Lia'ry was a good woman. She tended to him, doted upon him, despite her background. She should be loathe to do those things, but for Fynn? She was happy to do them. It put a small smile on his face, hidden from her gaze. He would never tell her how much he appreciated it. Why should he have to? He showed it to her every moment of every day.
Fynn finished with the green armour-plates and began going through last-minute checks across his
beskar'gam. The tazer attachment was online, a tiny green blip letting him know before it vanished. Grappnel line was working, with an immediate second line ready to fire; Fynn had several more cable lines in one of the many pouches that lined the outside of his armour. The bandoleers were filled with all manner of energy packs, grenades, hand-secures, tazers, silencers... Anything and everything a Bounty Hunter and pacifier would need.
The shoulder-mounted stun-net was on and working, but Fynn had it cradled backwards in an 'idle-off' position. It would take precious seconds to bring it up and aligned on his shoulder, but Fynn wasn't out hunting today. Fynn had a smaller jetpack as well; it wasn't as impressive as some others, but he used it to give him added mobility. He wouldn't be flying anywhere with it, but he liked the ring of 'rocket-assisted jumps'.
"Food sounds good, cyar'ika." Lia'ry could cook, and very well, too! But she was fond of exploring new locales and tasting new, local flavours. She liked to emulate them whilst cooking for them in their long, deep-space voyages.
Snatching up his helmet from the armour-stand he had erected the night before, he briefly looked at it. It was green, like the rest of his armour, with a tan-golden highlight around the abyss-black 'T' of his visor. The visor was remarkably deceptive; to anyone looking at him, they would think his vision limited. In actuality, he had 360-degree visibility. It was new technology, and still somewhat disorienting, but the sensitive sensors inside his helmet picked up where his eyes were looking and allowed a 'halo' of full-scale vision. He could see all around him, and more, as the sensitive instruments in his helmet allowed his infrared, thermal, and ultra-vision. It also had a targeted package that allowed him to paint friends and foes.
He slid the helmet on and fastened it to the flack-and-vacuum suit that sat underneath the heavy, solid plates of his
beskar armour. There was a gentle-hiss as it pressurized and the re-reathers became active, then it was all solid.
"Ready when you are," he told Lia'ry, staring at her with that impassive, frightening T-visored gaze of the Mandalorian. He took her hand before they left the hotel room, and they looked very much the couple. He was ready for war, but at the same time, ready for a simple meal with his beloved. It was strange, but wholly... Mandalorian.
~~~~~~~
As the couple weaved through the lobby,
Fynn couldn't help but notice the extravagant garb (and extravagant bust) of a certain woman that was also walking through the lobby. She had a regal bearing about her, and a purpose in her stride. She wasn't headed to talk to the front desk, or any of the Illia Station 'Helpers' that milled about like headless ants all about the station. She knew exactly where she was going, and what she was doing.
Fynn grinned under his helmet as he purposefully weaved he and Lia'ry towards her to the point where, at the exact moment she stepped up to the automatic escalator-doors, he stepped up to them as well. They nearly bumped into one another!
"Excuse us," he said, his voice coming out through the amplifiers of his helmet slightly digitized. There was a huskiness to his voice, and the lilt of a foreign accent. He spoke Basic, but his vowels and consonants alike had a strange, exotic sound to them. It was most-assuredly Mandalorian, more Concord Dawn than anything else.
"Quite the outfit you got there," he continued as he stepped back to allow her to step onto the moving floor that would take her out to the smooth stone walkway in front of the Hotel Odyssey.
"Business, or pleasure?"
While his words bordered on obstinate, his tone was very pleasant despite coming out of the voxbox of his helmet. His tone alone helped to dissuade the idea of his being a warmachine, even with the slew of weapons on his body.