MAD MAX SANDBOX POST

[iamawaited]

Welcome to the Wasteland: a sandbox/open post for Mad Max RP

(Seriously, go nuts.

That's what this canon is for.)

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Threadstarter #1: The Fix It Thread

[iamawaited]

It's a long time before Nux comes to again, and at first, all he knows is that he should be dead and isn't. It doesn't take long for the pain to come blazing along after that to confirm it. This is no Valhalla. He's not sure at first that it isn't someplace else; someplace much, much worse. Eventually, though, when he gets upright and pain recedes and memory starts kicking back into gear, he starts to understand the truth. The remains of the war rig and the war drums lie smouldering in the canyon pass, what seems like miles of wreckage behind them. Corpses everywhere, glorious and inglorious. And Nux, thrown clear of the battle, bizarrely alive and alone.

After a time, he starts scavenging, because he doesn't know what else to do. He cobbles together something like a car out of spare parts and leaking guzzoline. It's not even close to chrome, but it limps along better than he can. He stows away the few supplies he can find and then... then he makes for the Citadel, because whoever holds it, it's still the only place he knows to go.

Still, he prays to whatever he can pray to now that what he did meant something. That the Wives have their water and that Capable still lives. He clasps his hands in makeshift prayer over the best approximation of a steering wheel he can make, and then he sets out west.

[sheiscapable]

Everyone had a purpose now. A real one, one that spoke for their skills, and not their bodies.

Toast had her books, her knowledge to share. The Dag had become the new Seed Woman, and even Cheedo began to find her way. That left only Capable, who took it upon herself to look to the War Pups and the War Boys grown, who now found their half-lives without purpose and wondering whether Valhalla could be reached. Some had cast away entirely to seek their own fortunes, hoping to find Valhalla in the desert or perhaps in the remnants of Bullet Town, while others carried on because they simply knew nothing else. Some, particularly the War Pups whose half lives were ending before they barely began, went to sleep held in Capable's arms, lulled by ancestral memory of the lullabyes she crooned to them before they closed their eyes and didn't open them again.

In every one of their faces, Capable saw Nux. And every night she went to the highest point she could find and look out at the Fury Road as if somehow by the sheer force of her will, she'd spot him driving down its winding path.

When the car he'd cobbled together finally did come down the road, Capable knew. And when it pulled up to the great lift, it was already down, and waiting upon it was Capable, no longer dressed in white gauze like some fertility idol to be worshiped on an altar. She waits, breathless, existing in a state of both hope and disbelief.

[iamawaited]

It's dark out by the time he makes it home, and she looks different without the glow of white surrounding her or the sands of the wasteland on her face, but he knows the burst of flame that is her hair long before he arrives. There isn't much engine to flood, but he floods it anyway, yanks on the throttle and slams on the gas to send it flying the rest of the way as fast as it can go.

He is awaited.

It's more or less a suicide run for the rig, which sputters out its last the moment he skids to a stop in front of the lift. The War Boy who climbs out of it, though, is very much alive. Mostly alive, at least: he's limping, coughing, looks near to the end of his half-life, but he's not there yet. He limps onto the lift and looks up towards the Citadel, smiling faintly. "You made it," he observes, voice hoarse but full of relief.

[sheiscapable]

She'll think it's strange later, when and if he recounts this moment to her, because to her, he is exactly that - a glow in the moonlight, thought without the accompanying fire. Instead, it's the brightness of his blue eyes, something she's marveled at since he's been so sick.

"You made it." she replies, hopping down from the lift and walking toward him slowly. She reaches out a hand and fits it to the curve of his cheek gently, and then lets out a sigh. "And you're real." she nods, confirming this to herself.

[iamawaited]

"Somehow," Nux agrees with a quirked, crooked smile, though it warms as she touches him and he finds himself leaning into it like he's turning towards the sun itself. The comfort in that one simple touch is incredible; it disappears every memory of pain and grit and thirst stretching from the ruined war rig to here. If this was the only thing he was spared for, he thinks -- if he dropped dead right now -- it would still be worth it.

But he doesn't, so he brings his hand up to twine through her thick red hair, marveling at the feel of it between his fingers, and moves in to rest his forehead against hers. "I'd hoped..." he begins, but fades off when he realizes how many ways there are to end the sentence. He'd hoped they'd made it; he'd hoped they took the Citadel; he'd hoped she was well. And even as he'd skidded into the canyon wall, there had been a part of him that had hoped he would see her again. "I'd hoped," he says again softly, and leaves it there.

[preciouscargo]

No one thought Nux could survive such a massive wreck, although given how many times he had proven sorely lacking in the ability to kill himself off; someone should have gone back to check. She would have gone back herself if she wasn't so sorely needed to sort out the new change in regime at the Citadel. Water was no longer such a guarded commodity. Life for the people living there no longer such a terrible, awful, burden. Spirits began to lift. The Wives became known as something more than just property. They were called by their given names, names that were cheered in the streets even as Nux's makeshift vehicle sputtered towards the life.

Capable thought he was in Valhalla, that he had gone out in the blaze of glory he had always wanted and she made certain his sacrifice wouldn't be forgotten. Imagine, if you will, thousands of ragged strangers chanting his name once he announced who he was.

She couldn't stop herself from rushing out to meet him as soon as he was lifted up into the Citadel. Losing all sense of decorum entirely as she threw herself in his arms and tucked her face against his neck.

"Valhalla wasn't ready for the likes of you yet."

[iamawaited]

Nux had very few memories of the days before he started learning how to be a War Boy, but he did remember, very clearly, the very last one. That was the day they'd shaved and painted his head, the day they'd given him his true name, and all the members of his new family had chanted it for him as he'd sat under the razor. It was, they'd told him, only a small sample of the hero's welcome he would one day receive at the gates of Valhalla. His young chest had swelled at the thought until he thought it might burst.

The Citadel was not the promised land, but standing on the lift and hearing the approving roars from below, even Nux in all his devotion could almost forget that for a moment. The sound overtook the creaking of the chains and machinery, so loud that it was as though the people below themselves were raising him up. He gripped the side of his makeshift rig, almost afraid that between the hammering of his heartbeat and the shining, floating feeling in his head, he would faint and topple off the platform before he even made it to the top.

But of course, he couldn't: Capable was there. He'd heard them say it below, and seeing her run towards him was like a hero's welcome all over again. He enfolded her into his arms with a breathless, astonished laugh, almost on the edge of tears. "Witnesses," was all he could think to say. "You gave me so many witnesses."

[preciouscargo]

She thought he was a ghost, so pale and white, until her arms wrapped around him and he became solid and alive once more. Her heart was beating fast, although not nearly as fast as his. Her red hair blowing in the dry dessert wind like an eternal flame. She took a step back, reluctant as she was to release him, and raised a hand to the air. The sound of his name being cheered, chanted, applauded, was suddenly thunderous.

"Your sacrifice allowed us to reach the Citadel. All these people, they know of your deeds." She and her sisters had made sure of that. Recounting every detail of their perilous journey.

His rig would most likely be scrapped, but Capable was more interested in inspecting the damage done to him. She turned his face up with a hand under his chin, looked into his eyes, saw that at the very least he was severely dehydrated from his journey. "You need an IV and a blood transfusion. Both are in abundance now." Whereas before only a blood bag would be offered, now fluids in the form of an IV were now offered to those with medical need. "We ration the water now, but only in times of great necessity."

[iamawaited]

He was in surprisingly good condition for a War Boy who was supposed to be dead, but that wasn't the same as being in good condition by anyone else's standards. He was indeed badly dehydrated, his face pale and sallow even under the faint remnants of paint and all the scarring. Larry and Barry had taken greedy advantage of the past few days and had swelled dangerously close to his throat. Beyond that, he wasn't all that badly injured -- being thrown from the rig had spared him most of the damage -- but there were plenty of scrapes and cuts and burns there all the same, and there would be pain when he actually started paying attention to it again.

At the moment, he wasn't at all. Overjoyed and overwhelmed, he kept turning his attention from her to the screaming crowd over the edge and back again, his eyes aglow like chrome itself. He managed to focus on her when she grabbed his chin, but he barely seemed able to hear the words that followed. "Okay," he said anyway. He would have said it if she'd told him to dive off the Citadel.

It caught up to him a moment later, at least in part. IV wasn't a word he knew offhand, didn't know why it would be connected to the water, although it was amazing to realize that she was planning to let him have as much of it as he wanted. Transfusion he knew all too well, and it gave him a brief pang of disappointment -- transfusion meant sitting chained to a spit of rock all day with a needle in his arm -- until something else occurred to him and he brightened up considerably again. "Is he here?" he asked excitedly, looking around. Where was his blood bag?

[preciouscargo]

She was no doctor, but like anyone else who grew up in this toxic world, she knew dehydration when she saw it. Guessing he needed another blood transfusion was just added intuition on her part. After all, Larry and Barry looked bigger than she remembered them to be. She didn't want him to survive such a brutal massacre only to expire of his tumors. Something so many War Boys fell victim to in such a toxic environment. They were lucky to even live to their teenage years.

"Max?" Blood bag, his blood bag. Capable gave a sad shake of her head to verify he wasn't in the Citadel. Not to her knowledge. "He left as soon as we were safe. Slipped away...." They might never see that brave and insane man again. Perhaps Nux, who had share blood with him, would mourn Max more than the rest of them.

She touched his arm gently, urging him away from the crowd once he was ready to leave. "My sisters and I, we have a shared common room with a fountain. You can parch your thirst there until medical help can be procured."

[antiseed]

(angharad arrives in folkvangr with the same smile on her face that she had worn to her death.

waking up takes a while. it feels like struggling to come into focus. soon she realizes she is standing, and her body feels differently to how she remembers it. perhaps death is simply lighter. when she looks down over herself and notices she is no longer pregnant, she presses her face into her hands and breathes. her nails scratch up over the thin scars on her forehead, and they do not hurt. folkvangr is more forgiving than she could have known.

and it is green. the trees remind her of her childhood. for a long while she sits among them, toes scrunching into fresh grass, her legs up to her chest and her chin on her knees. she hopes her sisters have the same comforts in life as she does in death. she misses them terribly, but not enough to wish them by her side. folkvangr is lonely in hindsight, and she can't help but wonder if she is supposed to move on to something more.

finding that will come later. for now she is content to sit and catch her breath and enjoy the fresh breeze on her skin. nobody can touch her here, or take her away.)

[iamawaited]

[This... is not what Nux had expected.

Green place, is the first thing he thinks, a little stupidly, when he opens his eyes. But no -- there is no green place anymore, except whatever is atop the Citadel, and he knows he's not there. He knows he died. He remembers dying very clearly. But there are no gates here, no feasts, no trumpeting horns or thunderous choirs. It's quiet. It's green.

He walks out onto the green eventually, hesitating when he feels the springiness of the ground under his feet. That doesn't feel normal at all to him. But his legs feel strong, and after a moment he realizes that he feels strong all over: his scars are still there, raised and proud, but Larry and Barry are gone, and he can breathe more easily than he has in years. Like the green, it's too unfamiliar to think of it as good yet. He moves on until he spots a still white figure up ahead and his eyes widen.]

Splendid.

[antiseed]

(the sound of her slave name burns in her ears, makes her turn sharply at the waist. the war boy is standing in the middle of the field and looking about himself.

angharad's arms drop to her midriff, hands wrapping around her stomach instinctively. he looks lost to be here, as much as she is confused to see him. the war boy, so intent on journeying to valhalla. how is he at her green place?

she looks at him for a long moment before she speaks.)

I pushed you off the rig, (she recalls, shoulders jerking backwards as she draws herself up straight. he is so thin and spindly, like a spider. she has thrown him from her safe space before, and she won't hesitate to do so again.)

Why are you here?

[iamawaited]

[Nux doesn't feel sick anymore, but his gut still gives a wrench at that.]

I... lived. I lived long enough to see--

[She had pushed him from the rig and he had lived. She had fallen from the same rig -- out of the same door, even, he thinks -- and been crushed by his blood bag at the wheel. It hadn't been anything like glorious, he'd thought even then. It had been brutal and ugly and senseless. He looks down.]

I lived long enough to try to help.

[He doesn't know, now, if there was much glory even in his death, but he knows he at least died for something better. That doesn't help as much as he would have thought it would.]

whoops, thought it ate my comment so i rewrote it. ignore that first one!

[antiseed]

(angharad doesn't answer for a long moment. she hadn't thrown him from the rig in order to kill him; rather to save him, from both furiosa's anger, and hers. because angharad knows the immortan and his legions of young soldiers. the war boys fighting (dying) for him fight for a lost cause: he won't ever care for them. he won't carry a single one of them to the gates of their precious valhalla. it's why she had been so insistent upon saving them. they didn't understand. not really. they were only mindless pups, following the order of the hand that fed them treats.

looking at him now, angharad isn't sure how the war boy before her factors into this.)

To try to help? (she echoes, confused, and then realization hits so suddenly her expression blows wide open, mouth hitching in a startled smile.)

The Green Place. The Green Place of Many Mothers. They made it?

AUniverse

[iamawaited]

This city is a rough one, wild and barely tamed, and that also makes it messy and complicated to some. For young men like Nux, though -- the ones who fell through the cracks long, long ago -- things tend to be very simple. As much as the city holds, his world comes down to a few basic things: the cars he steals and scavenges from; the clinic he visits once a month to have poisons pumped through his veins; the tenement he calls home and the haphazard family that's grown up around him there. And Boss Joe, always. Boss Joe's word is law and Scripture both.

Boss Joe's word is what sends him into the alley behind the women's shelter on this particular day. The report comes down the chain that there's a car he's seen parked there that he wants. Nux is, of course, the first to volunteer. It's not hard to find the car Joe has in mind. Nux knows it immediately once he gets there. It's a true standout, a hulking beauty, and Nux is all too eager to get his hands on it as he quietly sets to breaking in.

apologies in advance oh my god

[candeur]

When Capable leaves the shelter through the side door and spots him for the first time as he tries to jimmy the door of Furiosa's car open, for a moment she thinks that he is a ghost. He is pale in the half-light, stick-limbed and terribly gaunt. She stands with her hand still on the door and her breath in her throat until she realizes what he's trying to do, and then she gathers herself and takes a step forwards, the heel of her combat boot smacking on the pavement.

"What are you doing?"

She steals a glance over the back of her shoulder as the door thuds behind her, heart lurching into her throat at the thought of having just cut herself off from the rest of her sisters. Surely they'd hear her if she shouted.

[iamawaited]

Nux startles at the harsh sound of heavy footsteps behind him, spinning around to face her. He's not much better face-to-face: a tall, looming mess of scars with blue eyes made too piercing and too pale by the heavy eyeliner circling them. He's too thin and too ashen to be truly terrifying, though, and below the dark lines around his eyes there are softer, bruise-like circles of exhaustion. His clothes are ragged and mismatched.

He also doesn't entirely seem to know what to do with himself now that he's been caught out. There's a moment of anxious hesitation in him. He glances up and down the alley, then looks down at the jimmy bar in his hand. That seems to give him a boost of confidence. He looks back up at her and bares his teeth. "I'm commandeering this rig," he crows, lifting his chin.

[candeur]

He looks awful up close, like a strong gust of wind might knock him off his feet. Has he come off the street? He isn't a very good criminal. He's sizing her up, staring at her with bright eyes set deep into his face; probably thinks he can intimidate her into leaving him to his business. Unlikely.

"You aren't," Capable tells him firmly, and surprises herself by reaching out to grab the end of the jimmy bar quite without thinking. She gives it a tug, to try and take it out of his hand.

[iamawaited]

He looks down at the bar in her hand and lets out a growl that sounds very nearly feral. She's stronger than she looks -- but then again, gaunt though he may be, so is he.

He wrenches it back out of her hand. "It's been claimed," he tells her, quite seriously, taking a step back towards the car again. "It's coming with me."

/winging it

[witness_this]

Max is the one who drags him back, broken and bloody and clotted with red sand and the ashy remains of that ghostly white paint.

Furiosa, though, is the one who is there when he wakes.

They have dismantled the Organic Mechanic's dark lair, and taken over the Vault. It has some of the best light in the place, and rows of soft cots that can be lined up, access to running water and a great deal of clean linen. It's a bad place for the Wives, and probably always will be, but that just means they surrender it all the more gladly to the Vuvalini healers.

The room is empty, except for Furiosa lying two beds down, eyes gently shut, chest rising and falling in repose. A punctured lung isn't something even she can walk off, and there aren't really bodies to spare around here, so she is what passes for his welcoming committee.

Hearing him stir, she murmurs;

"You too young to remember cats, Warboy?"

[iamawaited]

He lives. Again.

He can't place at all where it is he wakes up. Certainly nowhere he's been before, not with the soft thing beneath him and the glow of sunlight on the walls. Not Valhalla -- it hurts too much for that. He blinks, scanning what he can with his eyes alone, then pushing himself warily up onto his elbows.

The Imperator is certainly not the first face he's expecting to see, either, and what she says is so strange that he thinks he must have misheard her. Or is he dreaming, somehow? "Polecats?" he asks stupidly.

[witness_this]

"Cats. They're animals. Small, fluffy, whiskered hunters, who can jump ten times their own height, who see in the dark, who are lithe and fanged and clawed. They were reported, rumoured, in religion, to have nine lives each."

Turning her head, glancing over at him.

"And here you are."

Here they all are, but him especially.

[iamawaited]

Four times, he thinks. This is four times the gates have stayed closed. Will there be five more?

There may or may not actually be reproach in her voice, but he hears it all the same and looks down, shame twisting in his gut as he stares at his beloved V-8. It's ruined now, at least temporarily, bisected by a swathe of bloody bandage, and all he can think is--

"Why?" He lies back again and stares at the light mottled on the ceiling. "Why bring me back?" Why waste bandages and medicine and water on a War Boy at the end of his half-life who just doesn't know how to die?

[witness_this]

"That redheaded girl of yours will pinch your ear for asking a question like that. She's gone to sleep, now, but she's been sitting a vigil at your bedside, waiting for you to wake. She wrapped most of those, you know."

Nodding at the kit of bandages. Furiosa is never entirely comforting, but she does, for Capable's sake here, try.

"We took the Citadel. She wants you to see the world she's building here."