A/N: For some reason, Bashing has a sequel. Oh, dear. Well, I hope you enjoy another crazy slice of Jak & Daxter fan fiction.
"Why do I have to go with you?" Jak grumbled.
"'Cause Torn doesn't trust me with his money, and, even if he did, he doesn't trust me on my own," Jinx elucidated. "Plus, I kinda owe him after I, you know…" His voice lowered. "…blew up somma his stuff."
Jak let out an exasperated cry, but continued accompanying the pyromaniac, for the sake of Torn, Haven's safety and, most likely, the world's. However, this was the ex-Commander's fault in the first place – if he hadn't broken his table, even after being warned about bashing it, the pair of blondes wouldn't be on a trip together, going to buy a new one. So, as far as Jak was concerned, the brunette owed him a favour.
"Did Torn say what kind of table he wanted?" the younger blonde asked.
"Nah. So I'm usin' my imagination," Jinx replied.
Uh-oh. That was bad. When said male's imagination ran riot, things of epic proportions tended to happen, which usually resulted with him getting his arse whooped by Torn or Ashelin. And, with Jak as the pyrotechnician's apparent babysitter, that meant the former was going to get in trouble, too. Thanks, Torn, the eighteen year old grumbled to himself.
"Oh, I don't know the way," Jinx suddenly said. "I was thinkin' you could be my navigator, or somethin', since you'd know the way to all those kinds of shops."
"'Those kinds of shops'? What is that supposed to mean?" Jak snapped.
"Oh, don't get all pissy. Jus' navigate, pal."
"Fine."
The fact that the furniture shop had multiple tables should have made their lives easier, but the opposite turned out to be true. It was debatable whether Jinx was doing it on purpose or was genuinely moronic with decision making.
"Just pick one," Jak said.
"You pick one," the older blonde retorted.
"Me? I'm not the one who owes him!"
"You're in charge of the money."
Jinx did have a point.
He wandered around several tables – some with zoomers all over them, others in rainbow colours – and studied them an artistic eye. It was a strange sight for the eighteen year old, but somehow not at the top of the list.
Then the pyrotechnician saw it…the finest table in the world, carved to perfection and designed with brilliance in mind. He had to have it. A wide grin broke out on his face. When Jak approached, his cerulean eyes widened.
"Uh, I don't think-" he began, but was immediately interrupted.
"Don't think about it. Don't think about anythin', but buyin' this beautiful table." Jinx had the strangest look of love in his eyes…there was no way to say "no" to him, no way to coerce him out of it, so Jak called over the closest salesman and arranged to have the table delivered to The Naughty Ottsel the next morning.
Torn strolled towards the Port in his usual grumpy manner, mentally debating what kind of table the pair of blondes had bought him. The ex-KG Commander wasn't particularly angry at them anymore; after all, how hard was it to buy a stupid table for the middle of the bar? And Jak was trustworthy.
No, they had sorted things out for him, and he could have another rich, full day of bashing and ranting at no one in particular.
The door opened. He stepped into The Naughty Ottsel. And froze.
In the middle of the room sat something that should have been a table. But it wasn't. Well, not exactly. It was a table, but not the sort for bashing and writing reports for Ashelin and answering her endless phone calls asking him to do things he was already doing.
It was…a foosball table.
Nothing came out of his mouth. There was no expression, no movement whatsoever. And then, as planned, a hologram appeared of Jak and Jinx in the room.
"What the Hell is that?" the brunette snapped, stabbing a digit at the object he hadn't asked for.
"Yer new table!" the pyrotechnician said enthusiastically.
Torn did not look impressed. "I thought I told you to keep an eye on the money," he grumbled, glaring at the blonde-green-haired teen.
The latter gulped, looking sheepish. "Jinx had those eyes, the kind you can't argue with. I didn't know what to do. How do you stop him when he does that?"
"You shoot him, Jak. You shoot him!" the ex-Guard screamed, flailing his arms.
"Oh." Jak put a finger to his bottom lip and looked thoughtful. Then he pulled out his Morph Gun, switched it to the Blaster mod, and pointed it at Jinx's foot.
The gun fired. The pyromaniac screamed and fell out of view of the hologram.
"Like that?" the eighteen year old enquired.
"Right." Torn nodded. "Now go buy me a new table."
"What should I do with that one?" Jak pointed at the strange contraption he and Jinx had bought.
The brunette stared at it with contempt for a good five minutes, then proceeded to shoot it into tiny pieces with his dual pistols. "Come here and clean it up. Then go buy me a new table." He put his weapons away. "When you're done, you can take Jinx to the hospital."
The End