Chapter Text
Scar has had a lot to do lately.
Signing paperwork that looks like it was written in Huttese of all things about some boring thing like a wither being loose in the shopping district again, making speeches that none of the Hermits are actually listening to— including himself, and finishing the back of Grian’s manor because HEP lost the war? It’s a good thing that Scar likes to consider himself a wizard, because no normal man could dream of achieving all of this! It’s probably his magic crystals doing all the work. They’re a really great investment!
So, while he scales the ladder to Larry’s shell, his mind is so busy with ideas and plans that he nearly misses the small shape left on his doorstep. He doesn’t because he stubs his toe on it, actually, but don’t tell anyone.
He picks it up, inspecting it. It’s a compass with a light purple shimmer to it. “Hey, Larry? Who left this here?”
Larry doesn’t answer. Maybe because he’s busy eating, or he hates Scar and doesn’t want to speak to him anymore, or maybe because he’s never shown any evidence of being able to speak before. It truly is a mystery. It just means Scar has to solve this puzzle on his own. Like— like Sherwood House!
Scar turns the compass over in his hands, finding no other details of note, such as, say, a note, reading “Hey, pal! Follow this compass to get a hundred diamonds!” Actually it’s probably a good thing it doesn’t say that. That would be really suspicious.
Still, should he follow this? He has been pranked a bunch in the past. It might not be the best of ideas…
Oh, who’s he kidding? Even if it’s a prank, it will still be funny, he thinks as he takes off into the air, following the red needle of destiny.
It ends up being a pretty short trip, since it just leads directly to Grian’s mansion— more specifically the back. Oh, Scar wonders what this could be about. “Thanks, Grian. Really needed the reminder— OH MY GOSH!”
There he is, the little Grogu head that Grian stole all that time ago! “Ohhh I missed you, little guy!” Scar coos as he scoops him up, wrapping him up in a hug, before feeling something tickling his nose.
Scar holds out the head, and finds a pristine, bright, familiar, yellow feather tucked behind one of the head’s great big ears. “How did you—?” Scar asks, but obviously Grogu can’t respond, as he’s a inama— innieman— object, so Scar is just left to extract the feather from it’s perch, holding it up, and twirling it around, looking at how the sun hits it. It’s pretty.
Scar concludes that it’s definitely Grian’s, his tri-colored parrot wings a staple— some might even say an omen— but why it’s even there is beyond Scar. Vexes give their feathers as a sign of surrender, but Scar doubts it’s that because one, Grian isn’t a vex, and two, Grian hasn’t lost in any way Scar can remember.
But maybe Scar can take it to mean that. Really, why else would Grian just give him a feather like this? Scar cheerfully tucks it into his pocket, preparing his brave and strong tale about how he defeated the Great Gri-Beast once and for all!
Scar skims the signs, gets excited about the present, but nothing even mentions the feather, just some nonsense about finishing the mansion, and diamonds(!!!). Scar’s pretty sure the feather just fell out— if that’s even possible— and landed perfectly on Grogu’s ear, but oh well, it’s Scar’s now!
He takes off, heading back to Larry, pointedly ignoring the blank back of the base. Grian can wait a little longer.
—
It’s much later, Grogu placed gently on a shelf, where he rightly belongs, and Scar’s tired after a long few hours of trying decode whatever a really old message from Tango, that he probably should’ve dealt with sooner, meant.
He lies on his back, on top of his bedding, tracing the familiar patterns of Larry’s shell with his eyes, when he suddenly remembers! The feather!
He rolls out of bed— falling, then getting up off the floor as usual— and rummages around in the front of his jacket, pulling it out with a flourish just for himself.
Two of the vanes had spit, making a notch in the side, but it was otherwise just fine. Scar cradles it in his palms, trying to decide what to do with it in order to maximize his opertunities to claim Grian had admitted defeat.
It only takes a moment of thought for Scar to decide that a broach over his chest would definitely draw in the questions! It’ll be like a t-shirt with a graphic on it, since people always stop to read those. Scar would know, because he had to wear that— eugh— “Mumbo For Mayor” shirt, and there had never been more attention drawn to his chest than that. It honestly made Scar a bit insecure about how un-ripped he is. Maybe he should start working out?— Focus.
He sets down the feather, and digs around, finding a small scrap of iron, which he quickly heats up, and stretches thin, then lets it cool, filing a sharp point to one of the ends. He ties the quill with some string, and carefully jabs the metal point through the lapel of his jacket. It sits… mostly flat. Good enough!
He swings on his jacket, and strides out the door— WOAH, Bdubs face!!!
“Hi, Scar…” Bdubs says through his near-perpetual grin, an honestly ominous tone to his voice. He probably wants Scar to do something. Gross.
“Oh, well hello there, Sir B-Double-O! What can I do for you on this fine evening?” Hopefully the emphasis on that last word will make Bdubs have some heart, and be kind to him. He’s just a poor poor man, in need of a mere second of rest!
“Hmm. Not much…” Okay, this is really freaking Scar out. He hates when Bdubs gets all creepy and foreboding like this. “I’ve just got a handful of complaints in. There’s a rock on the path that apparently has been tripping Hermits for a week now. And I went to check it out, and it was just a pebble. I think people are trying to mess with us again, Scar.”
Scar nods along, relived that Bdub’s ominousity— Scar doesn’t think that’s a word— isn’t directed at him, but others. Scar tries to think of how to solve this— not by moving the pebble off the road, of course, because way funnier things could be done. “We could host a competition for whoever can move the ‘massive boulder’ off the road first, and wait and see how long it takes everyone to realize we’re talking about the pebble?” He offers.
Bdubs doubles— heehee— over laughing, then rises back up, giving Scar some solid thumps on his arm. “That’s good! That’s goo— hey, what’s this?” He flicks at the feather. “Is that Grian’s?”
Scar quietly celebrates that Bdubs noticed, then straightens up, raising a hand to point proudly at the broach. “Oh I’m so glad you asked! See, I got this from vanquishing the enemy!”
Bdubs stares blankly for a moment.
“What the heck does that mean?!” He shouts, lunging for Scar, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, tie and all! “Did you fight— did you rip out one of Grian’s feathers?! Are you really starting another war?!”
Scar shakes his head frantically as he’s jostled back and forth like a rag doll. “No! No! Bdubs! Stop!” The shaking halts graciously. “I found this. Grian gave me a gift, and this was in— well, I think it was a part of it. Kind of. And giving feathers means that you’re surrendering, right— do you know about that?”
Bdubs stares blankly. “Yeah! I know that!” He exclaims suddenly, as though he’s deeply insulted Scar would think that he wouldn’t. Scar had just assumed that because it was a vex thing that Bdubs would have no knowledge, but this is a pleasant suprise! “So— why the pin?”
Scar carefully pries Bdubs’s hands off his collar, one finger at a time, before switching back on his salesman tone. “Well, because I have this, it obviously means that Grian admitted defeat! So, it turns out that I’ve won this time!”
Bdubs gasps. “Oh, I get it! You’re saying you won something, but you actually didn’t!”
Scar nods smugly.
“WOW! That’s really pathetic, actually! Don’t credit me for any of this!” Bdubs gives him a quick whack on the back that feels like a punch paired with his words.
“Hey— no, it’s actually— super awesome!” Scar objects, but Bdubs is already taking off, giggling. Scar turns to Larry, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe that that’s the guy I hired to be my captain?”
Larry doesn’t say anything, as usual. Scar really should’ve picked a talking snail as his house, because this is getting ridiculous.