singillatim | survival at the homestead

[ 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.

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

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?

[ 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. ]

[ 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?

Edited (u know why (agonizing) 🤪) 2025-03-30 11:28 (UTC)

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.

[ 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. ]

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?

[ 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?

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.

[ 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?

[ 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. ]

Edited 2025-04-19 15:54 (UTC)

[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.

[ 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. ]

[ 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.

Edited 2025-04-22 03:31 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[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?

[ 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. ]

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.

[ 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. ]

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.

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. ]

Not from him.

[Methuselah doesn't really seem to be inclined to tell anyone much of anything when he's in Milton.]

I think by now many people are aware that this is likely to happen, and go anyway because the information we receive can be so valuable.

[ Furiosa grimaces and then blows air out slowly through pursed lips. Clearly, she's not pleased with the answer, but that isn't Randvi's fault. It's not directed at her. More like a loose frustration with the situation. ]

Great.

[ But Max is sturdy and reliable. So maybe he'll be okay and in one piece? ]

We're new, so... No one warned us.

[ Not that they asked. ]

Any idea how long he's usually gone?

survival at the homestead

settling in.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw: eating live creatures sorry he’s nasty

cw killing and eating companion animals

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Methuselah

greenhouse!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject