More Daxter
He's... loud.
Okay. Let’s get something straight here alright? I’m not a fourteen year old boy anymore. I spent two years on the streets of this slimy, smoke filled epicenter of human disillusionment and I survived to get Jak out of the prison/lab/freaky seventh level of hell and I survived Jak’s overly paranoid alter ego.
You want to know why I’m still a rat? Why I was an idiot to wish for a snazzy pair of pants instead of my normal body? Cause it ain’t the one I gave up that’s why! You can’t turn back time. I wouldn’t be the scrawny little scarecrow of a tag along poster boy for dental fixtures. I wouldn’t even be Jak’s age.
I’d be older.
Ottsel time is more than twice as fast as human time. It’s like crocadog years but you live to be as old as you would have been before the goo and the pain and the screaming eco coursing through your veins. How do I know? Cause I have to slow down every time Jak’s moving at regular speed. I feel old.
So if I asked to be me again, I’d be me at Sig’s age maybe. Or old loghead if I’m really unlucky. Either way I’d be older than Jak and… I can’t do that. I can’t let him know that even if we both survive these insane stunts and heroic tendencies of his, I’m gonna kick the cosmic can before he’s got babies on his kneecaps.
I can’t do that to him. I can’t leave him alone out here; he’d be lost without me. I’m the only one Dark doesn’t lash out at. I’m the only one Light lets touch him. I’m the one that keeps all three from tearing each other apart and if you want to know where my great godly Precursor powers are being put to use its right bloody there you morons! I’m doing what I can to ease things along until he doesn’t need me anymore. Other than that, I’m trying to live each day just a bit longer.
Just until he’s okay. Just until he’s safe. Then I can take a break and lay back and rest for however long the world in its infinite suckage will let me.
Okay. Let’s get something straight here alright? I’m not a fourteen year old boy anymore. I spent two years on the streets of this slimy, smoke filled epicenter of human disillusionment and I survived to get Jak out of the prison/lab/freaky seventh level of hell and I survived Jak’s overly paranoid alter ego.
You want to know why I’m still a rat? Why I was an idiot to wish for a snazzy pair of pants instead of my normal body? Cause it ain’t the one I gave up that’s why! You can’t turn back time. I wouldn’t be the scrawny little scarecrow of a tag along poster boy for dental fixtures. I wouldn’t even be Jak’s age.
I’d be older.
Ottsel time is more than twice as fast as human time. It’s like crocadog years but you live to be as old as you would have been before the goo and the pain and the screaming eco coursing through your veins. How do I know? Cause I have to slow down every time Jak’s moving at regular speed. I feel old.
So if I asked to be me again, I’d be me at Sig’s age maybe. Or old loghead if I’m really unlucky. Either way I’d be older than Jak and… I can’t do that. I can’t let him know that even if we both survive these insane stunts and heroic tendencies of his, I’m gonna kick the cosmic can before he’s got babies on his kneecaps.
I can’t do that to him. I can’t leave him alone out here; he’d be lost without me. I’m the only one Dark doesn’t lash out at. I’m the only one Light lets touch him. I’m the one that keeps all three from tearing each other apart and if you want to know where my great godly Precursor powers are being put to use its right bloody there you morons! I’m doing what I can to ease things along until he doesn’t need me anymore. Other than that, I’m trying to live each day just a bit longer.
Just until he’s okay. Just until he’s safe. Then I can take a break and lay back and rest for however long the world in its infinite suckage will let me.