Jak's lips tightened into a thin line, but he sighed, letting his head fall back to thud against the wall. He should probably have gotten up to chase Daxter, make sure he was safe, but the thought just hadn't occurred to his sleep-deprived mind.
He'd thought of it often, in prison. Whether Dax was safe, what he was doing, how he was surviving. Whether he was even alive at all. And while he knew Daxter was an opportunist, the idea of him having multiple safe houses was genuinely a surprise.
Not even realizing his head was nodding, Jak shifted automatically to make himself more comfortable, half-slumped against the clothes.
Daxter peeked through the hole in the door, ears down and back to minimize what would be visible -considering bright orange fur was easy enough to spot in the gray and grime of the slums- and searched for any nearby KG patrols.
A few ambling guards; the ones on their tail were charging in a different direction now. The alarm would probably be dropped soon. But if he told Jak, his friend would probably just drag himself back up and insist they make their way to the Underground.
Well then. The windows upstairs were boarded up anyway; Jak wouldn't know.
Daxter quietly padded his way back up the stairs and over to Jak's side, stretching. "They're still sweepin' the place down there Jak. I think we better stay put for a while." Dropping to all fours, Daxter stretched again -neck to tail- turned in a neat circle and dropped onto the rags at Jak's hip, ready to sleep.
If the alarms were still sounding, Jak wasn't listening. Now that he had stopped, he couldn't have gotten back up if he tried.
Grunting in sleepy acknowledgment, he shifted a little more, curling on his side and letting out a deep sigh. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept, but it was too long ago. Long before the last batch of Dark Eco injections, and little more than a shallow, fearful nap.
He was out in less than a minute, his breathing evening out and the deep lines in his face slowly relaxing.
Daxter dozed for a moment, but his stomach woke him before long. Blinking sleepily and shaking his head, he lifted his chin from where he'd rested it atop his crossed arms and looked over at Jak
( ... )
Time in prison had taught Jak never to sleep deeply. Stir easily, jerk awake at the smallest noise, always be on your feet and ready to fight when that cell door opened and the guards stormed in
( ... )
Daxter heard the thud thud of bootfalls above him as he entered the building and for a moment his stomach clenched, thinking there were KG up there. But he knew he was being irrational; if there were guards, they'd be making a hell of a lot more noise than that, chattering nonstop to each other about races and how their armor rode up in the crotch and all kinds of creepy bullshit like that.
So Daxter shook himself and carefully picked his way up the stairs. Jak probably just woke up was all, and was wondering where his food was. "Honey, I'm home!" Daxter sang cheerfully, up on two legs again and unslinging the back from his neck.
Two seconds away from launching himself down the stairs and out onto the street, Jak stared at his best friend, then scowled. He wasn't angry, despite his appearance. Just worried half to death, and still half-asleep.
Daxter didn't bother with a verbal response -for once- and just shook the bag and the bottle of water in Jak's direction for him to observe. He headed over to the pile of rags and sat back on his haunches, setting down the bottle and proceeding to lay the food out, using the bag as a makeshift tablecloth.
"What're you doin' up anyhow? You were out like a light, man."
It was a dismissive, grumpy response, but Jak was still running on his brief burst of adrenaline. Sitting back down on the clothes, he rubbed the side of his face, watching as Daxter unpacked their spoils.
Daxter wished he could've been surprised, but he wasn't. Two years in prison with Erol and the Baron, getting injected with Dark Eco on a constant basis? Definitely nightmare material there.
Digging his claws into the peel of the orange, Daxter started to strip off the rind as his tail swept lazily across the floor. "That sucks. Anyway- you still like oranges, right?"
Jak didn't answer. He grabbed an apple and tore into it hungrily, with very little care for manners. Well, not that he had immaculate manners before prison, but still. There was usually very limited time to eat, and uneaten food couldn't be kept. Not to mention feeding schedules were largely optional. Jak was usually fed once a day, enough food to keep him alive and not completely malnourished, but little enough to keep his wits dulled and his enthusiasm for escape dampened.
But getting fresh fruit was a luxury denied the prisoners. They were lucky if they got the bruised, slightly rotten, occasionally fermented crap that even the slummers turned down.
The sweet, sticky juice ran down his chin as Jak devoured the fruit, finally stopping for breath once it was reduced to little more than a core and stem. The experiments made him nauseous, so food was withheld for twenty-four hours either side of testing day, and Jak was starving.
Only pausing for a moment, Jak reached to take the orange, pulling it apart and forcing himself to slow a little. Too much too fast, and he'd just make himself throw it all up again.
Meanwhile, Daxter broke one of the hard rolls in half and gnawed on it; he'd be fine with just that, better to give Jak the rest. He was also preparing himself to go get more food in a few more hours, though he wasn't sure how much Jak should eat. It wasn't good to eat a lot when you'd been starving, was it? He'd heard that somewhere, but he couldn't remember exactly where.
Anyway, he was more than content with just the half of a roll and some water, so after he finished with his food he took a swig of water and trotted over to the stairs. "I'm gonna go check again. You can have the rest, buddy."
"Thanks," he mumbled around a mouthful. He filled up surprisingly fast considering how much he ate before prison, and the temptation to force down the last pieces of bread and fruit was strong. Experience told him that if he didn't eat it now, it'd be gone forever, but logic argued that he was free now and no one would take it away.
Still, he stuffed it back into the bag, tied the handles together, and tucked it close to him as he sat back on the clothes again.
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Ugh. Nope. He was already gone.
Jak's lips tightened into a thin line, but he sighed, letting his head fall back to thud against the wall. He should probably have gotten up to chase Daxter, make sure he was safe, but the thought just hadn't occurred to his sleep-deprived mind.
He'd thought of it often, in prison. Whether Dax was safe, what he was doing, how he was surviving. Whether he was even alive at all. And while he knew Daxter was an opportunist, the idea of him having multiple safe houses was genuinely a surprise.
Not even realizing his head was nodding, Jak shifted automatically to make himself more comfortable, half-slumped against the clothes.
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A few ambling guards; the ones on their tail were charging in a different direction now. The alarm would probably be dropped soon. But if he told Jak, his friend would probably just drag himself back up and insist they make their way to the Underground.
Well then. The windows upstairs were boarded up anyway; Jak wouldn't know.
Daxter quietly padded his way back up the stairs and over to Jak's side, stretching. "They're still sweepin' the place down there Jak. I think we better stay put for a while." Dropping to all fours, Daxter stretched again -neck to tail- turned in a neat circle and dropped onto the rags at Jak's hip, ready to sleep.
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Grunting in sleepy acknowledgment, he shifted a little more, curling on his side and letting out a deep sigh. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept, but it was too long ago. Long before the last batch of Dark Eco injections, and little more than a shallow, fearful nap.
He was out in less than a minute, his breathing evening out and the deep lines in his face slowly relaxing.
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So Daxter shook himself and carefully picked his way up the stairs. Jak probably just woke up was all, and was wondering where his food was. "Honey, I'm home!" Daxter sang cheerfully, up on two legs again and unslinging the back from his neck.
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"Where were you?"
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"What're you doin' up anyhow? You were out like a light, man."
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It was a dismissive, grumpy response, but Jak was still running on his brief burst of adrenaline. Sitting back down on the clothes, he rubbed the side of his face, watching as Daxter unpacked their spoils.
Where did he get the money for-
Oh. Huh.
He was more resourceful than Jak thought.
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Digging his claws into the peel of the orange, Daxter started to strip off the rind as his tail swept lazily across the floor. "That sucks. Anyway- you still like oranges, right?"
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But getting fresh fruit was a luxury denied the prisoners. They were lucky if they got the bruised, slightly rotten, occasionally fermented crap that even the slummers turned down.
The sweet, sticky juice ran down his chin as Jak devoured the fruit, finally stopping for breath once it was reduced to little more than a core and stem. The experiments made him nauseous, so food was withheld for twenty-four hours either side of testing day, and Jak was starving.
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Once he finished Daxter held up the peeled orange wordlessly for him to take.
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Anyway, he was more than content with just the half of a roll and some water, so after he finished with his food he took a swig of water and trotted over to the stairs. "I'm gonna go check again. You can have the rest, buddy."
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Still, he stuffed it back into the bag, tied the handles together, and tucked it close to him as he sat back on the clothes again.
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