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radioactivepeasant · 5 months

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Snippets: Free Day Thursday

Adopted Dadmas: Dadmas versus Haven

The red light was blinking on Jak’s talk-box again. Damas was no fool, he knew that meant someone was spying through the floating comm -- or attempting to. Doubtless, the eavesdropper thought they were being very subtle, keeping silent whenever adults were present. As if they believed Jak would keep their presence a secret. As if they believed he would never tell.

Damas tore a circle of flatbread into pieces and used them to scoop a mixture of cooked peppers onto his plate. He pretended not to notice the talk-box hovering next to Jak’s elbow in a terrible attempt at stealth, instead choosing to engage Daxter in a conversation. He was determined to get the kid apprenticed to the head of the merchant guild one way or another. Daxter had a head for business and trade that Jak, simply put, did not. He nodded along when his friend talked, but privately Damas thought it would do Daxter good to be around adults who could encourage his interests.

Periodically, Jak cast swift glances at his talk-box during the meal. He seemed like he was expecting someone to speak at any moment -- or more like he was expecting orders of some kind. His shoulders were tense, and he was shoveling down food much too quickly, like he thought he wasn't going to have time to finish it.

"Slow down, young one. The shrimp isn't going anywhere, and neither are you," Damas admonished.

Jak didn't slow down much, but he did start chewing a little more thoroughly. Small victories. Still, he looked tired, and on-edge. Had Ashelin or the sage been badgering him again when no one was around?

The initial idea had been to lay a trap. To feign ignorance and bait the spy into speaking aloud, thus forcing Unpleasant Diplomatic Discussions with Haven's motley assortment of would-be leaders. But just now, Damas decided, the health and wellbeing of his son took precedence over strategy. And he still had the element of surprise, anyway.

"Talk-boxes off at the table, Jak," he announced, gesturing directly to the lens watching them, "This is a meal, not a media interview."

The boy flinched and looked guilty. He had no reason to; he'd been open with Damas about the demands for labor since he first returned from Haven. But then, he'd been groomed from such a young age to believe that bad things happened because he didn't work hard enough for his "friends". Perhaps he still feared retaliation for establishing healthy boundaries? Better to confront the issue head-on then, Damas decided.

"If your uninvited watcher has an emergency, they are free to petition me directly," he said, leveling a stern glare at the talk-box. "On their own time, not yours. Come on, switch it off."

Someone made a muffled sound, barely picked up by the talk-box's speaker. It seemed they were not expecting to be so casually acknowledged.

"Jak-!" the watcher tried to protest, but Jak reached for the power button.

"Right. Sorry, Pa."

Once the light had faded from the little camera, Damas nodded, satisfied. He picked up a shallow bowl with tomango in it and held it out to Jak.

"Here. You need the vitamins."

Begrudgingly, Jak took two slices, then a third when Daxter gave him The Look across the table.

The ottsel cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Pal, you gotta get better at telling those people no. They can't hurtcha!"

Jak hunched over his plate, frowning.

"I know," he muttered sullenly. "I- I do know that, okay? They just don't listen!"

Daxter sighed and his ears drooped. "Yeah...I know. Old Greenstuff only hears what he wants to hear. Always has."

With a frustrated groan, Jak rubbed his eyes. "After everything he's done, I shouldn't be having trouble cutting Samos off. Why do I keep going back?!"

"He's familiar," Daxter admitted, and not without a touch of loathing. "He was all we knew for like, our whole lives. I hate him -- I'll always hate him -- but I get being afraid to lose that last connection to Sandover."

"....yeah." Jak winced. "I um...I think you're right. It's just. It's hard."

"I know, pal."

"And he knows I have two artifacts that go with those weird pillars in the forest!" Jak continued, "What do I do when he starts asking why I haven't brought them?"

"You end the call," Damas interrupted firmly, "or you give the line to an older Wastelander. Collecting those relics serves the interests of our people, and our people will be working in teams to locate them."

Perhaps this was Jak’s fight as much as anyone else's -- this Daystar and its coming threat -- but Damas was reluctant to involve him. Wasn't losing one son bad enough? He'd never survive losing a second one!

Besides, even someone as talented at sneaking into hidden places as Jak couldn't infiltrate places locked by the Seal of Mar. Whatever the Grand Council of Haven wanted with the catacombs, it was a matter for Damas to deal with, not the boys.

Jak picked at his tomango slices almost glumly. Whether it was his own struggles with setting boundaries that bothered him, or Damas’s advice for dealing with future calls, no one knew. But Daxter and Damas both knew that Jak wouldn't keep it bottled up for long. Sure enough, after a couple minutes of mangling his food without eating it, Jak finally looked up.

"You didn't tell me you were sending other people to look for the relics I told you about."

It was almost a question and almost a complaint.

"No, I didn't," Damas acknowledged, and sipped his tea. "The topic hadn't come up between us yet. Is there something about it that concerns you?"

Jak had difficulty putting his thoughts into words. He started and stopped three times before muttering, "It's dangerous. What if someone gets hurt and I'm not there?"

"What if someone doesn't get hurt and you're not there?" Damas countered. He leaned an elbow on the table and gestured to himself almost self-deprecatingly. "Age does not grace the Spargan who is careless, nor are many years added to the foolish. Do not worry so much about people who were hunting metalheads for sport before you were even born, son."

"Admittedly," said Daxter, "We're still getting used to the concepts of adults who can actually fight their own battles. Am I complaining? Only when they decide it's "Take Your Ottsel To Work Day". But even I still go into jobs expecting to have to save everyone's butts at some point."

"Justified with the monks." Jak pointed a piece of tomango at his best friend.

"Yeah, justified with Mime Club."

Damas threaded his fingers together under his chin and watched the boys a moment.

"How about this," he offered, "If an artifact is located but not yet retrieved, I will give you the option of participating in the mission. Or, you can wait until everything has been gathered, and we will go to the pillars together."

For a moment, Jak brightened. Then he looked pensive again. "What if there's trouble? I mean. I was never really- I never claimed Haven, but they act like I belonged to them. What if me bringing another nation into their forest makes trouble for Spargus?"

"Hmph. Perhaps it is better to settle this now, rather than engage in hypotheticals."

Damas held out one hand.

"Give me your talk-box."

Jak narrowed his eyes. "What are you going to do?"

"Not your concern."

"Papá...." somehow Jak managed to sound both suspicious and scolding.

Damas remained unmoved. "Hand it over, boy."

Reluctantly, Jak did so. He cringed when the device powered on, and Keira's voice poured out.

"Jak? Are you okay? Daddy came in fussing about someone interfering with- you're not Jak! Where's my friend?!"

By the mortified expression on his son's face, Damas guessed this was the sage's daughter. The childhood friend Jak still sort of had a crush on.

"Tell your father to stop harassing my son," Damas said shortly. "Especially during hours set aside for family meals. Was he raised in a barn? In fact, ask him that for me."

"Pa, no!" Jak hissed, making a futile grab for the talk-box.

"Your son?! Who are you? Who- hey, Daddy, c'mere. You know this guy? He says he's Jak’s dad!" Keira became muffled for a moment, stepping away from her own device to drag her father over. "Why's this guy think you're harassing Jak? We've only called him twice since he left. Right?"

"Insisting he keeps his comm on at all times so that you can all monitor every moment of his day is not an acceptable use of Federation communication lines," Damas cut in. "I shouldn't have to tell you that spying on the nation of Spargus in such a way could be taken as an act of war."

"This-! This is bigger than Haven or the Wastelands!" Samos sounded flustered- even a bit nervous. "Surely you understand the claim destiny has upon Ja-"

Damas made a dismissive sound in his throat, cutting the sage off. "Pah. Destiny. I should think the recent Praxis regime and my own continued existence would be enough to call concepts such as destiny into question. As it stands, my claim on Jak supersedes "destiny" -- or more accurately, you."

"The fate of the planet hangs in the balance!" Samos cried, though somewhat subdued compared to his usual confidence. "Can't you see that?! Don't be so bullheaded, Jak is needed-"

Jak recognized the glint in the king’s eyes as mischief. Daxter looked a little too eager to see where this was going. Jak resisted the urge to cover his face in embarrassment. Why and oh why did Keira have to be the one to answer the line?!

"Oh? Are you planning to challenge me for custody of my son?" Damas bared his teeth in an unfriendly smile. "Please, by all means! The Arena is ready whenever you are."

"Pa!" Jak gripped the sides of his head and stared at the man. "Not in front of Keira!"

"Look, old man-" Damas ignored Daxter's delighted cackle. "This planet will survive through united efforts, not by sitting back and hoping one boy alone will get the job done. Now, if Haven wishes to negotiate a temporary alliance to get this done sooner, there is no one stopping them from requesting a meeting with the Wasteland Federation. In the meantime, the Federation intends to continue preventing the apocalypse with or without your participation."

"You are?" Keira cut in over her father again, sounding genuinely curious. "You mean there's more people who can get into ruins?"

Jak got up and moved to the head of the table. Damas moved the talk-box out of his reach preemptively, but Jak made no move to grab it.

"That's their whole thing, turns out. You know Krew? Yeah, everything he sold you, he bought from Wastelanders. Even the defunct power cells."

The slightly warped image of Keira on the screen flickered as she leaned closer.

"Seriously?! I could've cut out the middleman and just worked with them all this time?! Ughhhhh. Hindsight is 20/20 I guess. You want to show them my research from the palace library?"

Behind her, Samos jumped. "The what?! Keira, the library was destroyed with the rest of the palace!"

"The building collapsed, sure," Keira retorted, "But the data cores are still mostly intact in there. If you don’t mind crawling through some tight places and bringing lots of Scout Flies, it's a cinch to get the files for Vin."

Samos looked apoplectic. "Keira! That's far too dangerous for you!"

His daughter rolled her eyes. "What? Jak and Daxter can do it but I can't? Don't you trust me?"

Damas stifled a chuckle and elbowed Jak. "I like this one," he whispered. "Invite her to Spargus sometime."

Jak wished the floor would swallow him.