Arrrgh. Now I'm seeing where I made a mistake; I started this thing out T-rated and I didn't expect anyone would actually, you know, read it. How'm I supposed to go on to the M-rated content now?

Ah, but I do appreciate you guys actually reading this. I'll figure something out.

Bleak meter: Pretty neutral, although a few edgy bits

Timeline: After Season 10/MotO. And probably a pretty long time after, because it's quite a while in my headcanon before Jet Jack starts—well.

Context: Arkade wears the full-body armor/slot machine and the welding mask due to crippling social anxiety. He realized at some point that he functioned a lot better when people couldn't see his face, and now he never takes the dang thing off.

FireCloud3: Well dangit. The ONE thing Jet Jack's been longing to hear her entire life, and you hit on it within two reviews. There should be a prize for this or something. XD
Thank you for the kind words! I'll admit I didn't have plans to go specifically into that part of Faith's past, but now that you mention it, I see a good place where I could fit that in . . .

JustRandom: You are correct in all of your assessments. Faith is tired scary mom, et cetera. XD I should also point out, Muzzle is the baby of the family and suffers for it vastly.
If you had a nickel for every time, you'd be a millionaire. He does suffer vastly. :P
That's generous of you, but they don't have pillows in the First Realm, so you may have to explain to Faith a little what she's supposed to do with it. Although I'm not necessarily saying you need to tell her the truth. ;P
Wait, so did you really did look up that song after "Spare the Sympathy"? (Although I guess it's way more likely you'd have run into it some other way by now.) And I know, I got it stuck in my head every time I tried to edit. XD
Trust me, nobody who spends a lot of time around Jet Jack can pin down how to feel about her.
We'll have a few. :) Weirdly I don't write a lot of interactions between them, even though their dynamic is one of my two favorites.

Kordifm: asdf;lkjhg don't tempt me. XD I would work for freakin' free if I could do that. But I dunno if this is necessarily the vibe the Ninjago folks want, or maybe they'd be kinda weirded out. :P

Arkade might look like he was made of metal on the outside, but on the inside he was . . . even more mechanical, if that were even possible. He was easily the most methodical mind in Dead's End. He could count to numbers that other Hunters didn't even know existed, he could add, multiply, and do long division, and once when he'd accidentally eaten Purple Moonruffle he glimpsed the concept of algebra. While any Hunter worth his rations knew how to repair vehicles, for Arkade repair work was as natural as breathing. He didn't have to fumble around figuring out how things fit together; one glance and he understood any engine. Jet Jack used to joke that you could give him a handful of rusty screws and he'd repair them back into a fully-functional speeder.

However he was much weaker on the creative side. He could fix what already existed, but not come up with something new. He and Daddy No-Legs had an endless feud going.

"If nobody invented anything, you wouldn't have anything to fix," No-Legs kept insisting.

"If nobody knew how to fix things, it wouldn't matter how much you invented," Arkade retorted. "It's useless if you invent it and then two weeks later it breaks down forever."

"What breaks down forever?" scoffed No-Legs. "Any fool can replace a few gears. Not everyone can make something new."

"Depends. Any fool can come up with new trash," said Arkade snidely.

"Now see here—"

The militant posturing was interrupted by Faith clearing her throat sharply.

"As long as we're talking about talented fools," she said. "Could you possibly spare any fool to fix the rain-collection system before we all get flooded out of Dead's End?"

No-Legs and Arkade both flushed and went meekly back to work. Muzzle giggled from his perch among the twisted collection pipes, then gasped and hurriedly pressed his bundle of straw and fabric harder against the leaking breach in the condenser.

Some time later Arkade began to draw attention. Whenever he wasn't working with the village inventory and supplies, he could be found sketching things in the sand with a stick. He would hastily rub the drawings out when anyone approached, especially No-Legs, but at the same time there was a certain air of exhibitionism to his scheming that invited curiosity.

"Whatcha working on, huh?" said Jet Jack, propping her elbows up on some barrels and keeping the drawings just out of her line of sight.

"I've had an idea," said Arkade.

"No kiddin'. First time?"

Arkade rolled his eyes, then glanced over to some of the others, who were polishing gear nearby. It wasn't clear if he hoped they wouldn't hear or they would.

"It's for a better way to ride dragons," he said. "Instead of chains."

"Ah, nobody can ride without chains, you know that," said Chew Toy, popping up behind some other barrels.

"Faith does," said Jet Jack lazily.

"Well, yeah, but—" Chew Toy waved a hand. "She's Faith."

"It has nothing to do with me." Faith started and looked up from cleaning her longblade. "It's Firstbourne. I didn't have a choice; if I tried to put chains anywhere near her she would murder us all."

"Still." Chew Toy licked polish off his fingers. "Not just anyone could do that. For the longest time we thought only the First Spinjitzu Master could, y'know?"

"It's . . . really not all that," muttered Faith, looking dangerously close to flustered. Jet Jack grinned and nudged at Chew Toy with her elbow, commending him for finding a weak point, but he only looked confused.

Meanwhile Arkade was looking frustrated at the interruption.

"It won't be like riding without chains," he said. "It'll be like chains, but better. Safer for us, and more comfortable for the dragon."

"First let's see you get past scrawling pictures in the dirt with a stick," said No-Legs snidely. Arkade glanced at him with narrowed eyes, but made no reply.

Once he had his designs worked out, he showed them formally to Faith and asked permission to make a prototype.

"That's a lot of leather," said Faith, pulling back one corner of her mouth.

"We can spare it!" said Arkade at once. "Leather is much more common these days. Dragon hide was terrible for that, the scales mostly fall apart once you skin them. But with all the shaggons and other large prey we're getting these days, we have more leather than we know what to do with!

"Besides," he rattled on, before Faith could even open her mouth. "I've already done all the calculations. To make a harness it would only take the hides of two full-grown shaggons, if they're cut right. Our inventory has plenty more than that. You can spare that much to improve our dragon-riding for good, can't you?"

Faith squinted at his plans a while more, chewing the inside of her cheek. It wasn't clear how much of this was informed hesitance and how much was just her not understanding Arkade's technical specifications but not wanting to admit it.

"You can make just one, for now," she finally said. "And if it works then you can make more."

"Of course, Chief," said Arkade. "I wouldn't do it any other way."

Daddy No-Legs felt personally threatened by Arkade's progress. He did a poor job hiding this.

"That's not really an invention," he scoffed, with overdone carelessness, and making sure Arkade was listening. "That's just making chains but from a different material."

"And what are all of your inventions?" said Arkade, measuring out lengths of shaggon hide with equally overdone fastiduousness. "Machines that do the same things we could do. Anyone could set out a bucket to catch rain. Anyone can throw some water on a fire."

"And my helicopter?" said No-Legs smugly. Arkade paused his measurements to roll his eyes.

"Anyone can make a lot of noise and crash into buildings."

No-Legs made some stifled furious noises, but reeled himself in so he wouldn't give Arkade the satisfaction of reacting. He watched Arkade in resentful silence for a while.

"It won't work anyway," he muttered at last. "Leather isn't as strong as chain. It'll break."

"Nope. I have the weight perfectly distributed so it falls along the hypotenuse," said Arkade.

"On the what—" No-Legs shook his head angrily. "That's not even a word!"

"Would you two pipe down already?" called Faith wearily from across the way. "There can be more than one person inventing things in one village. Why can't you just both invent things without making a row out of it?"

"Because it's my turf," said No-Legs immediately. "It's my job. Why should I have to share my title with this fool? All he knows how to do is count things and fuss over how many bolts are in a handful. Why should I tolerate him coming here mucking up the title of inventor? He can stick to what he's good at."

Arkade also didn't grace him with a reply, but he gave No-Legs a hard, silent look. Then he bent quietly to his work again. No-Legs scowled at him, still stewing.

"It'll never work," he muttered again.

Arkade worked with an almost inhuman diligence. He never faltered or cut corners in his usual duties in repair and inventory, which Faith would initially have guessed left him with little to no spare time. However, it turned out he did have some spare time, and he spent every minute of it working. He drew and redrew his plans, measured over and over, selected the best shaggon hides, struggled through the grueling, unpleasant tanning process himself, beat the leather out supple and smooth, measured it all over again, and meticulously cut the strips for the harness, agonizing over every stroke of the knife.

"You're gonna kill yourself," observed Jet Jack, watching him grapple with the stirring paddle as he tanned his second hide. "Are you really sure all this is worth it?"

"Yes," gritted Arkade. "I need to do this."

"I mean, the chains work fine," said Jet Jack.

"But this will be better," said Arkade doggedly. "And I need this. I need to prove I can invent something that works. If I stop now, No-Legs is going to rub it in my face for the rest of my life."

"Mm." Jet Jack watched the dark, rancid tanning solution frothing around the stirring paddle. "Well . . . just in theory. What if it really doesn't work?"

"Then I can always drown myself in the tanning vats," said Arkade drily, finally stopping to rest as his arms nearly gave out.

"True that, you'd sink straight down," agreed Jet Jack, sizing up Arkade's full-body armor. Arkade didn't reply. Letting out a long ragged breath, he glanced around cautiously before pushing back his metal welding mask to rub sweat from his face. He looked exhausted. Jet Jack sighed and reached over to mop a portion of his face dry with her sleeve before kissing him.

"Let me know if you do end up drowning yourself, I might keep you company," she said.

Once all the harness components were cut out, Arkade became more secretive. He stayed sequestered in his hut, punching holes in the leather and carefully stitching all the pieces together. The metalworkers became sick of seeing him, always nagging them to make him a slightly better buckle or tweak the dimensions of this clasp ever so slightly.

Finally the harness was ready. He took a moment to bask in the sense of completion, looking at the full span of supple, impeccably oiled leather, gleaming faintly in the dim light of his hut. Then he coiled the entire contraption up neatly and wrapped it in a tarpaulin, ready to sneak outside of the village.

He had picked one of the two Lightning dragons as his test subject, with good reason. The Lightnings were small and had the slimmest bodies, requiring less leather to make a complete harness. They also had tiny wings, short limbs, and relatively few knobs and spikes, making it easier to put the harness on. They weren't the most docile of dragons, but they weren't the most fiesty either, and that was good as well.

Arkade coaxed Cracker to the outskirts of the farmland, out of sight of the village. The dragon nuzzled curiously at the large bundle he was carrying, her nostrils flaring. When Arkade unrolled the bundle and laid out the harness for her to look at, she studied it with deep interest and tried to lick it.

"No, silly," said Arkade, pushing her head away.

Cracker arced her head around and continued sniffing at the harness as Arkade wrestled it onto her and fussed endlessly over the straps and buckles. He kept pushing her away as she made more attempts to lick at it or tug it with her teeth. She wasn't used to such an extensive getup. Most Hunters who rode dragons just coiled a few chains wherever they could fasten them; or if you felt extra fancy you might use a pair of chains fastened to a wooden bit, to aid with steering. Full-body harnessing was unheard of till now.

Finally even Arkade couldn't find anything more to adjust. He sized up his work, took a deep breath, and hauled himself aboard. He slotted his feet into the stirrups and took the tough, pliable reins in hand.

"Let's go!" he crowed.

Cracker shook her head, testing the unfamiliar sensation of the harness and reins, but then reared back onto her haunches and sprang into the sky.

Arkade sucked in a long breath, but couldn't resist letting it out as a joyous whoop. He had never felt such a smooth, secure takeoff before. He didn't ride all that often, usually only during battle or a larger hunting maneuver, but he was used to getting thrown around and clinging for dear life. With this rig he felt almost at one with the dragon, his feet rock-steady in the harness straps, shifting gently as Cracker turned her body this way and that.

"It works! You're doing amazing!" he shouted ahead to the dragon. She tilted her head back to him and snorted, bemused at his exhileration.

Arkade pushed back his mask, knowing nobody was up here to see him, and reveled in the earth sliding along far below. He didn't have to worry about slipping off if Cracker made a sudden move, and he barely even had to think about steering. After a while he just let Cracker fly where she pleased.

It was a long, contented flight. They finally touched down by a sparkling creek, fringed with moss and young bracken on either side, clearly one of the newer waterways. Cracker plunged her muzzle into the cool water to drink, while Arkade slid from her back and gave her a final exuberant pat, then threw himself down by the creek and grinned up at the sky.

"Let's see what they all think of me now," he said, smiling crookedly at Cracker. She lifted her dripping face from the creek to study him, still puzzled, then twisted her neck around to sniff at the harness again. She scratched at it gingerly with one hind foot.

Meanwhile, Arkade's eye was caught by a cluster of bright blue. His eyes lit up as he realized these were bracken-berries, a rare treat that only grew in perfect conditions by running water. Picking his way across the creek, he began to gather the berries, alternating between scarfing down handfuls and pouring them gingerly into his rucksack. He wanted to bring some home for Jet Jack, since she'd been the only one even slightly there for him while he worked on his invention. Maybe a little for Faith too, she'd at least permitted the project.

He scrabbled back up the embankment at last, thoroughly content. It was about time to ride back and show everyone else at the village. He couldn't wait to see No-Legs' reaction.

As he approached Cracker, he saw that she was chomping on something. He knit his brows a second, puzzled, then realized that something was off. Literally—the leather harness was off the dragon. Nowhere to be seen.

Scratch that, it was to be seen. Or at least part of it—a few mangled straps lying at Cracker's feet. Even as Arkade watched she dipped her head and vacuumed up these last few remnants, chewing contentedly.

"Cracker! No!" gasped Arkade, even though the harness was miles beyond salvage by this point. "Cracker, stop! No! Spit it out!"

Cracker looked at him quizzically, a single remaining strap dangling from her mouth, then sucked it up like spaghetti and resumed chewing. She tilted her head in continued bemusement as Arkade went around in a circle holding his own head.

"How am I going to get home, you stupid lizard? I can't ride without chains!"

Cracker, understanding nothing, swallowed her meal, leaned down, and arched her neck as if in invitation to get on.

"Oh, get out of here with that," snapped Arkade, despairing. Cracker started at his tone and gave an angry snort. Then she drew away, offended, and spread her small wings to take off.

"No, wait—" began Arkade, then swore and gave up trying as Cracker shot away. He really wouldn't have been able to ride her without chains anyway, not without breaking his neck.

Be damned. All those calculations, agonizing over every technicality and planning for every physical flaw, yet it had never occurred to him that dragons might find leather tasty. A part of him knew this was all on him; he was all technical prowess without common sense or practicality. A real inventor with a creative mind would have foreseen something like this.

All that was left now was to walk back to Dead's End—likely a day's proposition—and all he had to walk towards was everyone finding out his invention had failed, for the very stupidest of reasons. Sands, when No-Legs found out about this—

Arkade hung his head, groaning. Something glinted up at him: a stray buckle Cracker had spit out, winking in the sunlight. He kicked at it angrily and began the long trek home.

Prompt was "Leather."