Boba follows him over to the table. He's relieved to hear he doesn't need any money. He supposes it would be difficult to have functional currency in a place like this, cut off from any government or laws. The exchange of food for labor sounds fair enough to him.

"I can fish," Boba says. "And hunt."

He's got more experience with the former, Kamino having been an ocean planet. But he was raised to be a hunter—even if a hunter of people rather than animals. He thinks at least some of those skills must be transferable.

For now: food. He's already forgotten Tommy's strange offer of setting up a screen earlier, and doesn't hesitate to remove his helmet. The face beneath is young—not even in his teens—soft features in striking contrast to the hard lines of the Mandalorian battle helmet that had concealed them moments earlier.

Immediately, he begins to tuck into the still-warm soup, obviously hungry. "Thanks," he says between mouthfuls.