[ That thing next to him buzzes and chimes, the rattle against the countertop by the TV enough to make even Max jump a little out of his skin.
These are not noises he's accustomed to hearing. The ding is sharp, electronic. Pierces the chest and the silence. Are people used to this now? Noises and flashes on a flat, tiny TV screen all day, every day? How could they concentrate?
Max stares for a long moment before lightly pressing his extended forefinger on the screen. MSG launches. He hardly needs to hazard a guess who sent it; he knows exactly who it is. ]
[ Not a half bad idea. These rooms are clean, too clean. Close quarters. Potentially vulnerable. Did others have access to the doors? The locks are something Max hasn't seen before.
Not wrong. Not sure there are more places to hide.
[ In the cars, he means, the ones they've seen littering the streets of the poor side of town. No one looks at them, but there are still people, still buildings with many occupants. Apartments. Weird to see them again. To see all of it. ]
[ An unstated yet. Pushed far enough, she knows where people go. He does too. But still, the carcass of a car seems pretty low on the list of things people would take. You have to be pretty industrious to find its utility. ]
[ He knows as well as she does that pushed to a limit, people will do what they need to. He's already seen enough of the other arrivals trying to pack up, head out, and move on. Makes Max think he should be doing the same. ]
Gave me a few things from home. Nothing really useful.
[ Polaroids et al. Nothing tool-shaped yet. ]
Thought I did. Took food. But doesn't seem like we'll have to look hard to find more.
[ Still, he stashed a bunch of weird little dishes away. Old habits. But he's starting to remember why fridges were important. ]
Used to hear stories about places where you could just buy food. Markets. Not used to seeing so many things with so much variety. Spoiled here, won't want to go back to roach gruel and potatoes.
A weapon. Small revolver with a knife and knuckle duster. I hadn't touched it for years either. Not a the most firepower, but surprised they let me have it at all. Unless it's supposed to mean something else.
[ Two missed calls from late in the evening. One voicemail with a long pause at the beginning, like she isn't sure she's going to leave it.
"Max," her voice is tired, the effort and exhaustion of her search apparent. There is another long stretch before she speaks again. "I would've gone with. If you'd asked." ]
[ For all Furiosa’s dogged, sustained efforts, she is rewarded with nothing.
Almost nothing.
Every text goes into the system and then into the black void. On her Syntrofos screen, simply her own messages lined up, one on top of the other, with no typing indicator, no reply. Nothing to indicate the messages were seen.
The voice calls meet a similar fate. Until day 15, when the call buzzes through the network and isn’t picked up. There’s a click before the automated message is returned, in the high-pitched, too chipper voice of a robot cutting through:
The caller you are trying to reach has been temporarily disconnected from the service. Please check your recipient and we hope you will try your call again later! ]
[ Furiosa holds the device up to her ear, her grip white knuckled around it. Her heart leaps into her throat when something different happens, the clicking of a line that makes her think maybe her errant plea had been heard. That all she needed to was ask to be remembered, and he would remember her.
Instead, the chipper voice pipes into her ear, uncanny. Rage bubbles up in her throat, wild anger pulses through her veins, white-hot. With a loud, furious grunt, she hurls the phone through the air and it smacks against the wall with a loud crack. It bounces to the floor, and already she can see the spot where the screen is flickering under the shattered glass.
Ah, fuck. She makes a resigned sigh as she moves to pick up the device, gently now. Her hands cradle it softly.
At least this is a problem she can solve. A machine can always be put back together. Maybe not as it originally was, maybe not without the telltale scars or some loss of function. But it can be repaired and function as it once did, or at least something close.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
text | boltcutter
no subject
These are not noises he's accustomed to hearing. The ding is sharp, electronic. Pierces the chest and the silence. Are people used to this now? Noises and flashes on a flat, tiny TV screen all day, every day? How could they concentrate?
Max stares for a long moment before lightly pressing his extended forefinger on the screen. MSG launches. He hardly needs to hazard a guess who sent it; he knows exactly who it is. ]
Yeah. Used to do it a lot. Most chances I got.
[ Back when there was water to swim in at all. ]
no subject
I want to learn. I can wade but never seen it deep enough to go over my head.
no subject
Thinking about taking a swim off of this island?
[ Not that Max has, or anything. ]
no subject
Can you teach me?
no subject
Big part of it. Not drowning.
[ Might even be the point.
Although, come to think of it: ]
Got a feeling they don't want us swimming much around here.
no subject
no subject
[ Just, you know. Separate idea. ]
no subject
no subject
You?
They'd be stupid to fall for it. But maybe they don't know you well enough yet.
no subject
no subject
no subject
You seen a working car around?
no subject
Cars, but fully stripped. Nothing in them to make them go.
[ It hurts to see. ]
no subject
And can't build an engine out of nothing.
Body is shelter though.
no subject
[ Figures she'd know, cult of black thumbs and all. ]
You thinking of stashing gear inside one? Or something else?
no subject
no subject
Just one problem: ]
Can't move the car if you need it to.
no subject
[ It's a joke about missing limbs. She thinks she's funny. ]
no subject
He takes her point, though. ]
Not wrong. Not sure there are more places to hide.
[ In the cars, he means, the ones they've seen littering the streets of the poor side of town. No one looks at them, but there are still people, still buildings with many occupants. Apartments. Weird to see them again. To see all of it. ]
Least no one's gonna try and take it from you.
no subject
[ An unstated yet. Pushed far enough, she knows where people go. He does too. But still, the carcass of a car seems pretty low on the list of things people would take. You have to be pretty industrious to find its utility. ]
You find anything useful?
no subject
Gave me a few things from home. Nothing really useful.
[ Polaroids et al. Nothing tool-shaped yet. ]
Thought I did. Took food. But doesn't seem like we'll have to look hard to find more.
[ Still, he stashed a bunch of weird little dishes away. Old habits. But he's starting to remember why fridges were important. ]
cw eating bugs....
Markets.
Not used to seeing so many things with so much variety.
Spoiled here, won't want to go back to roach gruel and potatoes.
no subject
Never thought I'd see any of this again.
[ Functioning civilization. Even if they're fighting to keep it from going under. ]
You find anything?
no subject
Bot delivered something that belonged to me a long time ago, though.
Not sure how they got it, or what it's supposed to mean.
no subject
[ There's a beat before the messages continue. ]
Bots gave me something too.
Something I thought I lost.
Yours something dangerous?
no subject
I hadn't touched it for years either.
Not a the most firepower, but surprised they let me have it at all.
Unless it's supposed to mean something else.
no subject
no subject
[ Suddenly paranoid. ]
no subject
while you were away [missed calls & texts]
day 1
day 3
day 4
day 5
day 6
day 8
day 9
Found some scrap metal.
Starting to think you're not just avoiding me.
day 12
"Fucking—" in a frustrated tone, as she hangs up. ]
day 15
"Max," her voice is tired, the effort and exhaustion of her search apparent. There is another long stretch before she speaks again. "I would've gone with. If you'd asked." ]
( gone; not here )
Almost nothing.
Every text goes into the system and then into the black void. On her Syntrofos screen, simply her own messages lined up, one on top of the other, with no typing indicator, no reply. Nothing to indicate the messages were seen.
The voice calls meet a similar fate. Until day 15, when the call buzzes through the network and isn’t picked up. There’s a click before the automated message is returned, in the high-pitched, too chipper voice of a robot cutting through:
The caller you are trying to reach has been temporarily disconnected from the service. Please check your recipient and we hope you will try your call again later! ]
no subject
Instead, the chipper voice pipes into her ear, uncanny. Rage bubbles up in her throat, wild anger pulses through her veins, white-hot. With a loud, furious grunt, she hurls the phone through the air and it smacks against the wall with a loud crack. It bounces to the floor, and already she can see the spot where the screen is flickering under the shattered glass.
Ah, fuck. She makes a resigned sigh as she moves to pick up the device, gently now. Her hands cradle it softly.
At least this is a problem she can solve. A machine can always be put back together. Maybe not as it originally was, maybe not without the telltale scars or some loss of function. But it can be repaired and function as it once did, or at least something close.
And maybe she can too. ]