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[theroadwarrior]

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(Good fuckin' luck.)

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[theroadwarrior]

[Her genuine bafflement is funny, and funnier again by the way her face contorts. Max snorts at the sight of it, stifles a chuckle in amusement; it's an endangered sound for him, too uncommon these days as his lips twitch into a ghost of a smile.

He takes the can and swallows down a few swigs, then hums.]

Mm. People used to like how it burned.

[Not unlike moonshine, but, well. Moonshine is harder to keep down.]

Any back home would be flat now. No bubbles. Tastes much worse then.

[Is this Max admitting he has drank really, really old sodapop?

Uh. Yeah.]

[imperatour]

[ She watches Max as he drinks. As he almost laughs. It's strange hearing that noise come out of him. Makes the corner of her lips pull up just a little to mirror him.

And then she huffs. Old worlders, they didn't have enough adrenaline in their day to day they had to microdose drinking acid. She'd say she doesn't get it like the garage rats wouldn't get bored enough to try licking batteries or touching live wires just to feel the spark of something.

She takes the can back for a second. There's a whole pack of them, she realizes belatedly, that they could each have their own, but sharing a limited ration just feels so much more embedded into how she operates it doesn't even occur to her.

She takes a bigger drink this time, not as surprised by it. The carbonation makes her burp, which she does naturally and without concern or any concept of why it might be impolite as she passes the can back to him. ]

Yeah but when all you've got is dirty Aqua Cola and mother's milk that's turned rancid, can't say I'd turn it down.

[theroadwarrior]

[Listen, burping is healthy. People who don't like to openly burp are weird.

Max will sign that decree, but that's probably not a surprise.

As he takes another swig, he toys with the can absently between his fingertips. The two healed fingers that the wheel of the war rig had crushed don't quite bend the same way the rest of them do, but that's to be expected. Parts of you stop working, and it's a sign that you're long-lasting, that you made it where you are with a lot of stubbornness and grit. It's easy to lose track of all the marks you get, the patches of hair you no longer have thanks to the scars ricochetting bullets leave.

But then suddenly, they're in a normal apartment kitchenette, drinking brand new cans of soda.

It's bizarre.]

Lot of different kinds, too. Rainbows of flavors.

Should see the long list of options at the diner.