Theme Number: 10
Title: Natural
Rating: K
Characters Involved: Jak Daxter and Sig
Pairings involved: None were implied when writing this. You can bring what you want to this.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Somewhere in Jak 3

Vessels of every kind lay ready. People, old and young alike huddled in doorways anticipating nature's fury like an arena battle.

"Looks like another sandstorm. Not like we don't have THOSE every day of the week." Daxter drawled uncertainly. Sig had appeared minutes earlier, perching himself on a vehicle rollcage to watch the weather with oddly pensive anticipation. This just seemed to be more than your run of the mill sandstorm.

A flash lit their world followed by a terrific crash. Daxter tumbled from his hold, startled by something that obviously wasn't thunder, okay JAK! The smirk laced with something almost childish was proof enough of Jak's thoughts.

There was the distinct patter of wetness on the ground.

All the warning the city had before the deluge commenced.

It was a classic thunderstorm, pounding rain, thunder booming and lightning jumping from ground to the air. Spectacularly fierce fitting to the Wasteland.

There was a taunting shout and a sudden streak of low to the ground orange dashing out into the downpour. Daxter was foolhardy but Sig was sure the ottsel had at least a grasp on common sense.

Until now though.

He was reveling in the water. Arms wide open and tilted very close to falling back on his ass.

Jak shot out a second later, hastily skidding to a stop and struggling to get the morph gun off his back. Sig watched him stumble from one foot to the other, attempting to break a record for getting his boots off.

Communicators, and the precursor metal he'd acquired on his first artifact hunt joined the haphazard pile. Without a backwards glance he shot back out, wide grin on his full-out running face. When he lobbed a pitch of something forward, there could be no doubt he had a plan in mind.

Jak wasn't laughing, but he was completely unaware that he was being watched. Grinning and at ease in a way that Sig had never witnessed in the time he'd known Haven's renegade savior.

"Ha! First blood baby," Daxter triumphed after lobbing a perfect shot at Jak's head, to which he received a response right between the shoulder blades. Clearly this was some time honored tradition, the two of them racing in circles hurling mud at each other.

"Hey! Cherries!" Sig called. Jak stopped abruptly, overbalanced and fell flat to the ground. Which was all that "saved" him from Sig's pitch, slung just where his shoulder would have been.

Daxter was on the verge of laughing, mouth open, when he felt a glob of mud nail him in the shoulder. Wastelanders challengingly eyed them and each other. It was silent as the water poured; no one was really sure what to do.

And then of course, all hell broke loose.

Damas stood agape in the aftermath, his finest warriors breathless and filthy. In the center of it all, he somehow wasn't surprised to find Jak, Daxter and Sig innocently standing at perfect attention, covered head to toe in incrimination.