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his digits creak and wiggle in the grasp.
‘ …. one more ??
“ . . . FINE. ”
he really should make some RULES, especially regarding the interceptor, especially if this thing cares enough to ask first, but -- -- -- one more couldn’t hurt.
“ but that’s IT. ”
☠ - “We will burn with or without the rig. The whole world is fire and ash – it’s only a matter of time before we burst into a blaze of glory,” Nux mused, eyes losing focus as he continued to stare at the War Rig. He craved that end – going out in smoke and fire. But only when Valhalla was awaiting his arrival.
He snapped back to the moment with a hard frown at Max, hands propped on narrow hips in ire. “I do make sure it ticks. Make sure it roars – but there’s only so much that can be done. Especially if Immortan Joe brings out the big guns and rigs. Then we can’t do a thing. We sizzle and pop in a rush of heat and guzzoline,” Nux added, his frown only lasting a fraction longer before dissolving. His eager grin easily chased it away.
“But so long’s we got me and you – I don’t think the Rig’ll be blown to Valhalla anytime soon. ‘Specially since–” the war boy trailed off, reaching deep into his pocket as he pulled out his small, bird skeleton bobble head with a wheezing laugh, “I still got this. It brings good luck.”
his usual dogged, persistent pessimism flags under the onslaught of images of FIRE and BLOOD and METAL and GREASE, becoming an EXHAUSTED thing instead. max raises a hand to gesture, or give nux a shove, or indicate something on the rig, but he doesn’t make it halfway to his target before it drops, landing against his side with a soft swat.
“ gonna need more luck than THAT. ”
bird or no bird, the rig looked to be on its last legs already, held together with a wish and a prayer and cobbled together through the sheer force of FURIOSA’S will.
“ - -- ---- have we got COOLANT ? ”
(dadly grunt.) (dadly sniff.) (dadly cough.) (dadly hesitant pat on the back.)
❛ –eh? ❜
he looks up from his work with black gunpowder still covering the metallic fingertips ( staining them! ruining their shine! ). chrome wrist flicks up, the shotgun in his hand thrashes wildly and it closes with a satisfying SNAP. ❛ Thought I could clean it for you… ‘cause you have such BAD luck with these– why do you even keep using shotguns, I don’t understand but… maybe it won’t jam now. MAYBE. ❜
the machine stares at him with a hint of cold calculation, as if he was trying to decipher the message– god, they’ve been travelling for so long –and his argent head finally turns back to the gun which rested on his thighs like a domesticated companion.
❛ Yeah… you’re welcome. ❜
( vague dadly grunting @ all his nasty kids. )
consciious chappiiee ofknowing cognosse witncssme dcliverance metalsided kabccm gloryawaits andglassing
welcome to the family.
…. no, he’s not. he honks the horn again.
LOUD LOUD LOUD. he takes his wrist gently and holds it away from the wheel.
“ all right. ”
perhaps TOO loud. his antennas flatline and he lets up on the wheel, his brow bar furrowing.
‘ my bad.
“ it’s -- you’re FINE. ” “ that all ? ”
it truly doesn’t take much for deon to go off on a TANGENT. especially when the given question is so broad. and especially now they seem to be on the same level of mutual nonaggression. his hands come up as he starts, body animated in human excitement.
“ oh– well, first i created– sorry, more really designed the scout model and their further programming. them being used for police enforcement was an unfortunate necessity, but with them it did manage to help! but– right, however, MY body is just a test model that we used for trying new programming and modifications. it-it was the closest one when… “
he trails off, antenna falling flat and projected ‘ eyes ‘ going to the ground as his head tilts. it was always hard to tell THIS part of the story.
he’s lost FAST, struggling to catch up with the words and the gestures and all the little pleasantries of normal conversation that had become so alien to him after so much time spent carefully isolating himself from everyone, but -- THERE. universal body language for ‘ i don’t want to talk about it. ’ that, he can understand.
he raises one hand, hovering an inch above the metal shoulder before him in hesitation, before dropping it in some foreign APPROXIMATION of a reassuring pat.
“ . . . ”
words escape him, and he sniffs and grunts and looks away, to give the THING some measure of privacy for a moment.
oh. he appears to have made the man laugh. or well, he HOPES it’s a laugh. the smallest of ‘ HEHs ‘ comes out in response, still nervous. there were so many who would want to cause harm to him in even this body.
“ in-in here? “ it would almost be something considered FASCINATING how quickly he’s shutting down. not physically, of course. that would be dangerous. “ i– well, i’m not a COP, for as a start. i-i well. i designed those. i made them. i made… me. “
“ how’s that ? ” he knows about robots as much as anyone else, but not about robots that can build other robots. that’s just SCARY. the more this orange fellow talks, the less he seems to need from max to keep himself talking, and max obliges him with nods and grunts in the proper places. THIS IS NICE. he could get used to this.
❛ Hold on– where are YOU going if not– there? ❜
an almost offended gesture of chrome arm points the same way the driver just did and machine’s dulled optics widen slightly. that didn’t add up: humans are SOCIAL ANIMALS, they travel in packs, they form herds and they stick to each other’s sweaty sides for a chance of experiencing something resembling SECURITY… social animals. so is this one damaged then, he wonders, staring at his sunburnt face with SUSPICION.
❛ You’re trying to mislead me, aren’t you? Give me the wrong direction while you drive to safety all on your own? NO WAY, PAL. ❜
“ i’m going THIS way, ” he points, one hand on the roof and the other on the door. by the second, he’s getting less and less worried about LEAVING this… whatever it is. “ you’re going THAT way. ” he jerks a thumb in the opposite direction, pulling the car door open with an air of finality.
“ nothing but dried-up salt where i’m going. ” this thing just won’t let him LEAVE !! tired of talk but with no end in sight, max presses the heel of one hand against the hot black rubber of the door’s edge, forcing himself to go on. “ you can come, but it’s ONE-WAY. ” there. THAT should shut it up.
he could calm down. he can do that. but first he wants to make clear that he doesn’t plan anything aggressive. no FIGHTING. maybe this was just a nice man, regardless of how his voice sounds like gravel and his eyes look a little too wide as a default. or maybe his scanners are picking up too much from overthinking. “i– okay.”
if he were able, he’d SNAP his mouth shut. instead, he gives a loud BEEP and shifts almost nervously from foot to metal foot, hands coming together in small scraping sounds as he tries to decide what to say next. “… it’s… it’s good you speak. speaking is… healthy.”
H E A L T H Y . he sniffs, but it dissolves into a shuddering exhale before he can stop it, closer to a laugh than he’s had in recent memory. HIM, HEALTHY ? that thing needed serious repairs if it could make a mistake like THAT.
“ don’t talk like a COP, ” he says, in as few words as possible. ( it’s a talent. ) “ what’s goin’ on in there ? ”
antenna lower at the failed attempt of conversation, but a conscious THOUGHT and they flick back up. the quite frankly – TERRIFYING – man at least doesn’t seem to want to ‘start anything’. – thanks for that one, chappie.
“o-oh, do you NOT speak? that’s fine. that’s fine. but i’ll keep speaking because then maybe you won’t do anything too violent.”
“ i SPEAK, ” he grunts defensively, shifting his weight from foot to foot. he wasn’t planning on ATTACKING whatever the robot was, but the more it talked, the more he found himself appreciating the [ MUTE ] switch on his tv. “ just -- CALM DOWN. ”
awe yes. hellyeshellyeshell yes
he teeters forward and wastes no time before he’s slamming his palm into the wheel, the deafening horn rattling his wiring.
OH WOW THAT WAS LOUDER THAN HE EXPECTED.
he has to raise his voice to get chappie’s attention, and it’s hoarser than he remembers, likely from disuse.
“ hey. HEY ! enough.”
“Let’s not do anything rash.”
a RADIOACTIVE-ORANGE walking junk heap. now he’s seen everything. he isn’t sure if the talking is IT TALKING, or HIM HALLUCINATING. likely both.
he offers it a GRUNT in response.
❛ I said I wanted to talk. It’s nice weather we’re having. ❜
hmm, he should probably check his SARCASM inhibitors, maybe the radioactive heat is getting to them. DEUS EX MACHINA shifts the weight of his argent body from left leg to the right one, his frame sways slightly as he stares at the unkempt creature which emerged from the car.
❛ Alright, something tells me you’re not a fan of jovial small talk, I’ll get to the point– I need a ride. To the nearest settlement or something. Basically people, I need people. Wait— that came out wrong, but you get the idea. ❜
he’s halfway back in the car when he hears ‘ SETTLEMENT ’ and his gut tells him to fang it in the OPPOSITE direction, but whatever this THING is, it looks a sight better than the interceptor, and something tells him if he were to leave it in his mirrors, it’d catch up quick.
“ nearest one’s a week’s walk THAT WAY, ” he grunts, gesturing vaguely past the car’s rear. “ you’re on your own. ”
‘ but I’M GOOD. PROMISE. — let me at least do the horn.
looks around. SIGHS. sighs some more. this thing doesn’t look TOO homicidal.
“ fine. JUST the horn. ”
failure and imperfections are not an act but a habit. so it’s just the same on a continuous loop; man creates monstrosities and then seeks to destroy what they’ve created, condemned to the few stories earth allows. and control is not accommodating. this isn’t what they wanted. this isn’t what anyone wanted. that’s why they say they wont duplicate her (though it’s because they don’t know what they did to make her). they can’t do better. so they clipped and broke the thing that would able her easy getaway (her wings).
viridian reduced saturation in her eyes. It’s just another sheer drain. proper sense isn’t even present. but she can’t remember ever feeling any different from feral. perhaps humans doomed themselves from the start; maybe they shouldn’t have created fire. and they shouldn’t have placed it in someone.
stuck with the sappy —sweet, thick like maple syrup — vermilion liquid between her fingers from when she couldn’t stop her palms from trying to soothe herself; nails grazing the soaked fabric of her white shirt and finding the right path to her flesh. it hadn’t helped any. she is animal, purely. with instinct a little jaded. they probably aren’t too far behind her either, for a moment she swears she can still smell the lab’s linoleum floor. but she’s crawling, bruised her ankle bone from a fall she took jumping out a window. so when she sees shoes, she pulls the gun she took and aiming it up. without really thinking she pulls the trigger, but there’s no bullets — and even if there was she wouldn’t have hit him. she looks up at him a moment longer in panic before draping her arms over her head. she doesn’t know who he is, thinks he’s probably one of them. at least she got father then she should have considering.
“ —- mmph… phhh… umphhhh… “
though he’s seen more horrors than he can count fighting his way through the outback, she looks like something wholly NEW and different, an ANIMAL all her own. the settlement in the distance, behind her and ahead of him, is dilapidated and he can smell the RUST from here ------ unless it’s her BLOOD he’s smelling instead. if that’s where she came from, max decides he wants nothing to do with it, and kills the engine, stepping out of the interceptor to get a better look.
it’s been YEARS since he saw any birds, but he’s SURE feathers shouldn’t look like that. the gun startles him, and he nearly falls back, a shout dying in his throat when he sees her fingers squeeze the trigger, and - - - - - CLICK !! a misfire, or it’s empty. either way, he bends to grab it and toss it away. she’s in no state to be pointing guns anywhere.
more than anything, he wants to LEAVE her and drive back to where he came from ( she wouldn’t last more than a day in the outback, alone, especially if anyone came looking for her ) but watching her struggle pulls at something inside him. she’s lighter than she looks, and he lays her across the backseat without asking first ------ what would she SAY ? what is there to say ?
“ stay DOWN. ”
█ ▌MASKED.
❝ i KNOW you. you’re the road warrior. ❞
MEMORIES FLOOD BACK, unpleasant ones, ones best left forgotten on the cluttered floor in the back of his mind. they make his stomach TWIST unpleasantly, and he bears them for a long moment before cutting them off with a low GRUNT.
“ ‘s someone else. you’re confused. ”
