Imperators are not, as a rule, expected to work on their own rigs. Some drop into the garages to supervise, especially when there's new salvage, but only one or two ever take a regular interest. And then there's Imperator Furiosa, who almost seems to prefer the company of the blackthumbs and war pups to that of her fellow ranking commanders.
It may have something to do with her choice of Second. The Ace is fairly well known as a master blackthumb, and he's usually in the garage working on the Rig when he's not out on the road with it. Furiosa works alongside him often, but when he's in a narrow space and there's nothing else of hers available to work on, she's been known to wander. Sometimes, she'll even pitch in to help with other projects, grim and quiet, but a skilled and willing mechanic.
She loves motorcyles, in particular, so when she spies a handful of older pups shining up what appears to be a Norton Commando, she's drawn in. Unlike your average war boy, she doesn't carry the entirety of her possessions in her pocket--she has a room to keep them in. So she's quiet, no jingling; maybe even quiet enough to sneak up and stand behind the little group, observing the work.
He knows, in the back of his mind, the glory is waiting Outside. He knows, as much as he can conceptualize beyond what he sees, that the point of being taken into the Citadel is to become something more--to make a proper sacrifice of his half-life.
It's never stopped Freki from being entirely happy exactly where he was.
There might be time, after all, to have a better purpose later. He had already survived long enough to begin smearing his eyes black; he might well survive long enough to find himself properly out under the sky again, lungs full of proper exhaust rather than the cough of backfiring and metallic tang of soldering. Geri was always dreaming on that: on the road, on the chase, on the intangible possibility of driving. It was beautiful to listen to, now and then.
But here was already happy.
Here, after all, Freki could half crouch next to the 750 with the snarling camshaft chain fighting its intermediate gear. He could bump shoulders with the pups next to him as they de-gritted the timing cover and murmured quietly about the reposition of the crank cheek and all invariably let their fingers brush against the cylinder head while the entire engine finished falling into place. Here, he could reach out and a hand would appear with a rag or a torque wrench. Here, he knew exactly where he stood; here, his purpose was to be part of the pack.
So he's grinning as he works, teeth snapping almost unconsciously when an arm passes too close to his cheek or another pup bangs too hard against his side. There's no hesitation in moving aside slightly so a younger pup can get his hands on the bike, one of his own hands catching briefly at the other boy's neck as he watches the work. It's impossible to imagine anything more satisfying than watching a machine fall properly back into place under a flurry of well-coordinated hands.
His attention stays focused on the 750 as he leans back slightly to reach for the spanner he'd set behind himself. Overbalancing slightly in his groping search shouldn't be a problem. There's usually not anyone lurking near clumps like this, after all, so there's usually not anyone to accidentally bump into.
Her gaze is on the machine first--not as shiny as some, but plenty shiny enough. She sees no marks identifying what tribe or gang it might have been taken from. Not the Rock Riders, most likely; while it's hardly a ponderous machine, they tend to go for even lighter and leaner. Not the Buzzards; there are no spikes or wicked little hooks and traps for unwary hands. Maybe just scavs, then.
Hard to tell how much work they've already put in, these pups; not without knowing what condition it came to them in. It looks to be coming along well, though. Her attention falls, then, to the team of pups working on it. There's the faintest flicker of a smile, fleeting, as she watches them move in and dodge aside for one another. Sometimes a group that works together often like this comes to look like a kind of multi-limbed creature, a hydra made of eager youths.
She remembers some of that, even if it's been a long time since she was a pup.
No one of the pups seems to stand out above the others to her eyes, until the one--one of the older ones, judging from the paint--leans back without looking to pick up something or another. She's not standing in the way on purpose, but she happens to be just close enough that his hand lands on the toe of her boot.
One of his fellow pups glances back at the perfect moment to see the minor faux-pas and makes a small, startled sound, then claps his hand over his own mouth, staring.
It happens all at once. Important things often do.
His fingers have landed, but there's barely contact before his entire arm is entirely certain that it isn't a wrench he's brushed against. The tiny yip from across the seat of the motorcycle helps complete the sensory package.
Tall. Solid. Important.
His shoulders stiffen half a second, an irrepressible sign of lingering humanity. They fall again by the time he manages to twist his neck around and hazard a glance at the form he can now discern has come to rest so close behind them. For just another split second, his eyes found themselves unfortunately locked much, much too high up the food chain.
Thankfully, things kept happening all at once.
The pup on one side of him seemed to melt away. Geri, on the other, took an unhappy swipe at his knee. Entirely unthinking, Freki pushed himself up just a hair as he pulled his hand away, eyes dropping back to the floor. Much more to the point, already an old instinct despite his scant number of years, his entire head slammed down against his own shoulder.
Apologies weren't nearly as effective in dark, cramped spaces as a properly bared neck.
Furiosa is actually a master of the poker face. She's had to be, to hide her rage, to prove her strength, to maintain her position. Her eyebrow barely quirks as she meets the pup's gaze. She'd be lying if she claimed she doesn't enjoy the power she wields. The mystique of the Imperator grease is useful in so many ways, not the least of which is her own protection. Maybe she hates herself a bit more each day for using and enjoying it, but here she is anyway, towering over a half-grown blackthumb pup and amused by the alarm of his peers.
She's not completely ruined, though. There's a little soft place between the calcified ridges around her heart, and children sometimes manage to reach it. She gives a little sigh as some of the pups cringe or slink a safe distance away, and sinks into a crouch, placing her right palm on the pup's bared neck.
"Easy," she says. "I'm not going to shred you for a little thing like that."
She lets the touch trail to his shoulder, gives him a light thump on the back, and then rests her elbows on her knees. "Spanner's a little to the left. Go on with what you were doing."
Hopefully Freki doesn't suffer too much from performance anxiety. She's not going anywhere.
Of course he doesn't resist the hand coming down to his neck. Of course he doesn't flinch or try to shift away. No one had ever been rewarded for being nervous or cowardly.
Motion only returns at the comparatively gentle words. It's impossible not to blink, even for a moment after the encouragement of the thump on the back. It's also impossible not to respond to directions. His fingers are scrambling left for the spanner before he even entirely realizes what he's doing.
Thankfully, the familiarity of metal in hand was a wonderful adrenaline boost back toward normalcy. The other pups don't immediately fall back into place--the real smoothness of the human machine remains interrupted--but Freki at least is clearly happy enough to fall back into what he'd been doing.
Letting his hands fall into work at the cam chain is one thing, of course. It's driven by instinct, after all, somewhere below where nerves came into play. The weight of eyes on him couldn't dislodge that. It could, however, dislodge his tongue.
"--jumping." Not that she had asked. Not that she needed to be told. "Maybe-- broken teeth. Better soon."
Nervous chatter isn't uncommon when an Imperator wanders into a knot of pups. Some of the ones that know Furiosa a little better--better enough not to be terrified she'll shred them on a whim--will sidle in quietly to try and touch her metal arm for luck, when she stands or rests near where they're working. She pretends not to notice, with mixed feelings on the matter. The part of her that's still just a bit Vuvalini feels that the regard of a child is never to be carelessly discarded. She certainly doesn't deserve it, and hesitates to encourage it, but she rarely spurns it, either.
That, and war boy culture itself holds a healthy pup to be of reasonable value. Maybe not quite worth their weight in guzzoline, but with hands to work and a back to carry goods; children can't be coddled but they can be trained up for better things later on. Watching this pup's hands flutter around to grab the spanner and back to get to work, Furiosa thinks he's got a head start at being useful. Truly seems to have an idea what he's doing; maybe he'll be a master blackthumb some day.
She makes a soft hum of acknowledgment at his diagnosis. Seems accurate as far as she can tell. "It's a shine little machine, isn't it? Seen better, but not many."
She moves just enough to give him space for his elbows and rolls to sit with her legs folded under her, then glances at the other nervous pups. "Well? Don't leave this one to work alone." It's gentle, for a scolding; she didn't intend to make them scatter. "You'll all need to figure out how to work under pressure. Better get a start."
And useful is the sensation as the Imperator crouching close gives a quiet hum. Useful gets something like a smile, brief and frantic in its own way but real even here among the shadows and slick, all flashing teeth and bubbling of delicate energy. It's good to be useful. It's everything to be useful.
It's better still to be useful among many. One of Freki's hands extends without thought as the others are chided, and there's barely a heartbeat before a scrap of cloth is pressed into his palm. The automatic nature has his teeth snapping happily again as he reaches in to wipe at a bit of a crusted leak.
Getting back into the swing will take a moment. The flow of work always takes a moment to find after ripples like this. And maybe, just maybe, that means little bit of other things can settle into a new, disrupted pattern.
There's hesitation in the way he glances back again, hands moving along in familiar patterns to begin taking off the chain. "--okay?"
She knows more. She's seen more. She could make all of them more Useful.
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sarken
for theravenous
Date: 2016-07-20 05:43 pm (UTC)It may have something to do with her choice of Second. The Ace is fairly well known as a master blackthumb, and he's usually in the garage working on the Rig when he's not out on the road with it. Furiosa works alongside him often, but when he's in a narrow space and there's nothing else of hers available to work on, she's been known to wander. Sometimes, she'll even pitch in to help with other projects, grim and quiet, but a skilled and willing mechanic.
She loves motorcyles, in particular, so when she spies a handful of older pups shining up what appears to be a Norton Commando, she's drawn in. Unlike your average war boy, she doesn't carry the entirety of her possessions in her pocket--she has a room to keep them in. So she's quiet, no jingling; maybe even quiet enough to sneak up and stand behind the little group, observing the work.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-07-21 02:38 pm (UTC)It's never stopped Freki from being entirely happy exactly where he was.
There might be time, after all, to have a better purpose later. He had already survived long enough to begin smearing his eyes black; he might well survive long enough to find himself properly out under the sky again, lungs full of proper exhaust rather than the cough of backfiring and metallic tang of soldering. Geri was always dreaming on that: on the road, on the chase, on the intangible possibility of driving. It was beautiful to listen to, now and then.
But here was already happy.
Here, after all, Freki could half crouch next to the 750 with the snarling camshaft chain fighting its intermediate gear. He could bump shoulders with the pups next to him as they de-gritted the timing cover and murmured quietly about the reposition of the crank cheek and all invariably let their fingers brush against the cylinder head while the entire engine finished falling into place. Here, he could reach out and a hand would appear with a rag or a torque wrench. Here, he knew exactly where he stood; here, his purpose was to be part of the pack.
So he's grinning as he works, teeth snapping almost unconsciously when an arm passes too close to his cheek or another pup bangs too hard against his side. There's no hesitation in moving aside slightly so a younger pup can get his hands on the bike, one of his own hands catching briefly at the other boy's neck as he watches the work. It's impossible to imagine anything more satisfying than watching a machine fall properly back into place under a flurry of well-coordinated hands.
His attention stays focused on the 750 as he leans back slightly to reach for the spanner he'd set behind himself. Overbalancing slightly in his groping search shouldn't be a problem. There's usually not anyone lurking near clumps like this, after all, so there's usually not anyone to accidentally bump into.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-07-22 01:17 am (UTC)Hard to tell how much work they've already put in, these pups; not without knowing what condition it came to them in. It looks to be coming along well, though. Her attention falls, then, to the team of pups working on it. There's the faintest flicker of a smile, fleeting, as she watches them move in and dodge aside for one another. Sometimes a group that works together often like this comes to look like a kind of multi-limbed creature, a hydra made of eager youths.
She remembers some of that, even if it's been a long time since she was a pup.
No one of the pups seems to stand out above the others to her eyes, until the one--one of the older ones, judging from the paint--leans back without looking to pick up something or another. She's not standing in the way on purpose, but she happens to be just close enough that his hand lands on the toe of her boot.
One of his fellow pups glances back at the perfect moment to see the minor faux-pas and makes a small, startled sound, then claps his hand over his own mouth, staring.
It's a real effort for her to keep a poker face.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-07-25 05:57 pm (UTC)His fingers have landed, but there's barely contact before his entire arm is entirely certain that it isn't a wrench he's brushed against. The tiny yip from across the seat of the motorcycle helps complete the sensory package.
Tall. Solid. Important.
His shoulders stiffen half a second, an irrepressible sign of lingering humanity. They fall again by the time he manages to twist his neck around and hazard a glance at the form he can now discern has come to rest so close behind them. For just another split second, his eyes found themselves unfortunately locked much, much too high up the food chain.
Thankfully, things kept happening all at once.
The pup on one side of him seemed to melt away. Geri, on the other, took an unhappy swipe at his knee. Entirely unthinking, Freki pushed himself up just a hair as he pulled his hand away, eyes dropping back to the floor. Much more to the point, already an old instinct despite his scant number of years, his entire head slammed down against his own shoulder.
Apologies weren't nearly as effective in dark, cramped spaces as a properly bared neck.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-07-26 02:54 am (UTC)She's not completely ruined, though. There's a little soft place between the calcified ridges around her heart, and children sometimes manage to reach it. She gives a little sigh as some of the pups cringe or slink a safe distance away, and sinks into a crouch, placing her right palm on the pup's bared neck.
"Easy," she says. "I'm not going to shred you for a little thing like that."
She lets the touch trail to his shoulder, gives him a light thump on the back, and then rests her elbows on her knees. "Spanner's a little to the left. Go on with what you were doing."
Hopefully Freki doesn't suffer too much from performance anxiety. She's not going anywhere.
(no subject)
Date: 2016-08-01 07:40 pm (UTC)Motion only returns at the comparatively gentle words. It's impossible not to blink, even for a moment after the encouragement of the thump on the back. It's also impossible not to respond to directions. His fingers are scrambling left for the spanner before he even entirely realizes what he's doing.
Thankfully, the familiarity of metal in hand was a wonderful adrenaline boost back toward normalcy. The other pups don't immediately fall back into place--the real smoothness of the human machine remains interrupted--but Freki at least is clearly happy enough to fall back into what he'd been doing.
Letting his hands fall into work at the cam chain is one thing, of course. It's driven by instinct, after all, somewhere below where nerves came into play. The weight of eyes on him couldn't dislodge that. It could, however, dislodge his tongue.
"--jumping." Not that she had asked. Not that she needed to be told. "Maybe-- broken teeth. Better soon."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-08-03 01:37 pm (UTC)That, and war boy culture itself holds a healthy pup to be of reasonable value. Maybe not quite worth their weight in guzzoline, but with hands to work and a back to carry goods; children can't be coddled but they can be trained up for better things later on. Watching this pup's hands flutter around to grab the spanner and back to get to work, Furiosa thinks he's got a head start at being useful. Truly seems to have an idea what he's doing; maybe he'll be a master blackthumb some day.
She makes a soft hum of acknowledgment at his diagnosis. Seems accurate as far as she can tell. "It's a shine little machine, isn't it? Seen better, but not many."
She moves just enough to give him space for his elbows and rolls to sit with her legs folded under her, then glances at the other nervous pups. "Well? Don't leave this one to work alone." It's gentle, for a scolding; she didn't intend to make them scatter. "You'll all need to figure out how to work under pressure. Better get a start."
(no subject)
Date: 2016-09-23 02:07 pm (UTC)And useful is the sensation as the Imperator crouching close gives a quiet hum. Useful gets something like a smile, brief and frantic in its own way but real even here among the shadows and slick, all flashing teeth and bubbling of delicate energy. It's good to be useful. It's everything to be useful.
It's better still to be useful among many. One of Freki's hands extends without thought as the others are chided, and there's barely a heartbeat before a scrap of cloth is pressed into his palm. The automatic nature has his teeth snapping happily again as he reaches in to wipe at a bit of a crusted leak.
Getting back into the swing will take a moment. The flow of work always takes a moment to find after ripples like this. And maybe, just maybe, that means little bit of other things can settle into a new, disrupted pattern.
There's hesitation in the way he glances back again, hands moving along in familiar patterns to begin taking off the chain. "--okay?"
She knows more. She's seen more. She could make all of them more Useful.