[Max's gaze flicks, a subtle sign in the dark that he's not completely there when she approaches. Her voice is an easy way to distract himself from the accusatory echoes that chip away at his mind — Furiosa has never been one of his ghosts, never had led him astray in his own mind. Perhaps it's because his own mushed brain recognizes that she leads forward and not astray.
A soft hum. In a better mood with a clearer mind, he would have scowled and offered her dry wit. But he does drift left. He drifts a lot, actually. In a lot of ways. And she seems to know that well, because she offers him something he's been hesitant to do. The truth is, he's not very good in groups. Or wasn't, anyway, until he met Furiosa and the wives. Lightning in a bottle.
(Or perhaps he underestimates himself, because he always does.)
A shadowed gaze is turned toward her. One that is probably turning from someone else who isn't there.]
M'fine. Fresher air here.
[Translation: there's a lot of people in one space, and he's not sure how to deal.]
no subject
A soft hum. In a better mood with a clearer mind, he would have scowled and offered her dry wit. But he does drift left. He drifts a lot, actually. In a lot of ways. And she seems to know that well, because she offers him something he's been hesitant to do. The truth is, he's not very good in groups. Or wasn't, anyway, until he met Furiosa and the wives. Lightning in a bottle.
(Or perhaps he underestimates himself, because he always does.)
A shadowed gaze is turned toward her. One that is probably turning from someone else who isn't there.]
M'fine. Fresher air here.
[Translation: there's a lot of people in one space, and he's not sure how to deal.]