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[color=60b6bf][h3]Tybren | Mandalore | Keldabe, Administrative District[/h3][/color][sub]Mentions:[@Quest Abandoner][/sub]
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The narrow lanes of open sky overhead were beginning to fade, gradually turning the color of new-kindled flame. Feeling somewhat stifled by the rush of people so near at hand, Tybren turned his face up to greet the gathering dusk, rapidly cooling meal momentarily forgotten as his thoughts inevitably returned to his duty. It was about time to get going. The friction at the Mand'alor's celebration between the Masters of the Enclaves and the various other Jedi factions would likely be reaching a critical point tonight, and it was his job to make sure nothing came out of that aside from a few bruised egos. He begrudgingly spooned up another heaping spoon of spice-clogged broth. Getting shot at every day was preferable to standing in a stuffy room listening to some puffed-up -

[color=darkorange]“Sometimes, I think starving would be preferable to Mandalore’s food. Ain’t never developed the taste for it, myself.”[/color]

Tybren's head jerked automatically towards the speaker, a tall human man that had lumbered his way out of the crowd, speaking as casually as if they'd been sitting here swapping jokes together the whole time. A very tall man. Too tall to be anyone else, really. 

[color=darkorange]“Ain't seen you in some time, Tybren. How you been?”[/color]

[color=60b6bf][i]Too slow, too stupid, that about sums it up for right now.[/i][/color] The thoughts went unspoken as he took in the visage of his onetime comrade-in-arms. Older, more weathered. Still looking like he headbutted a vibroblade every now and then. Not so different from himself, all things considered, but life on the Outer Rim tended not to be kind to those in their line of work. Luckily, Rask seemed to be happy to see him. If he hadn't been, there probably would have been several fresh blaster holes in Tybren's head as of right now. It had been a very long time indeed, but the Mirialan hadn't forgotten the speed of the other man's draw. 

Slowly, summoning as much grace as he could after being caught so shamefully, Tybren picked himself up off the bench. Even standing, it was a challenge to look the old boy in the eyes, as tall as he was, but he did so while returning the trademark carefree smile with a small one of his own. He reached forward to clasp an arm in greeting as Rask came close enough.

[color=60b6bf]"I always heard it said that if you could survive the food, you'd be halfway ready to survive the people. I guess now and then I still have to get some practice in." [/color]

He pulled back with a dry chuckle, dominant hand coming now to rest ever so lightly on the hilt of the beskad at his side.

[color=60b6bf]"Rask Coburn. 'Some time' is underselling it a bit, I'd say. I'm still kicking, myself."[/color]

He eyed the man warily now. Despite not being in any immediate danger, he couldn't bring himself to place any trust in the outlaw, not after the things they did. After Kamino, Tybren had... lost himself for awhile. Dove a bit too enthusiastically into his work, took some bad jobs. He had lost some honor during his run with the Irregulars, to be sure, and being reminded of it now didn't exactly bring back any warm feelings. His eyes cut across Rask's gear, looking for any hidden weapons, and caught the very obviously positioned Regulator badge. Now that was new. 

[color=60b6bf][i]Did he actually go straight, or is this some new ploy? 

What's he doing on Mandalore?[/i][/color]

It might have been that ten years ago, Tybren would have just asked him to his face. If Rask was here to disrupt Founding Day somehow, he had to know. But too many years in Jedi council chambers and training rooms had turned a merc's brittle tongue soft, and nowadays he had to think twice about trading barbs with anyone he met aside from certain oafish Gotals that sold lousy food. With a bit of an effort, he put Tybren the mercenary away, and brought Tybren the politician out once more. 

[color=60b6bf]"Of course, it's a bit different nowadays. I'm retired, mostly. Doing a lot more talking than shooting."[/color] He eyed the other carefully, hand now a bit more firmly on the pommel of his beskad. [color=60b6bf]"What about you? Here for Founding Day, I'm guessing. You still... working?"[/color]