#but especially thursdays

[dianessunflower]

Art in The Good Fight (2017-2022) - Part 2

part 1 here:

this part 2 is mostly about s6, because i think you can really track what the art is doing for story and character. so, let's get into it!!

still mad the new partner Ri'Chard took away this beauty, but they're forgiven for 603's art history references.

in the scene with the Dr, Diane mentions Landscape with the Fall of Icarus, originally attributed to Pieter Bruegel the Elder (oil on canvas, c. 1560). it's in the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium in Brussels.

this is absolutely fascinating, because the composition of the painting is original—to give prominence to the 'low' subject matter, being the agricultural figure, rather than Icarus, to whom Diane is drawn. this is called 'Mannerist inversion' (yes i screamed, i'm a nerd).

this piece is brilliantly used this ep. Icarus, small, drowns unnoticed by everyone else. death happens all the time, and we move on. i'm reminded of Diane's sane little corner. the world is oblivious to the tragedy of hubris, concerned only with themselves. seems apocalyptic...

which leads me to my next point. behind the Dr is a Jean Andran engraving of a painting called Winter, part of a Seasons series now in the Louvre by Nicolas Poussin from the 1660s. and what does it depict? the flood. 100% premonition of impending death.

i love that *someone* has done their NY homework and seen that Guggenheim Hilma af Klint exhibit (i am not jealous at all), because also in the Dr's office is af Klint's Tree of Knowledge, No. 5 (Kunskapens träd, nr 5), from the 1915 W Series.

for various reasons, af Klint was for a long time ignored in favour of Kandinsky, Mondrian, Kupka etc in modern Western nonrepresentational art (also her queerness 🍵). her work has two overlapping levels, one biographical and one relating to the history of humanity.

the Tree of Knowledge series is part of her series of 193 Paintings for the Temple, which was af Klint's vision for the future as given to her by a spiritual medium, to depict 'the immortal aspects of man'. hence, she uses iconography from Christianity and Hinduism.

each piece in the Tree of Knowledge series is a variation on a theme, a tree with a heart-shaped crown. and there's a progression to the biblical allusion to Genesis symbolising innocence to fall from Grace, but there are also organic forms and ornate details.

the Tree of Knowledge (of Good and Evil) is usually paired with the

symbol of the Tree of Life, and in af Klint's work, signals binaries melding into unity. but the tree also signals Buddhism (the fig tree), the Tau/life force, the Arasa Maram in Hinduism.

the colours have meaning, yellow for female and blue for male. put them together and it becomes green, and the colours have become purer. this is No. 5, so the white radiations that were pale rose-coloured in No. 4 are now inverted.

af Klint probably knew Rudolf Steiner's colour meanings—yellow as spirit, blue as soul. green as the lifeless image of the living, peach-blossom the living image of the soul. white as the soul's image of the spirit, black as the spiritual image of the lifeless (cf swans).

the 12 sections in the top lotus leaf crown seem to represent the zodiac, months. also, there's a multi-coloured, lobed 'cross' in the small box middle-right, which maybe suggests the first awakening of the higher self?? compare this to the unity of colourful two birds in the bottom circle. there's a lot to be said about how this art represents how humans navigate their smallness in the world.

as seen on 604 in Diane's office, this is Street Musicians, by the American artist Norman Lewis (oil on canvas, 1948). part of the post-war movement.

from 605, i have identified some of the pieces Ri'Chard chose for the office, and they were clearly chosen for reasons. (unfortunately i couldn't find Liz's but i love the home decor and don't doubt this was also carefully chosen.)

this is by Kara Walker, known for room-size tableaux of black cut-paper silhouettes. her work illustrates the origins & legacy of slavery in the American South. i suspect there's a Civil War reference too. the 1994 piece riffs on Gone With The Wind (MOMA).

i really love this one. this is Holy Mountain II by Horace Pippin, a self-taught artist post WW1. he was influenced by Edward Hicks, a Quaker minister who painted interpretations of Isaiah’s biblical prophecy of world peace and harmony in nature (Peaceable Kingdom, c 1830-32).

though the gatherings seem tranquil, the Holy Mountain series is very dark. poppies, soldiers, grave markers, a limp body hanging from a tree... Holy Mountain I refers to D-Day, Holy Mountain II to Pearl Harbor Day, & Holy Mountain III (Smithsonian) to Nagasaki.

so there are parallels between WW1/Civil War, but it is also very Eden-esque. i rather like that the pastoral figure in a white dress with the yellow cheetah is the centre focus. all very biblical, which fits right in with Ri'Chard's style. Pippin himself stated that,

"'Holy Mountain' came to my mind because the whole world is in such trouble, and in reading the Bible (Isaiah 11:6) it says that there will be peace in the land. If a man knows nothing but hard times he will paint them, for he must be true to himself, but even that man may have a dream, an ideal and 'Holy Mountain' is my answer to such dreaming."

i was thinking about how much gold Ri'Chard brought into the office in the context of his Brand™ (1 & 2 old decor, 3 & 4 new, but none identified yet oop)

there are other etchings in the Dr's office: top: 'Rotherhithe' by James McNeill Whistler from the Thames Set (1860, V&A) bottom: 'Clearing a wreck on the north coast of Cornwall' by Thomas Rowlandson (c 1809-1822, British Museum).

Dr Dude likes ships that's all i can say 🤷‍♀️ but actually i think there's something interesting about all the Flood references in the Dr's office, like Diane is drowning. possibly, there's a subtle allusion to a very famous painting, Le Radeau de la Méduse, by Théodore Géricault (1818-19, oil on canvas, Louvre).

this is an icon of French Romanticism, depicting the aftermath of the wreck of the French naval frigate Méduse, which ran aground off the coast of what is now Mauritania on 2 July 1816. what's so interesting about this painting is that it presents ordinary people, rather than heroes, reacting to the unfolding drama. as Christine Riding says, the painting represents,

"the fallacy of hope and pointless suffering, and at worst, the basic human instinct to survive, which had superseded all moral considerations and plunged civilised man into barbarism."

by 607, Diane's office art has changed to a piece called Three Tumblers by Daniel Clarke (2018), perhaps a reference to her revolving office bar. also did we notice her flower obsession has dulled a little? but there are still orchids all around the office. i'll leave you to google the meaning of the original Greek word 👀

elsewhere in the office, FIRES abound on the digital screen in the conference room. flood, fire…and?

where there's a mansion, there's sure to be art (609): Asher Brown Durand, Landscape—Scene from "Thanatopsis" (1850, Met); Max Ferdinand Bredt, In the Courtyard of the Harem; John Frederick Lewis, Intercepted Correspondence (1869).

in 609 when same sex marriage is overturned (and Christine Baranski's acting chops is on full show with her shocked face), the image on the tv screen is Witch burning in Regenstein, Saxony-Anhalt, 1555. It's a wood engraving after an original printed on flyleaf (Germanisches Nationalmuseum, Nuremberg).

frankly there's a lot of misinformation about witch trials, not least of which is that they happened a lot later than most people think (ie. not the medieval period). the early modern period 16-17th centuries were the height of the European witchcraft trials.

and it was an ongoing, systematic persecution that resulted from the targetting of Christian heretics and Jews throughout the 14th century, and gradually both the church and scholars became more and more obsessed with demonology. it was really about the 'other', the concern about the loss of a certain way of life.

Diane, of course, calls herself a wench, so i think it's interesting that her s6 arc eventuates with her heading up a female-only law firm in DC working on women's rights and Roe v Wade. i dislike the way that the word 'witchhunt' is misappropriated like other historical terms in modern contexts, but it's probably fair to call the current backsliding on women's rights a witchhunt. so i love this double meaning.

finally, i wanted to return to how Diane's office art tracks her journey. the Surrealist art was the tone of the show throughout. but the violence seeped into the everyday and everyone just got used to it. hence the second painting is war (contrast the flowers).

but then Diane chooses to stop PT108. almost immediately, a bullet lands on the realist painting of a woman (where does she end up? in Washington DC fighting the good fight for women).

the violence doesn't end there. and then the office literally explodes & you can see a painting is off-centre. which seems like a good metaphor for where the world is at.

so yeah, the progression in Diane's office from Peony Girl to Post-War to a painted version of Chris is just chef's kiss. the way it tracks her psyche in s6? i'm obsessed.

[blueskittlesart]

Linktober day 5: species/race

the first of 2 prompts decided by tumblr poll! i'm glad yall chose the rito tbh bc there's less of them for me to draw since theyre only in like 2 games. i do still hate drawing birds but this was fun!

[aashiqeddiediaz]

when buck watches eddie and tommy getting along like a house on fire and the ugly part of him that thinks he's expendable and/or replacable rises up like a phoenix laid to temporary rest from eddie's words in 4x14 then what

[stirdrawsandreblaws]

barely in time for dunmeshi thursday - the shopify is finally live!!

there are posters (not pictured) and mugs and totes, and shirts from toddler sizes all the way up to 5x!! there are also other shirt colors than white, i just don't like them as much so i didn't bother screencapping; see for yourself in the listings

some of the designs are single-sided prints and others are double-sided to spread the art out more

there's also a bonus design inspired by episode 21 which you can preview under the cut >:3

there is only one color for this shirt. that's all you need for it.

THEY LET HIM MILK THE MINOTAUR!!!

[radioactivepeasant]

Free Day Thursday

(Per the poll) Eldritch Dad versus Jak versus Cultists

(Featuring characters from The Disowned Game 😅)

For context: the antagonists are trying to unlock an ancient seal to conjure the patron of dark eco, to basically turn the whole population into dark eco warlocks.

Their sage insists that they must spill the blood of a prism channeler to "appease the gods."

"You don't know what you're doing!" Phoenix shouted, straining against Skyheed's soldiers. He managed to get a good kick in, but there were too many to take in one fight. "Skyheed, stop!"

Keira lunged for the ceremonial dagger, a snarl on her lips.

"You so much as scratch him, and the gods will be the least of your worries!"

The blade slammed into the altar as Keira cracked the priest's arm against the stones. He cried out in pain, releasing the knife.

"The madness of the Light will not save the hero!" he gasped, struggling in vain against an enraged sage-in-training.

Jak strained his fingers towards the knife, just out of reach of the triple shackles. So close. He was so close! But he was going to need help.

"Keira! You have to cut me!"

"Are you nuts?!"

"No no, I recognize that glyph! It's gonna be fine!"

The glyph was familiar. Studying with Sister Merci at the temple, Keira had come across many pictograms older than the writing she and Jak and Daxter had employed as children. She could read one or two, but most still mystified her. This one's meaning escaped her memory, but she was certain she had seen it before. Which meant that unfortunately, Jak probably knew what he was talking about.

Reluctantly, Keira pressed the tip of the blade to Jak’s finger. Two small drops of blood slid down into the channels carved into the stone as Phoenix cried out in horror.

"Keira, no! What have you done?!"

Darkness took them.

Out of the blackness, the sounds of scuttling filled the room. Hundreds, thousands of tiny legs across metal and stone. Spiders began to creep down the walls, congregating on the twelve iron cuffs. Thousands of tiny, hairy, bodies pushed between metal and flesh, heedless of the crush until Jak could slide his wrists and one of his ankles out.

"Phoenix! Get everybody out!" he warned, "We don't have a lot of time before-"

"Who is misusing my gift?"

a voice like dry leaves, like the creak of timbers, like bells, filled the chamber.

The darkness drew close, twisting and writhing around itself to form the shape of a woman so tall her masses of curls brushed the ceiling. She took in the prostrated forms of the cultists below her with glowing eyes and curled her lip.

"And what, pray tell, is this?"

The question seemed to shock the onlookers out of their stupor.

"Oh great lady of darkness!" Skyheed bowed from the waist. "We, your humble devotees, come before you to ask your blessing on-"

The woman turned her head to see Jak still struggling to free himself. He'd taken hold of the obsidian dagger to pry off the ankle bands.

"Agh-! Mi'jo, no!"

the goddess snatched the blade from his hands in an instant.

"That's a knife!"

It was as if she hadn't even seen the cultists. Micteca held the hilt between thumb and forefinger, scowling.

"Foul thing. Ugh! How did you even- Nevermind. I'm calling your father."

Jak cringed. "No-! It's not even that bad!"

He and Keira broke the last shackle together as he continued to babble protests.

"He-! He's busy! You don't need to tell him, i can handle this-"

"DAMAS! LOOK WHAT YOUR SON GOT INTO!"

the shout shook the room, sending curtains of dust raining down on them.

"Dude, your mom's a snitch," Daxter snickered.

There was a clap of thunder, and the chamber filled with a blinding light. A biting chill curled around them, contrasting sharply with the warm voice emanating from the center of the light.

"Why is it always "my son" when he's gotten into something he shouldn't?"

Jak groaned. "Guys, I'm right here."

That wouldn't help him and he knew it. But he had to save a little face in front of Daxter and Keira.

Incrementally, a face appeared in the light, then a muscular body, held aloft between wings more like an anemone's tentacles, formed of living sand. Stars wheeled across dark skin like a piece of the sky had come to personally judge them all. The giant gazed down at Jak and narrowed his eyes.

"Hello, son."

He sounded amused.

Ignoring the choked off curses and whispered questions around him, Jak dropped his face into his palm.

"Hello, Father."

"Got yourself into a Situation again, haven't you?"

"It wasn't my fault this time!" Jak protested. He pointed at Skyheed, and decided that whatever followed was on the duke's own head. "That guy made Dark Warriors out of his whole city! He was going to sacrifice me so he could control them all!"

"Ohhhh crap." Keira cringed.

Micteca's eyes flashed. In a much too calm voice she said,

"Kids, would you step outside for a second?"

"Yep! No problem!" Daxter said hastily, leaping off the altar, "No problem at all!"

Keira ducked the priest and Skyheed to grab Phoenix by the sleeve. "Let’s go, let's go! Trust me, you don't want to be anywhere near this room."

"Uh....maybe...don't kill all of them?" Jak offered, pausing at the door.

"The pale ones didn't choose this."

"Jakkkk-"

Micteca frowned.

Jak glanced at the bewildered soldiers, all completely disoriented by the mass influx of dark eco.

"Mamá, please?"

"...you're as bad as your father."

Burning eyes narrowed down at Jak, and long black talons drummed impatiently on the goddess's folded arms.

Damas left off prodding at a smaller Dark Warrior to smirk.

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me all year!"

"Oh don't you start-! Alright! We'll see."

Micteca glared at both Jak and Damas.

"The things I do for you two troublemakers..."

"Appreciated, my love."

Damas -- or Deimos or Xenodamas, the monks could never agree on whether his name ought to be more "formal" now -- tucked a lock of hair behind Micteca's ear and began idly braiding it.

"There. That ought to keep the blood out of it."

Jak met Klout's flummoxed and slightly horrified gaze. He, unfortunately, could relate.

"Ugh. There's a time and a place, Father," he muttered under his breath.

A nearly prehensile wing tip snaked out to cuff Jak across the back of the head.

"Be glad your mother has more restraint than I usually do. Relocate, offspring."

Jak shoved the wing away and grinned. "Yeah yeah. Thanks, Ma! Okay, eviscerate away!"

"OUT."

The great stone doors slammed into place behind Jak, and he rolled his eyes at his honorary siblings' unimpressed expressions.

"Well did you want to wade through pureed soldier bits?" he asked indignantly.

Phoenix stared straight ahead, wide eyes focused on nothing.

"What," he finally choked, "just happened?"

[amandamadeathing]

[motherhenna]

Going through my old Hunger Games art and proud to say that I've been drawing POC Katniss since 2010! How was 13-year-old me better at reading character descriptions than the grown-ass adults who made the films??

[blvckentropy]

Thiccc Daddies Thursday <podcast came up with this topic>

[uncanny-tranny]

For TST

I just finished listening to Elliot Page's book and I have to say it was an interesting piece of literature. I highly highly recommend it.

I have never read a book that is so closely aligned with myself as a trans man and my upbringing. I never thought I would read book that defines what it means to be a trans man in the public eye. I do not want to be as famous as him but I would like to make a change to the world as he has.

I am comfortable in who I am and who I love and how I choose to express my gender. Things really can and often do get better with time. And I hope that any person that sees this knows that they are not trapped in the shoes that society has put them in and they can actively choose a different pair.

I would love to read Pageboy soon; these memoirs and other art and literature are our history, part of our lifeblood as a community, and it's vital that we read each other's lives and understand that we truly are here in this world💛

It's great to read such a glowing review from you, and I'm so happy that his words lit your soul like it has

[dimsilver]

ladies! I have a car again!!

[trash-bin-ary]

:3 okay I need to go eep, goodnight everyone (for me good morning/afternoon to those of you awake rn)

[koinomegaluvr]

Jeremy’s unexpected friendship with entity 68

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Ok, part 2!

Part One Here

(Warning for brief violence)

"Okay!" Daxter snapped, flinging a piece of a lever to the ground in disgust, "That is the last time I ever, ever, touch any more stupid Precursor crap!"

Jak would have responded, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the strange place they had fallen into. Hard stone covered the ground in even, flat surfaces, like walking paths made of one solid piece. They matched the gray of drab huts built four or five levels high -- fortresses? -- with equally flat tops and windows covered in a thin, reflective material of some kind. Everything smelled like rotting garbage and the exhaust fumes of his zoomer! What kind of dead ruin was this?

A ruin, perhaps, but hardly a dead one.

Zoomers in bright colors and sleek shapes darted back and forth overhead, mesmerizing the small boy. There were more people on them than he'd ever seen in his life! People walked along the streets in crowds! Was this what Uncle called "city"? It was so much bigger than the villages! And if he stood on the tips of his toes, Jak could see more structures that were even taller!

"There he is!" a harsh voice rang out.

A group of -- were they people? They were covered in armor with goggles that reminded Jak of the giant Precursor robot -- marched towards him, carrying strange weapons. The long, thin things reminded him of the Yellow Sage's blunderbuss. Some forgotten instinct told him that these things were deadly, and never to be played with.

Why were they coming towards him? Had he done something wrong?

Oh no! The broken pieces of the Rift vehicle must have hurt someone!

"Move in!"

In mere seconds, the red warriors had completely surrounded them. Part of Jak wanted to fight, but if they were just protecting their city from what probably looked like an attack, maybe it would be better to stay calm. Jak didn't want to find out what those weapons could do at such close range. But as the circle closed around him, Jak looked up into the face of their leader, and his stomach turned.

This wasn't a misunderstanding. These people were looking for trouble. The tattooed man smirking down at him had the same unreasonable gleam in his eye as Gol Acheron. He didn’t want to talk. He was going to hurt them whether or not they gave him a reason.

Jak took a step back without thinking as his pulse began to thunder in his ears.

What does he want? I didn't do anything to him! Why is he looking at us like that?!

"Step away from the animal!" barked a soldier.

Whoever they were, they understood that Jak was more powerful with Daxter supplementing his attacks. But Jak had never seen these people in his life!

Had he?

The boy cast a frantic look down at Daxter as a soldier began to move towards him.

Run! Run, Daxter!

With a shriek, the ottsel dodged the armored hand and dove between the man's legs.

"GO GO GO!" he screeched, darting off down a side street.

But Jak couldn't follow. The men crowded closer, fencing him in as their sneering leader snapped, "Forget the rat! The Baron wants him!"

Me? Why?! What's a Baron?!

A cruel smile twisted the leader's face as he signaled the man beside Jak.

"We've been waiting for you," he cooed.

Something slammed into the side of Jak's head, dropping him like a stone. Lights danced behind his eyes, and he couldn't think past the pain. Why? Why were they doing this? Were they friends of the Acherons? Rough hands grabbed him by the arms and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his soft whimper. He had to escape. Had to find Daxter. Somehow Jak knew that if he let these people take him, he might never see his friends again.

His throat pulsed and spasmed, but he couldn't force the sound past the lock in his mouth, couldn't cry out for help. Someone! Please, please stop them! Precursors! Somebody!

Somebody answered.

There was an awful, wet sound. Claws through cloth, and flesh, and the horrible, high screams that always followed.

Jak knew that sound. When the Lurkers attacked village outskirts and Samos sent him to clean up the mess, he'd learned what it sounded like when someone was being ripped apart.

His head was swimming, but Jak forced himself to look up. Through leaking eyes he caught the blurry figure of a...a someone, covered in armor. Their head -- or maybe a helmet? Hopefully a helmet -- looked like the skull of the monsters that had flown out of the Rift Gate, complete with the shining yellow thing on the forehead. They were attacking the leader man, the one who hadn't been wearing as much armor as the others.

It seemed the leader wasn't accustomed to close quarters fighting.

He screeched again as the newcomer raked long claws down his face, then bodily lifted him. With a grunt that sounded more human than monster, the creature flung its victim into the soldiers surrounding Jak just as they raised their weapons. There were three flashes of light at once, then panicked shouting and more screaming. The eco that shot out of their weapons had hit their leader as he was thrown, by the sounds of the yelling. "Commander Errol" continued to scream like he was dying. He probably was.

Abruptly the two men holding his arms let go. Still disoriented, Jak staggered and fell to his hands and knees. More yellow eco blasts roared over his head, adding to the ringing in his ears, and the stench of blood grew stronger. Maybe he could crawl out of the way, escape down the side street Daxter took. Maybe-

The creature shot out a red hand and caught Jak by the wrist, pulling him to his feet so quickly his head spun and his stomach lurched. He tried to pull free, but the monster's grip tightened.

"Can you run?"

A man's voice. Was it a creature? Or was this more armor?

Jak wobbled and groaned, and the man-thing seemed to take that as an answer. Without another word, he ducked down to sweep Jak's legs off the ground. He bundled him close to his blood-spattered breastplate and began to run. The jarring of boots against stone did nothing to allay the pounding in Jak’s head, radiating from where the red soldier had hit him. What on earth was happening to him?!

"Hold on tight, Jak. Going to get a little tricky here," his rescuer said.

Wait. He knew Jak's name? How did he know Jak's name?! Did he know one of the sages? Maybe the Yellow Sage, since he seemed like some kind of wild man. If he knew the sages, he'd know how to get back to Sandover! Jak struggled to make a sound the man would recognize as a word or question. Grownups never understood signs, why would this one be different?

"Wait, Jak. We're not safe yet," said the man sternly.

Jak stilled. Whoever this was, he didn't sound like the kind of person you ignored.

Streets flew by as the man ran down alleys and around more corners than he could count. Then his steps slowed. There was something metallic and green -- one of those unusual zoomers that had been flying around, wide enough for two people -- sitting unattended. The man made an exclamation of triumph and hurried over to it. He deposited Jak into one of the seats with a surprising gentleness, fastening two strange belts over his chest with a click.

"That commander's access pass will get us into the agricultural sector," his rescuer said, as if that meant anything to him, "then we'll be out of the city and into the forest. Just stay close to me, no matter what, understand?"

Jak stared at his mask with wide eyes and didn't answer. The man sighed, rattling behind the skull.

"I know. I know you don't recognize me, little one."

Strange, he sounded kind of sad.

"I promise, I'll explain what's going on when we're in the forest. Now: hold onto something."

The wide zoomer, it turned out, was a lot faster than his a-grav zoomer back home. It could hover a lot higher, too. If Jak's head didn't still ache, he would have been a lot more interested in the vehicle. But as it stood, he was pretty sure he was going to throw up. Was this how Daxter felt when they were running around?

Nah. Daxter was one of the toughest people Jak knew. He could roundhouse kick a Lurker in the face and flip back onto Jak’s shoulder without even getting dizzy!

Wait! Daxter!

Frantically, Jak waved his hands as the zoomer careened through and around other drivers, scraping paint more than once. Even though he didn't expect an answer, he signed, "Go back! Go back, my friend is back there!"

Predictably, the man did not go back. But to Jak’s surprise, he did answer.

"We're not going back," he grunted, throwing the craft into a climb that left the engine straining. "That plaza will be swarming with guards now."

Then, a little gentler, he added, "Don't worry so much about Daxter. He's a smart boy, he knows how to keep himself safe until someone comes for him."

Not only did this person know who Jak was, he knew Daxter?

A smart boy. He called Daxter a smart boy.

No one had ever said anything that nice about his best friend before. Especially not adults. Jak had never understood why everyone but Ollie and Mrs. Perch seemed to hate Daxter so much, but it had always frightened him. If they hated a kid who never did anything to them, that meant Jak was on a tightrope every day to keep them from deciding to hate him, too.

But the scary man who grabbed him, he knew Daxter's name. He didn't call him a rat or an animal, he called him a boy! He called him smart! Jak’s previous fear began to melt away. Anyone who talked about his best friend like that had to be a nice person, right? And he was a fun driver, too! Too bad Jak's stomach was trying to crawl up his throat at the moment.

After a tense few seconds, the zoomer leveled out and shot past a fancy fountain, over the heads of people in nicer clothes than what Jak had seen before. A few shook their fists and complained as they flew past. Slate gray paths gave way to the first green he'd seen since first getting into the Rift craft. A long, narrow expanse of grass held several plots of unusually large produce. The plots were being tended by exhausted looking people in much dirtier clothes than the people by the fountain. They didn't even glance up when the zoomer sped by.

They pulled to a stop at a high, forbidding wall. The door shaped vaguely like a skull only added to the sense of foreboding around it, as if it was a warning. A quick glance around revealed that the wall extended as far as Jak could see, so high that nothing was visible beyond it. How could these people stand it? It must be like living at the bottom of a silo!

Jak was snapped from his thoughts by the man yanking the strap things off him with a click and pulling him out of the zoomer. It took him a moment to get his feet under him, but at least he didn't feel like he was going to tip over.

"Hurry," said the man tersely. Almost as if he wasn't thinking about it, he reached down and took hold of Jak's hand. He tugged Jak after him and walked swiftly towards the door.

"Not a little kid!" Jak protested with his free hand as best as he could.

Although, he had a feeling his rescuer could argue to the contrary, considering Jak barely stood as high as the man's ribcage.

"Now leaving Haven City," said a woman's voice above their heads as the door rolled shut behind them. Jak looked around for a talk-box, but couldn't tell where the lady was speaking from. "Haven", eh? Didn't seem like much of a Haven to Jak.

A second door opened in front of them, and a weight lifted off of Jak's shoulders.

Trees, ancient and massive, sprawled across hills and around a creek running placidly down to a lake. Nature didn't care about soldiers and cities and people hurting each other. Nature kept growing and being born and dying and being reborn in an eternal cycle of eco. It was a relief to see none of those entombing walls before them. Strange though, Jak didn't see any signs of wildlife. One bird chirruped several trees away, but everything else was eerily quiet.

The armored man lifted an oddly shaped talk-box to his ear and turned away from Jak.

"Satellite One, this is Lighthouse. We're clear."

"Copy that, Lighthouse. Wait, who's "we"?"

"Oh. Jak. The kid Praxis was trying to ambush?"

"Kid?! Wait, you didn't tell me you were going to grab someone's kid!"

"Don't worry about it," the man said casually, "Focus on the mission."

The person calling themselves Satellite One was quiet for a second, then relented. "...right. I'll...I'll bring him home, Damas. I swear it."

"If anyone can, it's you." The man -- Day-maz? Is that what Satellite called him? -- put the talk box away and took in a deep breath through his nose. Then he pivoted to kneel in front of Jak.

"Alright, let's have a look at you."

He unlatched the mask or helmet and slid it off, revealing a human face beneath a hood. He pushed it off and shook his ears free with a grumble.

"Bah. This disguise is a necessary evil but I can't say I'll be sad to see it go."

The clawed gloves followed, and then rough brown fingers lifted Jak's chin carefully, checking for injuries.

"Look up? Good. Pupils...ah, mmhm. Jak, can you tell me if you feel dizzy or nauseous right now?"

"Yes."

Thin, almost invisible eyebrows rose over violet eyes. "Yes you can tell me, or yes you feel dizzy?"

"Yeah, that one." Jak frowned. "There's no birds."

The Day-mas man released Jak's face and clicked his tongue. "Well, you may have a mild concussion, little one."

Jak's ears drooped a few seconds after the words caught up to him. Aw man! But those take forever to go away without eco!

The thought of avoiding running and climbing for a few weeks was torture!

"There's a green eco vent a couple miles into the woods if we keep going northwest. For a slight brain injury you really need a full vent, but I can give you a little now to make walking easier."

The man pulled off more of the scaly armor and searched around a belt full of pouches before coming up with a tube of some kind of paste.

"Hold still."

Eco in paste?! How did he get it into a jelly?! It sat cold on Jak’s skin, numbing the place the guard had slammed his weapon into. Jak shivered as his mind cleared a bit. With the adrenaline beginning to wear off, he was starting to notice the cold. He'd need to find some yellow eco to raise his core temperature. Absentminded, he signed a thanks to the man and looked around.

"Who are you?" he asked, then belatedly remembered to add, "How do you know me and Daxter?"

With a weird, sad, smile, the man sat back on his heels. "My name is Damas," he said quietly, and then spelled it with his hand.

"You sign?!"

Jak thought adults just weren't capable of understanding signs!

"Yes," Damas signed back, "It's very common where I come from. Come, we need to get you more eco. Explanations can wait until you are fully healed."

He stood and held out a hand.

"I'm not a baby!" Jak complained, but he took the offered hand anyway.

Damas chuckled warmly. "No, you're not a baby. But you are quite small, compared to me. I wouldn't want you to get lost out here in the unknown. You never know what you'll run into out here in the woods."

"No birds," Jak commented again, frowning into bushes and trees as he was tugged along.

Entirely too cheerfully, Damas answered, "No, no birds. You're keeping track of your surroundings, good! There are predators nearby that have scared them off."

"Wha?!" Jak yelped, looking around again.

Damas squeezed his hand and began to make his way along the creek. "You don't need to worry about them, alright? I won't let anything hurt you, I promise."

Jak made a skeptical sound, but squeezed back and let himself be guided deeper into the woods, and further away from the world he'd left behind.

[andoutofharm]

happy thursday wednesday

[humberg]

Seduce like no one is watching.

[otherclawdeen]

If I had a nickel for every time a trippy fictional character with self destructive chaotic bestie tendencies, extremely abnormal self-imposed house conditions (that include flooding), always trying to go on crazy missions, completely necessary outfit changes, ✨aestheticized injuries✨, harbored emotions, an appreciation for the color pink, a not great history working at restaurants, (spoiler) a roll in uprooting a chunk of societal structure, (spoiler) might not be a real human, an experience terrorizing (Tyler)/encouraging (Bee) a character til they go to school to pursue their dream job (not endorsing wtf Tyler did that was WILD), and an aesthetic tied to bees, I'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice