I don’t always see that kind of… excitement around here. And we don’t exactly get a lot of folks who look like you either. So it’s a bit strange seeing you back so soon. W-why are you back again?” you’re babbling, and you know it.
He doesn’t need to answer the question and yet he does, “I was completing a job and now I’m here for another one,” he lifts up the hologram again, “Do you know this man?”
“‘Know’ is a strong word. Have I seen him? Of course,” and you go on to describe how he often slinks around, a pickpocket who preys on the unsuspecting tourists of the area. You babble on far too long with a description of the habits you’ve picked up merely by observing, his full attention overwhelming you into running your mouth.
“Thank you,” the Mandalorian says, when you finally finish. He tucks away the hologram device but he stays standing there for another second, just looking at you. Waiting for what, you’re not sure. He’s already asked what he needs for you. Maybe he would have said something, but you beat him to it.
“Would you like a flower?” You curse yourself internally, you really just say the stupidest shit when you’re flustered. He’s still just standing there, fuck, fuck, please respond-
“I don’t- I don’t need a flower,” he says, hesitantly.
You scramble through your basket for the right bloom, something not overly feminine, something that would fit his personality, something that’s not already dying and there -
“Here,” you thrust your hand out awkwardly at him, “just take it. A-as thanks.”
He cocks his head again, as if confused. “For what? I was the one seeking information.”
“For getting rid of that asshole. In the cantina? He was a real scumbag and treated my friend like shit. I don’t know what kind of price was on his head, and I don’t know what you did with him, but the planet’s better without him. So thanks for that… you, uh, did a good job.”
He stays silent this time and Maker, that blank stare just pierced right through you. Before you lose your nerve, you reach out and wedge the stem in an empty slot of his bandolier. It looks almost silly, on a man so threatening but also fits in a strange sort of way. The spray of light blue blends quite nicely with the rest of his ensemble and the small buds don't actually attract too much attention. It reflects on his chest plate and you let yourself admire him for another moment.
“Thank you,” he finally says, interrupting your unashamed ogling. “For your time and your token.”
“Anytime, Mandalorian.” The grin comes easily to your face.
He turns to leave but not before studying you for another moment and saying, “May our paths cross again someday.”
You watch him walk away and wonder if he really means it.