#does that with phobos

[wolfsplosion]

guitar solos save lives (real) (not clickbait)

(study from the new mv!)

[doowlssleep]

my brain please i made a lineup and posted it can i be free now pretty please

[fluffydeoxys]

I feel like Phobos would need some sort of charisma to achieve what he created with Project Nexus and to have people continue it after his death. I don't think fear is a good motivator in Nevada. He explicitly doesn't fully grasp the Machine and the Employers, but I feel he once had genuine conviction in seeing Nevada prosper. But that quickly warped into seeking power to elevate himself to where he could have Nevada in his own hands.

If you've dehumanised existence to the point of it being merely a tool, coupled with seemingly having "control" over the most powerful and integral plane of existence (the Other Place; think of it like. we found out Hell is real and we can harvest power from it), AND you directly entertained powers greater than yours, it'd definitely uh. well definitely warp a person if they didn't have the strongest moral convictions.

Obviously, this whole project was brought about because the Employers wanted something (most likely for the people of Nevada to work out how to make clones for them; I imagine the Machine can't exactly "create life"), but there must've been a reason they chose Phobos, on top of him being a G01 Nevadean.

Speaking of, that would make Phobos very old... makes me wonder if he's slowly cultivated people/settlements under his 'banner'. What that banner would be I'm not sure. Maybe he always had a gut feeling that there was something 'more' to existence, that there were powers unseen throughout all of Nevada.

Considering he's a G01, maybe he was one of the first to encounter the potential to come back from the Other Place. Hmmmm.

[bcowlick]

Deimos: FATHER, HELP ME!!!

Ares slams the door open: Deimos, what's wrong?!

Deimos: There's a horrible monster under my bed!

Phobos under Deimos because the twins sleep in bunk beds: Oww :c

Ares: -Sighs- Deimos, we've talked about this -Pinching his nose-

[kastalani123]

Trials of Ares: TTC

(Mortal Ares in SoM/BotL)

Ares spends the time between SoM and TTC throwing himself into way too much training, trying to compensate for his weak body and newfound limits. Everyone, including those not too fond of him, keeps trying to get him to stop because it just lands him in the infirmary over and over again and they honestly think it's pathetic to see him constantly sporting bandages and bruises (he can't even get ambrosia/nectar-powered super-healing) in an attempt to regain his godly prowess, unattainable by a mortal. He does not comply with doctor's orders, because he has to be able to protect himself and his allies, you know? Or at least be capable of putting up a fight. It doesn't matter how beaten he gets so long as he stands back up until he is physically incapable of moving again.

Annabeth has gotten over her initial inklings of pity and now just feels pissed every time Lee comes to get her because Ares will not stop even though he's about to cause serious permanent damage to himself and she's the only one who can force him to stop without further harming him.

His kids are conflicted. On one hand, they get the need to constantly train and fight, the need to push as far beyond the limits of their bodies as they can manage. On the other... there's a crazed, glazed look in his eyes when blood and sweat pour down his face, as if he's not really seeing what's in front of him, and his battle screams seem tinged with hysteria. It's a little like he's unravelling at the seams, each forgotten memory and unfamiliar softness of his body sending him further and further into a frenzy.

He always seems normal enough when he cheers them on, though. Not any worse with his threats than any of his children. It's odd. They're not sure how to deal with their father, always shaking with rage, seemingly never aiming the brunt of that rage on them.

Anyways.

He goes to Westover Hall because, again, tied to Annabeth. Also, Chiron thinks it's a good idea to get him away from the arena. He doesn't think Ares's young, mortal fingers can handle being split any longer, they need a moment to build up calluses. So, off he goes. Sally worries over him, as moms do. He doesn't know what to do with it, because he wouldn't dare blow up at a mother, but he hardly knows how else to react to concern. He just. Freezes for most of the ride. Annabeth probably told him not to say anything stupid, anyways.

He tries to attack Thorn the moment he realizes he's a monster. He gets in a decent hit, but is quickly tossed aside and breaks a rib or two (and doesn't tell anyone; no revealing weaknesses here!).

His feelings about Annabeth's kidnapping are... odd. Externally he is, obviously, enraged, though seemingly because he lost the fight with Thorn more than anything else. He even laughs a bit, about how no one can boss him around anymore! But he's a bit more jumbled up inside; he's gotten annoyingly attached to the brat, and not being able to piss her off a bit because she's not there grates on him more than he expected.

Artemis's presence is met with mutual insults. Artemis digs at his weakness, probably roughs him up a bit in a small fight, but ultimately pays him little mind; Ares pulls out insults he doesn't particularly mean, just trying to piss her off despite not having his rage-bait-aura because he wants a fight, damn it, he needs to release all his rage despite his body aching, and who better to do it on than a direct connection to their Father? Suffice it to say, the Hunters really don't like him within like. Two minutes.

When Nico realizes that he's the Ares, he bombards him with questions; Ares blows up a bit, essentially telling the kid to back off, then goes to sulk and try and figure out his ribs. Bianca tries to follow him, because his fall really didn't look good, but he blows her off too. Both the Hunters and Percy tell the siblings to try and avoid him because he's not worth the effort. Bianca... decides to take this as a little challenge, later.

Apollo makes fun of Ares, commenting on his appearance and powerlessness and how mortality isn't all that bad, Apollo's gone through this punishment twice before, can Ares really not handle it? He probably also talks about sending Ares on some errands, now that he's mortal and has to listen to him. Thalia's too stressed to care, the Hunters laugh along, Percy feels complicated because it's essentially bullying but also he still doesn't like Ares all that much, and Grover and the di Angelo's feel bad for him because do you really need to beat down a kid who's already bruised and bloodied and fuming enough?

Ares is essentially considered an extension of Annabeth, and therefore brought along on the quest as a sixth at Chiron's request, despite Zoë's hatred of the idea. Maybe there's a mention of him in the prophecy, I'm not sure, but regardless, he's on the quest legitimately because he needs to help his master. On one hand, he despises this, because he hates being told what to do. On the other, it's once again a fight and a chance to regain his divinity. Though, honestly, a major reason for how determined he is about the quest is that his sister got taken and he does not take that well. It only get worse when he gets the same dream Percy did about Artemis holding up the sky because damn it, no one's allowed to touch his family. He has learned that trying to rush the quest doesn't end well for him, but he's definitely on edge, though he won't let anyone know why.

Bianca is very determined to find out, though. She's got that sibling need to dig into others' business, and though she's trying to distance herself from "babysitting" others, it's a bit hard when there's a brooding kid her age around. She decides it's still a form of rebellion, since everyone keeps telling her not to talk to him. She gets snappy at him, because he is uniquely talented at pissing people off, and they're both surprised when she fires back at him. They both like it, though, and start exchanging barbs; Ares likes having someone to fight who doesn't back down or get too annoyed/bored to continue, and Bianca is giddy with glee that she's being mean. Zoë is. Not supportive of this newfound friendship, but Bianca says she's keeping Ares in check and Ares will be damned if he lets go of his newest little sister-kid.

Bianca is kind of the start of Ares's character development. Most others will either refuse to engage with him or make him shut up/walk away before he gets to anything concrete. Bianca, filled with the pent-up rage of a parentified older sister, refuses, because this is something she's choosing to do for herself, in spite of what those around her say; even her joining the Hunt was prompted by others, but this is entirely her own. She drags genuine emotions from Ares's mouth like she's pulling teeth, gets him to admit that he's worried for Artemis, and repays it with her own concerns about Nico. They bond over being the self-designated "protectors" of the family and being determined to be eternally strong. Ares has already signed the gods damned adoption papers.

And then she dies.

Ares. Does not take this well. He decimates Talos with a godly power-up, desperate to find her; the others cannot pull him away until he does, crushed in metal and burned with electricity. He begs her to wake up but, of course, she doesn't, so he curses out Zeus and Thanatos: Zeus because he's the reason Ares is mortal and got attached; Thanatos because she should have gotten to be picked up by him and not his sisters, the Keres, and can Thanatos not repay his debt to Ares for the Sisyphus thing by being the one to take Bianca, at least?

This is the first time Percy sees through Ares's rage. He has no idea what to do with this, because he is a child and grieving Bianca himself; he decides to process Ares being an actual, multi-faceted person later, when they're not on a quest to save Annabeth and Artemis.

(Also! In his encounter with Aphrodite, he's caught off-guard by her expressing what seems to be genuine concern and feeling for Ares, especially when she tells him to pass on her love and that she misses him, along with a dog tag and a Polaroid picture of her with four young men. He does not, initially, caught up in the quest and digesting their conversation. He will backtrack and correct this later)

Grover also finally manages to get through the stench of rage constantly surrounding Ares and finds the softer grief and worry. He tries to take Bianca's spot of trying to get Ares to talk things through, but after his teeth are almost knocked out, he decides Ares needs a bit of space first. It can wait at least until they get back to the safety of Camp. He's not letting up after the quest is done, though, he vows.

Hoover Dam calms him a little, when they start exchanging little facts about it. He complains about Annabeth ranting about it so much that even he absorbed the knowledge, but is actually grateful for the distraction. He's pissed in a jealous way that Zeus answers Thalia's prayer, though. He doubts he'd ever get that much attention from their Father, and it's fine, really. He doesn't care. Why would he care about familial validation? He hasn't had it in millennia, there's nothing to it. He's fine.

He absolutely freaks out about Bessie. He's also baffled Percy isn't smitten on the spot. He almost kills Bessie himself, in fear of anyone else getting to him first, but lets him be taken to Camp instead.

He totally has a panic attack about the lightning that strikes their car. Thalia realizes something is off, but they don't have the time to deal with it at the moment, so she brushes it off.

Percy and Thalia have to physically hold Ares back from attacking Atlas when he sees Artemis holding the sky and Annabeth gagged. Atlas orders Annabeth to command Ares to not attack him; he's not too concerned about Ares attacking him, especially as a mortal, but it's always one less pest to deal with. She complies.

So he goes for the sky.

I know Percabeth's shared grey streaks are iconic, but Ares is the one who takes the sky from Artemis here. She tries to refuse, because he's mortal, he will die, and regardless of his hated status, she does not want to watch him die, in the end. Ares yells at her, that just because he's mortal doesn't mean he can't handle this, he's still the god of war and her older brother whether she likes it or not. Begrudgingly, he adds that they both know he can't currently rival Atlas in power, but she can, with her trickery. She defeated the Aloadae when he couldn't, so she better give him the sky right now and go fight.

She does.

It is like the pain of all the soldiers he has ever led to war has decided to explode across his body.

(And yes, he is still dealing with previous injuries he has not gotten treated. It's very fun for him. He totally develops chronic pain and adjacent ailments throughout the books, if he wasn't sent down to Earth already with them)

He collapses almost the moment Atlas takes the sky back. The demigods have to help him get up and over to Artemis and Zoë, and Artemis has a bit of panic over who to be more worried about, but Ares makes her shift her focus to Zoë because he's fine, really.

He's not dying, at least.

She does turn her attention on him after Zoë's turned into stars, and finally someone realizes he's been injured for a bit. She yells at him about knowing his limits and not hiding his weak spots from allies because they need to know about them so they can cover for them, then does what she can to heal him up a bit before heading to Olympus. This is the first time in the story that she calls him "brother" in a genuine way, though. It takes away from the worried rage that's been keeping him from passing out and he just. Deflates and drops from exhaustion and pain.

(Fight with Atlas)

He sleeps through the winter solstice meeting. Maybe Zeus keeps him as such, to keep the other Olympians from thinking of him too much; he doesn't want him returned yet, and if Ares shows up in front of everyone right then, the others might argue. So, he sleeps; Apollo probably squirrelled him away to his infirmary or something along those lines.

Once they're back at Camp, Ares finally taking a bit of a break to heal up, Percy passes on the message from Aphrodite, and the dog tag and photo. Ares immediately puts the dog tag chain on and tucks it beneath his shirt; it's the most precious one of his collection, with a curly Harmonia engraved on it, atypical as the format is. The photo, he almost crushes in his grip as he stares at it, before pocketing it with a gruff thank you. After this quest, the TLT trio grows a bit more patience with him, and he ever-so-slowly softens his aggression; there's still a long journey ahead of them, but the trio can now admit some fondness for him, and he stops arguing about everything they say and do.

Ares goes with Percy to talk to Nico but it doesn't change much; honestly, it might make it worse, because, mortal as he is, Ares is a god, he is meant to be powerful enough to protect those around him if he wishes to, so clearly he didn't want to save Bianca. Ares is kind of devastated by Nico running away, because he was hoping he could look after him for Bianca, similar to Percy, but Nico wants absolutely nothing to do with him. He swears he will find him, though, and make up for Bianca's death.

[hexedkakes]

Hue in her villain arc✨

She’s just a girl, what can I say 🤷

Without yucky god photos ^

And the yucky god photos in question! (+ Gambler cuz there needs to be more art of him and he’s my friend, Nova’s, favorite 🥰)

Here’s the bg cuz I was NOT drawing all that 😭😭

Didn’t feel like it today (although I DO like drawing bgs, you can see an old one in the Mystery dude and Gambler picture :3)

One last thing, here’s the of picture! Love this meme so much 😭

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Friday

Aka "you've ruined a perfectly good Damas is what you did. Look at him, he's got anxiety"

(For context, I gave Damas a backstory of being last in line for Haven's throne, but also Last Man Standing. This had something to do with Praxis hating "the default king". Long post warning, it's a whole one-shot again)

At some point in his life, the Precursors had decided that Damas was their least favorite Maridius. Any time something went well for him, it had to be immediately balanced by something awful.

He found acceptance and camaraderie that he never had from his elder brothers among the Forward Guard in the war.

And then Menelaus and Nicostratus died stupid, pointless deaths trying to seize glory, leaving Damas the sole focus of his parents' hopes.

He found an escape from the pressures in running the numbers, working out which districts needed food more than soldiers, and which districts needed more protection than most.

And then Father died and Mother shut herself in a convent, no longer interested in anything to do with her disappointing youngest son.

He actually had support from people for focusing on them and not the nest-

And his eldest brother's childhood friend literally stabbed him in the back and left him to die in the desert.

For a time, he'd assumed things would never get better. That the Precursors were tired of reeling him in and out like a fish on the line. But the hook pulled once more and he found himself using the skills he'd learned from the guards who raised him, joining a rebellion against a tyrant and defeating him against the odds.

And then the Precursors let him have ten good years. They let him find love, and family. They let him become a father. And then they ripped it all away in the cruelest way possible.

Damas knew it was foolish to hope that Mar was alive. He knew Phobos had been right to move on from him -- from them -- and throw herself into operating the orphan barracks of the Cliffside district. But he couldn't let go yet.

So he'd endured. Two bitter years he'd endured. And when he found that scrap of a boy in the desert, only to watch him outdo warriors twice his age, he'd thought maybe things were getting better.

Jak was...hard to define. The kid had seen more combat than some of his most experienced scouts. He carried scars on par with the surviving child-soldiers of Atys's reign. And while he shared their distrust of authority in general, he had none of their understanding of ranks and rulers. He just...treated everyone like they were his equal.

And after the kinds of things he must have experienced in his short life, Jak probably had every right to consider himself the equal of any senior Wastelander.

And for a moment, Damas had foolishly let himself hope that the Precursors could leave well enough alone. That they'd just...let him have this-!

Annnnd then Jak had to go and break the one rule. The one law Damas had given him.

Do not compromise the Arena.

Six other candidates had been doing their third trial against the Leucas Freebooters in that Arena. Six other candidates whose results had to be thrown out, who had to wait for full citizenship, because Jak refused to fight, and Sig had decided to waltz into a trial without checking to see what the purpose of the trial was!

Damas was either going to lose his mind, or go fully rogue and declare war on the Precursors. He couldn't discount either option yet.

Deep breaths, Damas. Deep breaths.

Jak knew not to mess with the purity of the Arena. He knew that, didn't he? He couldn't have gotten this far without understanding how important it was to keep the trial balanced for all candidates! He had to have known the consequences for not only compromising the others' trials and putting them at risk of the Freebooters getting the upper hand on them, but open mutiny-!

He wanted to shake sense into the boy. Maybe smack him upside the head and hope it jarred his common sense loose. But he wasn't likely to get that chance.

Even if Sig had caused this, he had all three amulets. Jak only had two. Those two protected him from a lot, but not public mutiny. A challenge in private Damas could have handled.

He knew Jak -- he thought he knew Jak -- enough to make him understand whatever instruction or decision he had a problem with. He knew how to phrase things to make it sound like all Jak had done was ask for clarification.

He couldn't cover this one up. Not with this many witnesses.

Damas knew the name of the creature thrashing beneath his ribs. Terror.

It clawed at his lungs, coiled around them until he couldn't breathe. Kicked at his heart until he felt every beat like a hammer.

I can't lose him too. I won't lose him too!

He didn't know when, exactly, things had changed between them. Was it before he'd admitted that he'd never had a father to teach him- well, anything? Was it before his second trial, when Phobos had pointedly compared the boy to her own students? Was it her less than subtle hinting that he find his closure in helping the boy he'd dragged out of the mouth of death?

Did it even matter?

You've taken enough from me! You can't have him, too!

It was depressingly easy to mask fear with anger. He had been doing it all his life.

In hindsight, so had Jak.

Damas wondered later if that was why the boy didn't seem afraid. He glared at Damas the whole time, but in those eyes was a challenge: I see through you. You don't fool me.

Damas hoped no one else saw through him.

"What have you done?" he demanded, slamming the butt of his staff onto the stone with a ringing clang.

"One of those Freebooters could have shot you in the head -- shot your comrades -- because you threw down your gun! You placed yourself and them in danger!"

I stopped the trial because of you! Do you not grasp how serious this is?!

"Freebooters?!" Sig exclaimed in surprise before cutting himself off.

"And you, you're a veteran of the Arena! You have no excuse for this!" Damas snarled.

He knew he was going to have to set a punishment. If he didn't, the legislative council would. And he knew which of the two offenders they would favor.

"I shouldn't have to tell you the penalty for sabotaging citizenship trials!"

Sig risked a glance at Jak, then set his jaw.

"You're right," he said in a voice as artificially calm as Damas’s was artificially angry. "I don't have an excuse. I take full responsibility. Don't put this on Jak. He didn't know I'd be there."

Interesting. Sig was trying to protect Jak.

But in doing so, he was trying to force Damas into an impossible decision. One that would haunt him the rest of his life if he carried out the known sentence. After everything Sig had done for him, exile felt like blasphemy.

Damas clearly wasn't the only Spargan who thought so.

"Sire, think about this!" One of the Arena guards set foot on the pathway as if he intended to join the offenders.

"It can't end this way, it can't! Sig is one of us!"

One of his comrades, emboldened by his courage, joined him.

"He just came home from assignment!"

"Stop," Sig warned them, but was ignored.

"Lord Damas, Sig’s served faithfully as your spy in Haven two years! Surely it's not that surprising that he might forget to check a roster!"

"Char is right!" The first guard cried, "It's the newcomer who deserves no mercy!"

You'd better shut your mouth-

Damas knew they were just standing up for a fellow Spargan. He knew that if Jak had all three amulets, they'd be rallying on his behalf, too. But it rankled to see them turn on the boy so quickly.

"Sire, if anyone must be cast into the desert, it's him!" Rikard pointed a shaking finger at Jak.

The words were out before Damas had time to plan his next move.

"Absolutely not! I'm not letting him off that easy!"

Oh rot. He had to follow that up with something.

Think, Damas! Use your shiny, spiny, head for once and think like Obed taught you!

He thought of the old captain of the Krimzon Guard -- when that had meant something, when only the king’s honor guard wore those tattoos -- the man who had raised him when his own family hadn't been interested in such a weak channeler.

There's always another way, whelp."

Then you tell me, Obed! I don't know what to do!

He reached for that memory desperately.

*Sometimes, you face your enemy head-on. And sometimes, you wait until you see a weakness. A loophole."

"You're talking about my brothers again."

"Now, did I say that? Clean the gunpowder out of your ears, whelp, before you get me in trouble!"

A loophole. I can do that. I can still save them-!

Damas sucked in a calming breath through his teeth.

"You do make a point about Sig’s record of service. I would not be king if I did not try to keep you all alive."

Let this work, please, Obed, if you're still watching over me, let this work.

"This once, I will give you the opportunity to salvage this. In your absence, metalpedes have settled in Turquoise Canyon and begun harassing our artificact carriers."

He leaned on his staff and hoped no one saw the tension in his jaw for what it really was: fear.

"I want you to drive into the heart of the nest and take out anything that moves."

He turned on his heel to send a hard stare Jak's way.

"Unlike Sig, you get a choice right now: stay here and forfeit your second amulet, or go with Sig and repay the damage you did today with something that benefits your community."

He prayed Jak could hear the emptiness of his threat. That he would know what Damas needed him to do.

Jak was not technology-friendly. Anything that required precision or aiming was more likely to be used as a blunt force weapon. But put him on a turret gun and the boy was a prodigy. If he went with Sig, the odds of them both surviving skyrocketed.

Jak's glare melted into something uncertain, even a little fearful. He was weighing his options. Good. That would sell the act more to the guards -- who were, like all watchmen, incurable gossips.

Damas saw the moment the light clicked on for Jak. He knew that glint.

Jak nudged Daxter, almost too quickly to be seen, and Daxter nodded. To anyone else, it would seem he was responding to Jak.

Damas knew that Daxter was answering him on Jak’s behalf.

Message received.

"I'm not gonna let you send Sig in there alone."

Damas almost smiled. Defiant to the last. Never change, Jak. Unless it's to learn some common sense-!

"Then perhaps something good can come of this debacle. But understand this, boy: coming back from destroying that nest does not mean this discussion is over. I expect you to turn over your gate pass when you return. You're off scouting for three weeks."

"You're grounding us?!" Daxter shrieked.

"Keep talking, I'll make it a full month."

That one wasn't an empty threat. If he'd thought it would keep Jak out of harm's way, he'd keep him off missions indefinitely!

"We're going," Sig said quickly, and grabbed Jak by the arm before he could protest.

"I'd say good luck," Damas said dryly, "But then, luck won't help you."

which is why I'm sending Jak.

The second the elevator was out of sight, Damas dropped into his throne with the most long-suffering, exasperated groan he'd ever made.

"Someone tell me this is a dream and I'm actually dying of boredom in a financial meeting right now," he said sarcastically.

When no such reassurance arrived from the guards, he dropped his head into his hands with another irritated sound.

In the silence that followed, even over the water wheel they both heard him mutter,

"What am I going to do with that boy?"

Rikard was...not a bad guard. He did his job, and he stuck by his comrades. But he had a big mouth sometimes.

"You...favor the newcomer then? Is it his age?"

Damas aimed a tired glare at him over his fingers.

"Boy, if I told you some of the things I did at his age...."

He groaned again.

"This is boundary-testing. I've seen worse. Rot, I've been worse!"

Silence enveloped them again as the two guards stared at Damas, and Damas stared back. He hadn't meant it to come out like that. After several seconds of owlish blinking back and forth, he said simply,

"Crap. I think I adopted him."

Char turned her head quickly to hide the fact that she was trying very hard not to laugh at the king’s slightly stunned expression.

"Do you...think this will be an adequate lesson?"

Rikard winced. At least he knew he was questioning Damas’s choices in parenting. Er, ruling.

"The nest? Perhaps. It's the confinement that's going to get him." Damas snorted. "You know how Wastelanders are about adrenaline. You ground a kid like that? End of the world."

Mar was exactly the same. Gods, if he's as stubborn as Jak at that age, I'm done for. Might as well write the epitaph now: "died of a heart-attack from idiot sons doing idiot stunts".

"As long as he doesn't set anything on fire in the Arena, sounds good to me," said Char, raising her hands in mock surrender. "Are we clear to return to our posts?"

"Can't set things on fire if I don't let him get two yards away from me, right?" Damas grumbled, but he waved a hand in dismissal.

Once alone, Damas dragged his fingers down his face and muffled a scream in his palm. He was going to get Sig for this. Babysitting. Indefinitely. Or maybe make him handle Arena trials for a while, let him feel that stress! And Jak? Jak was grounded. So, so very grounded. If he had to make Jak sit through meetings with him in the throne room to get it through his head, then so be it. No stunts, no racing, no "the Precursors made me do it" nonsense.

Briefly, he glanced up at the statue of the Oracle in his throne room. Gaudy thing, but it did house a lot of parts of the water wheel.

Damas flipped it off.

[veilchenjaeger]

Do you ever think about how Orube must've had the worst time of her life during the Nerissa arc

[dissentersbedamned]

when he locks his crosshair on you <3 <3

art commissions

[jacketlovingfox]

These men drive me crazy against my will 👀

[autism-criminal]

me when I listen to a song and I think of so much lore that I’m going to explode if I can’t tell someone immediately

[southerndragontamer]

Egotober Day 26: Werewolf

Night and darkness, space and the celestial bodies within were the subject of many stories and fairytales, of questions and fears. But the thing that had been forgotten by almost all but a select few, as small as the group of believers was, that Night was a God. Older than even Day, than humanity itself. Night’s worship had slowly faded until it was a shade of its former self, scant and scattered but they had done their best to keep as thorough records as they could.

One such record, a tome in your hands from a lucky auction grab, contained not just everything needed to understand or worship Night but also what happened to the God during different phases of the moon. He wasn’t a werewolf or anything of that nature but it affected him just the same as it pulled and pushed the tide on earth. He would gain strength and power as the moon grew in size, and it would fade as it shrank with some rumored pain like what those with chronic fatigue experienced, though that didn’t mean he was helpless either.

And during different lunar events Night would gain even more power. Though multiple of them were marked as too dangerous to be around him in, such as a New Moon or Blood Moon.

You stroked the tome’s cover, a deep spacial purple black with dots of blue and silver for stars and a lunar calendar along the top with Night’s symbol in the center, reverently. Your heart pounded in your chest a bit as you took a slow deep breath to try to keep calm. You were alone in the house for now, no one knew that you had the tome.

You had to keep this safe, only bring it out when no one could catch you with it, especially your parents. This book, no Night, could be your only chance out of this farce of a wedding they had planned for you, you just had time things right over the next few months and your opening would be revealed to you…

The sound of brush being roughly pulled aside was accompanied by the muttering that left Richard’s lips as he stomped through the forest. Really, what on earth had you been thinking running off like this?! On the eve of the wedding no less! Though he supposed wedding jitters had gotten the best of them, he was a bit nervous too but he wasn’t the one who had vanished in the middle of the night now was he?

You had been brought up better than this, he hoped the fright that being in such a dark atmosphere had been worth making him wake up to find you. Though he hoped you were unharmed, a pretty little thing like you didn’t need any visible damages and it wouldn’t do well for the guests to see you with him like that.

Richard called your name and after a few moments was about to call again, when he heard….singing? It sounded like a man’s voice. Deeper than his own, in the tone someone would use for a lullaby, though he couldn’t make out words. But still, it might be a hint as to where you went, someone took you instead of you running. If you had been so foolish as to try to run to someone else, he might make you stay out here a bit longer in recompense for his wounded pride and honor.

The sound led him into a clearing which was lit with the light of the moon above like a scene out of a fairytale, where Richard’s vision went red for a few moments at what he saw as angry possessiveness reared its ugly head. You were in another man’s arms, in your wedding gown but…it had been altered from the old fashioned, lovely piece your mother had given you as the ‘something old’ and of course it had been passed down on your mothers side of the family.

It was now more silver than white, the lace looked like it glittered like stars, shimmering in different colors like a prism with the soft movements you made in the gentle swaying you two were doing, the train looked like it had been fashioned out of the night sky as it was black instead of white like a mourning veil was, it rested on your head with a line of star shaped opals like a crown in your hair that fell around your shoulders and back, there was a pendant around your neck of a moonstone crafted into a lunar calendar, the full moon seemed to be almost glowing on it. You looked….so content…so happy in the strangers arms as you rested your head against his chest, like you’d known him for a long time, trusted him, there was even a blush to your cheeks that Richard hadn’t ever seen with him and it stoked his anger higher.

The stranger was as if someone had taken the phrase ‘tall, dark and handsome’ and crafted him specifically for it. He was dressed like a true noble in black lace up boots, dress pants, a black overcoat with onyx and silver buttons, moonstone and sapphire cufflinks, a purple to blue gradient vest styled like the cosmos above, his cravat was a black to red to purple, the broach atop the center at his throat held a spiral shaped seal in red wax, the earrings in his ears were obsidian. He had broad shoulders, thick black hair tousled just so as it fell into a ponytail, tanned skin, well groomed beard, dark eyes that looked down at you with such fondness and adoration that made Richard clench his teeth. The stranger was bigger than you, and twice as muscled as he was, it wouldn’t do to startle him and make him hurt you.

But when he looked at where your hands were joined, the stranger with full black leather and you with the modest silvery lace and fingers intertwined intimate and loving, was truly the straw that broke the camels back as the phrase went.

You both had wedding bands on your fingers, the gold ring Richard had given you on his proposal nowhere in sight. Instead you wore a silver ring with a moonstone held in the center, inlaid in a line down the ring were what to him appeared to be crushed gemstones to form a galaxy like effect. The stranger’s ring was black with the same galaxy like effect in the center with an amethyst or onyx star in the center.

If Richard hadn’t been so utterly incensed at this betrayal in front of him-how could you do this to your parents, to him?!? After what he’d been promised with you, a demure, obedient wife who would give him children and tend to his needs, and what your parents would’ve gotten in turn for marrying into a family as upstanding as his was. Did you have no respect for yourself?!?- he would’ve noticed that the stones in the rings were glowing, the galaxies shifting different colors. Or the way the stranger’s eyes suddenly flashed and reflected the full moon above and how a dark, cruel smirk flashed on his face.

At the soft, sweet confused sound from you at the change in expression Night chuckled and kissed your forehead, warm cheeks and then your lips sweet and tender, for a few moments relished in the contact of his new consort, he whispered in a tone just for your ears alone. “We seem to have an uninvited guest my star. Don’t fret your darling head about this now, it’s alright. I’ll take care of him and then I’ll take you home to properly make you mine. Just sleep for me right now, you don’t need to see such a ghastly sight… especially on a night as beautiful as this one.”

You momentarily had a look of fear on your face, but it faded at his reassurance and you smiled, giggled gently with a maidenly blush and then closed your eyes and slipped into sleep as your deity, your husband asked. Night gently laid you down in the soft grass that shined blue in the moonlight and then stepped in front of you, all pleasantry vanished in the face of the mortal you’d been promised to without any say so in your own wishes.

“You look the essence of aristocracy to your kind but in truth you are a bastard of a man Richard Ferguson. I suppose I should thank you for that though, otherwise my moonlight may have not found me as they did. Oh don’t you dare try to deny what you are you worm, you aren’t worth the dirt on my boots let alone the air my new spouse breathes.”

Night strolled closer and his coat billowed behind him, his eyes began to glow blue as he spat out in a furious rage, not giving the human a chance to speak or even try to make a sound. Even if he’d enchanted your sleep, Night wanted you to only remember his voice no one else’s, at least that wasn’t worthy of you. Your former fiancé was not in any way worthy of that honor.

“You had every plan to break them down, to abuse them and frighten them, break their spirit into what you thought was ‘proper and right’ for a wife until they were a mere shell of what they once were that jumped at every shadow and was so afraid of you and your drunken rage that they’d never disobey you on anything. You would’ve taken out the brightest light humanity had seen in decades and not cared one bit for the pieces crushed to dust to do it. Humans like you sicken me, greedy in your claim of everything you touch like it holds no other purpose or value but to be yours, pride oozing out of every pore like the world should bow to you and worship you, inflicting wrath on those that work for you until they break and you toss them aside, forcing your lusts on those that can’t say no because of your position, turning a blind eye to the poor and abandoned as if you didn’t cause their fates with your gluttonous attitude, slothing around in luxury while the innocent scrape to even feed themselves and envious of each other to the point you stab your ‘friends’ in the back the quickest chance you get to take more than what you deserve.”

Night’s power pulsed around him, shadows writhed and darkened, the air grew colder until dew frosted over around the clearing except for where you rested, his mark burned out of the glamor he’d put on the spiral like the harsh glow of a red supergiant against his skin as he felt his teeth begin to sharpen. He knew all the secrets the mortals tried to hide, one couldn’t hide anything from the darkness incarnate, from that which saw everything that tried to be hidden in its shadows, the darkness and shades of the human soul. It was all Night’s to know, to hoard and guard…to use as he saw fit.

And right now he grinned, feral as he threw back his head and howled, instantly there were a chorus of answering songs to his call as either by their own power or his, a group of people emerged from the woods, dressed in working clothes and rags alike they moved as if under a spell. They paid no mind to Night’s sleeping companion and moved around them until they stood behind the god. The light of a full moon, a rare blue supermoon in fact, shone down across their shoulders like a mother’s fond touch. Night’s expression was cruel as he let out a wicked rumble.

“You remember those old stories your grandfather told you when you were a boy, mortal? About the things that go bump in the night? The creatures that call the darkness home? The stories that frighten you so much that even today you still need to sleep with a knife under your pillow? They’re as real as you, and now…they’re going to bring you down to the level you threw them down to when they were merely trying to survive as humans before they were blessed with their mother’s power. You’ll live a life where you have to hide yourself like a pariah because of how awful you look, beg for any chance at food or drink….but you won’t be as lucky as them…their mother won’t honor you like she does them. Every time she appears in full beauty, it won’t be as painless as it is for them. It will hurt like nothing in your overindulged life has and it won’t stop hurting until you finally reach death’s embrace and face the consequences of your rotten soul.”

Night raised a hand and snapped his fingers and the people’s eyes flared golden and their bodies all contorted and arched in what looked to them like bliss as fur began to sprout as their muscle mass broadened and their faces shifted to be more wolf than man. The mortal bolted before the transformation finished, unable to take the strain of fear that ran primal in his veins, not now with the show of power and the oath of a god that felt like chains of iron around his chest. The werewolves all howled with animalistic joy of a hunt and raced after their prey, Night trusted the moon to keep you safe as he joined the fray.

The power in his veins bayed for blood, for him to soak in fear and pain from a hubristic mortal before delivering a just punishment. Night was only too happy to give it what it wanted.

[ruuofphobric]

I'm sad today, so I draw Phobos happy

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippet Thursday: Mistaken Identity

Actually quite long (about 42 pages in my tiny notepad), because it's a full one-shot rather than part of a multi-chapter idea. Although that's not to say I won't add pieces later

The distress beacon had been Sig’s, but the shape lying limply in the dust was most assuredly not Sig. The gathered Wastelanders looked at each other with grim expressions: this felt like a trap.

"Circle around," Damas signed to the driver of the second car, "Check for an ambush. I'll see if it's one of ours."

"Be careful," the woman signed back. A dimple between her brows suggested that under her heavy scarf she was frowning.

"I'm always careful."

Even so, Damas took extra care in approaching the crumpled form, gesturing for Kleiver to follow him in case of attack. He'd assumed that the person -- or corpse, hard to tell at this distance -- would be larger up close. But as he drew near, the figure remained small, and slight. They were dressed like a Havenite from the Slums, wearing stained, threadbare layers of clothing. A filthy scarf and dismally battered goggles half covered matted green hair; they didn't seem to have any more protection from the sun than that. Foolish Havenite.

Two small animals lay beside the stranger, breathing shallowly. Pets? That seemed an unusual step for Haven, letting an exile take anything important to them.

Damas glanced at the stranger, but kept his attention focused on the ground, looking for Sig’s beacon. It didn't take long to find, considering it lay beside the stranger's hand. Damas picked up the beacon and turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious signs of tampering. No blood or scorching or anything else to indicate that the beacon had been taken by force.

"How did you get this?" Damas murmured, not really expecting an answer. Whoever this was, they were barely alive.

"Er...lordship?"

It was not like Kleiver to sound hesitant.

"Do you...know this kid?"

An odd question. Damas looked up with a quizzical expression and found the big Wastelander peering down at the face of the figure. Kid?

The king pivoted on his heels to get a better look at their find.

Sunken cheeks. Dark circles under large eyes. A pitiful patch of stubble that might’ve been a first attempt at a beard on an otherwise startlingly smooth face. Precursors, he was a kid, wasn't he? He could've been anywhere from sixteen to nineteen -- in his state, it was hard to tell.

"Scrawny thing, isn't he?" Damas remarked. He took hold of an iron ring strapped to the boy's chest and tried to shake off a nagging sense of familiarity in the boy's features. "A channeler, maybe? We could use one of those. Honestly, I'm impressed that he's still breathing."

He glanced up. "What makes you think I'd know who the whelp is?"

Kleiver looked back at him with an unusually uncomfortable expression. He gestured awkwardly to the boy's face.

"Well he's...I mean- well look at 'im! 'S just weird, is all."

"What's weird?" Damas scoffed and hoisted the boy up by the iron ring.

The boy's head fell back and for just a moment, something around his neck glittered in the fading sunlight. With a curse, Damas dropped him as if he'd been burned. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back a step, swearing under his breath.

"What fresh hell is this?" he demanded.

That was where Phobos found him after completing her perimeter check: staring in horror down at a much younger version of his own face.

Phobos crossed the space between their vehicles to touch his shoulder.

"Damas?"

"I...who is this?"

"Damas." Phobos shook him gently. "Hey. Hey. Are you just going to leave him lying there?"

The king blinked and inhaled sharply as he seemed to come to. "Right," he muttered, "...right. Pho, take my staff."

"What? Oop-!" Phobos hastily grabbed at the staff Damas all but dropped. "What the-!"

In a daze, Damas knelt and slipped an arm under the boy’s shoulders.

"Gods. He really is scrawny."

He shook his head and hoisted the boy up.

"Kleiver, get the car started. And someone grab those animals!"

Phobos's eyes flicked from Damas to the half-dead castaway, and narrowed.

"Damas...who is that?"

Her husband turned to face her, a disturbed shock stamped clearly on his face.

"I don't know," he said grimly, "but he's wearing a Maridius amulet."

■■■■■■■■■■

The Rift Rider idled, ready to take Samos and the child back in time. Ready to begin the cycle of pain all over again. Jak bit his lip and folded his younger self's fingers back over the proffered amulet.

"No, buddy, you keep it," he said gently. "Try...try to remember something about your family this time. Maybe remember me."

The tiny boy pouted, then threw his arms around Jak’s neck. "Za?" He whispered in Jak’s ear, the closest he'd ever come to saying his name.

Jak closed his eyes and hugged the kid tightly. Precursors knew he wouldn't get a lot of hugs in Sandover. "No, buddy. Za can't go with you this time. You have to be really brave for me, okay? There's...there's a kid on the other side of that gate who really really needs a friend. Can you look out for him for me?"

Sniffling, the little boy let go and nodded. "Brave like you," he signed. Then, rubbing his eyes, he sat back down in the craft.

Jak took a slow breath, then looked to the younger Samos. Doubtless this version of the sage was going to withhold just as much information as the older one. Jak didn't trust him to warn Mar about Errol. And he'd be blasted if he let that swine get his hands on the amulet in any timeline.

"You know, I didn't have the amulet when I got back to the present," he said casually. "I think you locked it up for safekeeping right before we fixed the Rift Gate, but I never saw where in the house you put it."

Samos took the bait too easily. "Oof! Yes, I suppose it would be bad for the kid to meet the Baron with that thing on. Thanks for the heads-up."

All too soon, they were gone. And not long after, so was Jak, headed for Dead Town. It had been a selfish ploy, a bid to give himself some semblance of a connection to his past. He couldn't remember having the amulet yet -- but he'd had trouble remembering a lot of his early years ever since the experiments began. "Traumatic amnesia", Daxter called it.

But if the amulet was there, if his ploy had worked, then maybe he'd get something back.

It took him an hour to sift through all the debris in the old hut, even with Daxter's help. The ravages of time hadn't left many places for treasure to remain undiscovered in. But just when Jak was beginning to fear that someone had found it decades before, his hand brushed over a brick in the old planter circles that lacked the same grout as the others.

Leave it to Samos to hide such an important artifact under a giant, vicious, carnivorous plant. Had he fed it to the thing?! The amulet was down where the roots had once been!

Still, Jak could admit to a sense of relief that washed over him once the amulet was in his hand. Clearly he'd changed the past at least enough to have an emotional connection to the pendant. He tucked it into his tunic, resolving to put it on a chain the first chance he got. He wasn't going to let anyone take it from him again.

■■■■■■■■■■

The last thing Jak remembered was collapsing beside a boulder, desperately trying to stay conscious only to fail seconds later. He could hear a voice -- not Daxter or Pecker -- nearby, and as he focused on that, other sensations began to filter in.

Softness beneath him.

The smell of eco med-gel.

An itch in the crook of his elbow.

A sticky dryness in his mouth, like cotton.

And something off about his skin. He couldn't put his finger on it, but his skin felt different somehow. Cleaner? No, that didn't make any sense. Why would it be clean?

It took a monumental effort to open his eyes, and he regretted it immediately. Light stabbed into his retinas pitilessly, and Jak let out an involuntary grunt of discomfort. In response, a shadow fell over his face, shielding him from the unforgiving glare. First a blur, then a shape, a face slowly swam into focus.

"Ah, you're back with us! Thank the Precursors, that was a close one, eh?"

Jak blinked up in confusion as his brain slowly processed the presence of one of the most beautiful women he could ever remember seeing. Not that he could remember seeing that many women in his life. Her skintone was so deep that the light framing her glanced off her cheekbones in little flashes of garnet and amethyst. Coils of hair spread out behind her head in an artful halo, providing most of the blessed shade across Jak's face. He squinted up at her for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was hallucinating in the desert.

"....'m I dead?" Jak croaked, then winced at the dry soreness in his throat.

The angelic stranger laughed in surprise. "Dead? No, quite the opposite, kid. Although you got pretty close."

"Where am I?" Jak tried to sit up, and something tugged at his elbow.

Instantly, he froze. He knew the shape of a needle.

Bile crawled up his throat, and his heart thundered in his ears as he forced himself to turn his head and look.

A bag of clear fluid hung from a stand beside a cot he'd been laid on. Descending from the bag, a long tube fed the fluid through a needle secured to his arm with bandages. A high whine escaped him, and the room seemed to spin.

"Whoa whoa whoa- kid, kiddo, look at me."

The mysterious woman suddenly took his face in her hands -- rough hands. A warrior's hands.

"Ssshh, hey, you're okay. You're okay, chico. It's just saline, that's all."

"W- what-?"

"Saline. It's a...kinda like a saltwater solution you give to people suffering dehydration."

One of the calloused hands cupped the back of his head, rubbing a thumb comfortingly over stubble.

Stubble?

Jak's breathing quickened and the room spun faster.

"What-!" he gasped, and his breaths began to squeak. "What did you do to me?!"

"Hey now, breathe. Breathe." The woman began to sway back and forth where she sat, dragging him along with the rocking motion.

"Inhale with me, yeah? In and out, in and out. I've got you."

"M- my h- my h- hair-!" Jak squeaked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "Oh, ohhh, you can feel that, huh? Yeah, you were overheated. The mats in your hair were just doing damage to you, longterm. The doctors didn't have any time to waste, so they shaved it out to cool you off."

She continued to cradle his face with her other hand, offering him a full, apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry we couldn't get your okay, chico. But...I mean, you wouldn't wake up! Not even your orange friend could get a response. He gave us the go-ahead."

For the first time since waking, Jak felt something like relief. "D- Daxter?"

"Mm. The mouthy one? Yes."

"Where-?"

The woman pulled back and turned away for a moment. Jak wondered why he felt minutely disappointed by that. He wasn't that touch-starved, was he? When she turned back, she held a cup and pitcher in her hands. The sight of the water trickling from one container to the other made Jak's throat ache all the fiercer.

"Here. Slow sips now, little bird. Don't make yourself sick like your friend did." The woman settled back into her seat at the edge of the cot. She made a vague gesture with the hand not holding the pitcher.

"At least he made a quick recovery. My husband took him back up to our place. When you're cleared by the doctors, we'll take you to him."

Jak gulped down the water, ignoring his visitor's protests. It was cool, although not cold, but even that was like heaven on his irritated throat. Droplets leaked from the corner of his mouth, and the IV tugged painfully as he reached up to catch them. He didn't think he could afford to waste even one drop.

"Hey hey!" The woman reached for the cup, and Jak jerked back out of reach.

"Not so fast, chico, you'll make yourself sick!"

Jak growled softly behind the rim of the cup and hitched up his shoulders. If this lady wanted to take the water away, she'd be in for a fight.

"Whoa!" The woman raised her brows. "Calm down. The water isn't going anywhere, I promise."

"I don't know you," Jak retorted, "How do I know you keep promises?"

Now the woman began to look a little annoyed.

"Fair enough," she begrudgingly allowed. "Considering the state we found you in, am I to assume that if I take that cup you'll bite me or something?"

"I might," answered Jak coolly.

Something bittersweet passed over the woman's face and lingered there at the corners of her mouth as she forced a smile.

"Well that wouldn't be very nice of you, but I can't say it wouldn't fit with every other kid in Spargus."

Jak lowered the cup slowly. "Spargus?" he asked, tilting his head, "What's that?"

"It's home," she answered. "The city of the forgotten and the betrayed -- and the hunter."

Jak raised the cup again and muttered darkly, "Well that's ironically appropriate."

"Let's start over, huh?"

The woman leaned back and carded a hand through her teased-out coils.

"My name is Phobos. I was with the convoy that found you and your friends in the Strider Range."

"...oh."

Jak grimaced. This woman had rescued him, hadn't she?

"I'm, um. I'm Jak."

Embarrassed, he gestured to the cup, the IV, and looked away. "What do I owe you? I don't...I don't have any money."

Phobos shook her head. "It's fine, chico- er, Jak. When people come to Spargus, those who have life debts pay it back by contributing to the overall survival of their new home and neighbors, depending on how old they are when they arrive."

"How old they are?" Jak fiddled with his now empty cup awkwardly. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Phobos gave him an amused glance. "Uh...kids are kids? This isn't Haven, hey? We don't even let people take the citizen applicant training course until we know they're eighteen or older."

She scooted closer and held up the pitcher. "Cup."

"Huh? Oh-"

Jak tilted the cup toward her but didn't let go. He watched her refill it and puzzled over the idea of a city in good enough shape that kids didn't have to work. Maybe there weren't metalheads out here.

"So...do you people normally pick up half-dead people and bring them home?"

"As long as they aren't half dead because they tried to kill us, yeah," Phobos said with a careless shrug. "Strength and survival: it's the two things Wastelanders respect the most. So when we find somebody in the badlands who isn't a dried out corpse, we know we've got the makings of a tough little survivor."

Surviving was, by necessity, Jak’s best skill. But considering the kind of jobs he got when people knew that, and how it had turned out last time, Jak decided not to advertise that fact. It already nagged at him that someone had seen his scars, and the bruises from the arrest, and every other injury he'd gained in the name of helping a city that hated him. Spargus wouldn't get the same freebies.

Eventually, Phobos stood up and put the pitcher back on a low counter that extended out of sight behind a curtain. She dusted off her yellow tunic and stretched her back with a soft grunt.

"Alright. I guess somebody ought to tell Damas you're awake and talking," she said, more to herself than to Jak.

Before Jak could ask who Damas was supposed to be, something careful and calculated slipped into Phobos's voice.

"So...just you and the critters, huh? Your parents know where you are?"

Hands tightened into claws around the wooden cup.

"I never had parents," Jak growled.

One more thing to "thank" Haven for, apparently.

"Ah." Phobos's eyes widened in an oddly dismayed expression. "Sorry, I..."

"Why?"

Jak's eyes narrowed at her.

"Literally no one has ever asked if I even had parents before you. You're fishing for something. What do you want?"

Then it hit him: if the woman had seen his scars, she had seen his amulet as well. Was that what she was getting at? Probing to see if any other ill-fated Heirs of Mar existed?

"Uh..." Phobos puffed out her cheeks and blew the air out. "It's...complicated. I'm gonna let Damas take this one."

"Who's Damas?" Jak demanded.

Phobos made another odd grimace and lifted a radio from the countertop.

"Hey, Damas, the kid's awake," she said, ignoring Jak's question.

A raspy voice crackled through the speaker.

"He is? Has he said anything yet?"

"Well, he threatened to bite me," Phobos joked before growing serious. "Take it easy when you come down, he's pretty worked up. Bring the orange guy if you can."

"Understood. Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah," Phobos sighed. "He doesn't know who we are, where we are, or how he got here. I don't think you're going to get any answers out of him."

"......oh."

The guy she called Damas sounded strangely...emotional.

"Er...alright. I'll...I'll see what I can do when I get there."

Jak glowered at Phobos's back. He hated when people talked about him like he wasn't there.

Out of habit, he reached for his collar to run his fingers over his amulet. That always helped him slow down when his thoughts were racing too fast. His fingers brushed against loose linen; the tunic he was wearing were not the one he'd had on the last time he was awake. Jak's stomach felt like it was plummeting from a precipice as he finally looked down at his body. Someone had dressed him in loose, lightweight clothing. There was no sign of his own clothing.

Or his amulet.

Fighting down feelings of violation and revulsion, Jak gripped the thin sheets in hands like claws.

"Where are my clothes?" he snarled, "What did you do?"

Phobos didn't look overly concerned, which only agitated Jak more.

"They're being checked for trackers or other bugs," she said with a shrug. "Haven's been trying to find our city for years. Can't be too careful. Look on the bright side: it's probably the first time they've ever been washed."

She leaned over the cot, and Jak jerked away.

"Don't touch me!"

There wasn't much room to retreat on the small bed, but Jak tried anyway.

"Who stole my amulet?"

"Hey, calm down," Phobos raised a placating hand, but dropped it quickly when Jak flinched. "Nobody stole it."

"Don't lie to me!"

Jak was over the verge of panic now. He was alone, powerless, right back to being poked and prodded like a doll. Like a lab rat.

"What do you want?!"

Grimacing, Phobos stepped back and grabbed her radio again.

"Hey Damas? Hurry it up, will ya?"

"I'm en route."

"Good. Because he just noticed the absence of a Certain Something and he is losing it right now."

"Rot. Okay, just- rot! Try to keep him calm, I'm bringing it, okay?"

The man's voice rose and fell oddly. It almost sounded like he was running.

Phobos ran a hand through her hair and puffed out her cheeks. This was not going as well as they'd hoped. Could've been worse, she acknowledged, but this kid's reactions were giving her a bad feeling. The scars, the reaction to the IV and having been given new clothing without his knowledge, it all painted a pretty grim picture.

"Damas is bringing your amulet down," she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. (How did one talk to agitated teenagers?! Why weren't they as easy to calm as toddlers?) "He'll explain everything, chico, I promise. Just...stay here a minute, okay?"

Jak warily watched the woman walk through the curtain, listening and counting her footsteps. By the sound of it, he was in the back of a narrow building. There was someone else up there, wherever Phobos had gone, but they rustled around opening drawers instead of speaking. If there were guards, Jak couldn't hear them. He hoped there were none. In his current state, he doubted he'd be able to fight them off.

A door slid open with the sound of a chime, and Jak stiffened as a heavier tread entered the building.

"About time!" he heard Phobos greet the person, "He's all yours."

"Allegedly," the voice from the radio answered.

"Mmhm. You're cute when you're in denial. Better get back there before the poor kid has a heart attack."

When the curtains parted, Jak was in the act of climbing off the cot to look for something -- anything -- to defend himself with. He froze, locking eyes with a weathered Wastelander covered in scars and armor. He looked like the kind of guy Sig would run with. Jak stared at the man and wondered if this was the guy who allegedly had his amulet. Were those piercings on his skull?! Despite himself, Jak wondered how the man slept without ripping whatever he used for a pillow.

"Easy, young one," the man murmured, holding out his hands as if approaching a skittish animal. "Easy. You're in no danger."

"Usually when people tell me that, they're lying," Jak retorted. He backed up, silently cursing his shaky legs, until his back touched the wall and the IV tugged painfully at his arm. "Where's Daxter? What do you people want with us?"

The armored man lowered himself to sit on the end of the cot and folded his hands in front of him. "Your friend is perfectly safe," he soothed, "Well, unless he tries to use the water wheel as a carnival ride, I suppose. But he doesn't really seem the type to do that kind of thing."

"You didn't answer my other question," Jak said pointedly. "What do you want?"

"Answers," the man -- Damas, probably -- replied steadily, "Just answers."

"Like what?" Jak edged closer to the IV, trying to relieve the horrific sensation of the needle.

Then his visitor reached into a cloth pouch at his belt and drew out a familiar shape.

"What can you tell me about this?" he asked, holding up the amulet.

Forgetting the needle, Jak lunged for the pendant. Pain lanced through his elbow for an instant, hot and dull, and he pulled up short. He'd learned long ago not to rip needles out. There would just be more if he did.

"Whoa!" Damas dropped the amulet on the sheets and reached out as if to steady Jak. "Slow down, boy, you're going to hurt yourself! You shouldn't even be standing right now!"

Jak, unfortunately, agreed. But he locked his knees and kept his eyes on Phobos's friend, just as he had on Phobos.

"Give it back," he rasped, holding out a demanding hand.

Damas frowned thoughtfully. He picked up the chain and considered it for a few seconds before dropping it into Jak's outstretched hand.

"Where did you get this?" he asked.

With time-travel being too unbelievable an explanation even to those closest to Jak, he settled for the most open-ended version of the truth he could manage.

"Ancient ruins," he muttered.

The chain slipped down around his neck, and he visibly relaxed once the familiar weight rested against his collarbone.

Damas made an interested sound and folded his arms. "Ruins, eh? How did you find it?"

Evasively, Jak shrugged. "I just...knew where to look."

"And does this happen to you often? "Knowing" things?"

Hm. He might’ve been a little too open-ended there. Jak braced his back against the wall and begrudgingly clarified.

"I'm not a seer. It's just with eco stuff."

Damas nodded. "Ah! I understand. So what made you decide to keep such an odd little trinket?"

He wasn't being very subtle. Jak could do blunt too.

"It's mine. That's it. And I know what you're trying to do."

A hint of tension lined Damas’s neck and shoulders as he tried to play casual.

"Oh? And what am I trying to do, young one?"

Jak curled his lip at the man. "You're trying to get me to say I'm an Heir of Mar, probably so you can get some of his artifacts. What, do you want the Precursor Stone too? Well you're too late."

Any semblance of relaxation dropped from Damas like a cloak. He straightened, and the air filled with an undercurrent of warning. It was almost like eco -- enough that Jak wondered if the man could channel.

"Explain that, please."

It didn't sound like a request.

"What, exactly, do you know about the Precursor Stone?"

Jak gripped his amulet for calm.

"Not a myth," he said shortly, "Not meant to be used as a weapon, and not a rock."

He lifted his chin and met Damas’s hard eyes.

"I opened it. It can't be used anymore."

"Opened?!" Damas recoiled slightly. "You've touched the Stone?"

Suspicion colored his voice, but strangely he didn't seem to be getting hostile.

"Where did you find it?"

Agitated, Jak snapped, "In a tomb designed by some sadistic obstacle-course lover obsessed with "manhood", guarded by a bunch of loudmouth Oracles. Be glad you missed it."

He wondered if he was just setting himself up for problems later. If the Wastelanders knew he could speak to Oracles and traverse ruins, they'd probably make him pay off the medical care by finding artifacts for them. Story of his life.

But Damas looked shaken by the statement, not shrewd. He seemed almost to pale, and drew a hand over his face to rest over his mouth. His eyes bored into Jak's with an unsettling intensity.

"The amulet truly belongs to you, then," he finally acknowledged, in little more than a croak. His fingers pressed into his jaw hard enough that Jak wondered if the man would have fingerprints there later.

"How...how old are you, boy?"

What did that have to do with anything? Annoyed, Jak shrugged.

"Like I know? Fifteen, sixteen, what's it matter?"

"You don't...you don't know?" Damas looked even more shaken. "No one told you your own birthdate?"

Jak didn't want to talk about this. He finally slumped to sit at the head of the cot and crossed his arms sullenly.

"Y'know what, that's none of your business. Where's Daxter? I'm not saying anything else until I see him."

"I can arrange that."

Damas stood and absentmindedly picked up the wooden cup.

"You should er...try to sleep some. Heat exhaustion will leave you weak for a good several days-"

"Are you Damas?" Jak interrupted suddenly, as Phobos's attempted reassurances came to mind.

Damas turned. "Yes?"

He looked like he almost expected something else to follow.

Jak pulled his knees to his chest and rested folded arms on top of them. "The lady who was in here said you'd explain what you people wanted from me. And why you took my amulet."

The Wastelander looked, Jak thought, rather like he had just swallowed a bee. He made a few awkward hand motions -- some of it almost looked like signs -- and tugged on a tuft of hair at his chin.

"Ah...that is..."

He picked up the pitcher and splashed water into the cup clumsily. He was unsettled.

"The crest of Mar has...connotations. Doubtless you've learned by now, but when people see it they form...expectations."

Damas cleared his throat and handed the cup over to Jak.

"I removed it from you before the monks could see it and develop those expectations. I...wanted you to be able to focus on healing without the distraction of history zealots."

Well, that was marginally better than Jak had been imagining. He didn't exactly trust that the man was telling the truth, but at least he hadn't tried to sell it or something. Jak acknowledged his visitor's words with a curt nod and sipped at the water slowly. Idly, he wondered if his general age fit this city's "too young for serious work" bracket or not. After Haven, he honestly didn't know whether he hoped so or not.

Damas was staring at him. It was subtle, but intense, and Jak could feel his eyes. It made his brain itch, and he felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably.

"Are you in any pain?" Damas asked suddenly, apparently in response to the squirming.

"I don't like being stared at," Jak answered gruffly.

"...ah." Damas cringed and looked away. "Apologies. You just...look very familiar. I was trying to place whether I might have met you or someone you were related to in the past."

"Not unless you were in Haven before Praxis took over," Jak grumbled bitterly, "Or you took a tour of his prison labs in the last two years."

You're talking too much, Jak. Wait for Daxter. Why are you volunteering this information?

Well. He knew. He was scared and disoriented and angry, and he wanted to shock someone. Anyone. It was the dark eco talking.

"The labs?!" Damas dropped the pitcher with a crash. A terrible look flooded his face. "Did...was your whole family there?"

"Rot! Why are you guys so obsessed with information about my parents?" Jak was getting tired of repeating himself. "You know as much as I do! Even the freakin Oracles wouldn't tell me what the amulet meant until I got to the Tomb!"

From the front of the building, the third person finally called out.

"My lord, if you keep getting him worked up, I'm tossing you out. He's supposed to be resting!"

"I'm working on it, Petros!" Damas retorted sharply.

He closed his eyes and made a visible attempt to calm himself before turning back to Jak.

"Sorry. I know this is confusing. I am...having a difficult time finding the right words to ask the right questions." He made a helpless gesture. "Finding you, practically on my doorstep, with that amulet has upended my understanding of the world and my place in it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jak demanded.

Damas gingerly took a seat at the end of the cot again and, sighing deeply, reached into his pouch again.

"The last time I was in Haven for an extended period of time was about fifteen years ago, at the end of the last major campaign against the metalheads."

He opened his hand, revealing a second amulet of Mar in his palm.

"After Praxis betrayed me- after the hardships our city has faced over the last few years-"

He shook his head with furrowed brow.

"I- I thought I was the only one left. And now here you are, and I have more questions than answers."

Jak blinked, then blinked again.

"Well," he said in a strangled voice, "That makes two of us."

[commanderquinn]

You got a puppy and haven’t provided puppy tax??? How rude! (But also understandable if you’re uncomfy sharing) but puppy!!

What kind??

i did!! he's a black lab! full of heart, dumb of ass 😌

i keep (and will attempt to remember to keep) his nonsense in his very own tag, bc this lil bastard is Very Spoiled

[kara-zor-els]

Veronica Cale is just Lex Luthor if he was a WASP mom