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

[pursuitspecial]

[ Max gives a little hum to agree, imagining the bounty that a big animal like a horse could yield. There's a part of him that would've done anything for a feast like that, but there's no need out here — horses could serve a different use. Their intended use.

He wonders, briefly, how many people would have been fed at the Green Place. If they'd had stables, a herd, caretakers. If the mothers were accomplished equestrians as well as warriors. ]

Guy? [ Max puts the small bones aside, using his fore and middle fingers to drag up the remains of the broth so he can lap it up with his tongue. Waste not, want not. He gives Furiosa a look and hmms through a head shake. ] Haven't seen any horses yet, and no riders.

[ He straightens, parts inside him steeling himself, prickling with mistrustful, premature annoyance. ]

Who is he?

[imperatour]

Joel. Seemed to know his way around. Competent.

[ Such qualities are important to her. She judged people quickly on how well she assumed they survived. He didn't seem like a slouch. ]

Offered me some rabbit meat when his horse scared away the doe I was stalking.

[ But obviously they're doing fine on rabbit. Honestly, her belly's never been so full. ]

Must live out further than us. [ Live, stay. Tomayto, tomahto. This is not a permanent situation. ] He's the only one I've seen even near the cabin.

[pursuitspecial]

[ It's not nothing, being offered meat for no other reason than to apologize, apparently, for scaring off game. A part of Max recoils just imagining it: after years in the Wasteland, a man starts to suspect everything that's offered to him. Especially for free.

So who the hell was Joel? Another survivor? Flush with game of his own, the way Furiosa tells it.

Max sniffs, pushing the bowl back on the table. All that remains are brittle bones that are none too useful, but they can't just chuck them out the window, either, unless they want to attract predators. ]

Near here, then.

[ And that's really the main contention. Someone else who knows where they're holed up. Max's mouth twists from side to side as he thinks. Furiosa seems to think the guy's alright.

Honest now, biting back his reservations: ]

You trust him?

[imperatour]

[ She tips her head from side to side. A complicit admission that he's at least kind of near here. Far enough out that Furiosa tolerates it, but she wonders if Max will insist on packing up again. She hopes not. The traps are such a pain to set up, and she's got them just the way she wanted. ]

No more or less than I trust anyone else here.

[ A silent aside from you which is a given, of course. Max is always the exception. So, does she trust him? Not a lot. Still, she seems to know she is more open to the possibility than Max. Briefly, Furiosa wonders how many years he had been wandering in the wastes by himself.

The chair scrapes on the wooden floor as she pushes away to squat near the fire, grabbing the metal poker to turn the wood over. ]

You want to move again.

[ A statement, rather than a question. ]