driftfleet | may-time mingling (starstruck!)

[ — ah.

He glances up in surprise (and chides himself for being surprised, he needs to be more alert to the world around him, even at the table). Ah, it's the poison girl. He looks from her to the small old music player, considering a decent reply.]

Found it on the planet, in a shop. Broken, but fixable.

It is old.

[ Her head tilts and she watches, her eyes dark and certain as she gazes down at the player. She can smell the metal, sharp and sure, and she wonders how something broken can sound so beautiful, create such lovely things. Lauralae steps forward, ignoring the dog and her own instincts, leaning down to look instead with a guardedness she can't hide. ]

How will you repair it?

Mhm. Old.

[He taps his finger on the outside of the machine, finishes taking out one of the intricately small screws to view the insides.]

... See the bumps in the cylinder? Needs to hit these metal bristles. It's what makes the sound. Just need to fix some of the bristles. You heard a song without some notes, before.

[ Lauralae leans over, giving herself the space to peer down at the machinery inside, the bumps and the metal. She frowns, tilting her head, before she looks back over at Max and speaks. ]

It was beautiful as it was. Does it need to be fixed?

... If something can be fixed, doesn't it deserve it?

[He glances over at her, expression rather blank, but there's quiet contemplation to the reply.]

[ She blinks, staring for a long, drawn out moment, unable to hide the way that the question effects her, until she speaks. Her voice is quieter, then, and soft. ]

That is the choice that lies in the hand of who dares do the fixing.

[He leans back, humming casually in his voice, like a rumbling engine.]

It's one thing I know how to fix.

[But that's particularly morbid, isn't it. He smooths the busted metal, aligning the small silver whiskers that flick across the machine's turning musical braille. When he winds it again with the heavy pads of his overworked fingertips, it plays cleanly, filling the kitchen with a nice tune.]

Mm. Good enough.

[A pause. He leans his chin into his palm and stoically offers her the music box.

He has no more use for it, other than to pass it along.]

[ Lauralae watches him carefully, stepping through and letting her eyes sweep over the music box as he repairs it. She can't deny her curiosity, especially at such careful work, and the sound the box makes when it is repaired is beautiful, just as beautiful as it had been before. Perhaps there was some worth in the mending here. ]

It is wonderful.

[ And then he offers the box out to her and her eyes widen a fraction, her gaze steady as she stares at him. It takes her a moment, but she manages to find her words. ]

For trade?

[... Hn.]

F'you want to. Doesn't matter to me.

[He glances toward the table, but doesn't lower the small box.]

Don't have much use for it; just something to pass the time.

[ It has been far, far too long since someone offered her something as simple as a gift, and she still struggles with the very idea. Eventually, however, she lifts her hand up to her neck and draws something on a chain up and over, offering it out to him.

The wolf's tooth hangs on thick, woven string, black and twined around the top of the tooth. The decoration around the tip is almost like gold, but not thick enough to be pure; decoration, and nothing else. ]

Take this, then, as a gift.

[ She places the token in front of him on the table before, shyly, she takes the music box into her own hands. ]

[He blinks, leaning as if the very idea takes him aback. It's suddenly very clear he's about on the same boat as her when he comes to gifts — only, for him, he's had the opportunity to be gifted here. Peggy's offered wrappings for the punching bag, and Furiosa's given him a plant; someone gave him liquor, once. So much to offer here, so easy to offer. He's often times surprised to silence or stammering so outside of his normal stoic range.

He slowly takes the necklace in his hand, looking unsure.]

... Not sentimental, is it?

[He doesn't want to take something she holds precious. He knows what if feels like, to cling to objects. Memories of the old world. His jacket, his car... and really, that's it, that's all he's managed to keep. The rest has been traded to keep alive, or stolen off him by someone who got the upper hand.

He doesn't want to be that person. The music box meant nothing crucial to him. He has to make sure it's likewise.]

[ Lauralae cannot bear the idea of taking something without giving in return; the idea of kindness, of sweetness, is entirely foreign to her and it leaves her uncomfortable on edge. It makes her feel as though she owes someone something, anything, really, and she cannot have that weight on her shoulders - even if it is as simple as something that someone else would not use.

He takes it, and there's a moment of obvious relief that overcomes her, calming her. ]

No. I can make another.

[ The tooth is her own, taken from her own mouth when she was in wolf form and the rest was made in quiet moments alone, twining thread and reshaping metal with heat and touches of magic. It would be easy to make more, should she want it, and she kept it upon her self so far just because she had no where else to put it. Now it has a better home, and while it is a fairly flimsy and innocent thing she hopes he will take it as the token it is meant. ]

I do not hold many sentiments.

That's smart.

[He holds the necklace in his hand, turning it over between his fingers.]

It's good to not hold sentiments. Never know when you'll lose them, need to let them go.

Especially in this place.

[ Lauralae holds the music box closer to her, her fingers brushing over it. It's nothing sentimental, but it is something different for her - something she had wanted rather than something she had needed, and she knows the tune will soothe her when she is at her darkest moments. ]

This place is devoid of sentiment. There is nothing to be gained here. Even the walls can see it.

[ Shiny and metal, nothing upon them but your own reflection. ]

We must not grow attached to that which we will lose.

[He nods.]

Will only ruin you, if you do.

[Only if Max was honest with himself, he would know he's already grown attached to those that he will undoubtedly lose. Not objects. People. But for now... he has to lie to himself, to keep going.]

Would rather be on open land.

[He's not a fan of the space ships.]

Ruin is something many expect but do not accept when it comes.

[ Her eyes dart over him, dark and a little dangerous, before she turns her head away and drops down to look at the music box. It's such a simple, innocent thing but she adores it so much that she finds it hard to consider putting it into words.

Looking over at Max once more she nods. ]

As would I. It is too contained here, too small. It is deadly.

[ She is a wolf; she needs to be free. ]

[He hums.

Turns the necklace in his calloused hands.]

Too many people.

Too many, and no space to venture freely.

[ She considers, absently, before she continues. ]

We shall drown in company and not be content with it.

[Hnn. He shrugs.]

S'why I go to the moon.

may-time mingling (starstruck!)

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