#the old Lurkers in Foothills Clan all see Dark Jak as a juvenile Lurker and all insist that he's too skinny and must be freezing

[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Snippet Tuesday

Continuing from Monday's Snippet, now we come to the bit with Spy Tess. Now, there's a variety of ways she could've gotten here -- @sparguscityangel had an idea of Tess actually being there to report to the spies who trained her, and those spies being loyal to the deposed king of Haven. Other contexts can involve Tess trying to blend in with Wastelanders like in @sonicringnoise 's Friends in Low Places, or there to bring Jak intel (and shiny new guns) from Haven.

"Tess!"

Jak stretched up, waving her over from a circle of men and women at one of the cookfires dotting the courtyard of the temple.

"Sit over here!"

Jak really wasn't the outgoing type, and he never had been for as long as she'd known him. But after navigating around more Wastelanders than she'd ever seen in her life, Tess wasn't about to pass up a chance for some information from a friendly face. The circle parted, a little begrudgingly, to let her through, but this seemed more related to having to move while eating rather than an objection to her presence. She dropped down to sit on an overturned crate beside Jak, who pulled a paper-thin circle of some kind of bread from a rack by the fire and handed it to her.

"Dax just schmoozed one of the Foothill Wastelanders into trading a pound of peppers for a sack of rice," he said, flashing a quick smile, "I haven't had rice since I was a kid!"

He pointed Tess to a blackened old pot a woman was stirring with a heavy paddle. Rice piled up high on the paddle, and the weatherbeaten warrior jerked her head meaningfully at Tess. After a second, Tess realized what she was meant to do and obediently held up her flatbread. With a squishing sound, the rice was spread across it in a thick carpet.

"Rice from Foothill, shrimp and pepper from Spargus." Jak pointed to each ingredient in the small bowls Spargans were passing back and forth to add to their rice.

"And," Daxter interrupted, suddenly appearing between them, "Corn from Longstump, for just one tomango!"

The king -- Precursors within and without, that was the king! The actual head of the House of Mar was alive! -- shook his head and laughed as he took the ground corn from Daxter and added it to the pot. "You're a wonder, small one. In another life you must have been a master trader."

"Whaddya mean past life? I'm a master now!" Daxter puffed out his chest, soaking in the praise and approval like sunlight.

About time someone gave Daxter his due, in Tess’s opinion.

She sat and watched them all, allowing the food to cover for her observant silence. Not everyone at this fire was from the desert clan, the Spargans. One of the blue Lurkers from the mountain group had seated herself in the circle, humming something in a quavery old voice as she placidly worked a drop spindle. Foothills Clan mostly traded in cloth and metalhead pieces, as far as she could tell. The folk who lived down near the old Precursor Basin made beautifully intricate guns and staves -- and jewelry that doubled as weaponry in a pinch. Tess had haggled for twenty minutes to get a pair of razor sharp bone earrings from one of the Longstump Clan.

Seemed like Spargus was the gang producing all the Precursor artifacts, by and large. Tess blinked as a thought struck her: did this mean the former king of Haven was indirectly funding the Underground? Was he aware of that?

Daxter settled next to Tess comfortably, wrapping shrimp into the flatbread. Periodically he straightened to bark orders at whoever was manning to cooking pot at the moment -- even when it was King Bloody Damas Himself. Daxter took campfire cooking as seriously as he took the menu at the Naughty Ottsel. Tess bit back a giggle as she watched hardened soldiers grumble and comply with every recipe adjustment Daxter demanded.

Obviously, Daxxie knew what he was doing. His coat was softer and shinier now than it had ever been in the city, and he'd even put on either weight or muscle. He was actually getting nutrition out here in this ghastly desert, and that told Tess more about Spargus than any of its taciturn people could. Jak was just as obviously changed by his months in the Wasteland. His face was no longer pale and sunken -- he'd seen enough sun for a smattering of freckles to dance across rosy brown cheeks -- and his clothes didn't hang so loosely off his shoulders anymore. Like Daxter, his hair looked softer, and about as well-kept as the ocean breeze would allow.

Spargus was in better shape than much of Haven, clearly. Maybe it would be worth it to attempt an alliance.

A tankard began to be passed around the circle, breaking Tess from her thoughts. One by one, Wastelanders took a swig of a bitter alcohol, spiced with cinnamon. Tess managed to get a sip that burned like fire for a second before dulling into a warm glow. Definitely better than what Wastelanders usually carried, although not really to Tess’s tastes. She snorted when Jak's turn was swiftly curtailed by Damas deftly lifting the tankard from his hands.

"Not for you, young man." He took a draught and passed it back to the right.

Tess half expected Jak to be angry about this -- a teenager he might’ve been, but Krew never cared about Tess serving him whatever was watered down the most as long as he paid. And since it wasn't safe to drink the water in most of Haven, there wasn't much else Jak could drink without getting sick. But to Tess’s surprise, Jak only shrugged with a goodnatured laugh.

"So close! I'll get it next pass."

"Good luck with that," Damas snorted, leaning an elbow on one knee and pointing. "I've got eyes on the back of my head."

Jak almost seemed like he was going to argue that, but then he appeared to remember something. He grinned boyishly and settled back into his seat.

"It's true, he does," he said conversationally to everyone and no one.

The elderly Lurker looked up from her spindle with a croaking harrumph. "Little one is too little for grog," she scolded. "Too little for Running the Spire, too!"

Damas took this in stride. "Our rites of passage in the desert are more closely monitored than up north," he assured the old Wastelander. "Any trouble he gets into is wholly of his own making. Isn't that right, Jak?"

Jak snorted. "You're really not gonna let that Arena thing go, are you?"

"You took out a wall with a half dead metalpede," Damas answered dryly, "Lava clean-up took two weeks. No I'm not letting "that Arena thing" go."

Well, Tess mused, clearly some things hadn't changed.

[pixelatedperils]

#the old Lurkers in Foothills Clan all see Dark Jak as a juvenile Lurker and all insist that he's too skinny and must be freezing#Jak accidentally acquired like six Lurker grandparents#Daxter owning an apparently successful pub makes me think he knows something about food and drink prep#Daxter is unquestioned king of the kitchen and he rules the campfire with an iron paw#headcanon that Tess waters down anything Jak drinks in Jak 2 because he's A Kid and also nobody wants to see Inebriated Dark Jak

Fic Prompts: Snippet Tuesday

Continuing from Monday's Snippet, now we come to the bit with Spy Tess. Now, there's a variety of ways she could've gotten here -- @sparguscityangel had an idea of Tess actually being there to report to the spies who trained her, and those spies being loyal to the deposed king of Haven. Other contexts can involve Tess trying to blend in with Wastelanders like in @sonicringnoise 's Friends in Low Places, or there to bring Jak intel (and shiny new guns) from Haven.

"Tess!"

Jak stretched up, waving her over from a circle of men and women at one of the cookfires dotting the courtyard of the temple.

"Sit over here!"

Jak really wasn't the outgoing type, and he never had been for as long as she'd known him. But after navigating around more Wastelanders than she'd ever seen in her life, Tess wasn't about to pass up a chance for some information from a friendly face. The circle parted, a little begrudgingly, to let her through, but this seemed more related to having to move while eating rather than an objection to her presence. She dropped down to sit on an overturned crate beside Jak, who pulled a paper-thin circle of some kind of bread from a rack by the fire and handed it to her.

"Dax just schmoozed one of the Foothill Wastelanders into trading a pound of peppers for a sack of rice," he said, flashing a quick smile, "I haven't had rice since I was a kid!"

He pointed Tess to a blackened old pot a woman was stirring with a heavy paddle. Rice piled up high on the paddle, and the weatherbeaten warrior jerked her head meaningfully at Tess. After a second, Tess realized what she was meant to do and obediently held up her flatbread. With a squishing sound, the rice was spread across it in a thick carpet.

"Rice from Foothill, shrimp and pepper from Spargus." Jak pointed to each ingredient in the small bowls Spargans were passing back and forth to add to their rice.

"And," Daxter interrupted, suddenly appearing between them, "Corn from Longstump, for just one tomango!"

The king -- Precursors within and without, that was the king! The actual head of the House of Mar was alive! -- shook his head and laughed as he took the ground corn from Daxter and added it to the pot. "You're a wonder, small one. In another life you must have been a master trader."

"Whaddya mean past life? I'm a master now!" Daxter puffed out his chest, soaking in the praise and approval like sunlight.

About time someone gave Daxter his due, in Tess’s opinion.

She sat and watched them all, allowing the food to cover for her observant silence. Not everyone at this fire was from the desert clan, the Spargans. One of the blue Lurkers from the mountain group had seated herself in the circle, humming something in a quavery old voice as she placidly worked a drop spindle. Foothills Clan mostly traded in cloth and metalhead pieces, as far as she could tell. The folk who lived down near the old Precursor Basin made beautifully intricate guns and staves -- and jewelry that doubled as weaponry in a pinch. Tess had haggled for twenty minutes to get a pair of razor sharp bone earrings from one of the Longstump Clan.

Seemed like Spargus was the gang producing all the Precursor artifacts, by and large. Tess blinked as a thought struck her: did this mean the former king of Haven was indirectly funding the Underground? Was he aware of that?

Daxter settled next to Tess comfortably, wrapping shrimp into the flatbread. Periodically he straightened to bark orders at whoever was manning to cooking pot at the moment -- even when it was King Bloody Damas Himself. Daxter took campfire cooking as seriously as he took the menu at the Naughty Ottsel. Tess bit back a giggle as she watched hardened soldiers grumble and comply with every recipe adjustment Daxter demanded.

Obviously, Daxxie knew what he was doing. His coat was softer and shinier now than it had ever been in the city, and he'd even put on either weight or muscle. He was actually getting nutrition out here in this ghastly desert, and that told Tess more about Spargus than any of its taciturn people could. Jak was just as obviously changed by his months in the Wasteland. His face was no longer pale and sunken -- he'd seen enough sun for a smattering of freckles to dance across rosy brown cheeks -- and his clothes didn't hang so loosely off his shoulders anymore. Like Daxter, his hair looked softer, and about as well-kept as the ocean breeze would allow.

Spargus was in better shape than much of Haven, clearly. Maybe it would be worth it to attempt an alliance.

A tankard began to be passed around the circle, breaking Tess from her thoughts. One by one, Wastelanders took a swig of a bitter alcohol, spiced with cinnamon. Tess managed to get a sip that burned like fire for a second before dulling into a warm glow. Definitely better than what Wastelanders usually carried, although not really to Tess’s tastes. She snorted when Jak's turn was swiftly curtailed by Damas deftly lifting the tankard from his hands.

"Not for you, young man." He took a draught and passed it back to the right.

Tess half expected Jak to be angry about this -- a teenager he might’ve been, but Krew never cared about Tess serving him whatever was watered down the most as long as he paid. And since it wasn't safe to drink the water in most of Haven, there wasn't much else Jak could drink without getting sick. But to Tess’s surprise, Jak only shrugged with a goodnatured laugh.

"So close! I'll get it next pass."

"Good luck with that," Damas snorted, leaning an elbow on one knee and pointing. "I've got eyes on the back of my head."

Jak almost seemed like he was going to argue that, but then he appeared to remember something. He grinned boyishly and settled back into his seat.

"It's true, he does," he said conversationally to everyone and no one.

The elderly Lurker looked up from her spindle with a croaking harrumph. "Little one is too little for grog," she scolded. "Too little for Running the Spire, too!"

Damas took this in stride. "Our rites of passage in the desert are more closely monitored than up north," he assured the old Wastelander. "Any trouble he gets into is wholly of his own making. Isn't that right, Jak?"

Jak snorted. "You're really not gonna let that Arena thing go, are you?"

"You took out a wall with a half dead metalpede," Damas answered dryly, "Lava clean-up took two weeks. No I'm not letting "that Arena thing" go."

Well, Tess mused, clearly some things hadn't changed.