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“How do you even know how to do all this stuff?” Zeb asked as Sabine fiddled with the blaster in front of them. “Is there like a Mandalorian school of explosives that you go to or what?”
“I’d be a pretty shitty Mandalorian if I didn’t know how to jury rig a bomb from a blaster,” Sabine replied, eyes fixed on her work.
“Actually, Sabine,” Rau interjected, “I think this one may just be a Wren specialty.”
Sabine paused, contemplating.
“Huh,” she said after a moment. “I guess you’re right. I suppose it does make sense.”
“How in any of the Sith hells does that make sense?” Ezra demanded, aghast.
“Well, my mother was a terrorist for the better part of her youth. She was in charge of the explosives; it makes sense she’d know how to improvise one from a blaster.”
The Ghost crew sans Rau blanched at that, staring at Sabine in varying states of shock.
Looking up at their sudden silence, Sabine took in their disbelieving faces.
“What?” she asked.
“Your mother was a terrorist?”
“Technically, she was a part of a cult that was labelled terrorist and didn’t do anything to try disprove the notion. Rau knows more than me, he could tell you.”
“Cult?” Kanan sounded strangled.
“All I really know about Kyr’stad was how much I wanted to fucking shoot all of them.”
“Fair,” Sabine sighed. “I don’t remember much about my time with them.”
“You were part of a cult?” It was Hera’s turn to sound strangled.
“Yeah, I was born into it. I spent the first two years of my life bouncing around from base to base.” She paused her soldering for a second and jerked the soldering iron towards her helmet in a mock salute before sarcastically adding, “Kyr’stad’s number one baby mascot, at your service.”
“How did you get out?”
“My parents left after my brother was born. Mother and Father decided they wanted to raise us in a stable home environment.”
“And what exactly is ‘stable’ by your definition?” Zeb asked skeptically.
“Oh, you know, weapons training, shootouts, battlefield medicine, sparring, parkour, wilderness survival, explosives, mountain climbing.” She waved the soldering iron dismissively, “normal household stuff.”
The Ghost crew all turned to Rau questioningly.
He nodded, “that is normal.”
“None of that is even remotely close to normal!” Hera burst out.
“Like any of you had stable childhoods,” Sabine scoffed.
“That—That’s not the point,” Hera sputtered. “We’re focussing on you right now.”
“And I’m telling you I had a normal childhood.”
“What about all that stuff with the Academy and literally getting kicked out of your clan?” Zeb asked. “That’s a pretty messed up thing to do to a kid.”
“I was an adult when that happened.”
“You were fourteen!”
“Yeah, and? Still an adult.”
“Isn’t the human age of majority eighteen?”
“It is.” Kanan answered Zeb.
“If I may,” Rau broke in, “I think I know where the confusion is coming in.”
“Please,” the Jedi snarked, “enlighten us.”
“Mandalorians do not necessarily abide by an age of majority. One is legally considered an adult when they successfully complete their verd’goten. Typically it is done when you are thirteen years old.”
“I did mine when I was twelve.”
“Impressive,” Rau commented. “My buir waited until the day I turned thirteen. My birthday present was getting drunk on tihaar. I couldn’t see straight for two days after.”
“By the Manda, I do not miss those hangovers.” Sabine shuddered.
“I’ve never seen you drink before,” Hera said quizzically.
“Because Kanan throws a fit every time I so much as look at a bar. Besides, nothing you find out here is quite as good as tihaar.”
“What is te-ha?” Ezra asked, butchering the pronunciation.
“Tihaar,” Rau corrected, “Is both the nectar of the gods and the sword that splits your skull.”
“What he’s trying to say is that it tastes like a good decision until you wake up the next day.”
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It’s booze, Ezra. Alcohol.”
“Ohhhhhh,” he nodded. “Can I try some?”
“Sure.”
“Absolutely fucking not!”
Kanan glared in Sabine’s general direction while she staunchly refused to look up from the mangled blaster.
“Kid’s going to have to try it someday, Dad.”
A vein started throbbing in Kanan’s forehead. Hera stepped forward, placing a placating hand on his arm.
“Only when you’re eighteen,” she said firmly.
“Aw but that’s so far away!” Ezra complained.
“Sucks to suck.” Sabine dodged the rock he half-heartedly threw at her without looking.
“Guys, I hear troopers,” Zeb interrupted.
“Good,” Sabine said, slipping the soldering iron into her utility belt. “This thing’s about to go off.”
“What do you mean ‘about to’?” Ezra screeched as she hefted the blaster.
“MOVE!” she yelled, throwing it at the door blocking their escape.
The explosion truly was a thing of wonder.
Had it not been for the blinding light it let off, Sabine would’ve watched it with pride. As it was, looking at the mangled remains of what had once been a door was reward enough. Even her overly pedantic mother would struggle to find fault with this particular artwork.
The approaching sound of shouting and boots on durasteel stirred the group into action and they rushed through the gap post haste.
Sabine whooped as they raced across the hangar, blaster bolts and missiles flying past them.
“I haven’t had a good cardio workout in a while!” she shouted at Ezra who was running next to her.
“You’re enjoying this?” he shouted back incredulously, ducking as a trio of blaster bolts soared over where his head had been just moments before.
“Explosions and fucking with stormtroopers. What’s not to love?”
“Are all Mandalorian’s this crazy or is it just you?”
“Rau?” she asked.
“Just you!” he grunted back.
“Must be a Wren specialty!”