Tentative (Oneshot)
Title: Tentative
Fandom: Jak and Daxter (Jak X)
Rating: T
Characters: Razer, GT Blitz
Warnings: One F-bomb, some violent imagery, spoilers that have long since passed the statute of limitations.
Word Count: 918
Chapter: 1/1
Notes: This was written ages ago as a third-person sample in an application to play Razer on an RP here on LJ. Recently I re-apped him (after dropping him months and months ago), and decided the sample needed some reworking. It's really just a character study, but I'm really happy with the flow of it all.
Teaser: Razer shook his head slightly, reaching up with his free hand to rake long ivory fingers through pure black hair. “I could, certainly, but if I were to buy something new, something raceworthy, then some tabloid will pick up on it and the entire city would know of my intentions before I could even dial in Jak’s frequency.”
. : Tentative : .
“…You must be joking.”
Blitz slanted him a sharp look, lavender eyes narrowed, teeth clenched hard enough for Razer to see the muscles in his jaw flex even from his seat a good several feet away. “If this were a joke,” he said, “I’d be telling it to someone with a sense of humor.”
Razer took a deep drag on his cigarette, held delicately between two deep blue fingers, and then exhaled out the corner of his mouth. “I have a sense of humor,” he stated plainly. “Your brand of it, however…does not often appeal to me. But then, I have been with you longest.” He smirked, arching one fine eyebrow. “Perhaps you simply need some new material.”
There was that look again. Razer gave a low chuckle, green eyes narrowing just slightly, brightening amid the ivory mask of his face. “Ah, now who is it with no a sense of humor?”
“You’re not funny, Razer.”
“I am hilarious,” he asserted. “You simply don’t appreciate that facet of my personality enough.”
Now Blitz’s voice came out in a deep, threatening hiss. “I didn’t brand you mine for your comedic abilities. I branded you because you race, and you race when I tell you to.” Violet eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you to. Now.”
This was Mizo, the man that held Kras City in the palm of his hand, always just a step away from crushing it between his thick fingers. This was the man that had owned Razer for years and years, watching as he just barely shifted, changed just slightly, aged just a little, watched Northerner blood hold back the lines that should have been on his face and the shake that should have settled into his hands after over a decade solid of fighting and killing and manipulating the city to move under his influence.
Blitz wasn’t a problem. But Mizo, Mizo was the man that Razer still feared to anger. The last time he’d made a sizeable mistake had been bad enough; just thinking about it made his left hand sting, blue-tattooed skin throbbing at the memory of being carved off in oh-so-thin swaths while Mizo held one boot to Razer’s chest, pinning the young man-Makers, he had only been twenty-three-to the floor.
Razer straightened in his seat, expression turning serious. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette and looked up at Mizo with nothing less than the deepest and the most tentative of loyalties; devotion bred from power, from pain and blood and threats. The only devotion most of Razer’s kind, barbarians as they were so often called, were ever willing to forge.
“If you want me out of retirement for the finals,” he said, thin lips a grim line when they met, “then I need a better car. I have not raced mine since the last tourney.”
“You can afford to get a new car,” Mizo ground out.
Razer shook his head slightly, reaching up with his free hand to rake long ivory fingers through pure black hair. “I could, certainly, but if I were to buy something new, something raceworthy, then some tabloid will pick up on it and the entire city would know of my intentions before I could even dial in Jak’s frequency.”
He inclined his head slightly, crushed his spent cigarette in the ashtray and then put a hand on either arm of the chair, legs crossed at the ankles.
“If you buy the car for me,” he explained with what seemed to be the greatest ease, certainty thick in his tone, “then the account will be untraceable, the vehicle will be unregistered, and the element of surprise will not be lost.”
Although he looked for all the world to be the one in control, Razer knew more than anyone just what thin ice he tread on with this conversation. It was the truth, and it made perfect sense, but it was dangerous all the same. Deep down, he feared that this time Mizo would carve off the tattoo on his back in return for his insolence.
A moment passed in silence while the criminal superpower in Precurian skin considered the possibilities, weighing his options. Razer was quick, and quite the problem-solver, but the last thing he needed was another stroke to his ego. Precursors knew it was out of control already.
But what else could he do? The team needed Razer out there like a drought-stricken crop needed rain. Razer was the best Mizo had-the best the world had-and there was nothing he could do but consent to his terms.
If he won, it would be worth it. If he didn’t…well, Mizo could take care of that well enough, couldn’t he?
“What do you want?”
Razer smirked, eyes half-lidded and positively shining. “A Havoc V12. Red, with either a black or a white racing stripe. None of this red-on-green tripe people are running around in these days.”
“You’ll have it by morning.”
Razer relaxed slightly, almost imperceptibly. “As always, Blitz, it is a pleasure doing business with you.”
He turned around, waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s a miracle that you’re still around to be my business with all the shit you’ve been pulling.” He shot one final scathing look back at his lieutenant. “Don’t fuck this up, Razer. Either you win, or I show you just how much it hurts to lose.”
Razer swallowed, but his expression remained impassive regardless of how hard his heart pounded in his chest. “Yes sir.”
. : End : .
Fandom: Jak and Daxter (Jak X)
Rating: T
Characters: Razer, GT Blitz
Warnings: One F-bomb, some violent imagery, spoilers that have long since passed the statute of limitations.
Word Count: 918
Chapter: 1/1
Notes: This was written ages ago as a third-person sample in an application to play Razer on an RP here on LJ. Recently I re-apped him (after dropping him months and months ago), and decided the sample needed some reworking. It's really just a character study, but I'm really happy with the flow of it all.
Teaser: Razer shook his head slightly, reaching up with his free hand to rake long ivory fingers through pure black hair. “I could, certainly, but if I were to buy something new, something raceworthy, then some tabloid will pick up on it and the entire city would know of my intentions before I could even dial in Jak’s frequency.”
. : Tentative : .
“…You must be joking.”
Blitz slanted him a sharp look, lavender eyes narrowed, teeth clenched hard enough for Razer to see the muscles in his jaw flex even from his seat a good several feet away. “If this were a joke,” he said, “I’d be telling it to someone with a sense of humor.”
Razer took a deep drag on his cigarette, held delicately between two deep blue fingers, and then exhaled out the corner of his mouth. “I have a sense of humor,” he stated plainly. “Your brand of it, however…does not often appeal to me. But then, I have been with you longest.” He smirked, arching one fine eyebrow. “Perhaps you simply need some new material.”
There was that look again. Razer gave a low chuckle, green eyes narrowing just slightly, brightening amid the ivory mask of his face. “Ah, now who is it with no a sense of humor?”
“You’re not funny, Razer.”
“I am hilarious,” he asserted. “You simply don’t appreciate that facet of my personality enough.”
Now Blitz’s voice came out in a deep, threatening hiss. “I didn’t brand you mine for your comedic abilities. I branded you because you race, and you race when I tell you to.” Violet eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you to. Now.”
This was Mizo, the man that held Kras City in the palm of his hand, always just a step away from crushing it between his thick fingers. This was the man that had owned Razer for years and years, watching as he just barely shifted, changed just slightly, aged just a little, watched Northerner blood hold back the lines that should have been on his face and the shake that should have settled into his hands after over a decade solid of fighting and killing and manipulating the city to move under his influence.
Blitz wasn’t a problem. But Mizo, Mizo was the man that Razer still feared to anger. The last time he’d made a sizeable mistake had been bad enough; just thinking about it made his left hand sting, blue-tattooed skin throbbing at the memory of being carved off in oh-so-thin swaths while Mizo held one boot to Razer’s chest, pinning the young man-Makers, he had only been twenty-three-to the floor.
Razer straightened in his seat, expression turning serious. He flicked the ashes off the end of his cigarette and looked up at Mizo with nothing less than the deepest and the most tentative of loyalties; devotion bred from power, from pain and blood and threats. The only devotion most of Razer’s kind, barbarians as they were so often called, were ever willing to forge.
“If you want me out of retirement for the finals,” he said, thin lips a grim line when they met, “then I need a better car. I have not raced mine since the last tourney.”
“You can afford to get a new car,” Mizo ground out.
Razer shook his head slightly, reaching up with his free hand to rake long ivory fingers through pure black hair. “I could, certainly, but if I were to buy something new, something raceworthy, then some tabloid will pick up on it and the entire city would know of my intentions before I could even dial in Jak’s frequency.”
He inclined his head slightly, crushed his spent cigarette in the ashtray and then put a hand on either arm of the chair, legs crossed at the ankles.
“If you buy the car for me,” he explained with what seemed to be the greatest ease, certainty thick in his tone, “then the account will be untraceable, the vehicle will be unregistered, and the element of surprise will not be lost.”
Although he looked for all the world to be the one in control, Razer knew more than anyone just what thin ice he tread on with this conversation. It was the truth, and it made perfect sense, but it was dangerous all the same. Deep down, he feared that this time Mizo would carve off the tattoo on his back in return for his insolence.
A moment passed in silence while the criminal superpower in Precurian skin considered the possibilities, weighing his options. Razer was quick, and quite the problem-solver, but the last thing he needed was another stroke to his ego. Precursors knew it was out of control already.
But what else could he do? The team needed Razer out there like a drought-stricken crop needed rain. Razer was the best Mizo had-the best the world had-and there was nothing he could do but consent to his terms.
If he won, it would be worth it. If he didn’t…well, Mizo could take care of that well enough, couldn’t he?
“What do you want?”
Razer smirked, eyes half-lidded and positively shining. “A Havoc V12. Red, with either a black or a white racing stripe. None of this red-on-green tripe people are running around in these days.”
“You’ll have it by morning.”
Razer relaxed slightly, almost imperceptibly. “As always, Blitz, it is a pleasure doing business with you.”
He turned around, waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s a miracle that you’re still around to be my business with all the shit you’ve been pulling.” He shot one final scathing look back at his lieutenant. “Don’t fuck this up, Razer. Either you win, or I show you just how much it hurts to lose.”
Razer swallowed, but his expression remained impassive regardless of how hard his heart pounded in his chest. “Yes sir.”
. : End : .