driftfleet | Open | A Monthly Starstruck Mingle!!

[Starstruck, you have a temporary crewmate; Furiosa is crashing with Max while he gets over his recent bout with slavers. She mostly keeps to herself, but now and again you can catch her in the galley making something to eat, or using the gym equipment in the cargo bay.]

[She's still without a replacement prosthetic, and is recovering from her own wounds sustained while retrieving Max, but none of it seems to bother her any.]

[Max can be found eventually, out of bed and wandering the ship; there's an obvious edge to him, an anxiousness that would have obviously come from such a close encounter. He needs to re-adapt to his living situation after thinking he would, perhaps, never be in it again. It was a close call. He had been just hours away from being a slave, something to sale, and it would have been the Citadel — the Wastelands — all over again.

But he exists, he deals, he tries to assimilate again.

It doesn't mean he isn't jumpy around even familiar faces popping up while he's in deep through, though. Furiosa can find him staring a hole into one of the far walls of the kitchen, his thumb rubbing a red spot into his opposing wrist. Clearly, he's not really 'here'. Not right now.]

[Furiosa has seen that look before. She steps into the kitchen, trying to get within his field of vision before audibly clearing her throat. She needs to get him to stop worrying his wound like that, but if she touches him now she'll just startle him.]

[This, this right here, is exactly why she's needed on the Startruck right now.]

Max.

[No matter how gentle she is at stirring him from his own inner captivity, he still startles just a little — but it's infinitely better than spooking him so hard that he hops up swinging. His glazed eyes gain some color and energy as he looks at her, tension in his jaw before it smooths out.]

... Furiosa.

[The name still sticks a bit to the roof of his mouth, but he's working on it.

Saying names is still very much new to him.]

Still here.

[He's never sure who to expect where. He's been a bit spaced out to keep track.]

[Now that she has his attention, she walks in and nudges her hand into his in order to draw him away from worrying at himself.]

You'll make it worse.

[She's firm, but not harsh, and there's a softness to her look amid the concern. She couldn't even begin to imagine reliving those horrors from home.]

[He looks a bit petulant about it (don't tell me what to do kind of wasteland petulance, because if he wants to pick at his wounds, he should pick at them—), but then there's always that part of him that relents to Furiosa's firm command. She's the captain, after all. Even if she's not his captain, she's something, and he knows better than to bicker.

He lets his hands sit on the table with a huff.

They're interesting hands, at least. Scarred, fingers clearly having been crushed or broken before; not enough to be ruined, but enough to show that weathered battle damage. Some of it was from their own journey across the Fury Road.]

Helps me focus.

Trying to... erm... relax.

[Convinced he's going to stop for now, she lets go and leans back against the counter. His hands are about what she'd expect from a lone wastelander.]

Then we need to find you a new way to relax.

[He scoffs, but he obediently keeps his hand from scratching at the half-healed wound. It's been a difficult few days; often, he feels the tickle of breath on the back of his ear and a great panic spurs him to stand — and always, there's nothing, nothing but the ship an the ghosts whispering under a thick veil, like they've drifted beneath water.]

... M'alright.

[He looks over at her and thins his lips.]

I'm not there anymore. That's all that really matters. Survived.

I know it's not that simple. [You can't lie to her, Max. Survival was never just that easy.] It lingers.

[Furiosa still had her own nightmares and demons to contend with, but they'd been cultivated among people; she'd had to find a way to suffer them quietly. She could only imagine what life was like for Max out in the wastelands, alone like that.] What did you come to the kitchen for?

[Simple distraction, to pull him away from the moment.]

[He ducks his view from her, not willing to fight her on that. Not when he knows it'd be a losing battle. Lingering, yes. Everything lingers for Max. When doesn't it? Even now, there are shadows dancing and voices prodding every so often. He's simply learned how to co-exist with them.]

I... don't know. I wandered.

It's quieter today here.

[He's not sure when he last ate, but his body is used to surviving on the scraps, bare minimums. It's not going to kill him, and that's usually what he operates on.]

A few people have left. We lost one on the First Breath.

[Though she hasn't become overly-indulgent, Furiosa had appreciated the availability of food. She nods, then moves to start fixing them both something to eat. Teach Max some self-care.]

[It does help to give him some focus. But it's not very good news.

Or maybe it is? He's never sure.]

Who.

[It's not good news, no, and Furiosa is a little subdued as she explains, while continuing to make them a couple bowls of soup.]

Lily. She cooked for us, liked to gather fresh fruits and vegetables from the Iskaulit or whatever planet we happened to be visiting.

[He hums, watching Furiosa's shoulders as she works.]

... What's her home like?

[Basically, he's asking if she's gone to a better place.

Or, worse.]

Green. Alive.

[She leaves out the bit about magic, since she didn't know enough about it for it to be relevant. She's not mourning Lily, because as far as she knows she's back at home in a better world.]

[Green is good. Alive is good.

That is more than a lot of people could hope for.]

M'glad.

[Or at least glad for Furiosa's sake. He doesn't have any attachment, but he can appreciate when someone gets a good end to this strange ride. He wishes the same could be said for Furiosa; at least she'll have the Citadel, though he knows that's by no means a completely happy ending. Danger looms and great mountains'll need to be crossed. She has warpups and straggling warboys and the wretched. They have a lot to work on.

He's not sure if and when he'll check on the place.

He's starting to realize it's more 'when' than 'if' now.]

Hard to see people go, though.

Even if it's temporary, this is where you stay.

[It's better than it was, and she's eager to get back to it outside of the promise she made Tyrion. For now, though, this is here she is and this is where she needs to focus her attention. She makes a sort of protein-stew with boiled water and various pastes. It's simple, but compared to where they both came from it's practically a four-star affair.]

I still think about Nux. Angharad. [It seemed so long ago that they were here, but at the same time she could close her eyes and vividly recall them, their weight and presence. Angharad's smile, Nux's laugh. People she had met here she hadn't quite let get under her skin as much; although if Tyrion ever left ...]

Coffee? Or water?

[She distracts herself with the meal, putting on a pot of coffee for herself because it's been the one thing she's learned to indulge on here.]

... Water's fine.

[Max doesn't indulge in coffee these days. He remembers coffee (fondly enough), but he fears what it'd do to his already strange mindspace. Maybe nothing. But he's not about to find out. Tea's fine, water's fine. Coffee, no. No coffee, not anymore. The thought of Furiosa drinking it is a bit funny, though. He corresponds coffee to grumbling highway patrol coming into an office, or someone slouched over an old chipped desk and a lot of paperwork. Jessie loved coffee. They took turns making some, though it was an expensive thing, coffee beans.]

... Normal, I think.

[He glances around the kitchen, noting each little personalized thing about it. It will never cease to surprise him, when the world around him is so lively, even with just two people in it. He's used to his car and him. Sometimes a dog. Not often, but sometimes.]

I try not to. Umm... But I... do.

[He thinks of Angharad terribly. Nux doesn't haunt him, but Angharad, her ghost follows. Her and her child both. He's always failed women and their children. He fears them, for that very reason. Their company is one he wants to always run from. He blinks away the afterimages of Angharad, gazing at him with judgement and blame. It was his fault that she fell, and he's never bothered trying to convince himself otherwise.]

[Coffee is Furiosa's one indulgence. She's got a much different connection to it than Max, in that she had never had it herself until she arrived here, but she recalled - slowly, not clearly - something about the Many Mothers, the ones old enough to remember, mentioning it back in the Green Place - I'd kill for a cup of coffee. Doesn't even have to be good. Little comments like those, during an early morning, where the sun glinted off of the dew. It brought back such disjointed but bright points in her past.]

[She ladles the soup into a couple bowls and places them on the table, and then fishes out a cup and a mug and gets Max his water and her her coffee.]

[Water was still a luxury, and she hadn't taken for granted the fact that it was more or less readily available here; filling his cup in such a way as not to waste a single drop. She sets it on the table and then settles down infront of her bowl.]

I don't know if this is why you came here but there you go, eat.

... Mmn. [He clears his throat a little.] Thanks.

[A rare thing to hear, certainly, from Max. But he's been trying to be a little more polite to the people he finds earns it from him. His face is ducked slightly as he speaks though. It's a strange thing, to try and be someone else. To try and adapt in new ways. Max is great at adapting, but also so very bad at it, because he's him and it's difficult to flip that switch anymore. Lights are all burned out, bulbs busted.

But he does try.

Maybe it counts for something. He slowly stirs the meal, thoughtful.

He's never liked the busted beast looking back at him, in the reflections.]

Do you ever think... this place is a — mistake?

[She finds his gratitude to be odd, but then again they've both been here a while, and she knows she's been changed by this place. She eats in silence, offering him a small smile in return.]

[She lets his question sit, chewing thoughtfully as she turns it over in her head.]

I think there's a lot of things wrong with it.

[And she's certainly not going to sing its praises for the few benefits it does afford,] I don't know if I'd call it a mistake. Bad idea, maybe? Or, a good idea with the wrong intentions.

[The Fleet itself ... she didn't so much mind. The being recorded part was weird, and denying them the choice to leave was torturous.] Do you regret being here?

[He eats quietly as she speaks, and some things don't particularly change; comfortable in her presence, he hardly makes that intensely cautious eye contact he'd make with others while he's so vulnerable as to eat and drop his guard. But it's true; things are changing. Little things at first. Big things later. It had been yet another transformation, like the one he'd undergone on the war rig. A peeling away of the layers, maybe.

Max doesn't particularly see how intense that change is, going from non-verbal and animalistic to patiently having a meal with a friend he calls by name. Maybe he'll realize it eventually, in the midst of one. But one supposes others notice. Have been noticing. Max will continue to grumble at their amusement and interest either way.]

... I don't know.

Some days.

[He glances up.]

If I go back home, I have to... adjust again. It could just be... making things harder.

[Like when a human raises a wild animal, and it can't remember how to survive on its own anymore. It's a terrible realization, really. Max wonders if these people can see the terrible affect.]

[Her relationship with Max at this point was easy - he was best if she just let him be, and she knew when to intervene (such as now, making sure he ate) and how. It's not forceful. It just is.]

[She doesn't flinch when he looks up, mentioning going back and how hard that would be. She figures it wouldn't be easy for her either; she's aware she's gone soft here. But, she would hopefully have the Wives and the Vuvalini and the rest of the Citadel to lean on as she found her footing again.]

You're always welcome at the Citadel. [She cocks a self-aware little grin,] I promise I intend on running things a little differently, if we ever get back.

[He's so very used to this — somehow, some way, someone is welcoming him to their group. Asking him to follow, or to join them. An extension, an offer to not be alone. And time and time and time again he resists and runs. Because if he's around, something terrible is bound to happen. Potentially because of him. And, in some sad way, he's predestined himself to dying alone somewhere, like a dog, because that's what needs to happen. And that's really his own fault; he knows that.

So again, the offer's extended, and he looks at her sincerely, with a heavy hesitance and a softer smoothing of his usually perturbed brow.]

When I left, mmm... Wasn't going to come back.

[He thinks she knows that. When they saw each other that last time.

He was proud of her, but he couldn't join them. He didn't have that right.

It wasn't his place.

But now, forced to see these faces everyday and live among them with no escape...]

I don't know.

I know. I hadn't expected to see you again.

[That last look they'd had back in their own world had been what she expected was their goodbye. She had her world to take care of, and he had his; he was the enduring spirit of survival out in the Wastelands.]

[But then they find themselves here, forced to deal with people and with themselves; it's unexpected and complicated. Even then Furiosa is aware of her advantage having to deal with people in the past; Max, obviously, hasn't had that - or if he had it's so far removed it's not a part of him anymore. She can only guess, and she gives him the benefit of not.]

We'll just have to take it as it comes.

Open | A Monthly Starstruck Mingle!!

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