*Heaves up from underground, shedding loam and bracken* WHOMST HAS SUMMONED THE ANCIENT ONE
No I'm not quitting, I was just going back and forth on how to do this one. Should go faster after this.
Bleak meter: Wobbles slightly around neutral
Timeline: After Season 10/MotO
JustRandom: Aww dang! Hope you're doing better by now.
That'd be a pretty sick ending, man. Plus I think there were a lot of loose ends, so hopefully they're continuing . . .
Everyone does, eventually. And yet the sun keeps rising. ;P
I'm trying to tell her that, but she's busy trying to feed the homework to Slab. :/
Eyyyy, don't just lie down and let her win like that, it'll go to her head. :P
Uh, not quite silent, I guess. It's the same as you'd pronounce TS at the end of a word, like "hats" or "cats." But then there's more sounds after 'em.
Probably, yeah. She's used to being in danger.
Yeah, small ones I guess. Just very small simple ceremony.
The only problem there is, she and Jet Jack hate each other with a burning passion. Jet Jack keeps making passes at Tsippa's fiance, and Tsippa is not pleased. :S
Argh. Again, hope you're feeling better!
"Pleeeeease, Chew Toy?" Faith wasn't even sure what Jet Jack had been nagging him about, but she'd been at it all day. "Just this once? And then I promise I'll never ask again."
"Don't care," said Chew Toy, ladling himself some stew. "I said nope."
Faith ate her own dinner quietly, listening to the scattered conversations around the campfire. Jet Jack was still wheedling.
"C'mon Chewie. I thought we were friends!" She gave her best plaintive look.
"I said no!" Chew Toy groaned, jamming his spoon into his stew. "Dammit, Jackie. You're a pain in all kinds of places."
"Awh." Jet Jack paused, waiting for a compliment to soften the rebuke. When none came she tilted her head hopefully and pushed the matter. "Buuut? . . . "
"Yeah, that's one of the places," muttered Chew Toy. Jet Jack blinked behind her visor, but before she could react Faith abruptly gagged on a mouthful of stew and nearly suffocated. Chew Toy and Jet Jack paused the squabble and watched in confusion as she eventually cleared her windpipe, cursing.
"Ehh . . . What was all that about, Chief?" said Jet Jack, with a smile that was a little too knowing.
"Pebble," said Faith hoarsely. "Nearly swallowed it."
This was a reasonable excuse—Hunters were very used to finding pebbles in their food, especially when it had been seasoned with sand. The frequency with which the pebbles seemed to find their way to Faith was truly astonishing, however. Chew Toy was earnestly concerned that someone was trying to assassinate her.
Jet Jack, who labored under no such misconceptions, only gave Faith a smirk that was even more knowing.
"I see . . . "
"Damn you," rasped Faith, grateful that a few leftover coughs gave her an excuse to cover her mouth.
She'd been keeping up this game with most of her bravors for ages; pretty much ever since she'd become leader. It never ceased to surprise her how often she found herself struggling to deny that she'd been laughing. It was right next door to how surprised she was about how much the others had to laugh about.
She had been used to cruel laughter, obviously; when she was a whelp, and when she was Iron Baron's right hand. The kind of laughter meant to put you down and single you out, make you ashamed, keep you in line. People did still tell jokes or clown around sometimes, sure, but not so much when the Baron was around. If you seemed too happy he usually took steps to fix that.
It had been a little bit of an adjustment for her when she was traveling with the son of the First Spinjitzu Master and his ninjas. She wasn't used to people joking so much, especially under such tense circumstances. To be honest she had kind of liked it, though. Subconsciously she realized it was because they felt safe around each other and could afford to take things lightly. They didn't have to worry about someone looming over their shoulder threatening to beat them or barking at them to shut up. They seemed confident they weren't earning each other's contempt.
The part that really startled her, though—once the Baron was out of the picture, it wasn't so much different with her own Hunters. It got to the point that she no longer cringed when she heard laughter break out, wondering who was getting tormented now; a surprising proportion of the time it was something pretty harmless. Relatively. There was still cruel laughter, or at very least unkind, but other times she would catch her heart melting at the realization that her people were relaxed and getting along, amused over something pointless.
She had picked up most of their trends. Jet Jack's laugh was very incongruous with her voice—much lighter than you'd have expected, bubbly and contagious. It had doubtless saved her hide more times than anyone cared to count; she could be making any kind of fool out of you and you couldn't find it in you to get mad. Muzzle was on the other end of the spectrum, his laugh was as devilish as he was. It was a wonder he didn't get cuffed in the head more often, especially by No-Legs, who was most often on the receiving end. No-Legs himself had a rough, barking laugh that would burst out of nowhere and cut off just as fast. Arkade was a soft but sly chuckle, and Chew Toy varied depending on which crack in his brain was face-up today. Old Redskull had a gentle laugh that always gave Faith an odd urge to cry for some reason, although not in an unpleasant way.
Faith herself never laughed out loud anymore. She had grown used to her raspy, intimidating laugh through her Heavy Metal mask, and her unfiltered voice sounded pitiful in comparison. Besides, she was in charge. She felt like she was owed it to her Hunters to be serious and goal-oriented at all times, or at very least to try.
They made it hard on her, though. If it wasn't Chew Toy's odd mix of sarcasm and genuine cluelessness, it was Jet Jack bragging how far she could jump and demonstrating by making it exactly halfway over a puddle, or No-Legs and Arkade getting so wrapped up in one of their petty arguments that they failed to notice Muzzle dramatically reenacting both their parts off to one side. Faith gritted her teeth and bit her tongue as necessary, and for the most part succeeded.
"You're so serious all the time," Jet Jack complained more than once.
"Somebody's got to be," retorted Faith.
She tried the same line with Redskull, who only scoffed.
"Because society as we know it will collapse if you lighten up now and then." He tossed aside a sack of oats he'd been lugging into the granary and turned his shrouded face towards her quizzically. "What are you so afraid of, Faith?"
Faith drew in a sharp breath, the musty scent of the granary stinging in her nostrils.
"It has nothing to do with being afraid," she said, a little heated. "It only sends the wrong message."
"Wrong how? For who?" said Redskull. "If you're so afraid people will think you're stupid, do you think we're all stupid?"
"I already told you, I'm not—!" gritted Faith.
Redskull said nothing for a moment, picking up an armload of empty sacks to take outside.
"The Baron is dead," he said out of nowhere. Faith snorted.
"Good for him," she said. "But that still leaves me with a village full of cutthroats who are just waiting for me to slip up so they can go feral. I'd like to see you keep these heathens in line."
She got the feeling Redskull would be raising his eyebrows if he'd had any, but he didn't say anything else. She only realized some time later that he'd been keeping exactly these heathens in line for the better part of his life, and enforcing bedtimes to boot.
Unfortunately Redskull was uncomfortably close to the mark, as usual. Faith found the conversation rankling her more than once after that.
Meanwhile she was field-tested against her will. All in all she got along well with Muzzle (although the accusations that he was "Chief's pet" could stop, thank you), but her relationship with Daddy No-Legs was often a bit strained. They had a bad history as whelps, and now as an adult he was often arrogant and self-assured in a way that grated on Faith's nerves. Their exchanges tended to be polite but cool, and it might not have been paranoia on Faith's part to think that No-Legs often tried even harder to act supercilious around her. If anyone was liable to see others as stupid, it was probably him.
Muzzle continually undermined him, however. It was hard to keep up an air of superiority when a darting pipsqueak a third of your height was constantly dragging you into squabbles, calling you names, and going into gibbering fits of disagreement over something inconsequential you'd said. There was an unspoken suspicion around Dead's End that Muzzle was the only thing keeping No-Legs bearable.
A few days after her conversation with Redskull Faith found herself wearily spectating their latest altercation. They had been assigned to help out with the Dieselnaught's new rust-proof coating, and naturally as the much taller one No-Legs was doing the high parts while Muzzle did the low parts. Muzzle expressed much indignation over the drips of paint splattering down onto his cowl, however, and despite No-Legs' amused half-apology took himself off to work on a different part of the rig. Unfortunately this only succeeded in putting him in the exact wrong place when No-Legs got careless with his elbow and knocked over a paint can.
Faith dropped her own paintbrush, startled, at the splashing of paint and Muzzle's hair-raising screech. No-Legs also jumped and whirled with an oath, but immediately after burst out laughing. Muzzle swiped paint from his face, gave No-Legs an ominous glare as he dunked a brush handle-deep into his own paintcan, and lunged.
"That's enough now," called Faith, but she went unheard. She sighed wearily and turned to intervene. For a second though, she found herself lingering, watching the fiasco. No-Legs was struggling to hold Muzzle off, without much success, and in between indignant splutters and spitting paint he was still laughing, a helpless giddy laughter that gave away he was having just as much fun as Muzzle right now. The other Hunters who had been helping paint the Dieselnaught were laughing too, and eventually even Faith caught herself tempted to join in. She had never seen No-Legs this unguarded; it was stupid, maybe, but also oddly endearing.
Still, she felt obligated to put a damper on things. Some of the others were already exchanging mischievous glances, and although a voice in the back of her head was wistfully suggesting that a free-for-all paint fight might be fun, the responsible leader in her retorted that the Dieselnaught needed paint and their supplies weren't infinite. Even louder was a harsh voice warning her that this level of anarchy was dangerous and could quickly turn into something ugly. She flinched, recognizing that one all too well.
"I said enough!" she called more sharply, and while it didn't get through to Muzzle and No-Legs, it did at least get everyone else sober quickly. Faith didn't try to intervene physically, knowing she'd undoubtedly end up with a facefull of paint herself and really have to crack some skulls, so she waited until the leg mech finally keeled over and spilled both Muzzle and No-Legs onto the floor, scattering droplets of paint and still both laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
"If you're finished?" said Faith, as soon as they'd wound down a little. Muzzle caught on first and sat up with a gasp, while No-Legs bit back an oath and picked himself up more slowly, glancing unhappily at the distance between him and his downed mech.
"What am I supposed to do with you two?" said Faith. "Honestly. Wasting paint and ruining the floor—for shame. I would have expected better."
Muzzle hung his head, keening pitifully, while No-Legs looked away sullenly and devoted excessive attention to wringing paint out of his ponytail. He came across a paintbrush somehow still entangled in there, and looked so bewildered by this that Faith found she had to bite her lip desperately and hold her breath.
"All right," she finally managed, once she'd gotten a hold of herself. "Both of you get out of here. Clean yourselves up and then you can come back and see about the floor. If that paint doesn't come out, then you'll be hearing more from me, understand?"
"Yes ma'am," grumbled No-Legs, while Muzzle nodded miserably. In hindsight Faith wished she'd been a little gentler, especially with Muzzle who tended to take everything to heart, but she couldn't risk giving the impression that she tolerated this kind of nonsense. These two had to be made an example of.
Meanwhile No-Legs, cursing under his breath, was hauling himself back to his leg mech. Muzzle meekly helped him right it and gave him a boost back atop it, despite No-Legs' protesting hiss. Muzzle gabbled something in subded tones.
"Well, it was your idea," retorted No-Legs, already clicking grumpily towards the door. He scoffed impatiently when Muzzle chirped something else. "Oh, stop whining! She barely even raised her voice. Can you imagine what the Baron would have done?"
The last part was already barely audible from the distance, but Faith heard it and made the mistake of imagining. A chill shot through her at the mere thought of it.
She paused for a second to pull herself together. There was the answer, she realized bleakly. A part of her was always imagining. As second-in-command she had been exposed the most heavily to Iron Baron's capricious personality, and to the cruelty of the world he created. While the others had felt the shift in leadership when she took over, she had only gone from an ominous figure above her to a vacuum. The change hadn't fully registered.
Old Redskull had been right; she was afraid. Afraid of the ire of a dead man, of the contempt and ruthless opportunism he had bred into those below him. As much as she found herself longing to relax and laugh things off now and then, she could never shake the dread of the potential consequences. The Baron's world wasn't one where you could afford to be unguarded.
Some of the Hunters still working on the Dieselnaught were murmuring amongst themselves as they painted. Disappointment, maybe, that their leader was practical and humorless, or maybe whispered remarks about the idiocy of those two wretches who'd just left. Or maybe just reminding each other that they had better behave. So long as they did behave, Faith told herself. She sighed, breathed a curse against the Baron's ghost, and quietly got back to work.
Prompt was "Laughter."