bababooey: (ten.)
Ben Wyatt ([personal profile] bababooey) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2015-06-25 11:40 am

wake up, wake up

wake up, wake up, it's only a bad dream meme

bad dreams are ordeals, sometimes seemingly endless. when you wake up, your heart pounds, your head hurts, and you end up drenched in sweat. even if you know none of it was real, it takes a while to orient yourself.

it is pretty nice to have someone there to wake you up or to soothe you out of it and remind you that...


it's only a dream.


the usual rules apply. post with your character and preferences and then tag around, have your characters comfort others.




cheedo: (Default)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-28 12:12 pm (UTC)(link)
(for sure! lemme know if this doesn't work. also sorry this is so long oops, you absolutely do not have to match length!!)

In the days following the fall of the Citadel, Cheedo has taken to reading, to fill herself up with any knowledge she can get her hands on. Furiosa takes it upon herself to gut the Immortan chambers so they don't have to venture inside, and comes out with armloads of forbidden treasures. Cheedo claims her stack of books and sits up in the Vault for hours at a time with her feet dipped in the cool water, balancing the spines open on her knees.

It feels safer, to sit in there now. They keep the large, round door open, and Capable took great care to stress that it should never close again by any hand. The Dag keeps her garden in here, and it's nice to pass sunlit afternoons listening to her pulling weeds while Cheedo pours curiously over stacks of reports, medical notes, political books that she can hardly read without looking up the bigger words in a worn out dictionary of Miss Giddy's.

Tonight, she's up late. She's been pouring through a record of trade regulations with Gastown and the Bullet Farm at Toast's request, making careful notes with her left hand and trailing a finger down the list with her right. It's warm in the Vault and her seat is comfortable; she props her elbow up on the desk for just a moment, and then she's asleep, chin cushioned on her arm.

Something comes to the forefront of her mind that hasn't in a while; she wakes up with a wild gasp of horror, arms flinging out to the sides to grab at nothing. She can still hear the Dag screaming, terrible and agonized in her ears, can see Joe dragging her backwards up the stone stairs by her hair out the corner of her eye; she shoves back from the desk, stands on shaking legs, and finds the exit as swiftly as possible. She's crying but she ignores the tears, letting them run down over her cheeks as mouth as she makes her way numbly out into the corridor, shoulders hunched. She'll find Toast, or Capable, or Furiosa. She doesn't know if she can look to the Dag this time. She doesn't want to have to explain herself.
Edited (spelling auugh) 2015-06-28 12:14 (UTC)
madmanmax: (bad situation)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-28 09:02 pm (UTC)(link)
He left them, when the lift started to rise, let the women go up to the heights of the Citadel and slipped off among the Wretched, and a nod was his only goodbye. Max came back, though, because he had news to give them on the remains of the War Boys not killed in the collapse of the pass. It was good news, for them, word that only a handful of ragged survivors would make it all the way back, easy to deal with. Possibly it was just an excuse. He went away again, and came back again with some supplies, ammunition to add to their stores, and while he's very clearly uncomfortable at the Citadel he also seems unable to truly stay away.

Whenever he is there, though, Max does not sleep well. The tunnels always feel like they might close in on him, fill with War Boys clawing at him and binding his limbs and branding his back. He spends more of his time on the green heights among the windmills, or on the open balconies a few of the higher passages let out onto. It's while she's passing one of these that there's motion, a lone figure leaning on railing and staring up at the night sky. He can't stay indoors, and he can't sleep, and he rarely has much to say, but still he's there.
cheedo: (5)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 01:12 am (UTC)(link)
She's wiping tears off her chin with shaking hands when she registers movement outside on one of the balconies and gravitates unsteadily toward it. Cheedo isn't used to feeling unsafe. She's surrounded by her sisters during both the day and the night, and the Citadel is less cage-like following their return; there are people everywhere, now. She's taken to following groups around, to sitting and listening as people talk and swap stories. She loves the Vuvalini in particular (even when they tell nasty tales about men that they've snapped), and the Milking Mothers, who never hesitate to make her feel welcome among them if she ever needs company.

For a second, she mistakes the figure leaning out against the railing and staring out into the night. "Furiosa," she says, tearfully, and stops dead in place as she realizes it's the Fool- Max - lip wavering uncertainly.
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 01:19 am (UTC)(link)
There's a delay, because it's not so much that he hears her- his hearing isn't quite as good as he'd like anymore, sometimes drowned out by an annoying solid high sound in one ear, but he feels someone there and gives a grunt and a little jumpy turn, then sees a frightened girl with tears on her face.

He's startled, for just a moment, then his expression softens into one of understanding. Max shifts on his feet, pulling weight off his left leg again since there's no need to take a defensive stance, and his gaze darts between her face and the floor. "I... mmmh. I don't... sleep so good, either." It's sympathy without pity, because they've all seen enough ugly things in their lives for nightmares, and that doesn't make any of them weak for it.
cheedo: (9)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 02:46 am (UTC)(link)
She looks at him for a long moment, clearly uncertain, until he speaks. His voice is soft, and slow. Cheedo nods numbly in reply, and lifts her hands to knuckle a little more thoroughly at her eyes, fingertips swiping away new tears that just won't stop leaking out.

"Mmm," is all she can think to say. He isn't Furiosa or one of her sisters, but he understands, and that's enough. Slowly, she trails towards him, finds a place on the rail to lean on and breathes in the cool night sky, trying to calm herself down.
madmanmax: (that looks bad...)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 03:01 am (UTC)(link)
Considering how much of his responses are simply grunts and hums, he's not about to demand more than that from her. When she comes out to join him he just nods, shifts slow and careful again, and bends down to rest his forearms on the railing. It's sturdy, he made sure of that before he leaned on it the first time, and he's smart enough to guess what the Wives have suffered at the hands of Men. He keeps his own body language as non-threatening as possible. Cheedo reminds him, a little painfully, of the little girl who so often haunts his days, and sometimes his nights. The tears just make him feel paternal, but he's forgotten what you're supposed to do, to make somebody stop crying.

So much wasted water.

Max fidgets a little, massaging his mangled hands, and looks at the railing, the quiet ground far below, and the starry sky. He licks his lips and makes a quiet little hum, and then his mouth works a little bit, soundlessly, before he gets words out again. "People... used to see pictures, in the sky. Stars." It's a non-sequitur and he knows it, but maybe a distraction will help?
cheedo: (Default)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 03:17 am (UTC)(link)
For a while they stand there together in a semblance of silence, Cheedo trying her best to gulp down her sobs before they start up again. She doesn't like how quick she is to cry. Toast doesn't cry.

Her head jerks a little in surprise when he suddenly speaks; she's jumpier than usual, hands balled into little fists on the railing.

"What kind of pictures?" She says eventually, sniffing. Tips her head back to look at the stars. She remembers Miss Giddy pointing them out to her through the glass ceiling of the Vault at night, remembers how she had special words for some of them. The ones that burned brighter were planets. The moon is low in the sky, and curvy, like a fingernail.
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 03:37 am (UTC)(link)
Max frowns in thought, the furrows on his forehead multiplying. He used to know, he thinks, but so much of what he used to know has been discarded or shut away into the back of his brain. He doesn't use it anymore, it has no place or purpose in the world he lives in, now.

"...Bears. Or spoons." He pauses, because he's trying to decide if that sounds right. "...And heroes." Maybe they can make new shapes. Better ones. Better than spoons, anyway, because that's stupid.

On hand lifts and he tries to point out some of the brighter stars. "Draw lines, from one to the next, to make the shapes."
cheedo: (6)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 04:10 am (UTC)(link)
"Spoons?" Cheedo mumbles, disbelieving, but her mouth curls up at the corners in a hesitant smile. She can't imagine who would look up at something as beautiful as the night sky and choose to see something as ordinary as spoons in it.

She follows the movement of his hand, and squints up at the stars, lifting her arm to copy his movements.

"That one– where it curves? It looks like a wave."
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 12:41 pm (UTC)(link)
Max just shrugs, because his own memory is faulty as it is, and surely they can come up with something better than spoons. It's impossible to guess, sometimes, what people in the old world were thinking when they did what they did.

Scratching the back of his head, he squints up at the sky and nods. "Maybe somebody'll look up and see you. Mn. In the sky." He did say they made the shapes of heroes, up there, and he knows stories of what Furiosa and the Wives have done are already spreading.
cheedo: (8)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 12:52 pm (UTC)(link)
She's made shy by his answer, head ducking to stare down into the dark that drowns out the edges of the Citadel. Why would somebody want to see her in the night sky? She'd like to see the others, though. Capable, Toast, Furiosa, the Dag. Angharad. She tucks her hair behind her ear, and looks at him.

"Maybe they'll see you too." After all, he's a part of their group: the ones who had come from the Citadel, and then gone back to take it for themselves. He belongs in the sky, too.
madmanmax: (smirky)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 02:15 pm (UTC)(link)
Both eyebrows grow up, and he looks at her with an expression that's both amused and incredulous. "Me?!" Max scrubs at his stubbled jaw, and ducks his head, sheepish. "'M too dirty for the stars." It's meant to be a joke, and he darts a look at her that's supposed to be a smile. He isn't used to smiling, but he tries.
cheedo: (Default)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 02:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"No you aren't," she insists, but catches his smile all the same and is quick to return it. At first she had been anxious over stumbling upon him in search of anybody else, but now she feels a little better about it. After all, he's quiet, like she is, and interesting. She gets the feeling he knows a lot of things about the world that she doesn't.

"Thank you," she says, glancing at her hands splayed across the railing. Her heartbeat has long since returned to normal, and she's relieved to feel grounded once more.
madmanmax: (smirky)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)
The thank you takes him by surprise, and he has to think a moment to work out what it is he's being thanked for. After some consideration, he still isn't sure. Better to keep it light, and he gives her another flash of a smile and a firm nod. "Y'r welcome for my being dirty."
cheedo: (10)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-29 03:19 pm (UTC)(link)
Cheedo stares at him in surprise, then can't help the little laugh that burst out of her mouth. She hunches forwards, shoulders jerking as she sniggers, hands reaching too late to cover her lips. She hopes he doesn't mind.

"That's not what I meant," she says eventually, and gives him a proper, wide smile this time. "I meant thank you for cheering me up."
madmanmax: (sort-of smile)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-29 03:49 pm (UTC)(link)
The laugh is startling, such a foreign sound, and the attempt at a smile slips a little. He doesn't look bothered, though, just a little bemused. He didn't expect to be successful at cheering her up that much.

Max gives a nod, and straightens slowly from the railing, moving back to the wall and sliding down it carefully to sit. He stretches out his left leg, and looks up at the sky again. "Good. This place... needs to..." His hands gesture vaguely in the air, as if he could find the words there and grab them. "Needs filling up with good things."
cheedo: (5)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-30 12:49 am (UTC)(link)
"Yeah."

She looks over at him almost warily as he moves, but relaxes when he only lowers himself to sit on the ground. She follows suit after a moment's hesitance, gathering her shawl tight about her shoulders and lifting her head to look at the sky again.

"Dag's been planting," she says, and drops her head to the ground, tracing a finger through the dirt in wiggly, indistinct patterns. "Have you seen?"
madmanmax: (quiet distress)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-30 01:17 am (UTC)(link)
He grunts and nods, letting his head rest back against the wall for better stargazing. "Hope it grows." There used to be so much more green, in the world. Some days he can dimly remember a place near the edge of the sea, where there were so many things growing green and an endless stretch of water, back before it all dried up and left only poison and salt.

"...Any of 'em trees?" He knows she has seeds, and all plants start from seeds, but he couldn't tell what any of those seeds are or have the potential to become.
cheedo: (10)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-30 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
"Maybe. They're still babies right now, so it's hard to tell." The Dag loves them. Cheedo's seen her singing over the sprouts, raking weeds so carefully with her fingers as she plants and waters and waits for her seeds to grow.

Maybe they will grow tall like trees, smash through the ceiling of the Vault, and extend up towards the sky. The mental image of this pleases her, and she smiles to herself, hiking her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them.

"Maybe we can fill up the rock with flowers," she suggests, warming to the idea of it. "I think I'd like it more, that way."
madmanmax: (blank)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-30 01:45 am (UTC)(link)
"Hmmh." Hearing her refer to plants as babies is a little odd, but then he thinks maybe that's just how it should be, here. The green things are the children they choose to raise, and that's got to be a better course for their lives than babies that were thrust upon them, unwilling.

"You don't... mm. Like it here..." It's not really a question, because even as he manages to get the words out he finds that he is not so surprised at that. Why would she? Max doesn't like it here at all. It's a place of ugly memories, and not just for him.
cheedo: (8)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-30 02:20 am (UTC)(link)
"No."

She looks at him nervously, as if she thinks he might judge her for thinking it. When he says nothing in return, she looks at her hands, twists the fabric of her shawl between her fingers as she thinks.

"It's so big. I don't like how open it is. I wish it was just us, sometimes. Capable, Toast, Dag, Furiosa and the Vuvalini, and you."
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes 2)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-30 02:42 am (UTC)(link)
He looks thoughtful rather than judgmental, gaze falling to her hands. He fidgets a lot, himself, and it's strange to see somebody else doing it. One hand rises to the back of his neck, to rub at the blurred brand there, and he grimaces. "Open. Feels close, to me. Tunnels closing in..." They're in agreement that the masses of people are too much. He'd feel easier, too, if it was just the women he knows, instead of all those sickly war boys and pups and the people that used to be below now finding places up higher in the rocky towers. They couldn't turn this place into anything without all those helping hands, but Just a few people is enough to make a tunnel feel crowded, to him.
cheedo: (Default)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-30 03:05 am (UTC)(link)
She nods, rolling her words around in her mouth before she speaks, darting a quick little look at him before she does.

"I think that– what's scary about it being open is not knowing what's out there." She's lived in the Vault for years, of course. She's used to closed in spaces, and being trapped. While she didn't like it some of the time, trading it abruptly for a world she knows nothing about is scary, and something she still struggles with every so often. It's why she hangs about the Vault even now that they don't have to stay inside of it, even though Capable won't come near it, and Toast spits onto the ground if somebody mentions it.

"If you don't like the tunnels," she continues, curiously this time, "Why are you here?" This place is mostly tunnels, after all. He can't possibly enjoy living in them. Cheedo likes the tunnels. They are good for hiding.
Edited 2015-06-30 03:06 (UTC)
madmanmax: (puppy-dog eyes)

[personal profile] madmanmax 2015-06-30 01:58 pm (UTC)(link)
When she looks at him, he's not looking at her, gaze dropped low and expression slightly awkward and sheepish. Social contact does not come easily, and he sometimes seems almost shy, unable to meet people's eyes. Licking his lips, fidgeting, he fights for words again. "I don't like... what I remember in them. Mmhn. But if I...mm, make new memories- good ones..." Maybe Cheedo needs to do the same.

Then the earlier comment about what's out there strikes him, and Max rummages in his battered leather jacket, in the pockets he's sewn inside, and pulls out a rolled-up scrap of fabric. What he unfurls is his homemade map, marked with symbols and a few words marked out in blood or oil or, in a few rare spots, actual ink. It's mostly indecipherable to anyone but him, but he gestures at it, inviting her to look. "That's what's out there." The only symbol she's likely to recognize is Joe's, marked in blood, then later scratched over with a vague kind of plant shape in oil.
cheedo: (4)

[personal profile] cheedo 2015-06-30 02:18 pm (UTC)(link)
She blinks, then scoots in towards him to take the little square of fabric, smoothing it out curiously on her knee.

"Oh," she says, in soft recognition, squinting down at the little oil symbol of the plant. She touches it very gently with her fingertip, traces her nail across the little dots, away towards the edge. He's been mapping the Wastes. So many questions flood to the forefront of her mind: has he been everywhere on this little map? Why is he making it? How long has he been making it? She looks up to ask him, but falls silent when she notices him still staring at the ground.

That's right. He's quite quiet, when he wants to be. She rolls up his little map carefully, and hands it back to him.

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