Wow... didn't think I'd get so many reviews for one chapter. Thank you! ^ ^
If you really like this fic, please try to clue in some other people about
it. I'd love to have a ton of readers.
Disclaimer: would this be posted on "Fanfiction.net" if the original creators of Jak & Daxter and Jak 2 wrote it? ...Didn't think so.
* * *
The ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, doing little to cool down the cramped, messy office. One might not think about such a place being the scene for a fiction in which a strange woman was left half-dead in at the end of the last chapter, but life takes a funny turn on things sometimes.
Kind of like the scenario taking place.
Two elven-eared adults sat in that cluttered office: one with shoulder- length red hair and strange gray tattoos on his face, and the other with dark purple hair that was held out of her face with a tan bandanna, and a sparkplug earring. The woman with the purple hair was leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, balancing it on its two rear feet while she put her booted feet on the desk - thankfully on a fairly clean section - pulled a cigarette from out of her leather jacket pocket, and put it in her mouth. With a flick of the wrist, a lighter appeared in her hand, upon both of which were worn, leather biking gloves, and another flick and soft 'click' provided her with a weak flame, which she used to light the cancer-stick. The lighter clicked shut and she placed it back in her pocket, all the while glaring at the rough-looking man who sat across the desk. The Krimzon Guard commander continued staring, and the silent standoff continued.
It was the young woman, who eventually broke her deep violet eyes away from the fierce mental battle, which shattered the eerie quiet. "So... what is it you wanted?"
Torn smirked at the defiant racer. When it came to pure stubbornness, few could beat the former underground leader, and he knew it. Finally leaning back in his seat, Torn decided to start off the conversation lightly and cautiously; move in too quickly and she might close herself off.
"I heard you've made quite a name for yourself, Tarukane." The racer grimaced at the name, and tipped her chair back even farther. "Please, just Taru. I've come to associate my full first name with trouble."
"Very well. To start things off, you've won almost every race you've been in, am I right?"
Tarukane shrugged and took her cigarette out of her mouth for a moment before answering. "Yeah, so?"
"Funny thing how you can barely pay for food when you seem to be winning so much money."
"I don't accept charity."
"That wasn't what I was talking about. If I'm not mistaken, this-" Torn tapped on the keyboard and turned the pivoting monitor to the young woman. "-belongs to you."
On the screen was a simple checking account, except all the number values were in a bright red, which stood out brightly from the black background. Total value - over three million. Tarukane just stared, mouth open, the cigarette balancing on her lip. "H-how did you?"
"That's the debt your father ran up, hm? Quite a spender he was, before he passed on. It's such a pity that he left all his assets to you in his will." The street racer continued to just stare in shock, which was all very good, but not what the experienced soldier was aiming for. Shock could be left until later, now was the time for business. "That's not all we have on our database." Another flurry of fingers over the keyboard, and this time a list appeared, continually scrolling downwards.
"Twelve counts of theft, breaking and entering, charges for carrying a concealed weapon, defilation of historical landmarks, gambling, illegal racing; been busy lately Taru?" Torn smirked once again, as Tarukane could only stare at her police record, which was still scrolling downwards on its own, by the way. It took a good three minutes for it to reach the end, and all that time Torn just watched her surprise gradually turn into suspicion and anger.
"What are you up to this time?" Ah, the age-old question. Now was his chance to drag her in, make an offer even the fickle Tarukane couldn't refuse. With a small flourish, he motioned to the screen where both Taru's police record and account were displayed (in smaller windows), and said, "I can make all this disappear if you just do one job for me."
"Just one job?"
"Yes."
"And I'm good to go?"
"Yeah."
Somehow, this seemed too easy to the racer, who was silently mulling this over in her mind, unknowingly chewing the filter of her cigarette. Yep. This definitely wasn't like Torn. She might have only have met the commander once before, but that was enough to help her piece together a good assumption of the man. He was waiting for something, pulling her along until she couldn't back out, something that was much, much bigger than one stupid errand. All her instincts were telling her not to go forwards with this, so she trusted the same tactic that had gotten out of all these tough police-inspections before -
"...can I get back to you on that?"
-she stalled.
It was through this fierce and stubborn conflict that Jak and Daxter sat outside the KG commander's office, waiting for their pay and playing a quick game of Black Jack. To tell the truth, not one word managed to float past the sturdy iron door. Nope, not one.
It was the entire argument.
One must never underestimate an ottsel's hearing - especially when one is trying to convince a well-known street-racer to work for oneself, through blackmail, no less. Daxter picked up every single syllable that had passed between the Krimzon Guard commander and their mystery woman, and Torn's methods seemed a bit sneakier than usual to him.
And so, they continued on with their game of black jack, Jak losing horribly to his much more luck-inclined friend, and the two stubborn elves inside the room adjoining theirs continued on with their own little game. From the sound of it, it seemed that a conclusion was finally being reached - Daxter could hear the telltale 'clickt' as Torn unlatched the safety on his hand pistol.
Tarukane finally stopped shooting back sarcastic reply after sarcastic reply long enough for a .33 mm bullet to whiz by her head, neatly shaving off a centimeter from the smoking tip of her cigarette. She merely stared at the severed end for a moment, then relaxed her chair back on all four feet. Sighing, she stamped out the cancer-stick and looked Torn straight in the eye, exhaling a stream of gray tobacco smoke.
"I'll take the job."
* * *
Well, it is a bit short, but I was kind of stuck as what to write next. Besides, the sooner these are typed up, the sooner I can update, and the sooner you can read. Just don't forget to review, please.
Disclaimer: would this be posted on "Fanfiction.net" if the original creators of Jak & Daxter and Jak 2 wrote it? ...Didn't think so.
* * *
The ceiling fan circled lazily overhead, doing little to cool down the cramped, messy office. One might not think about such a place being the scene for a fiction in which a strange woman was left half-dead in at the end of the last chapter, but life takes a funny turn on things sometimes.
Kind of like the scenario taking place.
Two elven-eared adults sat in that cluttered office: one with shoulder- length red hair and strange gray tattoos on his face, and the other with dark purple hair that was held out of her face with a tan bandanna, and a sparkplug earring. The woman with the purple hair was leaning back in the uncomfortable wooden chair, balancing it on its two rear feet while she put her booted feet on the desk - thankfully on a fairly clean section - pulled a cigarette from out of her leather jacket pocket, and put it in her mouth. With a flick of the wrist, a lighter appeared in her hand, upon both of which were worn, leather biking gloves, and another flick and soft 'click' provided her with a weak flame, which she used to light the cancer-stick. The lighter clicked shut and she placed it back in her pocket, all the while glaring at the rough-looking man who sat across the desk. The Krimzon Guard commander continued staring, and the silent standoff continued.
It was the young woman, who eventually broke her deep violet eyes away from the fierce mental battle, which shattered the eerie quiet. "So... what is it you wanted?"
Torn smirked at the defiant racer. When it came to pure stubbornness, few could beat the former underground leader, and he knew it. Finally leaning back in his seat, Torn decided to start off the conversation lightly and cautiously; move in too quickly and she might close herself off.
"I heard you've made quite a name for yourself, Tarukane." The racer grimaced at the name, and tipped her chair back even farther. "Please, just Taru. I've come to associate my full first name with trouble."
"Very well. To start things off, you've won almost every race you've been in, am I right?"
Tarukane shrugged and took her cigarette out of her mouth for a moment before answering. "Yeah, so?"
"Funny thing how you can barely pay for food when you seem to be winning so much money."
"I don't accept charity."
"That wasn't what I was talking about. If I'm not mistaken, this-" Torn tapped on the keyboard and turned the pivoting monitor to the young woman. "-belongs to you."
On the screen was a simple checking account, except all the number values were in a bright red, which stood out brightly from the black background. Total value - over three million. Tarukane just stared, mouth open, the cigarette balancing on her lip. "H-how did you?"
"That's the debt your father ran up, hm? Quite a spender he was, before he passed on. It's such a pity that he left all his assets to you in his will." The street racer continued to just stare in shock, which was all very good, but not what the experienced soldier was aiming for. Shock could be left until later, now was the time for business. "That's not all we have on our database." Another flurry of fingers over the keyboard, and this time a list appeared, continually scrolling downwards.
"Twelve counts of theft, breaking and entering, charges for carrying a concealed weapon, defilation of historical landmarks, gambling, illegal racing; been busy lately Taru?" Torn smirked once again, as Tarukane could only stare at her police record, which was still scrolling downwards on its own, by the way. It took a good three minutes for it to reach the end, and all that time Torn just watched her surprise gradually turn into suspicion and anger.
"What are you up to this time?" Ah, the age-old question. Now was his chance to drag her in, make an offer even the fickle Tarukane couldn't refuse. With a small flourish, he motioned to the screen where both Taru's police record and account were displayed (in smaller windows), and said, "I can make all this disappear if you just do one job for me."
"Just one job?"
"Yes."
"And I'm good to go?"
"Yeah."
Somehow, this seemed too easy to the racer, who was silently mulling this over in her mind, unknowingly chewing the filter of her cigarette. Yep. This definitely wasn't like Torn. She might have only have met the commander once before, but that was enough to help her piece together a good assumption of the man. He was waiting for something, pulling her along until she couldn't back out, something that was much, much bigger than one stupid errand. All her instincts were telling her not to go forwards with this, so she trusted the same tactic that had gotten out of all these tough police-inspections before -
"...can I get back to you on that?"
-she stalled.
It was through this fierce and stubborn conflict that Jak and Daxter sat outside the KG commander's office, waiting for their pay and playing a quick game of Black Jack. To tell the truth, not one word managed to float past the sturdy iron door. Nope, not one.
It was the entire argument.
One must never underestimate an ottsel's hearing - especially when one is trying to convince a well-known street-racer to work for oneself, through blackmail, no less. Daxter picked up every single syllable that had passed between the Krimzon Guard commander and their mystery woman, and Torn's methods seemed a bit sneakier than usual to him.
And so, they continued on with their game of black jack, Jak losing horribly to his much more luck-inclined friend, and the two stubborn elves inside the room adjoining theirs continued on with their own little game. From the sound of it, it seemed that a conclusion was finally being reached - Daxter could hear the telltale 'clickt' as Torn unlatched the safety on his hand pistol.
Tarukane finally stopped shooting back sarcastic reply after sarcastic reply long enough for a .33 mm bullet to whiz by her head, neatly shaving off a centimeter from the smoking tip of her cigarette. She merely stared at the severed end for a moment, then relaxed her chair back on all four feet. Sighing, she stamped out the cancer-stick and looked Torn straight in the eye, exhaling a stream of gray tobacco smoke.
"I'll take the job."
* * *
Well, it is a bit short, but I was kind of stuck as what to write next. Besides, the sooner these are typed up, the sooner I can update, and the sooner you can read. Just don't forget to review, please.
