SLAVERS PLOT LOG |closed-ish. this is why we don't get nice things, bud.

[theroadwarrior]

Who: Max, Tempest, and a buttload of others who want to be involved (and slavers).
Broadcast: N/A
Action: that shitty junkstation what up
When: IDK TODAY SURE.

SUMMARY:

Max helped Beverly out with some shady people a while back. Well. They didn't appreciate that. Cue them deciding to wail on Max and Tempest and drag the guy off to sale on the slave trade market. That just won't do, who else is gonna grunt and complain and accidentally punch or threaten small children on the fleet? Rescue squad, assemble.

(AKA there will be a Part A thread and then future open threads for rescuing or just... y'know, an excuse to beat the tar out of some terrible people. Also maybe a thread for Max after the fact?? Who knows.)

Comments

[theroadwarrior]

Max startles only from being too dizzy to tell what's what (and maybe because he almost expects a slap upside the head for just being him, let's be real), but then all the tension drains out of him and he relaxes into the forehead touch. He's exhausted, but this is the most relieving thing — freed, in decent health, and not being carted across space, away from everyone else. He closes his eyes and focuses on that.

"Mmhm. That's me." A pause. "Didn't think I'd get out. Was worried..." He hesitates, opens his eyes, half-lidded gaze directed to the floor, where there's a smudge of blood. "Was worried everyone would think I left on, um. Purpose."

Bound and faced with death or worse, and that was one of the biggest concerns, beside the first — that the woman was potentially killed because she was around him by chance. He frowns deeply. "Nobody died? From - our side?"

Because he couldn't handle that. It's too much, for people to die on your behalf.

[kill_switch]

"I don't know." She answers honestly, keeping the contact for a moment more before leaning back, her hand still at the back of his head, fingers lightly pushing through his hair. "They were still fighting when I left."

She leans back further to look toward the door, pausing to listen for sounds of a fight. She's still mulling over his earlier comment, because he's not wrong; she wouldn't have faulted him for leaving. But once she had any inclination he'd been taken? Her presence here is just a small indication of the fury she would have thrown into trying to find him.

"Let's make a pact, then. Let's not leave each other behind."

She looks back at him, and there it is. He's her only remaining connection to the Wives, the Vuvalini, to that world she left behind. He's the catalyst to its survival. She wouldn't have faulted him leaving, but she's glad he's here.

Gently, she retrieves her hand and stand, looking to get him a cup of water.

"We should be going. Get you to safety."

[theroadwarrior]

Max winces just a bit, but he at least is able to get upright quickly enough. If there's one thing you could gleam from Max in the throes of danger, it's that he's amazingly resilient. He'll run a mile on a bum leg and not sweat it until he's at the finish line with a grapefruit for a knee. Looking at Furiosa, he sighs softly.

"Pact, then," he says, holding a hand out. His own method of agreement, as it's always been. "Won't leave for good. Not unless we tell each other."

Then there'll be no doubt.

Because she's the link, too, and he's not about to let her slip away when he could do something about it. Not that he sees Furiosa as a runner, but it quells his fears to know that she'd never walk away without letting him know.

[kill_switch]

It doesn't take a second thought to clasp her hand in his in a firm grip; pact sealed. It was comforting to now this; that he could trust him, that he wanted her there, that they shared this deeper connection from the Wasatelands, even if they were from different parts of it; she wanted to settle, to be with her people, to create a better environment, and he - he was a loner. She's even a little surprised that he's open to this; she still remembers the way he slipped off without comment back at the Citadel. But, things were different here; the rules for survival were different. As infuriating as it might be, sticking with the Fleet and around people held its own security with it. That, that human connection, was the key to survival here.

Eventually, she lets go of his hand, finds a bottle of water, and tosses it over to him. Then, she finds the slaver's discarded pistol and hands that over to Max as well, before recovering her own shotgun.

"Stick behind me."

He's not in any condition to engage if they meet up with slavers on the way out, and while she trusts in Makie's abilities and the others who had stepped up to help, she doesn't want to assume anything and run into some errant hostile while Max was compromised.

[theroadwarrior]

He catches the water, drinks a healthy few gulps to quell his thirst. He has to adjust his shirt to fall back semi-naturally into place, though judging from a few tears in the fabric and some blood stains, there's not much chance for it to be recovered.

... To a normal person, anyway. Likely he'll use it as rags after; waste not, want not. He limps after her, forcing his battered knee to keep up with her speed, regardless of the pain. He's sweating from it after even just a quick pace down the hall, but he's determined, biting his already bruised lip hard enough to draw blood.

He'll stay behind you, not gonna fall back.

No running at all now, he supposes. Not ever.

[kill_switch]

Furiosa tries to keep the pace a little lighter for him, in recognition of his condition, but she is pushing them to make it back to the shuttle as quick as they can. She's on high alert, a sharp tension that keeps her taking the little moments before rounding corners or coming to an intersection in the corridors to pause and listen.

The closer to the cargo bay they get, the longer get moments become; she wants to know add much of the climate before stepping in.

She glanced back at Max. "Holding up?"

[theroadwarrior]

"Been better."

He's pretty beat up, but nothing is broken, and he isn't nearly concussed enough for it to be a problem. That's the nice thing about Max — for all the issues in his head, he seems to be able to navigate his thick-skulled state of mind fairly well in crisis.

The knee is mostly the problem, and even though he's sweating and a bit pale from the pain, he forces himself forward and will continue to until he collapses and needs a moment. Whenever that is. He trusts Furiosa to keep an eye out for anymore violent surprises while he focuses on trying to push the white lancing ache to the back of his mind. It's all in one's head, huh?

He breathes in through his nose, hesitates for just a moment before pushing onward.

"Never a dull moment."

[kill_switch]

"Not with you around."

Furiosa will try and stick back to catch him before he hits the ground, and let's him take the time he needs to recover; true to form keeping a vigilant eye and ear out. When he is ready to go again, she's at his side this time; right hand manning her shotgun and left arm coaxing him to lean against her as they make their way through the remainder of the ship.

"We're almost there ..."