The Citadel, Mandalore
Ever since a moot where a certain member of the Orar'da'yadr had gone through their usual cycle of backing down from a challenge and making generally poor decisions, The Citadel had become an asset of clan Solus. Today, Dalair had landed the Ca'tra Guroa to work on refurbishing and maintaining the old fortress' forges for the use of his clan. Wearing his Guroa'gam he hefted crates, equipment, and materials around, and repaired old damage while droids swept and cleaned the area. Metal scraps and shavings laying all over the floor annoyed him, and there was a solid layer of the stuff over and behind near everything.
Music played from a speaker he'd plugged his smartpad into, the sound echoing off all the metal stone in the forges. Right this moment he was busy making sure the primary Beskar forge was working, properly. He was crouched down near the floor, tweaking a few bits inside to calibrate how high and powerful the bright blue flames flew. Too low and the metal was subpar. Too high, and one could ruin it entirely. It had to be just so.
Another member of the clan was due to stop by as well to give Dalair other work to do. With how chaotic the galaxy was these days and the frequent position of Mandalorians are bounty hunters and mercenaries, there was always more to be done. Not that Dalair ever complained. Even if bes'kar was rare, he was more than capable of working with other materials, weapons, cybernetics, or even tattoos. Armorers from Clan Solus had much they were expected to handle and Dalair embraced this life and its expectations with both hands.
So it was little surprise when he heard the telltale boot-falls of a man weighed down by armour coming down the otherwise-abandoned hall, the sound mixing in with the swish of brooms on stone and click-clack of droid feet shuffling about within the old forge. Dalair didn't look up from the work he was doing, but his helmet did turn slightly in the door's direction.
@Orbit