driftfleet | first one to make that doctor who joke loses

[Be careful what you ask for, Peggy, because Max has no qualms talking business. He looks absolutely exasperated, from what she can see of his eyes and brow. The huff of air says as much.]

Won an engine. Sore losers.

Buzzards stabbed me in the leg, roped me flat to the ground to sunbake.

[YOU KNOW. BUSINESS.]

[ oh, look! the ship. or, at least, one of the short range shuttles that can bring them back up to the ship. his, likely -- rather than whichever one she'd taken down. best to let max do the piloting when he's making the trip. it's one of those rare concessions she made. ]

I take it you're not talking about literal buzzards?

[Max shakes his head, apparently too involved in his own memories to read the humor in Peggy's reply. He's sliding into the piloting seat and punching in the starter controls as he goes -- a smooth, distant action, one done enough that he barely pays his own hands any mind as they work.]

They feed off the world. Mm. I do, too, but not... like that -- they don't see things as they are. Cars are scrap metal. Buildings are brick and rock to take. People are meat to consume. I was lucky they left me to die instead of stringing me up for their dinner.

[It's an easy topic, home. Even in regards to the Buzzards. But with it carries a bit of silent animosity, in Max's heart. He is not on good terms with them. The bracelet he fidgets with on his wrist is memory of that.]

[ she waits until they leave the ground and the air systems within the shuttle have cycled at least once before she unbuckles her mask and frees her face. she gives her curls a shake, and welcomes cool air on her cheeks. ]

They unmake things.

[Max follows her example, unclasping the mask from his face and setting it aside.

He takes a deep, rumbling breath, and then replies much like a correction:]

Not just things.

[They unmade Glory and her mother, after all. Back into the earth. Recycled.]

People, then. Lives. The undo it all --

[ peggy is looking elsewhere. out the blurred and scratched shuttle 'window' perhaps, as they break atmosphere. or maybe she's merely lost in thought. but then her head turns to address max once again and...

christ on a cracker. ]

You've bloody done it. [ she doesn't hide how she stares. ] My word.

[He blinks innocently enough at the comment, before looking back ahead.]

Mm, don't be dramatic. S'just hair.

[Says babyface-mcfuckin-gee.

~~dont embarrass me peggy~~]

It isn't only hair. [ ... ] You had a damned bird's nest on your chin.

[He glances at her indignantly, brow furrowed.]

If it was that easy, I'd have bird for lunch more often.

[Fella looks younger, now — though one wonders how old he even is to begin with.

... Spoilers he isn't sure anymore.]

[ that's gross, max. gross. ]

-- On the other hand, the old lady's pet-name for you makes a great deal more sense. No wonder she's bringing you home-cooked meals.

[He doesn't look at her, but the corners of his ears redden a bit.]

Hrmph.

[He's never cared about his looks. Frankly, that sort of thing died off with Jessie - she used to tease him, or call him sweet little pet names just to make him defensive, or point out her preference for him to be clean-shaved. Granted, it had been part of his job, being clean and well-groomed for the force, but.

Doesn't matter.

But you know. Only human. He's mildly embarrassed by the innocent but clear affections of said old lady. And mildly embarrassed Peggy seems to be in some sort of agreement.]

[ what? she's a only human, too. and not nearly so repressed that she can't comment on a friend's fine showing. after all, he is a friend now. isn't he? by most standard definitions, peggy would have to accept that label. ]

It's a good move, though. [ she reintroduces common sense into the discussion. ] You shaved for the sake of the mask, didn't you?

[He nods with less reluctance. Talking moves and plans is his bread and butter, and all.]

It wasn't worth struggling with.

[It's clear he doesn't do it often, judging by the slight knick on his jawline. He may be good with a blade, but he's just not much for cutting hair. He's quiet again for a moment, unsure if he should say anything more than that. Once upon a time, he wouldn't even have given Peggy a response at all. Wouldn't have even offered to take her back to the ship. Would have clawed and scratched and bit his way to what he thought was freedom, like he had in the last world.

The pause continues, one beat, two.]

Was nice, though. I guess.

Doing it myself.

[It was nice seeing himself clearly, done himself. It felt almost normal.

When was the last time he stood in front of a clean sink, in a clean bathroom, manipulating a razor made of only the cleanest steel?]

Edited 2016-04-08 01:13 (UTC)

Certainly, mankind can survive a grimy and shaggy existence -- but I often found it an act of self-sufficiency to take care of one's appearance. [ she's agreeing with him, although her terms are more arch and abstracted than his own. ]

[He scoffs, unimpressed by the idea.]

You wouldn't think that f'you lived to see the end of the world.

... Only women I've seen wearing make-up were slaves. [He stops. Quiet. Thoughtful. He glances slyly, almost, to Peggy.] But. They were strong. Stronger than me sometimes. Mmmm, people underestimated them because they were small and well-kept, but maybe that gave them an edge.

[Is that what Peggy's life is? Being constantly underestimated by her polite and well-kept stature? His glance suggests his humored curiosity as he makes a fist with his good hand.]

... Also, sharp bony fists. Good edge.

Good lipstick was shorthand for good moral, during the war. [ which only reminds peggy to fish a compact mirror out of her coat pocket so she could check her face. the masks aren't generous to cosmetics; things smudge. ] As was a well-shaved face, for the men. But they had their own masks to wear from time to time.

[ underestimated? peggy? certainly. but in the back of her mind she thinks about max's claim. slaves -- stronger than me sometimes, he'd said. the very fact that there should be slavery at all no longer surprised her. she'd come to expect the worst. ]

Did you ever underestimate them? The slaves?

[He considers it for a moment.]

Mmn... no. Was terrified of them.

[He clears his throat. He underestimated them based on their timid, frightened way, perhaps, but he was in no position to see himself as anything better. It's complicated, but he's having a hard time trying to replace himself into his own shoes. Not that it was a long time ago, or that he doesn't still carry his old logic, but because it was genuinely a blur of ugly sound and sight. His mind was not at its best then. Not sharp, not observant enough, just a wild creature struggling to plot his way to freedom.

Regardless of how he thought they looked, though, he had always saw them as a threat.

Always.]

They were... blocking my escape. I wanted their rig. Ahm. Truck.

[He motions at nothing.]

Was the only way to get out, at the time.

They were obstacles. Perhaps without ever meaning to be -- yes, I can see how that might be terrifying.

[ no matter how innocent, hard put upon, or kindly a stranger might be when they cross your path -- they can still be an obstacle. with an uneasy pain, she thinks about the young woman killed in cold blood to get to her. she thinks about the kinds of obstacles mere acquaintanceship provides. oh, she doubts it's what max intends. but it resonates all the same. ]

I've spoken with Furiousa, you know. She tells it like you did a wonderful thing.

They were people. I didn't want to be around people.

[There is some level of discomfort with the reply -- and an even more obvious discomfort at the idea of Furiosa labeling what he did in a favorable light. He shifts with some restlessness in his seat, a tic Max can't stop, because his body hardly ever listens to him. But he doesn't run. Can't run and wouldn't even if he had the space to. He can talk about this. It's just the Fury Road.

It's just. Nobody should be speaking about someone like him like that.]

I just drove when asked. Took and gave blood. Didn't do anything wonderful. It wasn't... I was just listening to...

[... The ghosts. His conscience too, but the ghosts always seemed to know when it was torturing him. Always knew when he cared. He clears his throat.]

Wasn't their time to die, is all.

Listening is a wonderful thing. [ peggy shifts in the passenger seat. her fingers are crooked under her chin, and she watches him with alert interest. maybe he doesn't realize how much a blessing it can be to work with someone who listens. ] Driving when you're bloody well asked is a wonderful thing -- when it's for a proper cause.

Lives were saved. I would call that wonderful.

[He purses his lips, thinning them from fullness to an unsure line.

He flusters, just a bit.]

It's not like that. Wasn't like that.

[Look who can't take any form of praise, like, at all.]

M'not any of that... They helped me, I repaid them. Fair exchange.

[Yeah, that's it. That's definitely it.]

Whatever you say, Handsome.

[ -- she'll let him have his meager victory and deflect the description of 'wonderful', but only if she gets to keep the nickname. clearly. ]

[He makes such a face at that.

Without skipping a beat, he throws back with a sour tone:]

Good. Glad you agree, Beautiful.

[yeah he just did that, that's a thing he just did

and he almost immediately regrets it

like immediately]

[ here is the cat who got the canary and the cream. self-bloody-satisfied, indeed. she seems almost ready to preen, she's just that happy with eking in the last word within their exchange.

but then he says it. he says beautiful. and it's so terribly wrong wrapped up in his gruff tones that it sounds alien to every other time some smarmy-mouthed git has pressed the pet-name slyly past his tongue. howard chief among them.

at first, it's like she has something caught in her throat. ]

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