survival at the homestead

[imperatour]

Who: Furiosa, Max, guests
What: Catch all for the Australians at their cabin and surrounding area
When: March to tbd
Where: A remote cabin outside of town

Content Warnings: Will add as necessary

Comments

settling in.

[imperatour]

[ She thought the wasteland was harsh. Perhaps she was just adapted to it. The sun and sand had worn against her, fashioned her into a sharp tool. One that could rip and tear with hands and teeth, stubbornly persistent. Sometimes unkillable.

The cold is harsh and bitter. It disables her, makes her feel frozen and brittle. The dark seems to flood deep beneath her skin and sit in her bones. Her arm aches, stiffness worse than any car that needed grease. Alternating freezing and fiery flashes bite at the residual limb, pain haunting her like a ghost.

Still, she doesn't complain. She occupies her days as best she can, the wound in her side closing day by day. She fashions traps and catches small game. She fashions a board she can pin the carcasses to to hold them as she skins their small bodies. She picks shot pellets out of the squirrels and rabbits she shoots from the cabin porch. She boils the bones into stock and cooks the meat in it until its tender, poking at the fire and adding logs from the pile to heat the cabin. Four walls and a roof. It's strange to sleep without the thunder of war boys running past her head.

More space than she had ever had to herself. Well, not quite to herself.

She is poking at the fire with a long iron tool when she hears the door open and shut. She grunts an acknowledgement. She knows his footsteps by now.

She should be well enough to scout with him soon. ]

Wasn't sure if you'd be back before dark. The days are getting longer.

[pursuitspecial]

[ Max is starting to get a lay of the land.

There is much more rock than he's used to. Snow falls continuously in this place. The day's sun is not a punishment here, but a boon. There is wind, a familiar companion, but it brings the frost and chill on it, and it cuts through clothes like they're hardly on at all. The best protection is leather, but it doesn't do much to trap the heat on its own. The fur from hunted game change everything, so Max takes time to sew it into his jacket, his pants, and other clothes they've managed to scavenge since they'd woken up here.

They, he thinks as he pushes open the door to the cabin he shares with one other person, a presence more familiar to him now than anything else here, save for the feeling of his well-worn jacket slipping over his shoulders.

Good, there's a fire going. Max lays down the map he's started, actual ink on actual paper. (Been awhile since he'd seen paper.) It's not drawn in blood and fabric anymore, doesn't need to dry. There's the lake, points to mark other cabins, lines of worn footpaths, rows and rows of unscalable mountains. The town, Milton, further out. ]

Mm, [ he answers finally, like he'd been thinking about it. There's snow dusted on his shoulders, in his hair. ] Think you're right.

[ From a pocket, he pulls out an object of fabric and metal and lays it on the table they've got set up: half for shared gear, the other half for shared meals or things they find. ]

Thought I found a watch on someone. Doesn't work, but. [ Another hmm, practically punctuation to say but it's something. He taps it, pushes it in her direction. ] Used to track the time. Would have been useful to tell us how much daylight we've got left.

[ Or night. ]

[imperatour]

[ She picks the watch up, turning it over in her hand. She runs her thumb over the back metal plate, traces the calloused pad of her finger over the worn strap that would go around the wrist.

This is the kind of shiny trinket men would've adorn themselves with in the Wastes even if it had more utilitarian purposes. ]

Runs on a battery right? Never knew they could be that small.

[ She spends a few more moments admiring it. ]

Maybe we could fix it. Keep your eyes out for a second too.

[ One for both of them. What a strange idea, to count the hours. To measure time as a concept of a place they could meet in and plan for instead of just waiting and hoping. ]

Eat. Got rabbit today. The traps are working better than I thought. Gotta figure out some way to keep the extra meat.

[pursuitspecial]

Mmhm, [ Max answers, eyes on the map before he flicks over to watch Furiosa handle the watch like it's something admirable and precious.

Watches used to be, many years ago: at once a necessity and a luxury. When the oil wars broke out and organizations started collapsing, telling the time stopped being so useful. All that mattered was when it was light enough to drive by, and when it was dark enough to turn on headlights. ]

Most did. But not always. Before, used to work by winding up the little gears inside. Called them 'mechanical' watches.

[ He figures that will land — cars are their universal, shared language. (Not their only shared language anymore, he knows; the more they spend time together, the more Max realizes she can often tell what he's thinking. And sometimes he thinks the reverse must be equally as true.)

It's a shame he hasn't found a working battery yet. Furiosa could appreciate a watch better than anyone else ever could.

He looks towards the fire, grabbing a clean bowl and serving spoon from the kitchen counter, scooping a helping of broth into the bowl, fishing for the substantial stuff. Bones and meat get added to the bowl without a second look. It doesn't much matter to him what he eats.

Max is barely sitting down at the table before he's using the serving utensil as a personal spoon, shoving bits of tender, lean meat into his mouth. ]

Lots of snow outside. Shouldn't be a problem. [ He bites down on a big piece of meat. It's as good a meal as he's had in years. His eyes close on a satisfied sigh. ] Ever heard of a root cellar?

[imperatour]

[ Furiosa keeps herself occupied with the watch as Max eats. She's already helped herself, settling in with a bowl once the meat had turned tender. She use her teeth to scrape every morsel of meat off the bone before sucked the edges where joints meet, holding the cartilage in her mouth until it dissolved. No part wasted, she scooped every molecule of stew up with her fingers to clean the bowl. They don't want for food here, but it's hard to shake the instincts of someone who's never really felt full in a lifetime or two.

Her mouth quirks up in a satisfied little smirk as she settles in at the table across from him, her feet up on one of the extra unoccupied chairs, twirling the watch between her fingers. Max didn't get to see it, but she's pretty sure she made the same face when she helped herself to her first bowl of rabbit stew. ]

That like a refrigerator? [ She had heard of those. Seen the carcass of one once actually, a hulking armory to store precious food where the sun couldn't steal and rot it. ] But underground, I'm guessing.

[ That would be the cellar part of it. She may not know the old world like him, but she spent years silently absorbing the fabled tales of it from the History Man, skeptical that these weren't just fantastical tales he made up either to amuse himself or spun up from a contaminated mind. ]

[pursuitspecial]

[ Halfway into his bowl of rabbit, Max nearly stops hearing anything else, the food sliding down his throat sending his body into a state of excitement and elation that he's still unaccustomed to. The promise of regular meals, even after weeks of having them, is still a routine he can't bear to let himself rely on.

Looking up, he offers a quirk of his mouth - the going rate for what constitutes a smile - and nods. ]

Yeah. Like that. We find a refrigerator out there, we bury it in the earth. The snow keeps the earth cold. And the cold will keep the meat.

[ Maybe as foreign a concept as any, coming from the Wasteland: when the sun heats the dirt, turning the earth into a heated baking dish. Meat and broth finished, Max gnaws on the ends of the bones, prying off the cartilage with his teeth to get to the soft, rich material within. The bones are small and delicate, and there's not much marrow inside, but it's still something that can't afford to be wasted. ]

You ever learn how to skin pelts? Cure meat?

[imperatour]

Doing my best skinning.

[ It's hard, considering the one handed thing and all. She's managing as best she can, nailing the bodies down but she ends up with more strips of fur and flesh that she's hung out to dry so she can take them to the inside of their clothes or patch them together into a blanket.

She'd like to get bigger swathes and learn how to turn them to leather, but that requires bigger game too. ]

Don't know what you mean by curing.

cw: eating live creatures sorry he’s nasty

[pursuitspecial]

[ Skinning game isn’t Max’s forte, never was. He can see how hard it is, separating the hide from the rest of the flesh, trying not to damage the delicate skin and fur in the process. He sneaks a glance over at where the furry remnants of rabbit are drying, close to the fire and gives a nod in their direction. ]

Better’n I can do it.

[ And with one hand, at that. What’s Max’s excuse? ]

Curing meat, ah. Draws out the moisture. Preserves it. [ His mind wanders, remembering the crunch of live insects and irradiated reptiles, mixing with the grit of their shared habitat in his mouth. Max runs his tongue along the back of his teeth, expecting to find something that isn’t there. ] Didn’t have much meat to do that with.

[ Not where they came from. ]

cw killing and eating companion animals

[imperatour]

Yeah. [ She agrees. Not a problem she's used to having. Can't imagine Max runs into it too often either, though it'd be nice to have preserved meat on the road while he wanders. Maybe they can learn to do that at the Citadel. Rat and snake isn't as tasty as rabbit, but she'd stuff his pack heavy with supplies to keep him going in the desert.

If he came back. ]

Think the most meat we ever had was horse. Broke its leg. [ A could-be death sentence for people, let alone a horse. ] Not much else to do so one of the mothers put a bullet in its skull and everyone had full bellies for days.

[ Furiosa is too calm and even for this memory to have been anywhere but the Green Place, but her mouth twitches, a sour expression biting at the edge. She wonders how long she had been gone when they had eaten all their horses. ]

You met the guy with the horse yet?

Methuselah

[meadqueen]

[It is after the battle with the Old Bear that Randvi, numb with grief and searching for distractions, sees a message in the community hall asking for information on trips with Methuselah. The cabin it names is a bit remote, but she can make it there.

And so it is that a small but broad-shouldered woman, with a patch over her right eye, a bear claw on a cord around her neck, and a young dog at her side shows up at their cabin door.

She knocks.]

I saw your message. At the hall.

[imperatour]

[ Max would probably be more than a little annoyed to know Furiosa was giving out the location of their cabin, but he's not here right now to contest that and that is the exact root of the problem!.

So Furiosa scribbles what she knows in an unsteady hand with a map to her cabin at the bottom.

Sleep is difficult in the quiet cabin without him. They didn't talk a lot, exactly, but just the noises of two people and the creaky floors filled her ears. In the increasing daylight, she ventured out, pacing the perimeter of the trails she knows he started to take. The search had worn on her, but she is an unwavering machine.

Today she is home, warming herself by the fire while she looks over the hand drawn maps he had started when there is a knock at her door. She doesn't recognize the woman, but scans her with an assessing gaze. Satisfied, Furiosa nods once opening the door further for both the girl and her dog to come in. The sleeve over her left arm is tied up into a knot just past her elbow, forearm and hand conspicuously missing. ]

My partner went off with him. [ Furiosa wastes little time, leading Radvi into the small interior cabin. Maps cover the table and a warm fire crackles in the hearth. Furiosa grabs two dusty mugs, hanging them from her fingers, silently offering a warm drink while she continues. ] Thought he'd be back by now.

[meadqueen]

[Randvi moves into the cabin, trying not to stare too obviously at the other woman. She's beautiful, clearly, but beyond that she's recovered from a similar injury to the one Sigurd has (or will have). Anything she can do, he will be able to as well.

She does nod - after the walk out here she could use some extra warmth - and both woman and dog move closer to the fire. After all this time, something about maps on the table and a crackling fire in the hearth is comforting.]

My name is Randvi, and this is Ulfrùn. I know several people who have travelled with Methuselah before. How long ago did they leave?

[imperatour]

[ Furiosa nods in a acknowledgement. She doesn't think she left her own name on that note. She gestures to herself. ]

Furiosa.

[ Now with that out of the way, Furiosa places the mugs down. She ladles water warming in a pot on the edge of the fire into them. Not too hot, but enough to warm the body and keep fingers nimble when wrapped around the cup. ]

Max left seven nights ago. I don't think he would stay out that long without telling me.

[ A few days sure, but he should be back by now. If he was coming back. ]

[meadqueen]

Thank you.

[The warm drink is an instant comfort, both on her hands and inside her body.]

Methuselah does travel much farther afield than most of our number. People travelling alongside him are typically away for several weeks.

[It would be just like the man not to inform this Max of how long he would be away. Randvi frowns.]

It is a strange thing. Methuselah seems to be much more forthcoming on these trips than he is here in the village, but the price can be steep.

[imperatour]

[ Maybe in other circumstances, Furiosa would be able to maintain her normal stoic self, but she's been on edge for days. The first few nights, she had slept well, expecting Max to make his way back without issue. How long had he wandered in the wastes by himself?

When three turned to four, and then four to five, is when she started to wonder. But the news that others have gone with Methuselah and returned is a balm, even if an uneasy one. Her tight posture loosens in relief, sitting back into the wooden chair.

It brings other questions though. Furiosa narrows her eyes, her voice a little tense. ]

What do you mean, a price?

[ That itself is not unexpected, but she wonders what Max might have bartered in exchange. ]

[meadqueen]

I know four people who have set out on expeditions with Methuselah - one twice - and of those one lost a finger, one was set upon by wolves, and two returned home with severe respiratory illnesses.

[Heartman had later died, heart weakened by his bout with pneumonia, but she won't say that yet.]

The information he had provided is valuable to us but I'm not certain it is worth the cost.

[imperatour]

Did they have warnings before they went?

[ Not that Furiosa thinks that would've stopped Max. For a man who says he wants to stay alive and out of trouble, he sure does do a lot of things to the contrary. ]

greenhouse!

[wingbound]

[ Levi had been one of the regular faces working at -- or around -- the greenhouse ever since it got moved, though he'd abruptly stopped showing up at the start of March, courtesy of one particularly nasty bear attack that left him more or less bedridden for weeks. It's not really a secret -- provided one frequented the community center, that is. But it's all too easy to stay out of the loop otherwise. ]

[ It's toward the end of April that he finally shows up again. There's fresh new scars running down the right side of his face, crossing his eye -- which miraculously appears unharmed -- and a bunch more on whatever may be visible of his hands and arms. He's moving a little carefully still, though he seems fine enough aside from that. ]

[ He grunts a "hey" to a vaguely familiar-looking someone he passes by with a watering can, though he's not sure if that makes it less or more awkward than simply not saying anything, and proceeds to carefully water the cucumbers. ]

[imperatour]

[ Well that's new.

Furiosa isn't the most talkative one in the bunch, but she's observant. Notices the people that are there. Notices when people aren't there, and Levi's absence was felt. Hard not to when there's a core group of people, even when she's not exactly on the friendliest terms.

She taps her cheek where one of his scars sits on Levi's own face. ]

Healing okay?

[ She knows a thing or two about wounds. Most of the time now she ties the end of her left sleeve into a knot just below her blunted elbow. Keeps the stump warm. She isn't ashamed of it, even if she misses her prosthetic. She's getting used to being without it. ]

oops i'm not sure if they actually have cucumbers so make it potatoes-

[wingbound]

[ Levi isn't bothered by the sight; Erwin had been missing his right arm for the last weeks of his life too and he had time to get used to seeing an empty or tied sleeve. He hasn't really gotten the chance to truly internalize his own injuries, however. When he's asked the question, he frowns slightly, his own hand rising to touch his face on the same spot before fully registering that yes, there's definitely a scar there. ]

...Yes.

[ Of course, he's compelled to give credit where it's due; ]

We have a good doctor here. I'd probably be down an eye without her.

choose your own vegetable adventure

[imperatour]

What happened?

[ The question is plain and straightforward. It's not tinted with nosiness or overt concern. She wouldn't want plaintive stare or banalities disguised with shallow empathy, so she doesn't offer them. She just wants to know what she should be looking out for too. ]

exactlyyy

[wingbound]

[ He appreciates the straightforwardness and the lack of performative pity. Some might consider it rude; he just sees it as genuine. ]

The bear. [ He pauses, trying to gauge whether she's familiar with the phenomenon from her reaction. ] It's stalked me before, but this is the first time it decided to have me for breakfast.

[ Some shitty humor to go with the tale. He doubts the beast actually wanted to eat him. ]

[imperatour]

How'd you get away?

[ She was under the impression that this was not a normal bear. Not that she's very familiar with bears or any predators that don't walk upright on two legs 99% of the time, really. But that's a beast she want to give a wide breadth. ]

[wingbound]

[ His expression doesn't change much, though if she's used to reading miniscule twitches in someone's face she may catch a hint of resignation, almost disappointment. I didn't. ]

I wasn't alone. The others fought it off.

[ And dragged him back to the town hall to get patched up before he fully bled out, but that detail seems less relevant. ]

Can't say I'm sure about the how.

[ Following normal logic, at least Eren should be just fucked up as he is after trying to ram the damn thing down with nothing but his body, but somehow, miraculously, both him and Max escaped the ordeal practically unscathed. ]

Reunion.

[imperatour]

[ The days pass, and Max does not return.

Randvi had said that Max is not the first Methuselah had taken on a journey. He offers answers, but they come at some cost.

On the coldest nights, when sleep doesn't come easy in the eerie quiet of the cabin and she lets the fire burn down to embers, she thinks. The people return, Randvi had told her, so Furiosa does not worry, exactly, but she wonders. In the dark, she feels things, echoes of things she thought extinct or herself incapable of. It snuck in between the beats of the life they settled into, the comfortable rhythm they had reached. An unnamed camaraderie. A partnership. It had started to feel familiar. Almost like home.

Perhaps that is why he needed to leave. Again.

The sun peeks over the horizon, the sky blooming form purple to pink to orange. There is little reason to hunt. Her appetite has left her. Instead, she focuses on sewing pelts into the lining of her jacket and boots and chopping firewood. She swings the axe, less adept than he was with only one arm to grip it. She's improving, missing only every third or fourth swing.

She is focused, the loud cracks of splitting timber echoing into the woods around her, her soft grunts as she huffs in the spaces between, the effort making her blood pump in her ears. It is by chance that she looks up, first instinct when she sees the shape of a person walking toward her cabin to fight, knuckles tightening around the handle of the axe.

But the silhouette is unmistakable, even with the sun behind him casting his face in shadow. She knows. She knows.

She drops the axe, nearly stumbling forward as she pushes through the snow. Urgent and immediately she is near him. She uses her teeth to peel off her glove by the finger tip and dropping it into the snow along the way, needing to feel him with her own fingers as if to prove he is real.

Her fingers wrap behind his neck and draw him close, his forehead to hers.

Soft, as if her breath: ] Max.