#wastelander keira because she's not talking to samos right now

[radioactivepeasant]

Rough sketch I'll likely finish tonight of Eldritch Damas au plus @sparguscityangel 's version of Mictecacihuatl as the patron of dark eco (in her marigold crown of course, for Dia de los Muertos)

Text: "Accidentally walked into the room at the wrong time"

Text: "Babe, blink."

[xadoheandterra]

Series: Semblance Title: Patriciate Fandom: Jak and Daxter Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII | XIV | XV | XVI | XVII Characters: Jak, Daxter, Samos, Keira, Kid!Jak, Ashelin, Torn, Tess Tags: Worldbuilding, Accidentally King of Haven!Jak, hurt/comfort, things go wrong, things get better, things get worse again, slow build, slow burn, slow to update, cross posted, fantasy racism, canon divergence, been meaning to share this here Summary: “It’s yours,” Jak said softly. “Keep it…remember where you come from. At least one of us should remember….”

If Jak knew the consequences of that one, selfish choice…well, he’d probably have made the same decision either way.

Jak forgot something kind of important. At least it gave Torn time enough to get him presentable.

Daxter ducked between legs and strangers alike, scurrying along the ground on all four paws. He dashed quick from the port and used all of the little known side alleys that only three years in Haven could teach an ottsel. Two of those three years he’d worked hard to unearth and learn the layout by himself despite Haven’s insane size. It’d taken him the better part of the first year to just learn how to traverse the city at barely two feet tall; after all the distance Jak could travel at a dead run in an hour Daxter could barely achieve in three.

And he wants this damn thing pronto, Daxter grimaced to himself. Really buddy? It ain’t easy getting’ around by myself and it ain’t like I could ask anyone! I can’t even jack a damn zoomer, sheesh.

Sometimes Daxter felt like Jak could be so inconsiderate, taking his willingness to help a pal out for granted. Still Daxter persevered, and yeah maybe he realized after he’d finally reached the beginning of Main Town that he could’ve asked Tess for a ride but damn if Daxter weren’t determined to do this one his own by that point. Even still Daxter had a limit, and one that rapidly began to approach given how much his chest burned and his legs and arms hurt.

Jak’s just gonna hafta deal with me bein’ a bit late, Daxter reasoned to himself. I’ll make it up t’him later. He skittered to a halt over by the nearest bridge. His chest heaved as he flopped down against one of the rails supports, the small backpack that Tess had scrounged up for him to carry the key in thunked heavily against the ground. Exhaustedly Daxter brushed along the fringe of what would have once been his bangs to wipe away the sweat that had gathered. He grimaced at the feel of slick fur and resisted the urge to growl out of annoyance.

Sometimes he really hated being an Ottsel. The fur and two feet tall were prime reasons to resent the transformation, no matter how used to it he’d gotten. Daxter puffed out a breath and pressed his head back against the rail and closed his eyes.

“Ugh, why s’it gotta be so far?” Daxter grumbled to himself bitterly. He didn’t see the glances from the others who meandered around Main Town, going about their business, but he knew they were there. He’d gotten stares like that all the time, although the ones that he and Jak got together where by far the most hilarious of the lot.

“I think I found him.”

“Really? That small thing?”

“Well Commander Torn did say an orange rat, right?”

“I thought he was joking.”

Daxter opened one eye to look for the voices the minute he heard ‘Torn,’ a snarl on his lips. He wasn’t a rat Precursors damn it all! His gaze found a small trio of slightly armored teens that he vaguely recognized from the few times he and Jak spent more than a night at the Underground barracks.

“Oi!” Daxter yelled. He jumped to his feet, quite suddenly energized, hands on his hips. “It’s ottsel. O! T! T! S! E! L! Get it right, ya jerks!”

The three teens turned and shared a look before they seemed to nod in agreement. One of them approached and Daxter noted he wore some sort of half-KG mask. He vaguely remembered Tess had mentioned something about the Underground’s members were now forced to be recognizable since the metal head invasion.

“You Daxter?” the one on the left said. Her voice rang with the tinny quality that Daxter associated with the KG.

“Ya work for the Tattooed Wonder?” Daxter shot back, eyes narrowed and lips pulled down.

“Yeah it’s definitely him,” the one on the right said. He shot a side glance to the girl. The one in the middle, closest to Daxter, snorted disdainfully.

“This job sucks,” the middle one grumbled and turned his gaze away from Daxter to look instead at his companions. The one on the right’s eyes crinkled in the amused way and the one on the left looked like she was hiding a smile under that mask.

“What job? Searchin’ out the good ol’ Orange Lightning?” Daxter didn’t quite leer, but he did drawl out the words. At least two of them seemed decent.

The girl on the left laughed. “Definitely him. Come on, orange lightning. Commander Torn’s asked us to pick you up.”

“Said something about it taking too long,” the one on the right said.

“I still don’t get why we’re stuck with carrying this pet,” the middle one huffed.

“You can carry me anytime you like, gorgeous,” Daxter winked to the girl, who laughed good naturedly with the guy on the left while the middle one growled. “I’ve been lookin’ for a cute ride like you. I got one mean delivery I gotta get over pronto, y’know?”

“I might have heard,” she replied as she reached out a hand for Daxter. He quickly scurried over and then up her arm and onto her shoulder. “Damn is this what it feels like to be him?” she said almost reverently.

“All th’ time, babe,” Daxter nodded. “Now c’mon! I’ve wasted enough time huffin’ it by myself. Ol’ gravelly shoulda sent someone sooner.”

“We should just shoot it,” the middle one hissed.

“Aw, I like you too grumpy!” Daxter cooed back, face twisted into a sickly sweet grin.

“I’m gonna shoot it,” ‘grumpy’ snapped and reached for his gun.

The one on the right grasped his wrist before he could do anything and hissed, “Do you want to get on Commander Torn’s bad side?”

“But it’s annoying.”

“It,” Daxter said sharply, “is a he, and he happens to be the one who saved all your asses with his trusty sidekick Jak who just happens to be his best fuckin’ friend and can, y’know, get growly.”

Grumpy swallowed heavily and backed off at the look he received from his two partners.

“Told you,” the one on the right mumbled. “Bad idea, man.”

“Yeah,” Daxter agreed. “Listen to your conscience over here.”

“Fuck you,” grumpy spat.

‘Conscience,’ snorted a laugh in response.

“Funny,” Daxter’s current shoulder seat laughed softly. “Come on, we best hurry. We’re gathering a crowd.”

Grumpy and conscience exchanged glances, paled, and quickly began ushering their female compatriot onwards.

“Weren’t we supposed to not draw a crowd?” conscience uttered.

“Your fault,” grumpy spat.

“Oh hush,” Daxter interrupted, “and get movin’!”

All three started to run at that. Daxter relaxed against the gentle lull of a shoulder at full run, a wide grin across his face. Now he’d get there in a decent amount of time. He’d have to thank the Tattooed Wonder for giving him such a lovely ride, too. Daxter paused, then frowned, then wanted to cry at the realization he actually had to thank the asshole who called him a rat.

Torn stared at his communicator in faint horror, although Jak figured a good majority of that actually was for show. Torn had to be acutely aware of how uncomfortable this entire situation made the teen, give that Jak practically gouged his legs throughout a good chunk of the process. The act did serve to put Jak into a more comfortable mindset, comfortable enough that his eyes were black with dark eco—just tinged purple instead. His skin looked a bit paler than normal, but that could be associated to nerves rather than eco.

“Why is your rat insisting on riding one of my men up the elevator?” Torn’s voice practically squeaked at the end he wheezed so hard.

Jak scrubbed a hand through his now groomed, wrapped, and braided hair. It hung in twisted, braided dreadlocks that suited the young teen and at the same time felt like a punch to the gut. If Torn didn’t know that Jak happened to be the young kid he’d once looked after—and thus had to be related to the late King Damas—then the resemblance sure as hell would have told him as much. Granted Damas never did quite wear the locks as well as Jak could.

“Mar you have to have some Wastlander in you,” Torn muttered as he flopped onto the couch.

“What does that mean?” Jak blinked at the sudden non-sequitor.

“Your hair,” Torn waved a hand. “No Havenite can wear it like that so easily. You see it more on Wastelander’s than anything.”

Jak’s brow furrowed in confusion, but before he could get a word in about it Torn shifted and spoke up again.

“Seriously though what does that rodent think he’s doing anyway? He could put her at risk!”

“His name is Daxter,” Jak pointed out, “and he’s probably exhausted. I forgot how far Main Town is from the bar.” Jak leaned forward from his spot on the bed and scrubbed at his face. “He’s probably pissed about that. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Do you like him nagging you or something?” Torn quarried. When Jak didn’t answer at first the commander shifted to stare at the teen, concerned.

Jak sighed. “…sort of.” He licked his lips. “It’s…I didn’t speak for a long time, Torn. Dax talking…it’s normal.” He smiled fondly. “He spoke for the both of us.”

“He still does,” Torn grumbled.

“Yeah.”

Despite being an ottsel Daxter at his core didn’t change. Jak relished in that, relished in how much his friend still remained his friend because damn if he didn’t regret that accident so much. He opened his mouth to speak some more when a sharp rap at the door sounded throughout the room. Torn got to his feet and Jak likewise pulled himself up.

They shared a glance—looks like it was showtime. Jak got to his feet, Torn shortly behind him. Jak wanted to get the door, but Torn motioned for him to stay—they’d gone over, repeatedly, in the wait for Daxter to show up and in the time that Torn worked on his hair, how the people around Jak were expected to act. How Jak would be expected to act. While it sat wrong with him to hang back, he still let Torn take the lead and open the door.

This whole insane plane hinged on Jak, after all, and if he didn’t show the right response at the right time then any credibility as being the last heir to the House of Mar wouldn’t matter. It grated to act like some damned nobleman when first and foremost Jak was anything but; still he waited, anxiously as evidenced by the slight shift from foot to foot. Torn slipped the door open, took one look out into the hallway, and sighed in relief.

“Ashelin,” Torn greeted sharply, and stepped back.

“Commander,” Ashelin responded in kind. She stepped into the room first, behind her followed an Underground fighter with Daxter perched precariously on her shoulder. Jak zeroed in on his best friend, and a small nervous smile flittered across his face.

No one said anything at first, or at least no one but Daxter and Jak. Jak’s little twitches—almost completely unnoticeable—clued Daxter into the bigger picture within a minute. The conversation went on much longer than that though, with an ever growing darker expression on Daxter’s face. The ottsel glanced between Jak, Torn, and Ashelin with a scowl until Ashelin couldn’t take it anymore.

“What!?” the young Praxis heiress snapped out. She looked to Torn for back up, but Torn refused to respond. He’d seen the silent communication in action too much to even attempt to counteract it.

“Nothin’,” Daxter said eventually after a pleading look from Jak and a slightly pulled face. “We’ve got a show to get on the road, right?”

“What do you mean we?” Ashelin demanded. “You were just delivery—”

“I ain’t leavin’ Jak to deal with just you,” Daxter shot back, “and my ride here ain’t either. We’re both goin’ an’ you’ll just hafta deal there princess. You roped Jak into this thing and ya better handle the consequences. We’re a pair an’ that is that.”

Jak smiled.

“Dax’s always had my back, Ashelin,” he said softly. “Besides, as I understand it if I just walk in with the Ruby Key they’re going to demand how a priceless artifact integral to this city’s history just so happened to disappear and then reappear with the House of Mar.”

Torn smiled, and nodded once in approval when Jak glanced his way. He spoke up to catch Ashelin’s attention. “Look at that Ashe, the kid has a knack for this,” he teased for a second before he added seriously, “He has a point and you know it. Especially when you know it was this very council that ousted the last King we had.”

“That was my father—” Ashelin counteracted, only to be cut off with a look.

“It might have been your father,” Torn said carefully, “but even your father can’t intimidate the other sage lines. At least three quarters of them had to be in agreement. Not to mention the other minor noble houses.”

Ashelin bit her lip, frustrated, but she had to admit Torn was right. Although neither of them had been there for the original banishment of the House of Mar, they both knew the aftermath intimately enough. Still—Ashelin turned toward Daxter and with a sharp look assessed the situation.

“You can’t just waltz in with the Ruby Key, either,” Ashelin pointed out. “You’re too involved with Jak.”

“Ah, but I’m involved officially as of this past year,” Daxter pointed out slyly. Jak didn’t bother to fight down his smile as Ashelin blinked in slight surprise and Daxter continued barreling on, head held high. “In fact I was quite the respected bug hunter up until the business went up in smoke; I merely stumbled across this here puppy,” Daxter patted his bag, “without knowin’ what it was. I’m just a poor ottsel—we’re not taught Haven’s history.”

“If anything Dax only realized what the Ruby Key was after he and I got involved,” Jak added softly, and completely convincingly. Any protest left Ashelin.

Torn glanced at them, then asked, “How will you explain your closeness?”

“How do you explain a soul brother?” Daxter shot back full of complete self-confidence.

“We click,” Jak shrugged, and it was the honest truth—he and Daxter had always just clicked like that.

Torn appraised them for a second more—and almost let out an amused snort when he realized the soldier before him was still star-struck and drooling; kids these days—before he nodded sharply. He turned to Ashelin and said, “They’re good.”

Ashelin looked ready to protest, so Torn stepped up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “They’re good, Ashe,” he said sharply. “Trust me.” It took a second longer before Ashelin let out an explosive breath. They’d wasted enough time already on this whole mess, and so with a sharp turn she motioned for the group to follow.

“Look alive soldier,” Torn said under his breath to the young girl. She jerked, flushed, and then straightened her back and fell into step just behind Jak.