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Jak - In Review
The door creaked open, and his head lifted from the papers on the table, green eyebrows arching at the sapphire-haired young woman on the threshold.
"Can…can I come in?" Her voice was quiet, weak. He loved it and hated it in equal measure. It had been a while, but he still remembered all too well the sting lurking under that voice, what it had done to his heart and his head in a few short words. Her voice hurt more than any of the experiments ever had.
He nodded anyway, gesturing to the empty chair across the table, and then went back to the papers he had been given to review before they were passed off to the Council. It was strange, reading about what they had done to him. Jarring, disturbing, and eerily distant. This young man in the photos and described in the reports was so different from who he was now, so much more alive, that is wasn't difficult to look at it as though it were an entirely different person he was
Jak Characters In Character"How To Keep Your Characters 'In Character'."
For all new authors who need help with keeping the characters of the Jak and Daxter universe 'in character', just follow these simple guidelines! Take it from an author who has been writing Jak and Daxter fanfiction for four years, and has hundreds of fans.
Jak/Mar/Jak Mar (Post-Prison): Make him every single jerk you've ever known. Go completely over-board on contempt and angst. As long as you remember that, no matter how hot he is, he is a bastard, you'll do just fine. And about his name? Whichever name sounds right to you, go ahead and use it. In terms of romance, the two main pairings for Jak are Keira and Ashelin, Yaoi lovers seem to like Jak paired up with Torn or Daxter. Pick your favorite pairing, and defend it by the skin of your teeth. (Jak/Keira 4ever!!!!)
Daxter: Dax-To-The-Max can be easier than you might think. As long as you stick in at least five one-liners per a chapter (depending on the size of the chapter), no one will ev
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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