[Drabble]
Player: masterofthepen
Subject: Young Jet Enduro and Werner Maxwell (Inspiration drawn from this official comic on Jet's past)
Table: C [ Prompt Table]
Prompt: 7 - Go
The power of the Airget-lamh builds with the strength of your heart. Open your heart to it, and you can accomplish anything.
Those words ran through Jet's mind as he carefully unscrewed the bolts that held the cylinder inside the barrel. The seven struts, which kept the upper and lower half of the frame secure during intense operation, were fanned out on the ground next to his knee. They resembled golden plaques with strange characters etched into them. Jet had no idea what they meant, but they appeared to be some ancient form of writing, like runes.
Pouring some oil onto a soft rag, Jet began wiping down the outer frame, working quickly so that he could get to the more tedious task of swabbing out the cylinder and the barrel. If he didn't make sure to clean out the carbon and black powder residue, it could form a blockage, causing the ARM to jam at a crucial moment.
Across from Jet, Werner sat down by the fire and pulled the wide-brimmed traveler's hat from his head. He watched the boy cleaning his ARM and sighed.
“Jet, you ought to take a little more time when cleaning your ARM. The outside is just as important as the inside.”
“Don't tell me how to take care of my ARM, old man.” Jet glowered, wiping more furiously.
Werner's voice took on an authoritative tone. “Repeat the Fifth Precept for handling ARMs.”
Jet lowered his rag and groaned. “'The ARM is an extension of your body. You must care for it and treat it with the same respect that you would your own body.' Yeah, yeah, I know. You've drilled it into me enough.”
“Then you should take your time and do it right.” The older man smiled. “It never hurts to be a little meticulous. Especially when dealing with ARMs.”
“Tch. Says the man who can't even keep the dirt out from under his fingernails.”
“But you won't find a trace of rust or a speck of dust anywhere on my ARMs.”
Jet raised his head from his work and regarded the older man sitting across from him. Werner smiled, the gesture causing his brilliant blue eyes to crinkle at the corners. Jet wondered when his mentor had started developing wrinkles. Or did he always have them? He couldn't remember.
“You sure know a lot about ARMs,” Jet said. “Were you an ARMs Meister in the past?”
“No, I wasn't. But I have studied their application exhaustively. You could say that ARMs are one of my many passions.”
The boy lowered his gaze and concentrated on his work, his pace slower than before. He listened as Werner pulled out his dual pistols and began taking them apart, piece by piece, laying each part onto a clean cloth on the ground in front of him. His movements were slow and deliberate, and when he scrubbed the inside of the barrel, it appeared at if he were gently caressing the ARM. Jet thought it was like the gentle touch a parent would use on a child when mending a scraped knee.
“Hey, old man. What's with you teaching me how to service my ARM, anyway?”
Werner paused in his work. The expression on his face was solemn, and a bit sad.
“I suppose it's... 'atonement'. In any case, the ability to wield ARMs is absolutely indispensable if one is to survive in the Wasteland. Learning to handle it properly would be to your advantage.”
“You talk like you're pretty used to teaching, huh?” Jet said, returning to the task at hand. He dipped the swab in some solvent and began cleaning the chambers of the revolver.
The fire crackled. Some wood snapped and popped. Shadows flickered. Somewhere, far off in the distance, a coyote howled mournfully.
Suddenly, Jet broke the tranquil silence. “Hey, old man. You taught somebody else how to handle ARMs before, didn't you?”
A long pause. “I did teach another how to handle ARMs,” Werner said. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Who was it?”
Silence. Jet paused again and watched Werner. He seemed completely absorbed in his work. Or maybe he was pointedly ignoring Jet, yet again. The boy's cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “...Taciturn, as always, aren't ya? You don't talk much about yourself.”
“I am a man with no name and no past. What is there to talk about?”
The cave grew silent once more. With his ARM clean and properly serviced, Jet began to put the pieces back together, inserting the screws and turning them tight. Once everything was in place, Jet sighted along the barrel and pulled the trigger, listening to the click of the mechanism. Satisfied that all was right with Airget-lamh, he slipped the ARM inside its holster and tucked it away with his pack and bedroll.
Folding his hands behind his head, Jet leaned against the cave wall and watched as Werner finished cleaning his dual pistols and put them back together. He holstered them and set them aside.
“Hey, old man,” Jet said. “We've been together for a while, haven't we? How old was I when you found me?”
Werner stared into the fire. The flickering flames danced within the depths of his eyes. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes and along the corners of his mouth, making him appear far older than his forty years.
“You had just recently turned twelve.”
“So, it's only been three years, huh?” Jet scratched at his nose. “Feels like a lot longer than that.”
A wry smile crossed Werner's face. “Maybe it has.”
Cryptic, as always. Whenever Jet talked to his mentor, he felt like he was only understanding half of what Werner was saying. It got to be tiring, after a while.
“I still can't believe my birthday was last week,” Jet said. “Fifteen. Practically an adult. You sure taught me a lot during all that time. Guess that means I'll be striking out on my own, soon enough.”
Werner's eyebrows twitched slightly. He made a non-committal grunt and continued to stare into the fire.
“Jet, you are a man now,” Werner said. “I've taught you all the skills necessary to fight and survive in the Wasteland. But there is still one last thing I have to teach you.”
The boy listened closely, sensing the seriousness in his mentor's tone. Werner raised his eyes and gazed at the skinny, pale boy.
“I want you to understand that the ability to wield ARMs-the power to hurt others-is the same as the power necessary to survive in the Wasteland. Once you understand what it means to wield this power, then you will never know 'loneliness'.”
Jet blinked in confusion. “Really?” He lowered his arms and crossed them over his chest. “Being alone isn't all that bad, you know?”
“Someday, the time will come when you and I will part ways, so that I can walk my own path... But until that day arrives, know that you are never 'alone', even though it seems like you want to be.”
“If you say so,” Jet said, shrugging. “You're really confusing, you know that?”
The silence stretched between them. Jet shifted uncomfortably. He felt like there was some tangible presence hanging in the air, something left unspoken. He decided to prod Werner a bit and hopefully get some semblance of an answer out of him.
“Why are you saying this now? You plannin' on leaving soon?”
Jet noted the sadness in Werner's eyes. Or was it guilt? “...Yes.”
Panic rose inside of Jet. He leaned forward on hands and knees. “Y-you can't leave now! I know that you still have a lot more to teach me. I ain't ready to strike out on my own just yet, but when I am, I'll let you know. Then you can go your own way.”
“Jet, you know that all children must one day leave their parents. I've made no secret that I would need to leave you, once you were old enough and had been prepared to live on your own. There are... important tasks which I have put on hold while I raised you, and those tasks need to be attended to. I don't have much time left...”
“I-I know that! You've told me enough times. But I'm still just a kid. I don't know enough to live on my own. Not yet, anyway.” Jet stared into the fire, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
His mentor smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Of course. I said I had to leave soon. But the time isn't right.”
Jet wracked his brains for an excuse to change the subject. He didn't want to think about Werner leaving him alone. Fortunately, Jet didn't have to say anything because his stomach rumbled audibly.
“Say, I'm gettin' hungry. Let's make something to eat, okay?”
“All right,” Werner said. “I'll get the fixings. There's canned peaches, and I'll make some tea to go with it.”
“Sounds good,” Jet said, perking up immediately at the mention of his favorite food.
In a little while, the tea was ready. Jet sat down and sipped at his tea while he ate, picking out peach slices with two fingers and popping them into his mouth in one bite. He chewed thoughtfully, wondering why Werner wasn't eating. He sipped at his tea and avoided Jet's gaze by staring into his cup.
“This tea is really good,” Jet said, wanting desperately to hear the sound of Werner's voice. “Sweeter than usual. I like it.”
“That's good.” Werner's tone seemed melancholic. Jet didn't like it at all.
“You're not eating.”
“I'm not hungry.”
Jet finished off the rest of his tea and held out the open can of peaches. “Go on. Take one. You've gotta eat something.”
Werner lowered his cup and stared at Jet, as if seeing him for the first time. His face broke into a smile and he picked out a peach slice. “Thank you, Jet. Promise me that you'll never lose your kind heart.”
“Huh? Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, old man.”
Werner nibbled at the peach slice. Jet set his tea cup and the half-eaten can of peaches aside. His eyelids drooped lower and he yawned, stretching his arms toward the ceiling.
“I don't know about you,” Jet said, stifling another yawn. “But I'm getting really sleepy. I think I'm gonna hit the hay now.”
Werner finished his slice of peach and licked the juice from his fingertips. “Go to sleep, Jet. I'll join you shortly.”
“Okay...” The boy barely managed to unfurl his bedroll and flop on top of it before his eyes closed and sleep overtook him. In a matter of minutes, his breathing slowed and he began to snore.
Werner stood and shuffled closer, doing his best to be quiet. He touched Jet's shoulder and shook him gently. No response. The boy was completely unconscious. The valerian root that Werner had ground up and slipped into Jet's tea would ensure that the boy didn't awaken until long after the sun had risen. That would give Werner plenty of time to do what needed to be done.
Leaning close, the old Drifter whispered into Jet's ear. “There is something I want you to know, before I go. Someday, you and I will meet again. But you must survive long enough for that day to come. Be strong, Jet. Remember, there is a reason for your existence on Filgaia.” Gently, Werner brushed the silvery-white hair from Jet's forehead and kissed his brow. “I love you, more than you will ever know. And that is why I must leave you...”
As Werner stood, a single tear fell from his eye to land on Jet's cheek. The boy twitched in his sleep as the glistening droplet flowed down the smooth roundness of his cheek toward his chin. Werner wiped at his eye and turned on his heel, heading for the cave entrance. The fire had burned down to embers. The horses nickered as Werner passed them by. He spared them a brief glance.
He would leave it all behind. His worldly possessions, his hopes, his dreams. He would leave them all with Jet. Werner would take nothing with him, save for the clothes on his back and the dual pistols holstered at his sides.
The stars glittered like cold diamonds in the night sky. Werner pointed his feet toward the glowing beacon of the crescent moon and started walking. A cool breeze caused his coat to flutter around his knees.
“I must atone,” he said softly.
Even as he marched forward into the unknown, the depressions left by his boots were quickly filling with sand. The harsh winds of the desert landscape would erase all traces of his passing. He would disappear into the Wasteland once again, leaving behind yet another grief-stricken child. Perhaps this was his fate.
I am a cursed father...
Subject: Young Jet Enduro and Werner Maxwell (Inspiration drawn from this official comic on Jet's past)
Table: C [ Prompt Table]
Prompt: 7 - Go
The power of the Airget-lamh builds with the strength of your heart. Open your heart to it, and you can accomplish anything.
Those words ran through Jet's mind as he carefully unscrewed the bolts that held the cylinder inside the barrel. The seven struts, which kept the upper and lower half of the frame secure during intense operation, were fanned out on the ground next to his knee. They resembled golden plaques with strange characters etched into them. Jet had no idea what they meant, but they appeared to be some ancient form of writing, like runes.
Pouring some oil onto a soft rag, Jet began wiping down the outer frame, working quickly so that he could get to the more tedious task of swabbing out the cylinder and the barrel. If he didn't make sure to clean out the carbon and black powder residue, it could form a blockage, causing the ARM to jam at a crucial moment.
Across from Jet, Werner sat down by the fire and pulled the wide-brimmed traveler's hat from his head. He watched the boy cleaning his ARM and sighed.
“Jet, you ought to take a little more time when cleaning your ARM. The outside is just as important as the inside.”
“Don't tell me how to take care of my ARM, old man.” Jet glowered, wiping more furiously.
Werner's voice took on an authoritative tone. “Repeat the Fifth Precept for handling ARMs.”
Jet lowered his rag and groaned. “'The ARM is an extension of your body. You must care for it and treat it with the same respect that you would your own body.' Yeah, yeah, I know. You've drilled it into me enough.”
“Then you should take your time and do it right.” The older man smiled. “It never hurts to be a little meticulous. Especially when dealing with ARMs.”
“Tch. Says the man who can't even keep the dirt out from under his fingernails.”
“But you won't find a trace of rust or a speck of dust anywhere on my ARMs.”
Jet raised his head from his work and regarded the older man sitting across from him. Werner smiled, the gesture causing his brilliant blue eyes to crinkle at the corners. Jet wondered when his mentor had started developing wrinkles. Or did he always have them? He couldn't remember.
“You sure know a lot about ARMs,” Jet said. “Were you an ARMs Meister in the past?”
“No, I wasn't. But I have studied their application exhaustively. You could say that ARMs are one of my many passions.”
The boy lowered his gaze and concentrated on his work, his pace slower than before. He listened as Werner pulled out his dual pistols and began taking them apart, piece by piece, laying each part onto a clean cloth on the ground in front of him. His movements were slow and deliberate, and when he scrubbed the inside of the barrel, it appeared at if he were gently caressing the ARM. Jet thought it was like the gentle touch a parent would use on a child when mending a scraped knee.
“Hey, old man. What's with you teaching me how to service my ARM, anyway?”
Werner paused in his work. The expression on his face was solemn, and a bit sad.
“I suppose it's... 'atonement'. In any case, the ability to wield ARMs is absolutely indispensable if one is to survive in the Wasteland. Learning to handle it properly would be to your advantage.”
“You talk like you're pretty used to teaching, huh?” Jet said, returning to the task at hand. He dipped the swab in some solvent and began cleaning the chambers of the revolver.
The fire crackled. Some wood snapped and popped. Shadows flickered. Somewhere, far off in the distance, a coyote howled mournfully.
Suddenly, Jet broke the tranquil silence. “Hey, old man. You taught somebody else how to handle ARMs before, didn't you?”
A long pause. “I did teach another how to handle ARMs,” Werner said. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Who was it?”
Silence. Jet paused again and watched Werner. He seemed completely absorbed in his work. Or maybe he was pointedly ignoring Jet, yet again. The boy's cheeks puffed out in annoyance. “...Taciturn, as always, aren't ya? You don't talk much about yourself.”
“I am a man with no name and no past. What is there to talk about?”
The cave grew silent once more. With his ARM clean and properly serviced, Jet began to put the pieces back together, inserting the screws and turning them tight. Once everything was in place, Jet sighted along the barrel and pulled the trigger, listening to the click of the mechanism. Satisfied that all was right with Airget-lamh, he slipped the ARM inside its holster and tucked it away with his pack and bedroll.
Folding his hands behind his head, Jet leaned against the cave wall and watched as Werner finished cleaning his dual pistols and put them back together. He holstered them and set them aside.
“Hey, old man,” Jet said. “We've been together for a while, haven't we? How old was I when you found me?”
Werner stared into the fire. The flickering flames danced within the depths of his eyes. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes and along the corners of his mouth, making him appear far older than his forty years.
“You had just recently turned twelve.”
“So, it's only been three years, huh?” Jet scratched at his nose. “Feels like a lot longer than that.”
A wry smile crossed Werner's face. “Maybe it has.”
Cryptic, as always. Whenever Jet talked to his mentor, he felt like he was only understanding half of what Werner was saying. It got to be tiring, after a while.
“I still can't believe my birthday was last week,” Jet said. “Fifteen. Practically an adult. You sure taught me a lot during all that time. Guess that means I'll be striking out on my own, soon enough.”
Werner's eyebrows twitched slightly. He made a non-committal grunt and continued to stare into the fire.
“Jet, you are a man now,” Werner said. “I've taught you all the skills necessary to fight and survive in the Wasteland. But there is still one last thing I have to teach you.”
The boy listened closely, sensing the seriousness in his mentor's tone. Werner raised his eyes and gazed at the skinny, pale boy.
“I want you to understand that the ability to wield ARMs-the power to hurt others-is the same as the power necessary to survive in the Wasteland. Once you understand what it means to wield this power, then you will never know 'loneliness'.”
Jet blinked in confusion. “Really?” He lowered his arms and crossed them over his chest. “Being alone isn't all that bad, you know?”
“Someday, the time will come when you and I will part ways, so that I can walk my own path... But until that day arrives, know that you are never 'alone', even though it seems like you want to be.”
“If you say so,” Jet said, shrugging. “You're really confusing, you know that?”
The silence stretched between them. Jet shifted uncomfortably. He felt like there was some tangible presence hanging in the air, something left unspoken. He decided to prod Werner a bit and hopefully get some semblance of an answer out of him.
“Why are you saying this now? You plannin' on leaving soon?”
Jet noted the sadness in Werner's eyes. Or was it guilt? “...Yes.”
Panic rose inside of Jet. He leaned forward on hands and knees. “Y-you can't leave now! I know that you still have a lot more to teach me. I ain't ready to strike out on my own just yet, but when I am, I'll let you know. Then you can go your own way.”
“Jet, you know that all children must one day leave their parents. I've made no secret that I would need to leave you, once you were old enough and had been prepared to live on your own. There are... important tasks which I have put on hold while I raised you, and those tasks need to be attended to. I don't have much time left...”
“I-I know that! You've told me enough times. But I'm still just a kid. I don't know enough to live on my own. Not yet, anyway.” Jet stared into the fire, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.
His mentor smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes. “Of course. I said I had to leave soon. But the time isn't right.”
Jet wracked his brains for an excuse to change the subject. He didn't want to think about Werner leaving him alone. Fortunately, Jet didn't have to say anything because his stomach rumbled audibly.
“Say, I'm gettin' hungry. Let's make something to eat, okay?”
“All right,” Werner said. “I'll get the fixings. There's canned peaches, and I'll make some tea to go with it.”
“Sounds good,” Jet said, perking up immediately at the mention of his favorite food.
In a little while, the tea was ready. Jet sat down and sipped at his tea while he ate, picking out peach slices with two fingers and popping them into his mouth in one bite. He chewed thoughtfully, wondering why Werner wasn't eating. He sipped at his tea and avoided Jet's gaze by staring into his cup.
“This tea is really good,” Jet said, wanting desperately to hear the sound of Werner's voice. “Sweeter than usual. I like it.”
“That's good.” Werner's tone seemed melancholic. Jet didn't like it at all.
“You're not eating.”
“I'm not hungry.”
Jet finished off the rest of his tea and held out the open can of peaches. “Go on. Take one. You've gotta eat something.”
Werner lowered his cup and stared at Jet, as if seeing him for the first time. His face broke into a smile and he picked out a peach slice. “Thank you, Jet. Promise me that you'll never lose your kind heart.”
“Huh? Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, old man.”
Werner nibbled at the peach slice. Jet set his tea cup and the half-eaten can of peaches aside. His eyelids drooped lower and he yawned, stretching his arms toward the ceiling.
“I don't know about you,” Jet said, stifling another yawn. “But I'm getting really sleepy. I think I'm gonna hit the hay now.”
Werner finished his slice of peach and licked the juice from his fingertips. “Go to sleep, Jet. I'll join you shortly.”
“Okay...” The boy barely managed to unfurl his bedroll and flop on top of it before his eyes closed and sleep overtook him. In a matter of minutes, his breathing slowed and he began to snore.
Werner stood and shuffled closer, doing his best to be quiet. He touched Jet's shoulder and shook him gently. No response. The boy was completely unconscious. The valerian root that Werner had ground up and slipped into Jet's tea would ensure that the boy didn't awaken until long after the sun had risen. That would give Werner plenty of time to do what needed to be done.
Leaning close, the old Drifter whispered into Jet's ear. “There is something I want you to know, before I go. Someday, you and I will meet again. But you must survive long enough for that day to come. Be strong, Jet. Remember, there is a reason for your existence on Filgaia.” Gently, Werner brushed the silvery-white hair from Jet's forehead and kissed his brow. “I love you, more than you will ever know. And that is why I must leave you...”
As Werner stood, a single tear fell from his eye to land on Jet's cheek. The boy twitched in his sleep as the glistening droplet flowed down the smooth roundness of his cheek toward his chin. Werner wiped at his eye and turned on his heel, heading for the cave entrance. The fire had burned down to embers. The horses nickered as Werner passed them by. He spared them a brief glance.
He would leave it all behind. His worldly possessions, his hopes, his dreams. He would leave them all with Jet. Werner would take nothing with him, save for the clothes on his back and the dual pistols holstered at his sides.
The stars glittered like cold diamonds in the night sky. Werner pointed his feet toward the glowing beacon of the crescent moon and started walking. A cool breeze caused his coat to flutter around his knees.
“I must atone,” he said softly.
Even as he marched forward into the unknown, the depressions left by his boots were quickly filling with sand. The harsh winds of the desert landscape would erase all traces of his passing. He would disappear into the Wasteland once again, leaving behind yet another grief-stricken child. Perhaps this was his fate.
I am a cursed father...