yoloed ([personal profile] yoloed) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2015-07-05 12:48 pm

words words words

Otherwordly Meme




Sometimes all you need is a word to spark off an idea.

1. Post a comment with your character's name, canon, and any preferences you may have (no shipping, no smut, etc.)

2. Leave the comment blank or post a word or two in the body.

It may also help if you list scenarios you would like to play.

3. Reply to other people, either with words you picked out, or words they posted as prompts for a thread.


( A cleanup of the previous Otherwordly Meme. )
madmanmax: (looking down)

Quondam

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-06 03:07 am (UTC)(link)
He doesn't like it in the tunnels, but the garages are just tolerable, especially the bigger ones that have open space for the platform to rise up to, huge holes in the side of the butte. It's in one of these, while poking around at the scraps and parts against the back wall, that he finds a small collection of some of his things from when he was first captured. Humming and grunting softly under his breath, he puts a few pieces back together, and then settles right almost at the edge of the open window to the air with it. Max, who is twitchy and terrified in the tunnels, apparently has no problem with his ankles dangling over the edge of a drop of some sixty feet or more.

He does not hear her when she asks where that wrench is, and this is because there is something over his ears, big round lumps with a curved metal band holding them together. A thin cord runs from it to a box that he's patiently fiddling with, turning little button nobs and dials, making little meaningless hums, and generally lost in his own world. At least it seems to have calmed his nerves.
eumenis: (wistful)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 12:37 am (UTC)(link)
She knows he has trouble with his right ear (and feels partially, but not completely, responsible), but he usually at least 'hmms' in response when she asks him a question. Not sure whether to be annoyed or concerned, she repeats herself, and then when that fails, she creeps out from under the engine she's working on and studies Max from across the room.

Whatever he's got on his head has him distracted. She's curious, but sometimes he startles easily in this state, so rather than come up behind him and risk them both falling off the ledge, she picks up a pebble and tosses it at the back of his head.

It hits the band of the earphones with a plink and bounces under his jacket collar.
madmanmax: (puppy x100)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 12:50 am (UTC)(link)
He gives a little jerk, head going down and shoulders going up, and scrambles in a half-turn on the edge of the ledge until he sees her. For a few seconds he just blinks at her, while his brain returns to the present, and then he does have the grace to look sheepish. When he's got his head under the hood of a car, or under the guts of one, he's focused, but once he started rummaging on the tables for tools his attention slipped.

It's an incomplete explanation, but he lifts up the box in his hand a little, and speaks just slightly louder than is strictly necessary. "This is mine!"
eumenis: (alert)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
She's amused now, and her poker face is slipping. She takes a couple easy steps closer and drops into a crouch beside him to prod at the earphones. It's not completely foreign-looking. The intercom system that projected Joe's voice to the Wretched still exists, for one thing. But she can't quite pull together in her head what it is he's so interested in.

"Guess you can have it back, then. What's it do?"
madmanmax: (just a smile)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Max can see that he's forgiven, because her poker face never fools him for long anyway, and he gives a little smile. "'S for listening. To satellites." He pulls the headphones off and offers them over, and there is not much sound coming over them right now anyway, and his voice has returned to a more normal level.
eumenis: (worn)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 01:03 am (UTC)(link)
"To satellites?" She's genuinely startled. "They're really still broadcasting?"

Tilting her head in, she half accepts the headphones, half lets him put them on her, finding herself mildly disappointed they're not saying anything at the moment. "What...do they say? When they get signals?"
madmanmax: (looking down)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 01:13 am (UTC)(link)
"Old news." He shrugs, letting her get used to the quiet static a moment before he starts slowly tuning the nob. The texture of the static shifts and changes, occasionally joined by a discordant whistle or whine. He can't hear what's coming over the headphones now, so he just tunes slow and trusts she'll stop him when he lands on something, if he does at all.

"....kkkkhhhhrisis today, the president announsssshhhhhhhh-ould not be redrafting the treaty. As of to-*crck*" The hiss of static resumes, drowning out the voice of a woman long dead, struggling to maintain a professional tone with a quiet underlying note of panic.
Edited 2015-07-07 01:13 (UTC)
eumenis: (distraught)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 01:28 am (UTC)(link)
She winces at a whistle and buzz of static, but then she hears the voice and grabs his wrist, eyes going wide. "Wait...I lost it. Go back. Something about a treaty?"

No wonder Max thinks he sees ghosts. Here they are, right now, voices from the past, bubbling up out of this little box and into her ears.
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 01:36 am (UTC)(link)
Ever so careful, fingers moving by tiny degrees, he tries to tune it back in, then shakes his head and offers the box to her. Obviously she's going to be better able to fine-tune it since she's the one listening, right now.

The voice is back, somewhere half-buried in the hiss of static, but even if she manages to tune it in perfectly the signal is broken up, fading in and out with pops and crackles. Between the nerve-buzzing hiss of white noise, a few words pop out cold and clear. "shhhhhof this moment, we are again at War."
eumenis: (scream)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 02:26 am (UTC)(link)
She's looking at him, but not really seeing him, absorbed in this voice from the past. History-men talk about the written word, but this...this means something, too. She fidgets with the tuner, brows knitting, and after a moment she repeats the words she hears: "We are again at War."

Pause. Her eyes dart from one side to the other, like a dreamer's. "...casualties in the hundreds of thousands...loss of...what?" Her head shakes. "Water famine spreading through North America...contamination in...the Nile delta?"

This is frightening. Cries for help from a world far beyond her reach. Her fingers twitch on the knob, losing the station, and she gives a small hiss of frustration. "Max--"

And then she goes still, eyes going slowly from glassy-wide to half-lidded. Very carefully, she moves her hand from the knob and reaches for him, pulling his forehead against hers. Tilts her head so her right ear is close to his left, and then gently shifts the headphone so he can hear.

Its music. A scratchy-sweet female voice, a piano, some kind of horn. A slow, sad song from the old world.
madmanmax: (worried)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 04:01 pm (UTC)(link)
His expression has sobered, but the broadcasts are old and tend to repeat, endless loops of old history locked in place until they fade out forever. He's had the radio for a while, up until the War Boys captured him and scattered his belongings through the Citadel. He's listened to this thing, over many long nights and days, and he's heard it all before.

Some of it, bits and pieces, he thinks he remembers from the first time around when it was news. His mind is unreliable these days though, so he can't be sure.

Her recitation of War, of casualties, of famine and drought, all are met with simply a quiet nod. His eyes on her face are a little sorrowful, but he's resigned to the state of the world, and only feels apologetic for not realizing it might be strange to her to hear these details for herself. It's only the sudden freeze that alarms him, and then she pulls him into the familiar gesture and he lets out a breath again. His head tilts in return, and music isn't something he catches as often, maybe it's from a different satellite than the news reports, something further out and rarer to glimpse. His eyes close as he focuses on listening, and one hand tentatively, a little clumsily, reaches to cradle the back of her neck in return.
eumenis: (wistful)

((now in the right place))

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-07 09:18 pm (UTC)(link)
Music isn’t new to her, of course. The Vuvalini sang and played whistles, beating time on their knees or on makeshift drums. Joe hoarded remnants of the old world, including instruments. There’s still a piano in the dome, but with Miss Giddy and Coma gone, and most of the Widows unwilling to enter that old chamber of horrors, it’s likely to go out of tune before long. Coma’s playing wasn’t like this, anyway. It was rhythmic, harsh. War music.

This flows like clear water over smooth stones. Furiosa’s eyes drift closed, too, and she sighs softly, tension easing out of her as they share the song.

It’s a long old road, sings the radio, but I’m gonna find the end.

It’s a long old road, but I’m gonna find the end.

And when I get there, I’m gonna shake hands with a friend...
madmanmax: (puppy x100)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-07 11:07 pm (UTC)(link)
Maybe it's just the distance of time and space, but the singer's voice sounds almost as rough as Max's own, but no less melodious for that. He stays very still, just a little tension held in his neck as he strains to listen, until one hand fumbles for the box now in Furiosa's hands and he thumbs up a dial on the side. The volume swells gently, sound drifting out of the tilted headphones between them.

If there was the blare of a saxophone, that just might send him spiraling off into memory, but the horns come through scratchy and there's the plunk of a piano in the background, and his eyebrows rise as he listens to the unfamiliar song.
eumenis: (distraught)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-08 12:03 am (UTC)(link)
She gives a faint little gasp at the crescendo, and now she's smiling, quite possibly the softest, easiest smile he's ever seen from her. The lyrics seem somewhat relevant, but they're not even what she's listening to. Not really. Mostly it's the voice of a woman telling her own story.

The song plays through to the end, piano fading off into a sizzle of static. Furiosa wipes the heel of her hand across her eyes. "Cheedo can sing. If we can ever find that signal again, she should hear it."
madmanmax: (looking down)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-08 12:49 am (UTC)(link)
Volume control is an excellent feature, especially for a man whose hearing is a little bit iffy. Max will be a joy to be around, if and when he gets old, to gauge from the way he was talking loud with the headphones on.

He nods a little, against her forehead, not affected in quite the same way but definitely lost in thought. "...'S better than the old news." That's a severe understatement and he knows it.
eumenis: (got unlucky)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-08 01:59 am (UTC)(link)
If he's still around when he's old and deaf(er), she'll just put up with it. Small price to pay, really.

"Much better. They sounded so afraid. I'm not sorry I missed watching the old world fall apart."

Sigh. "But I wish I could hear more of the singing."
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-08 02:17 am (UTC)(link)
Theirs is not a world where men or women are likely to grow old, but he's also proven he's good at beating the odds. They could both be terrors, in their old age, halfway to being grouchy codgers in their bad moments already.

He purses his lips a little and just nods, looking away swiftly when she says she doesn't miss not watching it all fall apart. There's not an enormous age gap between them, but he is a little older, and lived somewhere with better means to watch the rest of the world, like the radio he's scrounged up. He did watch it, and it never did him any favors.

"...You could learn. To sing." He thinks he would not be so well suited to that himself, with his low croak of a voice that he forgets how to use at all, sometimes.
eumenis: (tension)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-09 12:59 am (UTC)(link)
Her eyebrows go up. "I don't think so."

It's a gut reaction; instinctive, even abrupt. Almost like the suggestion itself alarms her. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she looks apologetic for snapping, and nudges his forehead gently with hers before straightening again.

Carefully, she places the radio on the floor between them, and relinquishes the headphones. Takes a deep breath and licks her lips. "He used to like for us to sing. Before...staying for the overnight."

"I know I can carry a tune. Maybe it would be different with my own words to go with it. But that would be a long road. I don't know if I have the strength for it."
madmanmax: (sort-of smile)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-09 01:10 am (UTC)(link)
If he's startled by the swift reaction, he doesn't show it much, but he does look a little thoughtful. Then the explanation comes tumbling out, and he doesn't have to wonder. He picks up the radio and shuts it off with a quiet click, and wraps the cord for the headphones around it a couple of times to keep it from tangling, then sets it all aside.

Cracking a faint smirk, he reaches gently for her hand. "It's okay. I can't half hear, anyway. No point singing unless you want to." He's trying to be consoling, in his slightly awkward way.
eumenis: (Default)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-09 01:40 am (UTC)(link)
She's very still, letting him take her hand and then carefully curling her fingers through his and reminding herself one man is not like the another. Her thumb traces the shape of his knuckles a moment, tension easing from her gradually.

"You should have met Miss Giddy. She's the one that actually taught us. Me, and all the others since. Her singing was worth listening to, at least when she was young."

Maybe now that the words have started coming, it's hard to stop them. "I think she must have loved music. She had so much of it. Hers, not his. Some of it's still in the vault, but most of it was in her head, I think."
madmanmax: (looking down)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-09 01:52 am (UTC)(link)
If she wants to talk, he's happy to listen, and his hearing isn't all that bad yet. Max watches her fingers over his, both their hands a little grease-stained from banging around the engines, but he marvels over how slender hers are against his own crooked, scarred fingers. They're no less strong, he's sure of that, and that's what makes the contrast amazing.

"Never... hmmmn. Never been much but an audience."

Somewhere in the foggy back of his memory there's a brassy instrument he can no longer put a name to, and a woman with brown curls playing it, while he listened and applauded. These thoughts are dangerous territory, though, better left buried.
eumenis: (shaded eyes)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-09 02:08 am (UTC)(link)
Not that hers are without scars, either, and she has half the fingers he does. But she does plenty with what she has. For a moment, those slender fingers tap out a rhythm on the back of his hand. She's remembering.

Music is a good memory. It's just the uses it was put to that make her pulse flutter sick in her chest. There was a time not long ago she guarded her voice as closely as her body, having had it used for the pleasure of others and not herself.

If anyone gets being guarded, particularly with words, it's him. Abruptly, she moves back and rises, offering a hand up once she's on her feet. "Come with me."
madmanmax: (that looks bad...)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-09 02:15 am (UTC)(link)
The rhythm she taps out on his hand catches his attention, and he's trying to make sense of it, trying to remember Morse code, but it doesn't read as anything...

Both eyebrows rise and he glances up, surprised by the sudden urge she seems to have to show him something. The Citadel holds so many mysteries for him, still, and that's partly because he explores the indoors as little as possible. He trusts her implicitly, though. Max picks up the radio and scrambles back a little to get his feet off the edge, and he'll take a hand up without shame because he can sense an urgency in her, now, and he's not yet sure what it's about.
eumenis: (wistful)

[personal profile] eumenis 2015-07-09 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
She knows Morse code, although it's been used more as flashes of light to communicate between the Bullet Farm and the Citadel and Gastown. Not so much taps or sounds.

If Furiosa seems urgent, it's only because she wants to do this before she loses her nerve. She hasn't been in the vault since she took the women out of it. It's been up to others--Vuvalini and Milking Mothers mostly--to organize and clean and turn it into something useful for the whole community.

She was there when they took the door off its hinges, though.
madmanmax: (whut?)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-07-09 02:38 am (UTC)(link)
They're already inside the tunnels before he tenses up, but he follows her anyway, hands twitching a little and breath slightly faster than their pace should call for. Ever so gradually, he's learning to just move through their passageways as quickly as he can and forestall the panic attacks for later. It's a struggle to acclimate himself, but one she's been watching him very slowly win.

At the Vault he pauses briefly, glancing around with some interest and peering in because there's so much sunlight coming from the vast room beyond.

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