Post by Nashi on Dec 20, 2007 18:04:01 GMT
Title: Variations in Tone [mirror]
Rating: K+
Pairing: Seem->Jak, Torn->Ashelin
Warnings: Non-pairing pairings, spoilers for Jak 3, unbeta'd.
Word Count: 1416
Notes: This was originally written for a challenge on the jak_fanfics LJ comm, way back in June of 2006, but it remains one of my favorite fics to date. I figured I might as well post it here for anyone who happens by to check out. (Even though, y'know, I know everyone that's currently on here. Shh.)
It was over. Errol was dead, the Dark Maker ship had been destroyed, the Precursors had departed, and Jak had stayed behind. Daxter and his eco-balanced friend were currently out and about delivering invitations to some sort of get-together at the ottsel’s bar. Well, Daxter was delivering invitations, Jak was simply carrying him where he needed to go.
Expecting a visit herself from the Precursor and hero, Seem was not surprised when a light tap sounded from the door to her chambers. She was surprised, however, to discover who it was standing on the other side of that door.
“Sorry,” the brunet said, his voice the gruff rasp of breath over sand, “I was hoping this room was empty.” He turned to leave.
Seem’s brow furrowed. “Commander…Torn, was it?”
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind explaining why you are searching for an empty room in my temple?”
“To keep Jak’s stupid rat off my case about coming to his party,” he replied without hesitation, coming about and folding his slim arms over his chest. The man shook his head. “He can’t seem to get the message that I don’t do parties.”
The monk looked him up and down, took stock of the exhaustion ringing his eyes and unhealthy pallor of his skin, and took a step back. “You may…hide…in here, if you do not mind a little company.”
He stared at her for a long moment, mused on why her facial structure looked familiar, and gave a half-grin in gratitude. “Thanks.” He stepped in, and she closed the door behind him.
“I was in the middle of my evening prayers; would you mind if I continued?”
The soldier waved a hand. “By all means.”
Something about his voice struck an odd chord in Seem’s thoughts, and even with a shake of her head and a determination to finish her nightly rites she could not banish the sensation. Something about the gravelly timbre, variations in tone, made her mind race—she recognized those qualities from somewhere, some teaching from her healer’s days.
The young woman knelt down before the small copper idol set into the wall and started the hand gestures and quiet chants in the Precursor tongue over again, pausing when Torn cleared his throat. She glanced back at him—had she given permission for him to sit on her bed?—and raised one eyebrow. “Is there something you would like to say?”
“You’re Onin’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”
She jerked. He was certainly direct, that much was certain, but he lacked any form of tact. She pitied soldiers their stunted emotional development. “I am.”
He nodded and lowered his eyes. “She never did explain why she threw you out.”
“Are you determined to bring up memories I never had any intention of reliving, Commander?” Her voice was a quiet hiss, just as low and intimidating as anything he had ever said. “If that was your intention in coming here, then I must ask you to leave.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” He bit his bottom lip. “Look, I’d been in the Guard for almost three years when the order came to fly you out. I almost didn’t take it, when I found out how old you were.”
“That was the better part of a decade ago.” She turned back to the idol. “Any guilt you have over transporting me should be banished by now.”
He sighed. “I just wanted to know wh—”
“Onin banished me in accordance with a vision,” she snapped. “I was meant to join the Golden Order to assist a great hero in vanquishing a great darkness. I doubted her vision, but followed my teachings anyway. I did my part, and now Mar and Orange Lightning have done theirs. My role in this is over.” Her fingers met in one final gesture and she whispered two faint syllables twice before turning around on her cushion to face the former Krimzon Guard. “That is what you came here to learn, correct?”
“Hey, don’t accuse me of having some ulterior motive, girl. I came here to get the hell away from Daxter and his jabbering, that’s all. I just happened to recognize an opportunity to clear my head.” His voice was no louder than it had been before, but sounded strained, as though he was holding back a shout—or, perhaps, attempting to force it out.
Seem suddenly understood why his tone sounded so familiar, and her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I am not accusing you of anything, Commander. However, I have a question of my own to ask you, in recompense for your determination to question me.”
His features settled once more, angry lines fading from around his mouth, and he sat back. “Shoot.”
“When was your throat cut?”
His blue eyes widened and the little color he had drained from his face. “How—”
“You’ve had corrective surgery on the scar, I assume, but it is obvious there was little that could be done for your voice. How long as it been?”
He sat there, breath short, and stared for several seconds. His hands worked in and out of fists, clutching at his knees and releasing. “I…” He shook his head slowly. “Six years. How did you—”
“I have dealt with many such patients, Commander, and recognize the aftereffects of such a wound.” She rose to her diminutive height—eye to eye with the older man where he sat—and folded her hands behind her back. “How did it happen?”
He shook his head, lips tightening as anger kindled once more in his tired eyes. “You have no right to ask.”
“And you had no right to inquire as to the reason for my banishment.” She gave a faint shrug. “You did, however, and I answered. It is only fair you balance my uncomfortability with your own.”
“Spiteful little thing, aren’t you?”
“I have my reasons. Now, how did it happen?”
“Do you know why I really came here?”
“I am asking a question, Commander.” Her scarlet eyes, half-lidded, darkened with the faintest shadow of annoyance.
“Not to hide from Daxter, even though he can be an annoying little bastard.” He folded his arms again, standing up and looming over her. Seem kept her head tilted downward, glaring up through white eyelashes. “I’m hiding for the same reason you are. I don’t want to see Ashelin any more than you want to see Jak.”
She ground her teeth. “I fail to see what Mar has to do with my question.”
“And I ‘fail to see’ why no one else has noticed the looks you keep giving him.”
“I am grateful for his heroism in defeating Errol and the Dark Makers.”
“Most people aren’t grateful enough to stare.”
“I stare at the Precursor he carries. It is more than a little overwhelming to understand that I have been in the company of one of my creators for a fair amount of time without showing him the proper respect.”
Torn took a half-step forward, leaning so his shadow cast over the young woman’s features. “You stare because you don’t know what to tell him. You stare because you want to know why he looks at Ashelin like that when she did nothing to keep him from being banished, because you never forced him into helping you or coerced him into doing what you wanted. You stare because—”
“If I said I hated you for being the man to pilot my banishment transport would you be quiet?” She spat, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That’s what you would like to hear, isn’t it? You would like another reason to explain why the Baroness would rather have Mar than you now that all is said and done? Some proof that he’s better than you, so that you can sleep at night and stop thinking of the way she touches his face and how she used to do that to you—”
Torn hit her. Bare hand on the side of her face, hard enough to jerk her head to the side but not to send her reeling. Her cheek stung as she turned back, lifting her hand and hitting him just as hard. They glared each other down for a long moment.
“Are you going to do anything about it?” He ground out at last.
“Are you?” She retorted.
They both knew the answer, hard as it was to accept, but neither spoke it aloud.
Rating: K+
Pairing: Seem->Jak, Torn->Ashelin
Warnings: Non-pairing pairings, spoilers for Jak 3, unbeta'd.
Word Count: 1416
Notes: This was originally written for a challenge on the jak_fanfics LJ comm, way back in June of 2006, but it remains one of my favorite fics to date. I figured I might as well post it here for anyone who happens by to check out. (Even though, y'know, I know everyone that's currently on here. Shh.)
__________________
Variations in Tone
By Nashi
[/b][/center]Variations in Tone
By Nashi
It was over. Errol was dead, the Dark Maker ship had been destroyed, the Precursors had departed, and Jak had stayed behind. Daxter and his eco-balanced friend were currently out and about delivering invitations to some sort of get-together at the ottsel’s bar. Well, Daxter was delivering invitations, Jak was simply carrying him where he needed to go.
Expecting a visit herself from the Precursor and hero, Seem was not surprised when a light tap sounded from the door to her chambers. She was surprised, however, to discover who it was standing on the other side of that door.
“Sorry,” the brunet said, his voice the gruff rasp of breath over sand, “I was hoping this room was empty.” He turned to leave.
Seem’s brow furrowed. “Commander…Torn, was it?”
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Would you mind explaining why you are searching for an empty room in my temple?”
“To keep Jak’s stupid rat off my case about coming to his party,” he replied without hesitation, coming about and folding his slim arms over his chest. The man shook his head. “He can’t seem to get the message that I don’t do parties.”
The monk looked him up and down, took stock of the exhaustion ringing his eyes and unhealthy pallor of his skin, and took a step back. “You may…hide…in here, if you do not mind a little company.”
He stared at her for a long moment, mused on why her facial structure looked familiar, and gave a half-grin in gratitude. “Thanks.” He stepped in, and she closed the door behind him.
“I was in the middle of my evening prayers; would you mind if I continued?”
The soldier waved a hand. “By all means.”
Something about his voice struck an odd chord in Seem’s thoughts, and even with a shake of her head and a determination to finish her nightly rites she could not banish the sensation. Something about the gravelly timbre, variations in tone, made her mind race—she recognized those qualities from somewhere, some teaching from her healer’s days.
The young woman knelt down before the small copper idol set into the wall and started the hand gestures and quiet chants in the Precursor tongue over again, pausing when Torn cleared his throat. She glanced back at him—had she given permission for him to sit on her bed?—and raised one eyebrow. “Is there something you would like to say?”
“You’re Onin’s granddaughter, aren’t you?”
She jerked. He was certainly direct, that much was certain, but he lacked any form of tact. She pitied soldiers their stunted emotional development. “I am.”
He nodded and lowered his eyes. “She never did explain why she threw you out.”
“Are you determined to bring up memories I never had any intention of reliving, Commander?” Her voice was a quiet hiss, just as low and intimidating as anything he had ever said. “If that was your intention in coming here, then I must ask you to leave.”
“No, that’s not it. It’s just…” He bit his bottom lip. “Look, I’d been in the Guard for almost three years when the order came to fly you out. I almost didn’t take it, when I found out how old you were.”
“That was the better part of a decade ago.” She turned back to the idol. “Any guilt you have over transporting me should be banished by now.”
He sighed. “I just wanted to know wh—”
“Onin banished me in accordance with a vision,” she snapped. “I was meant to join the Golden Order to assist a great hero in vanquishing a great darkness. I doubted her vision, but followed my teachings anyway. I did my part, and now Mar and Orange Lightning have done theirs. My role in this is over.” Her fingers met in one final gesture and she whispered two faint syllables twice before turning around on her cushion to face the former Krimzon Guard. “That is what you came here to learn, correct?”
“Hey, don’t accuse me of having some ulterior motive, girl. I came here to get the hell away from Daxter and his jabbering, that’s all. I just happened to recognize an opportunity to clear my head.” His voice was no louder than it had been before, but sounded strained, as though he was holding back a shout—or, perhaps, attempting to force it out.
Seem suddenly understood why his tone sounded so familiar, and her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “I am not accusing you of anything, Commander. However, I have a question of my own to ask you, in recompense for your determination to question me.”
His features settled once more, angry lines fading from around his mouth, and he sat back. “Shoot.”
“When was your throat cut?”
His blue eyes widened and the little color he had drained from his face. “How—”
“You’ve had corrective surgery on the scar, I assume, but it is obvious there was little that could be done for your voice. How long as it been?”
He sat there, breath short, and stared for several seconds. His hands worked in and out of fists, clutching at his knees and releasing. “I…” He shook his head slowly. “Six years. How did you—”
“I have dealt with many such patients, Commander, and recognize the aftereffects of such a wound.” She rose to her diminutive height—eye to eye with the older man where he sat—and folded her hands behind her back. “How did it happen?”
He shook his head, lips tightening as anger kindled once more in his tired eyes. “You have no right to ask.”
“And you had no right to inquire as to the reason for my banishment.” She gave a faint shrug. “You did, however, and I answered. It is only fair you balance my uncomfortability with your own.”
“Spiteful little thing, aren’t you?”
“I have my reasons. Now, how did it happen?”
“Do you know why I really came here?”
“I am asking a question, Commander.” Her scarlet eyes, half-lidded, darkened with the faintest shadow of annoyance.
“Not to hide from Daxter, even though he can be an annoying little bastard.” He folded his arms again, standing up and looming over her. Seem kept her head tilted downward, glaring up through white eyelashes. “I’m hiding for the same reason you are. I don’t want to see Ashelin any more than you want to see Jak.”
She ground her teeth. “I fail to see what Mar has to do with my question.”
“And I ‘fail to see’ why no one else has noticed the looks you keep giving him.”
“I am grateful for his heroism in defeating Errol and the Dark Makers.”
“Most people aren’t grateful enough to stare.”
“I stare at the Precursor he carries. It is more than a little overwhelming to understand that I have been in the company of one of my creators for a fair amount of time without showing him the proper respect.”
Torn took a half-step forward, leaning so his shadow cast over the young woman’s features. “You stare because you don’t know what to tell him. You stare because you want to know why he looks at Ashelin like that when she did nothing to keep him from being banished, because you never forced him into helping you or coerced him into doing what you wanted. You stare because—”
“If I said I hated you for being the man to pilot my banishment transport would you be quiet?” She spat, hands clenched into fists at her sides. “That’s what you would like to hear, isn’t it? You would like another reason to explain why the Baroness would rather have Mar than you now that all is said and done? Some proof that he’s better than you, so that you can sleep at night and stop thinking of the way she touches his face and how she used to do that to you—”
Torn hit her. Bare hand on the side of her face, hard enough to jerk her head to the side but not to send her reeling. Her cheek stung as she turned back, lifting her hand and hitting him just as hard. They glared each other down for a long moment.
“Are you going to do anything about it?” He ground out at last.
“Are you?” She retorted.
They both knew the answer, hard as it was to accept, but neither spoke it aloud.
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