Bleak meter: Neutral, very slight bleak. Fleeting mature references.

Timeline: After Season 10/MotO

Context: Not super relevant, but Purple Moonruffle was invented for "Wild and Sweet." That's the stuff Jay had been scarfing to make him so loopy at the start of Season 9.

JustRandom: Yep, dogs. Very toothy. Happy-happy one minute, mauling small child next minute. No trust.
Well, I feel better at least that you've had a warning now.
That's really nice of you, but you'd be surprised how hard I lean on the crutch of "somebody already created this world/characters for me." I can run pretty far if you just give me a starter, but if you ask me to create something entirely new, I'm useless.
Iiiiiiiiit's been a while since I wrote anything actually set in Ninjago, I know. ^_^''
Faith: *aggressively pretending she hasn't heard*
The alternative title for this fic was gonna be "All My Friends Are Heathens" after the Twenty One Pilots song. :P
Jay is at very least confirmed to be a person who likes wearing freaky socks that make his feet look disturbingly like cat feet. :P Those are a real thing.
Well, the ninja might understand at least a little, they know she's in a tough realm and has never been super demonstrative. But they'd still be sad.
Heh, wait, is that MJ as in Michael Jackson, Michael Jordan, Mary Jane from Spider-Man, or . . . ?
In between nailing all the individual themes I'm trying to work into this fic you're also predicting future ones. XD You want to finish writing this thing for me? Might go faster. :P
She's shrugging, that's all she's got for ya this time.

Orchid: Whaaaaaaa . . . I had not heard that one before.
Listen fren, this is the woman who fell into Ninjago half-dead and the first questions she had on waking up from delirium was "could I have done more at home" and "what if it's my fault the Oni came to Ninjago." She takes responsibility for everything that moves.
That's the sad part though, a decent proportion of Hunters actually preferred the Baron. That's how doggo city works.

It was a lazy Sweetberry season. Despite numerous pleas from every side, Faith hadn't agreed to sacrifice any of their precious farmland to try grow domestic Sweetberries; it wasn't practical to waste so much space to grow a food that spoiled quickly and was only good for treats. Nothing much was going on this time of year, though, so everyone was out scrounging for wild Sweetberries in the scrublands, rustling among the dark green low-growing leaves.

"You're going to be sick tomorrow," said Faith to Jet Jack, whose chin was already sticky with red juice. "You eat more than you keep."

"If I keep them someone else will just eat them," said Jet Jack, popping another handful of Sweetberries into her mouth. "This way nobody else gets them."

Faith rolled her eyes.

"You realize even Redskull has gathered more than you," she said.

"His loss," said Jet Jack through a full mouth.

"You realize even Chew Toy."

"Definitely his loss." Jet Jack swallowed and licked her lips. "Besides, Chewie only looks like he has more because he picks the green ones and even things that aren't Sweetberries."

"Be that as it may," said Faith, but didn't push the matter too hard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Chew Toy nosing about in a stand of bracken and Purple Moonruffle, supremely distracted as usual.

"Chew Toy, don't pick any of that," she called wearily. "You know what that is, don't you?"

"Purple Moonruffle, Chief," said Chew Toy, looking up.

"Exactly. Leave it alone."

"But look, it has flowers!" said Chew Toy, digging unabashedly among the round spike-trimmed leaves. "I've never seen a Purple Moonruffle with flowers before. Kinda ratty-lookin' though."

"They're wilted, Chew Toy."

"Oh yeah . . . looks like some of 'em are going to fruit too," said Chew Toy.

"Don't eat them," said Faith automatically.

"Why not, it's always interesting when he starts eating things," said Jet Jack, grinning. Faith gave her a glare.

"Oh no." Old Redskull suddenly stiffened and looked up from running his fingers over the Sweetberry plants. "Get out of there, Chew Toy! The pods snap open, and they're full of a powder that—"

Chew Toy, however, had heeded the warning and succeeded in bringing about exactly what Redskull had wanted to avoid. While trying to hasten out of the Moonruffle patch he brushed against one of the more precocious plants whose pods had ripened, and the hard casings snapped open immediately. Clouds of an alarmingly yellow dust burst from inside, and Chew Toy stumbled back, coughing desperately.

"That's poison!" cried Redskull.

Jet Jack swore, dropping her basket of Sweetberries, and lunged to pull Chew Toy away. Faith grabbed her arm at the last second.

"You'll only get it yourself," she barked at Jet Jack's wild look.

"We can't just leave him—"

"Let the dust clear." Redskull was stumbling to his feet. "Get him away as soon as it's safe and wash his face clean at once. Don't use a dry rag, don't make him breathe in any more of it, and don't breathe it in yourselves!"

Chew Toy had flopped over onto his side, insensate. Heart pounding, Faith joined the others in pressing closer as soon as it was safe. She rolled Chew Toy over gingerly and emptied her canteen over his face, washing away the polleny substance coating his cheeks. Jet Jack tore off a sleeve, soaked it with her own canteen, and handed it over for Faith to use.

"Is he going to die?" asked Muzzle. No-Legs didn't bother to translate, only looking to Redskull with the expectation that he would guess the question.

"He won't die." Redskull sounded calmer now. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten everyone."

"Bold of you to assume we care," muttered No-Legs.

"Apologies for making such a fuss," said Redskull. "But it's not entirely unwarranted. The more he inhales the longer the effects will last."

"What effects?" said Faith warily.

"Basically the same as eating the leaves of the plant," said Redskull. "Only . . . even worse."

"Are you serious?" Jet Jack groaned. "Chewie can't afford to get any crazier."

"It's only temporary," said Redskull soothingly. "He'll be back to normal in . . . " He gave a pained smile. "Well, not too long."

"Anything we should watch for?" asked Faith, even as she took the extra flask Muzzle handed over. "Is he going to be violent?"

"He shouldn't be," said Redskull, as Faith dumped the next round of water over Chew Toy's face. "He's just going to be . . . strange."

At exactly that second Chew Toy suddenly spluttered, spat, and woke up. He scrubbed at his face, coughing, then opened his eyes. He blinked woozily up at the circle of Hunters leaning over him, and fixated in particular on Faith, who from his perspective would have been upside-down. This seemed to confuse him greatly. Faith was just opening her mouth to ask if he was all right when he suddenly startled everyone by launching into a prolonged ascending gasp.

"You're pretty," he breathed.

"What in the actual . . . " began Faith. Meanwhile Chew Toy sat up unsteadily, twisting around to goggle at her.

"Wowwwwww . . . "

Faith looked blankly around at the others, most of whom looked as bewildered as she felt. No-Legs was biting desperately into the heel of his thumb, his shoulders twitching, while Jet Jack looked like she couldn't decide between being similarly amused or mortified or terrified for Chew Toy's sake.

"Well," said Faith at length. She backed away a little as Chew Toy began trying to examine her from every angle, and voiced what most of the others were doubtless thinking. "He's definitely strange."

The day was miserable. Chew Toy was legitimately deranged; he stumbled as he walked and kept bumping into people and looking confused about where they'd come from. He continued to be loudly impressed by Faith.

"Jackie," he stage-whispered, tugging on her torn sleeve and nearly stumbling into her. "Oh boy, Jackie. Jackie listen."

"Not now, Chew Toy, I'm working," said Jet Jack doggedly.

"Jackie it's important," said Chew Toy, grabbing her arm and lowering his voice about two decibels, which he apparently thought constituted discretion. "Jackie, have you seen the Chief? She has a dark eye."

"Chewie. Shut. Up," gritted Jet Jack, casting an uneasy glance over to Faith, who was within earshot. The dark eye was squarely the most dangerous topic he could have chosen. Nobody talked about Faith's eye. Nobody even looked at it too hard.

"It's totally black!" Chew Toy continued in a tone of loud secrecy. "So black you can see your reflection! It's like a voiiiiiiiiid . . . "

"Chew Toy—"

"It's soooooooooooooooooo beautiful," sang Chew Toy, nearly toppling over backwards.

"Chew Toy!" snapped Jet Jack, despairing. Normally she would have found his delirium wildly entertaining, but he was putting himself in legitimate danger here. While this kind of discourse about the commander-in-chief would have been risky enough in any case, here it was bizarre to the point of seeming like an insult. Faith, by Hunter standards (or honestly by just about any standards) was borderline painful to look at. Her dark eye instantly marked her out as a freak, especially contrasted against her normal red one. Two black eyes would have been bad enough, but the mismatched colors and sizes made her face jarringly asymmetric. The scars only made it worse. Her skin was rugged, sunburnt and perpetually scraped raw, and her mouth was broader than it needed to be. You would have expected that no degree of intoxication could make anyone find her attractive, and yet here they were.

"Or you know that thing she does?" continued Chew Toy, by now pedantic. "That thing where she only sorta half-smiles and it turns out sorta crooked. It's so so cute. I wanna die."

"Clearly," breathed Jet Jack, raising her eyes heavenwards.

"You think anyone's ever told her?" continued Chew Toy, oblivious. He sighed. "I'm gonna tell her."

"What?" Jet Jack processed for a moment, then looked up. "What?!"

Chew Toy had already staggered his way over to Faith, who was picking Sweetberries with a vicious methodicalness that was terrifying to behold. Chew Toy was not appropriately terrified.

"Chief," he slurred, nearly stumbling into her. Faith kept her head down, all too sharply aware of everyone else's curious eyes watching them.

"Go away, Chew Toy."

"Huh?" Chew Toy blinked, seemingly registering at least the tiniest fraction of her tone. "Why'ja sound so mad?" He swiped ineffectually at air, aiming to take Faith's hand. She shied back violently. "Don't be mad, Faith, I just wanna see your eyes . . . Did you know you have the prettiest eyes in alla Dead's End? I could look at 'em forever—"

"Now listen." Faith, snapping, took him by the front of the shirt. After a second she realized this was precisely the worst position to put herself in, and hastily dropped Chew Toy again and shoved him back.

"Oh!" Chew Toy lost his footing and went all the way down. He sat up looking like he'd just been thrown fifty yards. "Wha' happened?" He looked around woozily, then fixated on Faith again. "Ohhhhhh. Did anyone ever tell you—"

Out of nowhere Jet Jack appeared and jammed her other torn sleeve into Chew Toy's mouth. He gagged and spluttered indignantly, pulled out the rag, then became preoccupied with the shape of it. He began turning it around and around and following along the edge, seemingly trying to figure out why it wasn't a perfect rectangle.

"Phew," muttered Faith, despite herself. Jet Jack tossed her a dry look.

"Had to put a stop to it one way or another," she said. "That was getting hard to listen to."

"You find it hard to listen to—"

"I do," said Jet Jack. "How messed up is he?"

Faith put her head down, her hackles rising. She knew bait when she saw it.

"'course, he's Chew Toy, his judgment was never that good," said Jet Jack, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "But when he gets to that level of crazy—"

"That'll be enough, thank you," gritted Faith, very quiet.

"I just hope it's not going to your head," continued Jet Jack blandly.

"Jet Jack!" Faith made a warning feint, her fists cocking. Jet Jack only took a step back, her hands still in her pockets but her shoulders visibly tensing. Her head came down, ready for a blow.

"Chew Toy at least has an excuse!" hissed Faith.

Jet Jack didn't answer. There was a strange shift in her expression, a change in the tension of her stance. They both stood in silence for a moment, the sickly sweet odor of crushed leaves and fermenting Sweetberries shimmering under the beating sun. Something dawned on Faith slowly.

"Are you trying to draw my fire?" she said. Jet Jack slumped, looking away. Only now Faith realized that Jet Jack's seeming lazy scuffing walk had been tracing a slow circle around Faith, luring her to turn away from where Chew Toy was still worrying at his new rag.

"He doesn't have a clue what he's saying, all right Chief?" said Jet Jack, not looking at her. "He's not in control of himself."

"I know that." Faith shook her head, irritated. "What do you take me for? I wouldn't have punished him for something that he can't help."

"Ah." Jet Jack gave a weak laugh, slumping further. "I—begging your pardon then, Chief. I wasn't sure you'd see it that way."

"Keep begging," muttered Faith, more to herself than anything. Jet Jack heard though, and laughed more genuinely this time.

"All right, so I deserved that."

Against her will Faith felt her muscles relaxing slightly; Jet Jack's complete lack of unease was contagious. Her second in command snuck a rueful glance back to Chew Toy. "Ugh. I'm sorry. You're not having a very good day, are you, Chief? I guess having him hitting on you was bad enough already."

"You say that like it's him in particular," said Faith.

"I mean, it is," said Jet Jack. "Let's not kid ourselves. He's . . . " She shrugged, holding up her hands as if to indicate the insufficiency of words. "Don't get me wrong. Chewie's a great guy. I couldn't ask for a better friend. But I mean . . . you know me, I'll do anyone who's got the equipment and looks like he's the same species—"

"Dear sands, Jet Jack—"

"—And even I couldn't think of taking him." Jet Jack made a face at the thought of it. "Igh. I didn't even know he had, like . . . urges."

"That," said Faith, dragging a hand down her face, "will be quite enough."

In the midst of her irritation, though, she felt a sudden wave of pity for Chew Toy. What a low place to be, where even your best friend with the loosest sexual standards in the universe thought nobody would ever want you. Immediately afterwards she felt a wave of nausea as she realized most people probably thought the same thing about her. Suddenly she wondered if people were joking about it behind their backs, saying how this was perfect, the two freaks were made for each other. She swallowed a sick bile-flavored rage.

"You know what?" she said to Jet Jack. "Make yourself useful for once and take him home. He's not safe to be out here like this anyway, he's going to get himself mugged."

Jet Jack opened her mouth as if about to say something else, but then thought better of it and nodded.

"Ma'am," she said, tipping a glum salute, and took her leave. Returning to Chew Toy's side, she began herding him to his feet.

"Eh?" He looked up from his scrap of fabric, confused.

"Back home we go," Jet Jack said, businesslike.

"But I gotta tell Faith I love her," said Chew Toy plaintively, trying to walk in another direction but seemingly bewildered about which way to point his feet.

"Aaaaafter a nap," said Jet Jack.

"Oh . . . okay . . . "

Faith sighed as Chew Toy's platitudes receded off into the distance. She tried to will away her generalized queasiness. The others were picking Sweetberries quietly, but she caught the tail end of an inscrutable glance in her direction now and then. At least nobody was saying anything—wise of them—but FSM only knew what they were thinking. She looked down at her half-filled basket of Sweetberries and couldn't summon up any will to pick any more.

The next morning Chew Toy came stumbling out of his hut halfway to noon, groaning and massaging his forehead.

"Hey, you're up," said Jet Jack, who had been lurking exceedingly casually near his hut. She squinted at him appraisingly.

"'course I'm up, why wouldn't I be?" Chew Toy ladled himself a cup of water from a nearby barrel and lurched over to a nearby table, the one where the weavers usually ate their meals. He took a sloppy swig from the cup and resumed drilling the heel of his hand into his eyes. "Why does my head hurt so damn much?" He blinked down at his hand as if he might find the answer had rubbed off onto his palm. "And why can't I remember anything since . . . noon yesterday?"

"You don't remember?" said Jet Jack, sitting down across from him with an expression of mild interest. Usually you remembered everything you did under the influence of Purple Moonruffle, more's the pity; presumably the spores of the plant had additional properties. That or Chew Toy's brain wasn't equipped to handle any kind of insult and just shut off.

"I remember pickin' Sweetberries," mumbled Chew Toy, "There was the patch of Purple Moonruffle with flowers, and Redskull was saying they were poison, and . . . " He stopped, a look of horror crossing his face. "Did I die?!"

Jet Jack folded her hands over the table and let him work through that question himself. After some mental calculus he squinted across at her.

"You didn't die, right?" he said. "So this can't be the Cursed Realm, and I must still be in Dead's End. Funny, I don't remember morning . . . rounds . . . " His head snapped up, again horrified. "Did I miss the dawn cowbell?!"

"Yep."

"Oh sands!" yelped Chew Toy. "The Chief's gonna kill me!"

"That's kind of the least of your—"

"And morning rounds! I'm late!"

"Chewie—" began Jet Jack, but Chew Toy had already hurled himself headfirst off the bench, scrabbled to his feet, and was now tearing in circles looking for his cowbell, light armor, and other morning-rounds equipment.

"At this rate you might as well wait for noon rounds," Jet Jack called after him, but he had already clattered off into the distance. She shook her head, then fired up her jetpack and whisked off to find Faith.

Faith was outside her hut, mending a piece of armor. Jet Jack touched down next to her.

"Update, Chew Toy's back to normal, Chief," she said, then shrugged and amended, "Well, his normal."

Faith nodded tersely, barely looking up. There was still a faint queasiness lingering over her since yesterday. Jet Jack considered, then sat down cross-legged nearby.

"Do you need something?" said Faith.

"Not really," said Jet Jack, unperturbed. " . . . Are you still angry?"

Faith hesitated, setting down the armor slowly. She tried, not for the first time, to process through yesterday's entire bizarre series of experiences. In the end she wasn't sure which made her queasier: someone like Chew Toy finding her attractive, or the knowledge that outside of raging intoxication it was never going to happen again. She wouldn't have thought she cared about that kind of thing, and yet here they were.

"I don't know," she said at last. It was quiet for a minute. Neither of them really knew how to look at each other or where to go from here.

"Have . . . people been saying anything?" said Faith at length.

"Not that I know of," said Jet Jack. "'Course, I guess they wouldn't say it in front of me, either."

"Oh?" Faith raised an eyebrow.

"Sure," said Jet Jack. "I'd punch them."

Faith snorted a little. If anything she'd have expected Jet Jack to be leading the gossip, but oddly enough she had no trouble taking her at her word. Abruptly she moved to stand up.

"Wait here." She disappeared into her hut for a second and came back with a basket of Sweetberries, already oozing and scented of degenerating sugars. Without much preamble she thrust it out to Jet Jack.

"Here. You left yours behind," she said. "And you missed half the day of picking."

"Oh." Jet Jack gave the basket an odd look as she accepted it. "I . . . don't remember picking this many."

"It's mine too," admitted Faith. "I don't want them."

"Oh," said Jet Jack again.

"I don't like them very much, and besides. You were the only one being at least somewhat helpful yesterday," said Faith. "I figured you'd get better use out of them." She ventured a sidewise glance at Jet Jack, who continued to sit with a somewhat poisoned countenance. "Orrrr . . . did you spend last night sick just from the amount you ate in the morning?"

Jet Jack cleared her throat with unnecessary force, looking away. Faith sighed and shook her head, then had to try explain to herself why she was forcing back a smile.

Before any further discussion could be had, there was a distant clattering of a cowbell. Faith groaned and began to pick up all her repair equipment, but Chew Toy came round the bend long before she could take herself off inside. He was going at a fantastic pace, huffing and puffing, but when he saw Faith he slid to a halt on his heels.

"Chief!" He looked around as if hoping a portal to another dimension might manifest and save him. Finding none, he gulped and put himself at attention, dipping his head deferentially. He was still breathless and sweaty from trying to do the morning patrol at double-time.

"Awful sorry about missing the dawn alarm, Chief," he said meekly. "Won't happen again."

"See that it doesn't," said Faith. She set the piece of armor down on a sawhorse harder than was merited and began to polish it vindictively. She normally wasn't squeamish, but she found she couldn't look Chew Toy in the eye right now.

"I don't know what happened," he mumbled, assuming she was angry about the dawn alarm. "I think I musta been really out of it last night."

"You were," said Faith, clipped.

"You were there?" said Chew Toy. Then his eyes widened. "Ohh—"

Abruptly he darted forward, grabbed Jet Jack by the arm, and dragged her off a few feet.

"You never said the Chief was there!" Apparently his idea of a whisper was not much better sober. "Was I—was I acting strange?"

"Ohhhh boy, Chewie."

"Oh be damned." Chew Toy held his head. "Did she see me?"

"I'd venture to say yes."

"Oh no, oh no, oh no." Chew Toy was descending progressively further into despair. "Did she—" he shuddered, almost unable to entertain the possibility, but pressed onwards, set to delve to the bitter end. "I didn't say anything weird to her, did I? . . . "

Jet Jack looked around, searching for words that wouldn't fail her. Chew Toy gave a muffled wail.

"I'm gonna be executed!"

"Probably," said Jet Jack, by now tired of this whole fiasco. "If anything I'm surprised your head's not on a pike already."

"You're not getting executed," called Faith wearily. Chew Toy took a few seconds to clear from his blank-eyed panic and process her meaning; then he bolted over still looking more than mildly terrified.

"Chief, I don't know what was going on back there—"

"Give thanks for that."

"But whatever I was saying to you, I promise I didn't mean it." Chew Toy clasped his hands earnestly. "I was out of it, Chief. I swear I didn't mean a word."

In the background Jet Jack was slapping her forehead silently. Faith tilted her head and gave Chew Toy a long, strange look. She tried to put a name to what she was feeling and couldn't.

"I know you didn't, Chew Toy," she said at last.

"You're not angry?"

"Don't worry about it."

Faith picked up her over-polished piece of armor and went to ask the metalworkers for an extra buckle. Meanwhile Chew Toy regained cardiac function and had to sit down to recover. After a minute he flopped back entirely.

"I'm not gonna be executed," he said giddily.

"Yay," said Jet Jack.

"You don't hafta sound so annoyed about it." Chew Toy heaved himself up shakily and dusted off his hands. After a moment he cast Jet Jack a curious look. "So, what was I saying back there?"

"Trust me just this once, Chewie," said Jet Jack. "You're happier not knowing."

Prompt was "Uncomfortable."