theroadwarrior | IC Contact for etraya

Might not be that simple.
He doesn't exactly have a hatch to open up.

And

[Ugh, he loathes to admit it. It's the worst feeling.]

Trying not to 'hurt' him.

[ Eyebrows shooting up into space.

Okay, okay, maybe not that dramatic, but still a little surprised. But... a year is a long time, and she had him for a tiny fraction of that before he was pouring his blood into her veins. ]

Noble of you.

[Somewhat noble. But really, it was... trying to make things even.]

When I was under punishment -- he fed me.
Under the table. Alrys didn't know.

[He could be dead or worse off. It's... hard to shake his buried sense of honor in that. He will if he has to — will take out Connor if there truly isn't a way to change his protocol, or convince him. But. He can't do it without a fair shake.

Tch. 'Fair'. It's gonna be the death of him to entertain things like fairness, someday.]

Sounds like he wants to help.

It can be... hard.
When you're a tool, following orders keeps you alive.
Also keeps you handcuffed.

[ Not that she knows anything about that. ]

Mm. Hard to fight it.
Hard to go against what you know.

[Max knows it in his own way. Not by virtue of being under the orders of others — not in the same way Furiosa had been, or Connor likely is. But changing from the safe status quo is... also it's own kind of troubling task.]

We'll do what we can.

Might call for back-up...
if it gets complicated.

It's not already complicated?

[ She's kidding, a little. ]

Anytime.
I'll be there.

Good.

How're you healing?

[Sorry, he has launched immediately into hovering. Preambles are for losers.]

[ Inside Furiosa there are two wolves: the wolf that is fiercely independent and has never willingly asked for help in her life, and the wolf that is trying to convince Max about the benefits of sleeping indoors.

We must all make sacrifices.... ]

Popped a couple stitches.

[She misses the groan of disapproval from him, thanks to text.]

You were supposed to be taking things easy.

What's that mean?

not doing anything that could pull stitches out

[Says the most hypocritically overactive idiot in the universe.

Ask his knee what it thinks of its owner.]

Mm. Don't remember making that promise.

[Ugh.]

Where are you

Apartment.

[Why does this feel like some karmic being trying to force him to interact with an apartment? Surely that's what's happening here. Regardless, he's not about to drag Furiosa out of one, and he's not about to leave her to redo popped stitches with one arm. So.

B e g r u d g i n g l y:]

Tell me the number.
I'll bring the suture set.

412.
Knock.

[ Don't break down her door... ]

An hour out.
Be there then.

[He'd never ruin a perfectly good barrier between them and immediate danger, Furiosa. That's just poor strategic planning for when this place inevitably goes into the shitter (which is what he thinks, because he has always been fatalistic, always assumed the worst will happen). For now, though, he focuses on this: Furiosa has stitches popped; those must be taken care of, for better healing time.

So he hobbles his way from the junkyard to the trolley system, mourning the absence of the motorbike he'd been glued to for a large portion of his time in Solmara — and inevitably makes it back into the more active area of the city. It can be a hell of a ghost town in places on the outskirts; he immediately pines for the extreme quiet, maybe foolishly so, considering the quiet is what births so many unpleasant dreams and images of long-dead ghosts.

Knock, knock.]

[ A couple of sutures are no big deal. Furiosa's been through worse (pretty obviously), but the spot is just annoying enough to have difficulty managing it by yourself. Add a missing arm, and it becomes near impossible.

She checks the peep hole before letting Max in. He'll hear her click open the extra locks and chains she's reinforced the doors with. She may not be as paranoid as Max, but that doesn't make her trust her neighbors naively either. ]

Come on.

[ She seems well enough, gesturing him in with the jerk of her chin. He'll see the sticky blood, blooming into a stain through her shirt from her popped stitches. She gave up trying to fight it. A little blood doesn't bother her.

She's only been here for a few days, but Furiosa's started piles of eclectic scavenged bits. Here, a pile of scrap and sheet metal. On that surface, stripped wires and a pair of pliers next to a small collection of colorful glass. Her project isn't immediately clear. There's more utilitarian stores too, of course. Food and medical supplies stacked into piles into the kitchen. ]

Hospital supplies there.

Edited 2025-03-03 02:06 (UTC)

[He had expected Furiosa would already have a collection started, when he walked into the — home? The living area. A place for living, that's easier to call it. Max's home had been a car, one that was only big enough to carry him and a few seats full of supplies, and so it already feels too big in this place. Cavernous. The walls bounce sounds, amplify life as it moves and speaks. But he wonders — what does it mean to her? Is the silence of this place compared to the frantic, echoing walls of the Citadel a blessing? Is she at ease here, a place where the walls are not metal and ragged rock, but instead smooth drywall that can have things hung from the walls neatly? No devotion or self-sacrifice needed to exist in this place. No brands necessary.

If it doesn't suffocate her, he sees no reason why he should let it suffocate him.

Well, too much, anyway.

He slowly puts down the travel pack over-stuffed with supplies, looking around in quiet interest. He reaches down to pick up some of the colorful glass, holding it up to the light that comes through one of the apartment windows; green and blue colors glide over the bridge of his nose and cheekbone, over the faint scar there.]

What's this for?

[ Anyone else, Furiosa might be a little bit more territorial over her things. Even up to the rank of Praetorian, personal property was kind of an abstract concept. After all, how could you own something when you yourself belonged to someone?

Max, she finds, does not inspire the amount of ire she might expect with someone poking around her stuff. ]

Was thinking about what to put in front of the window. [ She pulls out a string where she's started winding wire around the bits of glass and metal. She jostles it slightly, demonstrating how the pieces chime musically when they clink against each other. ] Makes noise if someone tries to climb in. On a sunny day you can see how the light shifts even if your back is turned.

[ And the aesthetic of casting the apartment in blues and verdant greens evoking the sense of life is purely coincidental... ]

Setting up a home base means you can make the effort to always secure it.

[He studies the color, twists it in his hand to watch the reflection cast itself this way and that. Hm. Pretty. That's what he thinks, something that rarely ever crosses his mind. But instead of saying as much, he instead offers:]

Smart choice.

[The glass is put back where it rightly belongs. It would be a good set-up for Furiosa. Something to look at while she keeps herself safe. Or as safe as she can be, anyway. He can't help but think of what he'd told Jayce: how easy it would be, for someone to target this building in its entirety. He doesn't want to be anywhere near this place, not long-term, but now that Furiosa is here... A dilemma. The junkyard isn't very close, not if something dangerous were to happen. He couldn't be reliable.

... For things like this, also.

He clicks his tongue as he looks at the bloody patch on her shirt, before turning and moving toward the kitchen. His brace has been oiled once again at least, so there's less comical creaking in his step. As he sifts through the medical supplies Furiosa had alluded to earlier...]

Going to try to ask Aurora for rifles, soon. Something long distance.

You should work on getting something, too.

Let me know if you wanna work on your aim.

[ Little curl of her lip. If he can give her shit about getting stabbed and popping stitches, she's earned this. Yes, of course, she's going to ask for guns. She needs to have one within reach in every corner of her apartment. ]

I'm planning on it, [ She does add, in sincerity. ] But trying to figure out how many errands I need to run for something else. Need a harness or something for any rifles in the meantime.

[ She gestures to her stump. She's scavenging for materials but it's harder to come by what she needs here. Her arm was a great arm!! She misses it.

But Max isn't here for small talk or reminiscing about lost limbs. She reaches her hand behind her head, grasping the neck hole to pull her shirt off in one practiced motion. For the most part. Blood had crept up her torso, staining the edges of the sports bra, but her wound is fully exposed, the last several sutures pulled open. ]

[He grumbles like a bitter old man.]

Shoot better when I've got more blood in me.

[Or so he says. Whether or not that's true is left to be seen. He gestures for her to sit in what was probably a pre-established seat, oh-so-kindly already furbished by Etraya and it's AI system. Max couldn't imagine such a thing -- that the being in charge actually bothered giving out more than any kind of bare minimum on a good day.]

I can make 'em. Make harnesses. Made the one I'm wearing now.

[Solmara wasn't good for much, but there was plenty of old, sun-cracked leather. Rusted metals. Some of the parts of his knee brace where swapped out while he was there; one thing he could say was the place at least worked eerily close to home most weeks.]

Not used to seeing buildings so... cared for.

[The inside of the apartments, he means. He saw a very small roller rink and some entertainment stuff. But even without the extra goods in the apartments, the whole place had a crazy amount of working infrastructure compared to the other city. He studies the bloody spot thoughtfully before he starts to dab away the mess. Methodical, his gaze hyper-focused and vigilant.]

[ The couch. That makes the most sense. She can lean back and he has access to her side. Belatedly she wonders if maybe she should have put down a towel? She's not used to caring about upholstery. Leather is decent at repelling blood, but this is cloth.

Eh, too late. If she bleeds on it, it just means its hers. Those are the wasteland rules. ]

It's weird.

[ She admits, humming a soft agreement. The wound stings, but it's minor all things considered. But the way she flinches away from his touch isn't from the pain. She's rusty with this type of casual vulnerability. Can't imagine Max is used to playing nurse either. ]

Quiet. [ Even though there's tons of people (Max's major objection to the apartment building). These people are mostly quiet and polite, at least relative to what she's used to. ] Don't know how I'm supposed to sleep without a pack of warpups stomping past my head every hour.

IC Contact for etraya

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