bakerstreet | wake up, wake up

When he touches her she flinches immediately in response, then pauses, looks at him with wide eyes. Perhaps his touch is meant to be reassuring? Like when the Dag takes both her hands in her own, and holds them tight- but Cheedo hasn't been comforted on the foot before.

She stares at him for a while longer, and then her surprise abruptly gives way to mirth: she snickers helplessly, pressing a fist against her mouth.

When she flinches he winces, but the way he withdraws his hand is slow and easy, because he knows what it is to startle like a frightened animal at sudden movements. Knowing what it is to be hurt, and to be afraid and flinch at everything, makes it easier to soothe others in the same way. He knows what would make him twitch so he tries not to do it to anyone else, at least in the luxury of quiet moments like this.

The second bout of laughter just leaves him puzzled, though. Before, he was trying to make a joke. This time he has no idea what she's found funny. Max tilts his head at her like a confused dog.

The look he gives her only makes it worse, and she giggles harder, ducks her head until her hair swings across her face like a curtain. She hides like that until she is calm, then breathes in steadily, feeling shaky and satisfied in a way that only comes after laughing for so long.

"Sorry," she says, and bites her lip before she smiles. "You're strange, but you're nice. Are you going to stay here with us?"

It probably does not help that whenever Max is confused, his eyebrows scrunch up and the lines on his forehead multiply and he takes on a look like a mournful basset hound. Cheedo does not need to have ever seen a dog in her life to still know the expression is a little comical. The hair that perpetually sticks out every which way doesn't help. It's growing out some, and it just makes him look shaggy.

At her question Max fidgets, sobering again. "I don't... belong. Too many people. Too much..." He gestures vaguely at his own head, unsure how to explain that every time he walks down the tunnels he's fighting flashbacks. "...'M still a blood bag. In there." He points to the doorway, to the indoors of the rocky caverns, without even looking up.

Her smile slowly disappears as he speaks, and she ducks her head, embarrassed for presuming anything. He may be talking to her now, but she's reminded strongly of the fact that she doesn't know him, not really.

The words blood bag don't mean much to her, but she has the foresight not to ask about them. It's something that distresses him, and what if he were to ask her about the Vault, or about being a wife? She should hate to answer questions like that. She's startled to know he feels like he doesn't belong, though, and so she asks something else:

"But," she says, hesitant in her wondering, "Furiosa is here."

She may or may not have ever heard Nux refer to him that way, but exactly what that means has probably not been explained to her. At her meek protest, he looks away and rubs at the brand on the back of his neck. "She... is. She's very kind. To me." Cue yet more fidgeting, because Furiosa is a slightly awkward subject. What she wants of him, if anything, he's not sure. "You're all kind."

Kindness is foreign and strange, and there are times he's not sure how to react to it. This is yet another reason he's not sure he belongs there.

"We're not, really," Cheedo says, and looks at her feet, at the one he had patted just moments before. She thinks she would act this way with anybody who was nice enough to listen to her, and give her a couple of consoling pats on the foot. "But we like you, and you deserve kindness."

"I'm not... mmn..." How can he tell this sweet young girl that his head is full of fire and blood and he still feels closer to the feral madman that first threatened them all with a gun than someone deserving of gentle words and kindness? Perhaps she's forgotten, in the wake of his help along the way, and why he ended up helping them he still can't quite say. They stir old instincts, some broken memory of the man he used to be, but that doesn't erase what he is now.

"...Waved a gun at you." It's a mumble, but he wants to remind her who he is.

"Sure, at first." She shrugs a shoulder, unconvinced, and gives him an oddly piercing look. She has a feeling she knows what he's trying to say, but it's not something that she thinks she can accept. If Furiosa trusts Max, then Cheedo does too.

"Because you thought we were scary. You thought everybody was scary. But you helped us anyway."

"Still scared." He meets her eyes, honest and sober, and only a little bit ashamed. The wives and Furiosa are helpful, and they remind him of the open road and keep him anchored for now, but every time the rock walls close around him he's fighting flashbacks, the sizzle of flesh under a brand and the buzz of a tattoo gun, the crackle of an electric prodding stick and the stink of dying men, both in cages and sitting under them.

When he does panic and fall into flashbacks, he doesn't know what he's doing, and he lashes out. The longer he stays here, the more he worries one of them will be nearby when that happens, and they'll get hurt.

She looks back at him for a long moment, and then away, out towards the night sky. Still scared. Of them? Cheedo makes a face- but, she remembers how he talked about the Citadel being too small, too full, too claustrophobic. He doesn't like the place.

"Oh." She hadn't meant to say that a loud, but it escapes from her in a little huff of understanding. She smiles nervously, and loops her arms around her knees.

"I'm sorry."

Edited 2015-07-09 13:45 (UTC)

"You're not... scared of what I might do?" His eyebrows rise a little, because it's surprising to think they're not afraid of him lashing out by accident, while in the grip of a panic attack. He's afraid of the place, but hes more afraid of what that fear might make him do, by accident.

"No..." but her voice trails off regardless as she darts a quick, panicky little look at him. What does he mean?

"What are you going to do?"

If he knew the answer to that ahead of time, the prospect would not be so terrifying. When his hallucinations hit, he doesn't know what he's doing, or if who or what he's fighting is actually there. It's the possibility of attacking one of the girls, seeing them as something or someone else, that makes him afraid.

Max fidgets, getting twitchy now. "Don't know. If I umm..." He knows what he's afraid of, but struggles for the words to explain. "In there..." Another gesture to the tunnels, "Start to see the... the men who chained me." His gaze darts a little and then focuses on his lap and the hands plucking at stray threads and seams and bandages and each other. "See what isn't there anymore. Might fight them anyway. When they're not there."

Dag said once she thought he wasn't insane anymore, but is and has been for ages, and he knows that he is.

"Oh," Cheedo says.

She puts her chin on her knees, watches him pluck nervously at himself. So he's only worried that he might lash out at one of them in a fit of panic. He is kind; she doesn't know how he could think himself anything but. She doesn't say any of this, simply looks at him, and, remembering what he had done before, reaches out to give his elbow a consoling pat.

His eyebrows rise, and his gaze drops to her hand, but then he gives a weak little smile because it's clear what she's trying to do and he appreciates it. She's sweet, and she's kind too, all the wives are and he isn't sure they realize yet just how rare that is in the world, as it is now.

"...Thanks. Don't... want to be dangerous."

"Mmm," she says, and lets her hand drop. "Maybe..." she hesitates, then carries on, "Maybe you could ask Dag about it. She knows a lot about... about plants, and herbs. She might know how to help."

Dag has done a lot with her plants. She knows which ones ease cramps, which help a sore throat, which help you sleep at night without dreams. Cheedo doesn't know how much of it is the herbs she plucks from the earth and how much of it is some kind of secret magic. Dag mentions witchery often enough; Cheedo never knows if she's joking or not when she does.

His eyebrows go up again, and down, because he knows perfectly well there are some... herbs out there that can ease the pains of the mind. He knows because he's seen people who took them, pupils blown wide and words more incoherent than his own, minds gone somewhere far away and peaceful but bodies very far from safe. The idea of letting his guard down that far is beyond consideration, too risky, it goes against every survival instinct he's got.

But maybe she means something else.

"...Maybe." He grunts, looking down again. "Some people... 're weapons. Just are. Can't be unmade."

Cheedo hums contemplatively, and looks out towards the stars again. When he says things like that, she's reminded of Furiosa, how stiff she holds herself, the sharp look she sometimes gets in her eye, the way she hides herself away from them even now. She wonders if Furiosa thinks of herself the same way. Maybe she's scared too.

"You don't have to be a weapon any more," she says, and tucks her shawl around her arms a little tighter.

He's fairly sure that Furiosa, like himself, is someone who the world has fashioned into a weapon and who now no longer knows how not to be one. It's just part of the reason they're so well synchronized in mind and body. She seems to have a little more control over her own impulses than he does, though, and he admires that. He's just not sure he has any way to emulate it.

"Can't... not be..." Trying to explain this to someone like Cheedo is beyond difficult, given his trouble with words. Max tilts his head back to look at the stars again, groping for an analogy. "There's a... short, in the ignition switch. My wiring's bad." His hands fidget and gesture uselessly. "Sometimes I start up without meaning to."

She nods, even though his terminology is a little confusing. She thinks he's talking about car parts, maybe parts of the war rig. It's a shame, that they lost it: Cheedo would have loved to drive it. She thinks if she could sit in the front seat of the war rig and put her hands on the steering wheel, she could feel powerful enough to do anything. Who could ever be scared, sitting in a place like that?

"So you're going to go?" She looks back over at him, and it's impossible to disguise the sadness that this thought gives her. "We'll miss you."

Max gives a shrug, because he probably is going to go, and he feels guilty for it even before he's left, but he also really doesn't know how to stay. The idea that he might be missed is a foreign one, though, and he darts a sidelong glance her way. "Why..." His voice cracks so badly he has swallow and try starting again. "Why... would you miss me?"

"Because we like having you around," Cheedo says carefully, shooting a tentative look in his direction. He looks incredulous. It would be funny under other circumstances, but Cheedo thinks that it's sad, not understanding why somebody might miss you.

"The others like you too, you know. Capable and Toast, and Dag. Furiosa too."

He likes Furiosa, but he's not quite sure he has a place beside her in rebuilding the way he did back on the road. Fighting and driving are what he knows, and what she needed him to match her in, back there, but now that they've settled in the Citadel her aims will be different.

He likes all of them, really, even if they're sometimes a little overwhelming when they're all together. He didn't know they liked him in return, or in a way he did but he needed it put that clearly into words to become truly aware of it. "...You're all... kind. To people. Thought maybe..." He thought maybe he wasn't special in receiving that treatment from them.

"Max," she says, slightly exasperated. His doubt runs deep, possibly deeper than she can understand, but how could he convince himself that he isn't special, to any of them? Perhaps that's just how he is, she reasons. Perhaps he needs to be told, before he can believe. If that's the case, she has no problems with reminding him.

"We don't need you," she tells him, perhaps too bluntly. She hastily backtracks, her hands jumping up to face him, palms out. "S-Sorry. I mean– we don't need you to be around, to do anything, if you don't want to. We'd really like you to stay, but you don't have to." She breathes out slowly, looks at him hesitantly, wondering if she's just messed everything up.

"If... If that's stressful. If obligation is stressful– you don't have any. We want you to be happy."

wake up, wake up

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