driftfleet | Action/Open

Entry tags:

Action/Open

Who: Furiosa and You?
Broadcast: n/a
Action: First Breath
When: Today throughout July

[Someone's back from her coma. It might be hard to tell, because she immediately disappears into her quarters (not hanging around on the bridge, as usual, or working on the battered shuttle).

One other indication that she's back; she quietly delivers her gift basket - unopened - to the galley. It's yours for the taking. Among the usual items, it also includes candied grubs, a scarf and goggles, and a little toy car. Either she didn't want these items, or more likely she didn't bother to open it in the first place.

If you want to check you'll have to ask her yourself, which might be easier said than done; after the calibrations themselves, and post-coma grogginess and fatigue, she's not going to make herself available as much as she usually does. You still might be able to catch her when she has to make a trip to the galley, as necessity dictates, or if there are any captain duties that require her attention on the bridge.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

What I have got ... is fresh coffee, some sort of frozen fruit we managed to get and not devour, and one blackberry tart. Just for you.

[He pushed it on her desk, looking around curiously.]

Well isn't this ... organized in a pensive sort of way.

[She ... does perk up slightly at the mention of coffee, and once the tray's on her desk it's the first thing she reaches for.]

Is there some other way it should be organized?

I am not entirely certain. It certainly looks neat, at any rate.

[Tyrion smoothed down his designs, before arching an eyebrow at her.] How are you, Captain?

Easier to find things. Less chaotic.

[Two years in this fleet and there were still things she marvelled at; like the ability to keep her stuff organized without worrying about warboys or nosy Imperators rifling through it. She was able to grow a system that made more sense than *hide everything*, and while yes, there are still several instruments of death and torture cobbled away in her room (as well as the ship as a whole), there's something simple and comforting about being able to leave something a certain way and know it's going to be there if she were to leave and come back.]

[She's taking a sip as Tyrion asks his question, and her eyebrows pull up for a moment before she lowers the cup and sets it to the side. What a loaded question that was.]

How do you think I should be?

[Her tone is low and careful; she's still being eaten away on the insides by her experiences during the calibrations, but attempting to convey some sense of normalcy. If the crew needed their captain, she'd be there, but every moment without that distraction feels too raw and open.]

Yes, I have to admit, your organization skills are quite impressive. I cannot even imagine the system you must have in place for all this.

[He quirked a smirk at her, as he went to set himself up in the chair.]

Honestly - angry as hell. Yet as angry as you have ever been, I have never seen you hide from that anger.

[She doesn't seem concerned with the fact that he's making himself comfortable. She takes the moment to pick up her mug and take another sip, then cradle it in her hand and rest it against her sternum.]

Oh, it's there. [The anger, a tightness to her voice, a tension to her stance even as she's trying to relax. She looks at the coffee, then over to Tyrion, then off into the middle distance.]

Anger ... isn't the only thing there. [It's not the anger she's hiding from; it's everything else, made suddenly too real again. It had been fading and she had been healing, but between Fenris' room, her ow, and Max's, she'd been completely overwhelmed with tragedies and demons she'd buried so deep so long ago.]

[She pulls her mug up to her lips, and asks him a question before she distracts herself with another sip. The coffee here is terribl, but even though she'd never had it until she'd arrived here, she found it familiar. Hot, acrid, and strong.] You ever remember those days you tried to forget?

[Tyrion leaned back in the chair, looking at Furiosa, considering his words carefully before he answered her. She deserved more than a trite answer to that. No, she deserved the ability to vent out said anger with him. She had earned it.]

What else is there, Furiosa? [He asked quietly, hands folded together in front of him, before his mouth twisted at her own question.] Oh yes. And the taste in my mouth has always been a foul one afterwards.

[This is not something she talks about. Ever. She hadn't needed to at home; it was moot. It was distant. She'd torn the throat out of the bastard responsible. Redemption. Anger still held a place, sure, but she's since been reminded of what else lurked alongside it.] Fear, hopelessness, sadness. [She thinks of being taken, of losing her mother, of being thrust into the world of Immortan Joe and having conformed in the face of survival. She thought of realizing when she'd gotten complacent, all those times she'd attempted to flee and failed. Simply experiencing Fenris' own meekness in the face of such tyranny reminded her of those Days She Had Forgotten.] Shame.

[Another sip, another moment.] Calibrations. I visited someone who's previous life ... reminded me too much of my time before I became an Imperator.

[Tyrion frowned for a moment - knowing all those feelings only too well - and the look of understanding deepened the moment she said 'calibrations'. A solemn nod of the head.]

Yes ... yes I could see why that would throw you off the beaten path.

How do you get that taste out of your mouth?

[Since acrid coffee and isolation weren't exactly helping.]

I find writing is something that helps cleanse the palate. Not to mention reading. When that fails ... well there was wine and women but now not so much, so perhaps travel.

Don't think those last three are going to help me much. [There was only so much travel you could do in the Fleet, outside of their visits to systems, and she wasn't in the mood right now. Wine and women were his vices, and definitively not hers. Reading, she could do.] What do you write?

I write about everything I have learned here, about all the people I have met. My friends, my loves, enemies and all the rest. [He looked around, his gaze thoughtful.] You might want to think about it.

I could probably use the practice anyway.

[Writing didn't happen much in the Wastelands, paper being a hot commodity (just ask Max's back).]

And, reading. What would you suggest?

Well ... that depends on the person. I prefer histories - myths and legends. You might want something different. [He looks at her thoughtfully.] Actually I take that back - you might like legends."

[She watches him, tilting her head slightly.] Alright then, I'll try to find some legends to read.

I can offer you some direction, if you so choose. I don't want to throw you off in a terrible direction. [He hummed, looking around to get a piece of paper and pen.]

I'd be curious to see what you'd recommend.

[... Oh, you're trying to find paper in her quarters? Good luck. And no, she's not letting you write anything on plant leaves.] I'm not really in the habit of keeping paper around, if that's what you're looking for.

For you? Probably the Norse legends - or other books about ancient warrior goddesses who defended the weak and the helpless.

[He snorted softly.] ... well we are going to have to change that.

[Warrior goddesses who defended the weak and the helpless. Fitting, although hearing it like that; knowing he's drawing some loose connection to herself, she can't help but think about the fact that she wasn't always that way. Altruism was basically thrust on her, and she resisted, and in the end caved. To be freely associated with it like this was something else.]

You're going to get me set up with the finest luxuries, is what you're saying? [Paper had been a hot commodity indeed in the wasteland, basically existing on the rare book stashes hoarded by those in power. Here, it wasn't exactly necessary what with the instant manner of the devices. She hadn't thought much about it until now, but Tyiron has her curious.]

Yes, because a notebook is truly the most advanced technology I can offer you in this place.

[Was his complete and total straight faced answer.]

[She shrugs.] Luxury doesn't have to be advanced. Just, highly sought, desired, short or controlled supply.

Well just for that I am going to be giving you recommendations and a notebook. Just more spoiling from your first mate. [Tyrion stated with a completely straight face.]

You trying to make me go soft? [Okay, there, Tyrion, you're making good progress with her. Seeing him so straight-faced tugs a little smile at the corners of her mouth.]

Perhaps not soft --- but a little less sharp about the edges. Enough to be able to accept a pencil. [Such a completely straight face. Look at this innocent expression.]

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