FEBRUARY MINGLE

[etrayamods]

WHO: Everyone!
WHEN: February 14th - March
WHERE: Etraya
WHAT: The arrival of newcomers, a mini mission, and some new city features!
NOTES\WARNINGS:

⏵ arrival ⏴ Welcome to Etraya! Arrival goes as expected - characters awaken on hospital beds and are offered an explanation of their situation: that they have arrived in the city of Etraya, and they are their world's only hope. They are welcome to wander the hospital if they would like to - the upper floors are mostly empty, full of pristine hallways and numerous rooms filled with supplies, cots, and things one would expect from a relatively average 21st-century hospital. In the hospital's lobby are several party tables set out with miscellaneous baked goods: croissants, cookies, breads, cake slices, as well as tea and coffee to accompany them - or hot chocolate, for those who are opposed to the other offerings. Outside the hospital, the last remnants of snow are melting in the sunlight as the weather begins to warm up. It's still chilly enough one might want to put on a coat, but not so cold a jacket is necessary for wandering around without freezing off one's fingers. We hope you enjoy your stay. ⏵ heroes return ⏴ As the Quantum Rail train glides to a halt, returning passengers step out onto familiar ground - the train station, right where they had initially begun their mission. When exiting the station, their earpieces vibrate, indicating the automatic download of a detailed map which highlights key locations, transit paths, and notable landmarks. As Aurora promised, she had been working on a few renovations around Etraya! A sleek trolley system now winds through Etraya, following clearly marked pathways through the city bubble to make travel across the city smoother. However, the trolley only moves one way, eternally following the loop Aurora has set it on. And because of this, it takes six hours to complete it's loop all the way around. Don't miss your stop! Pets and animals have been returned to their usual preferred areas, some awaiting the arrival of their owners, and others keeping to themselves in the forested areas throughout Etraya. Beyond the small upgrades, things seem relatively unchanged - until one familiar sign catches the eye. One marked by four vertical lines, methodically crossed out one by one: the final slash has now been drawn through. The tally is complete. What it indicates has yet to be made clear, but it has to mean something, right? No one would go through the effort of making an ominous-sounding sign without following through. ⏵ love in the air ⏴ This Valentines Day, Aurora and the companion bots have opted to try something a little different: they have scattered mystery valentines across the city. Hidden within mailboxes, tucked into cafe menus, slipped under doors, on the outside of high windows for those wall-crawlers to spot. There are countless of these little slips of papers, strewn throughout the city. And within each valentine, is a challenge or gesture to complete. Please feel free to make these up yourselves as long as they fit in with the theme! Some examples include: Deliver a flower to a stranger. Write a heartfelt poem for someone. Share a box of chocolates! Confess your feelings for another. Play matchmaker for two people - this can be platonic, or romantic! Gift a friend with a stuffed animal. Give five different people a genuine compliment. While not mandatory, completing five tasks will earn an individual an additional ten points to use towards anything they would like! Each little Valentine is signed "Your Secret Admirer. ♡", and some of them may even be addressed to specific individuals. Don't be surprised, Eddie, if you see one or two that are specifically addressed to you lurking around your collection of chicken friends! And while most of these are harmless, some of the valentines cards come with effects for those who come into contact with the paper. Perhaps they thought it was a piece of garbage, or were just kicking it out of the way rather than intending on taking part. It doesn't matter! They get to join in on the fun, too. Heart Eyes - your pupils literally turn into hearts for a few hours, making it hard to focus on anything other than things (or people) you find attractive. Love-Struck Stammer - You can only speak in poetic compliments or romantic declarations, regardless of whom you're speaking to. Chocolate Bliss - Everything feels good. Simple. Easy. As if there's nothing in the world to concern yourself with. You feel happy, without any concerns or worry. Rose-Tinted Vision - everything looks soft and romantic, as if you're in a romance novel. You know the ones. Magnetic Attraction - regardless of what you had been doing, you suddenly find yourself unable to leave the side of the person closest to you. Had you been eating chocolates while walking down the street? Well, have fun getting stuck to the guy who'd been out for a jog! Serenade Syndrome - you find it impossible to resist the urge to sing your words, turning all conversations into love ballads. Heartstrings - A thread appears, connecting you to someone close by who you share many similarities too. Perhaps you had never met this person before, but the threads tied around your pinky fingers that refuse to let go until you allow yourself to open up to them clearly means you should be a little more familiar with them. Love is in the air—or maybe just a bit of well-intended chaos! 💕 ⏵ NOTES ⏴ Welcome back from the mission, and welcome to Etraya for our newcomers! We've tried to keep this log simple for an easy introduction, as well as some downtime for our mission-goers who worked hard to solve the Quantum Rail mystery. There is something else going on, but. . . well, no one seems to know what! The computer that had been on the lower floor of the hospital is now missing, and Aurora may seem a little flustered as she flits around Etraya, in search of something. For all questions relating to this log, please refer to the mod queries comment. All other questions can be directed to the FAQ. ⏵FULL NAVIGATION⏴

Comments

[theroadwarrior]

[Closer and closer, he ravels twine while he unravels his own tingled thoughts. Soft voices stay behind him, ushering him like a shroud — 'it's her, it's her!' — 'Look, don't you see her?'; he doesn't look at anything but the thread until he finally reaches the hand that its attached to. His gaze is full of bafflement as it catches hers.]

... You.

[And just like that, with one uttered word, his plans are bashed in the skull by the proverbial hammer she's wielding in this moment. He was never supposed to see her again. And now she's here — a more fitting person than him, to save a universe, but someone who should not be here regardless.

If she looks hard enough, she'll see the rough swallow from a thinner throat, a glint of panic in his eye. And if she looks even harder, she'll see that beneath the scarf and heavy leather jacket, he's a little more gaunt than she's last seen him. The skin across the back of his hand appears thinner over tendon and bone as he reaches out to grasp her wrist. To confirm her existence. He's always been a sturdy figure even during the roughest months in the wastelands... but there's something lacking.

Perhaps she can sense it in his expression, in his stature:

It has been longer for him than for her, since their meeting.]

When?

[When did you show up here? How long?]

[imperatour]

[ Up close, he looks terrible.

Not the normal amount of looking terrible. Certainly not like a man who usually looks as well-fed as anyone can be scavenging the wastes with muscles built on two-headed lizards and malformed snakes. Maybe even the occasional feast of a rat. But the kind of hollowed cheek boniness of a body that turns on itself she sees among the wretched.

For someone whose bulk of human contact for years has been colored with a violent fight, she thinks she should be more startled with the way he touches her with camaraderie and concern. She doesn't find it startling. She finds it grounding.

Her mouth pulls tightly into a closed mouth grimace as she turns her hand, a gently pull not to tug her wrist out of her grip but to better examine the unexpected thinness of his hand around hers. Her lips push together, like she's going to say something, but they both have questions. Maybe if she settles his first, he'll be more amiable to answering hers.

(Not likely, she thinks, but girl's gotta try.) ]

Not long. [ A shake of her head to dismiss any concern. ] Woke up here last night.

[ And didn't sleep a wink after, but that's besides the point. ]

You— [ Okay? Of course he's not okay. What a stupid question. So instead, with genuine sincerity and concern: ] Look like shit.

[theroadwarrior]

[The last time he'd touched another person with any kind of sincerity was when he'd helped her stand up and face the Citadel — alive, victorious, ready to create a new Green Place that could thrive without the corruption that had soured it all those years. Being taken back to that moment where they'd met hands... it summons a lot of things. Good things, bad things. Gnawing panic that tries to bubble up — and all he can think is you can't be here. The walls he'd built, created this past year to ensure some kind of survival for himself, they're teetering dangerously now that the memory of her has realized into flesh.

This is bad. This is — bad. For her, for him. He glances up to meet her gaze. Briefly. A flitter of guilt? A passing shadow of worry? Or perhaps it's just Max being Max, so terrible at something as simple as conversing when a gun isn't in his hand. His hand, thinner, with an old scar on it — his fingers, the hole an arrow left on the back of his hand... fully healed. Long since healed. He squeezes her wrist, gently.]

Been a year. Since the War Rig.

[He knows it won't make sense, because he can tell by looking at her — couldn't have been that long for her. It won't make sense. It barely makes sense to him.]

[imperatour]

A year.

[ She has to say it back, disbelief palpable, but she knows she didn't mishear. Her eyes are narrowed, expression confused as her mind tries to muddle through the logic of this. She was on the lift, the sisters tending carefully to her. One of them had stitched her up while the Citadel celebrated. They had fetched her water and forced her to rest as not to aggravate her injures. All of them had piled into the war room together, but even with her bone-deep exhaustion, Furiosa fought sleep. For a few hours, she tinkered with her arm in her lap under the light of the stars. Eventually, she put that aside to watch the sky until sleep must have taken her.

Now, her wounds are stitched back together, no doubt done in her sleep, flesh mended with the type of technology the History Man might have described once, or something she read from the yellowed pages of the encyclopedias in Joe's vault. Neat scars take their place. Time alone wouldn't have given her these results, not in the Wastes.

A day for her. A year for him. That doesn't make sense.

Two options: the Citadel collapsed, peace to tenuous and the strength of the sisters and her leadership not enough to hold it up. Or, and Furiosa suspects this one is more likely, in that year he made no visits, gave the sisters no chance to load up his pack with potatoes and ammunition, to strap down jugs of water and guzz.

She sucks in a breath, struck by the sting of this choice, a hurt that is so firmly mental and emotional she feels stupid for feeling it so suddenly and so strongly. It's not as if confirmation changes anything. This is not who she is.

(But perhaps she had hoped. Something together, twisting the way he had said that around in her mind.)

Her throat bobs, a swallow as she resolves herself. Their partnership had been a blip. A world-shifting blip, but temporary all the same.

She should take her hand back, but still she lets him hold onto her wrist, the string that ties them together wound around her palm. She looks at it, then drags her eyes back to his face, even if his eyes evade her. ]

So you didn't come back.

[theroadwarrior]

[The dangerous fork in the road, here in this moment. Max sees it on either side of Furiosa as he avoids her gaze — a path of truth, and a path of a lie. Maybe — maybe it's possible that he can do both. A horrible, ugly half-lie, one that will keep her feet on the ground in Etraya while he tries to make sense of the curveball that this city has so suddenly thrown at him. How was he supposed to know? That she would wake up here, just before he'd arrived? Whatever the case, he needs time. Time to think. Time he does not have, here in this moment, needing to give her something that makes sense.

A half-truth it is, then. There is an ocean of truth over a deep, dark trench of secrets.

A half-truth, he can do. He can make it real, even as the voices in the dark matter of his brain object. He lets go of her hand, takes a step back, and rubs his thumb over the warmer space on his palm that had gripped her.]

Not by choice.

You know — you know how easy it is to lose it. Ahmm.

[He wets his lips, looks up at her.]

Freedom.

[imperatour]

[ She sucks in a quick breath, eyes darting down. Shame warms her face and the back of her neck. The Immortan's brand stings her with a persistent itch, and her throat tightens. Yes, stolen freedom is a place she is unfortunately too well versed in. Even if she had years of pretending she had something close to it, the fury road her domain as she sat the head of rigs. No amount of power mattered when it could be taken away as easily as it was gifted to her by Joe. Only his to give because he acquired it under false pretenses to begin with.

And Joe is just one terrible man among many that plague their world. Is that a place worth saving?

A strange regret sits sourly in the pit of her stomach. Anticipatory guilt for something that hasn't happened to her yet, but she fears has already been set into motion. Maybe he didn't come back. Maybe she didn't go looking.

It's her turn now to reach out to him, the thread tangled in palm, drawing up between them as she moves to close the space between their bodies. Her movements are slow, but firm, in the way you might deal with a scared stray dog, her hand cups around the back of his neck, carefully avoid the skull made out of puckered burnt flesh. It ends with the soft bump of her forehead against his, lingering because there aren't words that can convey understanding as well as this, not without inviting unnecessary elaboration.

A nod, against his head before releasing him. Yeah. She knows. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Three hundred and eighty-two days since he'd been this close to her. She'd been dying at the time, struggling to breathe, too drained of blood to even speak a full sentence, and he had been losing his mind at the prospect of watching yet another person he'd come to care about die in front of him. It was always the same, death — it would come, it would claim someone, it would leave him with the memory of their final, ugly moments. He'd known then that even if it killed him, he would force the life back into her veins. A bloodbag by choice.

A part of him wants to pull away from her and leave this moment behind, because allowing it will only make things harder. He knows the way stories like this end. And this one, he's sure it's doomed to end messy. But... the other warped part of him is relieved to know that he's utterly fucked right now.

So he leans his head against hers for a moment, and knows this will have to do.

Sooner than later, it will be just another distant memory for her to parse.

As she releases him:]

Your wounds?

[Healed? Healing? He glances down at where he recalls the awful mess they'd found on her, after Joe's death.]

[imperatour]

[ There is more to know. More to ask. But not here. It's too open, too exposed. There's too many people. They are questions she doesn't have the exact words for, things she's almost positive he won't answer.

So instead for now, she follows his turn into her status. Never has a discussion of mortal wounds seemed so mundane. She hums noncommittally, using her stump to gesture at her core, pulling aside the leather jacket she's found to guard against the cold. She isn't actively bleeding through her shirt. ]

Mhm. They cleaned them up here. Antiseptic. New stitches. [ The whole nine yards. ] Never seen a place that clean.

[ She bets that most of the patients don't die from latent infections even! ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Note to self: make sure she lets him check on that later.

A soft hum follows.]

Hospital like the old world.

[Even the hospitals he knew a long time ago weren't this clean. It's really something, to bare witness to a city so clean and maintained. Not only that, but...]

Everything's 'free' here. Food, supplies. Places to stay.

[He's very skeptical that it's a charitable, kind thing. Echo wants them to 'save universes', prove their worth in order to spare their lives. He's not sure how much Furiosa had learned from her very short time here so far, so -- best to try to keep her up to date. There's just... so much. He nods toward the road behind her.]

... Lots of green, too.

[imperatour]

[ Furiosa shares his skepticism. She's never come across anything for free. She's always earned her keep one way or another, certainly hasn't come out of it with clean hands. She wonders what this cost will be, her mouth forming a tight, serious expression with a little nod to show her agreement.

Green though... the idea makes something in her mood shift, makes something adjacent to a little smile tugs at her lips, turning to follow his gaze. ]

You checked it out yet?

[theroadwarrior]

[He scoffs, tugging on the strange red string.]

Was waiting for you first.

[He is funny only sometimes. As he says it, he moves to try and chew off the string — clearly to no avail. Apparently made out of impenetrable twine; would make a killing selling it in the wastelands. Whatever the case... seems like they're heading to the same place, anyway. Better to just carry it along and let it play out whatever ridiculous effect it's under.

He explains that to her, as they go. The impossible things that will likely be hard to explain: the 'magic', the robots, the inhuman beings. Buildings that come and go, and missions that will sooner than later drag her into them — 'optional' of course, but he doesn't sound very convinced of it as he says it. Aurora probably explained some to her, too. Enough to not be entirely lost. But a wastelander wants to know everything. Be prepared. It's probably the most he's ever talked in the time she's known him, though that's not saying much; he still speaks little, every sentence carefully brief, as if he's trying to save his energy.

(For what, he's never sure.)

When they finally arrive on the outskirts, where the sparse trees in the city evolve into a thick expanse of treetop, he takes note of the remnants of snow. He's so used to never knowing what season it is — it kind of throws him off-guard.]

Won't be as thick. Still coming back from the, ah. Winter.

[As he speaks, he reaches into his pack and pulls out an apple to offer her. It's ripe and nice, don't worry. This one's not from the dumpster. He just figures she should eat, since he's already been stuffing his face this entire time.]

[imperatour]

[ Some of these things she knows, but Furiosa finds herself not wanting to interrupt. She'd have little patience for redundancies back home, but here? She's happy to have Max's read on the situation to, head bobbing in agreement as they move through the city.

(They still are inexplicably tied together. After a year of his lost freedom, she can't say she minds the idea of being able to follow a path back to him wherever he wanders to either.)

Furiosa can't be positive, but she's pretty sure Max has doubled the total words spoken in the entire time she's known him. He's still not a big talker, but that's fine. Men like Joe and Dementus sometimes spoke so uselessly, as if only to hear themselves as a testament to their own grandeur. Max speaks only when he has something worth saying, which usually means it's something worth listening to.

It's cold. Colder than the chilliest nights she's used to, but the air is fresh and free from the persistent smell of noxious fumes and guzzoline. The air is quiet without the roar of engines or the chaos of roadwar. It's almost too much, the evergreens and signs of spring, new life growing wild and uncontained when the only green thing she's seen in a lifetime is the carefully guarded hydroponics. Just another part of Joe's domain, nothing like the lush, verdant tropics of the Green Place.

It is awe inspiring and breath stealing, Furiosa feeling suddenly so overcome with emotions she can't name them all. Awe and joy, that a place like this exists. Grief and homesickness, that this green place is not her Green Place.

If the strange masters of this place had plucked her away sooner, would she have been able to save it as well?

Furiosa is only half listening, her reaction to Max's offer slightly delayed as she senses him near her side again. She takes the apple, eyes closing as she takes an enthusiastic bite, savoring it and chewing greedily without regard to the way juice runs down the side of her chin. She of course has wastelander manners, not wasting one bit of it, corralling it back to her lips with the side of her hand.

She offers it wordlessly back to Max for his turn. She wouldn't be so greedy as to take a whole apple all to herself.

Only here in the privacy of the forest, does she allow herself to broach the subject again. ]

Was it— here?

[ His year of lost freedom. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max shakes his head in the slightest motion, before gently pushing the hand holding the apple back toward Furiosa.]

Had my fill.

[Which is… putting it lightly. He couldn’t remember the last time he’s had a full stomach before, though the state of himself currently says as much. He adjusts his scarf around his neck, pulling the weathered fabric closer. Despite the time apart, his clothes have remained shockingly the same… including a carefully roped up IV line, still buttoned onto the shoulder of his jacket. A new one, clean, and ready to be used to give someone the O Neg that courses through his veins.

A quiet sign that they’ve influenced him more than he cares to admit. It’s the same kind of influence that has left him with so many more words to say. Less conversations cut crippingly short. He has fought tooth and nail the last year to throw it all away: those weaknesses that are strengths in the right hands. Compassion, loyalty, sentimentality… it’s been difficult. Now as he glances to her, he wishes he could explain his guilt in wishing it were easier to forget and move on.]

… No. It was before Etraya. [He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Is this a mistake? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s thought that, facing her; all those times he’d believed it, he was proven wrong.] You can’t… tell anyone else.

[imperatour]

[ Her hand chases his just slightly when he pushes back the apple. He says he's had his fill, but he looks like he could have it a few more times over. But, she also knows he's stubborn. She bets there's only so much pushing she can do on one issue before the window closes on another. Pick your battles.

She doesn't do it consciously, but she turns her body, opening toward the forest in front of them so they're no longer directly face to face. Instead, they are side-by-side, facing the same direction like they would in the front seats of the rig or charging in to tackle something together. She glances over softly and quickly, first at his face, then to their hands hanging at their sides, hers still clutching the apple.

She's not sure who he thinks she might tell. He is the only one she knows here, but more importantly, even from everyone from their world, he is among her most trusted. She bumps her knuckles against his. ]

Promise.

[theroadwarrior]

[Flashes of a place away from here cloud his thoughts for a moment. New experiences, new unpleasant memories, gashes against an already tumultuous psyche. And yet... it was a place that was so much like home, there were days he would wake up and not realize he wasn't dozing off in the rubble of the Wastelands. Furiosa is a trusted face standing among a sea of distrust, born from another long year of surviving instead of living.

He sighs through his nose, as he watches a bird land on an almost bare branch. It jumps back and forth, looks at the two strange giants below before it flutters away.]

... Etraya isn't the only city.

I was taken to a different one. Called Solmara. Lot like home... Nothing but sand n' old cement in some directions. [He looks down, one hand fidgeting with the red string that still refuses to let them go.] Bad there. Real bad. Someone controlling — someone like yours took over, pitted the people against the AI.

I, ah... Managed to get a motorbike working. Stayed on the outskirts. For a while.

[So, not much different from home. If anything... he's at least glad he had the experience. Would have been nice to show up in Etraya instead, though.]

[imperatour]

For a while.

[ She repeats, reflective. Max paints enough of a picture, and she is well-equipped to fill in the gaps. There are cruel men everywhere, and it has been long since Furiosa has been surprised by the depths of their cruelty.

Bravery and reliability, though... These are things worthy of her surprise, refreshing glimpses past the ugly violence marking all of humanity, glimmers that quench a thirst for hope. She looks again to Max, gaze tracing his profile. ]

And then?

[theroadwarrior]

She caught up to me. Alrys.

[He looks over to her, finally meeting her gaze in full.]

Been the 'ruler' for a decade at least. Way before me. Before any of the others here with me. Ruthless, uses violence on missions Echo sent us on to get her way. Only choice she gives everyone else is following her command or dying.

Came with a price, though. Solmara's AI... it doesn't give out supplies like it used to, not after what she'd done to, ahh... the 'order' of things. Her group managed to collect a few supplies from our city's hospital... but the rations are low. She's getting more desperate.

[A soft breath.]

Mm. She wants what Etraya has.

[imperatour]

Is she here?

[ Furiosa's voice is hushed but edges into urgency. Suddenly her eyes cast around to make sure they haven't been followed, not that any observers would be able to sneak past the peripheries of their keen (paranoid) eyes.

The half-eaten apple falls to the ground. Not a waste. In the forest, it will rot and nurture something new. She needs her hand for something else, reaching forward to grip tightly around Max's wrist.

From the sounds of it, the whole city is in danger, but Furiosa is too focused on mitigating the danger to just him for now. ]

Did she follow you?

[ Did she send him here? ]

[theroadwarrior]

[A short shake of his head.]

No.

[At least, he doesn't think so. Otherwise, she would have just barged in here, armed and ready to attack. Not her style, he thinks.

Despite Furiosa's urgency, Max is calm and quiet — this is freedom for now, and with someone familiar and trustworthy at his side, all he can do is relax in the comfort of it — even despite the topic at hand.]

... She could come after this place, if we fail. She collected us for scouting this city... Wants us to take what brings in the supplies. The machinery. She knows it's somewhere in the hospital, and she wants it.

[His eyes drift to the apple. He's not hungry, but the sight of it immediately brings recent memories: scraping through dirt for the scraps, feeling some of that grit in his teeth as he swallows down what is enough to stay alive; Connor, quietly holding out a small piece of ration that he'd managed to procure. When he shakes his head again, it seems more to dispel images than to disagree.]

That's why she brought me into the scouting group. Took my gear, my supplies. Withheld food until I finally gave in. [Gaze flicking up to her faze, he confirms:] Not planning on taking anything.

[Furiosa is here now. He'd had hesitations and doubts before, because he has a conscience under all of hardened grime that he's sure his insides are full of. But her here? He'd just as soon take a bullet in the eye than deprive her of the supplies this city is given. He thinks the mission thing, the saving the worlds thing... it's all bullshit.

Her existing in this place, plentiful with food and supplies though?

Doesn't matter how much of a fairy tale it all is.]

[imperatour]

[ She believes him. She does. She has no doubt that Max has no plans to loot Etraya, but the natural question is what happens when he fails? She keeps her eyes on him, keeps her hand around his wrist. ]

So.

[ She pauses. Her tone on the one word is soft, matching the softening of her expression turn on him for just a moment before she is reminded to jump back to business. This Alrys doesn't sound like the type to just throw her hands up and shrug when things don't go her way. ]

What is your plan? [ And then, with the tone that this is less a question or a suggestion, and more of a command. She is inserting herself into this. ] How can I help?

[theroadwarrior]

You don't need to. [He says it knowing she's not really the kind to sit back and accept that there's nothing that can be done. Still has to say it, anyway, because it shouldn't have to be something she's been dragged into; being in Etraya at all is crazy enough to take in all at once.] ... Not yet, anyway.

[A silent lull follows, but it's not because there's nothing else to say. Rather, he needs a moment to choose his words. He's gotten a little better at them these days, but — mm. Still could use some practice. He clears his throat.]

Need to talk to the others involved... Most of them already have doubts. About wanting to follow through. [If all of them can unite on that front, maybe get Connor to 'deviate'... Then Etraya might have the advantage here. And maybe... maybe they can be salvaged by Aurora. It's probably as obvious as a nose on a face, but Solmara isn't exactly a paradise they all would like to go back to.] If we're all in agreement — we can tell the truth. Try to bargain with Aurora. With Etraya.

[He looks to her.]

If Aurora can keep us... [That's a big 'if', he admits.] Solmara might come looking.

We'll need to be able to keep them back.

[imperatour]

[ Yeah, she's not playing poker right now. Her face pulls, mouth twitching to wear her apparent dissatisfaction with this plan immediately. Why wouldn't there be a consensus already if things were so bad under the thumb of a tyrant?

(She knows, she knows. She stood rooted under the guise of waiting for opportunity when she had just enough freedom to sometimes forget that she too was a prisoner with a brand on her neck, just serving a different purpose. She remembers the way Cheedo, desperate for the familiar, ran back.)

She glances down to her boots, then again back at Max, still apparently unhappy with this plan. She's not even worried about the apparent fighting back Solmara part. Fighting she can do. ]

And what. [ She presses. ] If Aurora can't— [ or won't? ] —keep you, you just... go back?

[ Not happening. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[That's one of his biggest concerns. He doesn't want to return to Solmara; it was nothing but a series of ugly memories, for him and for most of the people stuck there. Well, people who weren't completely bought-in to Alrys' plans for the city. Max may hallucinate, but he certainly doesn't share those delusions of a city in such a poor state being revived by committing atrocities.]

Might be no helping it. If we're tethered to our cities by Echo. If Aurora can't control where we go.

[That being, whoever it is... they decide where they wind up. Stands to reason it may very well be possible that the AI can't do anything about it.]

... But there's nothing wrong with... mmm... With hoping. Trying.

[Even if they fail, they can do it in a way that they won't regret. And then, they hold their breaths, hope for the possibility of a better future for themselves, instead of being trapped in a place like that.]

[imperatour]

[ He acts like he's got it figured out without any real plan at all. Sometimes you don't get the luxury of planning it out that far. Most of the time actually. But they're the kind of people that thrive in the action, in the doing of it all. Willpower carries them to the end and, yes, sometimes even...

She clicks her tongue once, looking back up at the canopy. ]

Hope, huh.

[ A little huff. An almost laugh is is his almost reward. She gives his wrist another little squeeze. Gives the toe of his boot a little tap from hers. There's some well-deserved ribbing she knows she could dole out, and is showing great restraint in not doing so!

One breath in through her nose. Then out. It strikes her again how clean the air is here.

She doesn't really want to, but she drops his hand. It's important for the demonstration, tugging on the string that binds them together still. ]

Yeah, well. All else fails maybe I can pull you back.

1/2

[theroadwarrior]

Yeah.

[Spoken in a harmless kind of matter-of-fact way, and her almost-laugh meets an almost-smile. The thread around their finger is loose, now, but he doesn't pay it much mind; instead, he considers the distance they've traveled to get here.]

You've stopped me from scraping brain on the road before.