Storm 12:: [Audio] // [Open Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[It is very easy in one's life on the Elegante to lose track of time. Ignoring the possible discrepancy in calendars between worlds, there was the unending drone of days that just dragged past like a drive in a desert with no horizon

Comments

[Audio]

[shadesofeco]

Too many dead to honor, I guess.

[Jak hadn't been interested in any of the religious ceremonies, mostly he just stepped over the dead and tried to get back to protecting the living.]

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Jak doesn't respond, but thirty minutes later he appears on the top deck, stepping out of the stairwell and looking for his father.]

Damas?

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[Damas is still watching the sky, but at his feet are make-shift prayer papers left over from Marmas, matches, a marker, and a small bottle of water.]

Ah, Jak.

[He turns, his appearance haggard. It's mostly a lack of sleep-- it is pretty late, closer to daybreak than midnight.]

Good evening.

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

Hey.

[For once, Jak looks better than his father does. He peers at the older man as he wanders over to the railings, shoving his hands in his pockets.]

You look tired.

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

It is late, and I am generally somewhat of an early riser.

[Some excuse.

He ducks down to collect the papers and the marker.]

Are you ready to begin?

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Yeah, that's bullshit, but Jak's not about to call him on it. He can't blame him, not at a time like this.

He takes a deep breath, watching Damas gathering the things they'll need.]

Yeah.

[No.]

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

It is a simple matter, as I said.

[He offers a slip of the paper.]

One must write a prayer for their family, including the one who has passed on. You sign it, and burn it. It is supposed to reach them.

I like to think she would be more than surprised to receive one from her son.

[If she can receive it at all.]

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Jak takes the paper and a pen, then looks more than a little lost.]

What am I supposed to write?

[Traverse dangerous tombs? Sure. Crawl through sewers? No problem. Slaughter a Metal Head hive? Easy.

Write a heartfelt prayer for the death of a parent he doesn't remember?

Jak has no idea where to even start.]

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[There are a multitude of things that Damas would have written himself, but...]

It does not need to be profound. Most people write that they miss their loved ones, or speak briefly of how the world that they left behind fares day-to-day.

Things of the like.

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Jak still looks a little uncomfortable, but he nods and holds the paper against the rail, writing slowly in Precurian script.

Rereading it once, he then writes one more sentence -- the letters D, A and D can clearly be seen -- then folds it in half.]

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[The king's brow furrows for a moment and he smiles faintly. It wasn't his place to ask what Jak chose to say.

Damas uncaps the bottle of water, and pours less than a thimble-full into the cap.]

Take your finger and press a drop to each corner of the folded paper. The water is supposed to carry your fingerprint better than any ink will-- as it is clear, it is only truthful.

Think of it as... a very personal type of signature. No one can forge it, and the water brings a balance to the flame to come, like light and dark eco in the world.

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Jak listens intently, then nods reverently.

Dipping his finger into the water, he carefully and gently presses it to each corner. This ritual is unfamiliar to him, but it's a way to bond with his father, and in a sense, his mother. Hearing the explanations and how important it is to Damas makes him that much more sure that he needs to take this seriously.]

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[Finally, Damas removes a match from its box.]

And now, we burn the paper, so the words will be carried to her.

[He strikes the match, and offers it, still burning to his son.

The motions and practices had been so hollow for so long, somewhat meaningless from years of watching and not participating. Seeing Jak attempt to connect was more meaningful than anything he could have written on that paper, at least to Damas. The boy wanted to know, and reach out. That in itself was able to lift the weight from Damas' heart.]

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[Taking the match, Jak holds it to the corner of the note until it catches. Shaking out the match, he watches the edges of the paper curl with the flames, then holds it over the railing and lets it fall, twisting and fluttering down to the waves below.

There's a moment of silence, and he closes his eyes. He didn't expect to feel much at all, but there was some sense of relief. Something inside him releasing its grip, as if he'd been waiting to do this for a long time without even knowing it.

Letting out a breath, he opens his eyes and smiles slightly.]

[Commentlog]

[survivorking]

[Damas does not bother to conceal his own smile, though he does try to ignore the pinpricks at the corners of his eyes.

Maybe it was the change from when he first met Jak again, or even his change in the past months... whatever it was, Damas was proud to see his son as he was now. There had always been some hesitation to believe this man was his Mar, but... something about the way he handled he ceremony removed what few doubts remained.

He lifts a hand and pats Jak's shoulder heavily. He doesn't need to say it. His son did well.]

[Commentlog]

[shadesofeco]

[When Jak sees that unashamed, proud smile, he practically beams. He'd always admired Damas, as a King, as a ruler, as a survivor, as the man that saved his life. But seeing that kind of pride and acknowledgment from the man he knows as his father is something Jak thought he'd never know.]

You think she'll get it?

[Jak's still not sure what he believes regarding the ceremony. But symbolically, he could tell it meant something to Damas, and in return, to him.

Burning pieces of paper to Mar? Seemed silly. He was standing right there after all; even if he hadn't been, he didn't see the point. But for his mother? Somehow, that was different.]