Nux (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gonnadiehistoric) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ya_assemble2015-06-11 07:20 am
gonnadiehistoric) wrote in ya_assemble2015-06-11 07:20 am
Entry tags:
Tinker [open] [Expect spoilers]
Now that Nux was a bit more adjusted to his new surrounds and a bit calmer, he'd taken to exploring a bit. There was quite a bit to explore, given how many levels there were to this place, and each one of them had amazing things to see. There was a whole level of paper. Just paper spewing out of the mouth of a massive carving of a wooden man, maybe some kind of soldier? And inside the paper was more paper, and on that paper there was writing. He'd picked up and read one of the papers and it seemed to be some kind of message scrawled in what might have been a child's handwriting, naming things that might have been the toys being made on the other floors.
On each floor they made all different toys. He hadn't even dreamed there were that many different kinds of toys that could be made and the sight of them reminded him of something he'd long since forgotten. His Mamma and Dadda had made him a toy when he was very young, a little doll of scrap metal and wire. He'd forgotten it but for some reason this place made it easier for him to remember some of the things he'd long forgotten.
He was fairly sure his parents had been kind to him. Yes. Yes, "beautiful boy," his mother had called him. But then his father had gone away and his mother had gone still, and the rest was...
The rest was a very long time of not having had that sort of kindness. Oh, he'd had his place with the War boys, certainly. They had their strange camaraderie, but it was one filled with head butts and punches and challenges and aggression. And they were not truly important to each other because they were only important if they died for him.
Not like Capable's gentleness. Not like his mother's soft words or his father's soft promises of a better life.
How had he forgotten it? How? But he knew. He'd put it out of his mind. His parents had died soft, soft and meaningless. His mother, from sickness. His father, from violence, most likely, as he went out searching for water or food or something to trade. He'd said he'd come back. He hadn't.
Then he'd been swept up into a new life with a new "father" until his parents were a lifetime away.
That was how it was, wasn't it? Each time you found yourself somewhere new and strange, what you'd left behind suddenly seemed a lifetime away. From milling about with the wretches to a War Boy in the Citadel. From War Boy to 'reliable,' traveling in the War Rig, with Furiosa and Capable and the Wives and the road warrior. From crashing in the canyon to a different world, one of bright lights and strange sounds and beauty and darkness chewing at the edges.
He didn't want Capable to seem a lifetime away. That was why he'd chosen the wrap he was wearing around his torso. It was soft and comfortable and less constricting than the shirts the yetis had offered and it was the color of her hair. Every time he looked down at himself, she wasn't a lifetime away, only yesterday. Forever yesterday.
All that he could do was find familiar things and try to make sense of the strangeness, which was why he was taking apart a Transformers toy (not that he knew what it was called). He'd already figured out the little puzzle of how to make it transform back and forth to the different forms but there were little lights and it made sounds and the black thumb in him wanted to see how it all fit together, how it worked, so he'd stolen a screwdriver and was taking it apart right in the middle of the floor, not even bothering to do it in the lounge area. Just right in the middle of the floor near the stairs.
One of the yetis saw what he was doing and gestured at the toy, argle bargling at him in distress.
"I'm going to put it back together and put it back," Nux protested. "It's your fault, anyway, for making something I'd be wanting to take apart."
It was a child's logic. He didn't care, he was just saying whatever might get the big hairy thing to go away. The yeti rolled his eyes, argle blarging something that was possibly the yeti equivalent of 'Are you fucking kidding me?' before throwing his arms up in the air.
Nux just bared his teeth in a very obvious display of 'back the hell off.' He wasn't really as aggressive as he'd been in the past but he figured the expression still might work to get the yeti to leave him alone, and sure enough, the yeti moved on, muttering to himself.
This little exchange happened with more than one yeti. They weren't particularly keen on having people unbuild their toys when they'd put so much work into building them.
It made for a strange sight, the bald, pale, young man, sitting on the floor bent over a Transformer like he was dissecting the thing, lips and face ritualistically scarred and skull-like. He wore a red woolen wrap around his torso, brand new, and battered cargo pants (with roughly a million straps and pockets) clearly rather old and worn. And battered, mismatched boots.
Old clothes and new ones. Menacing scars and bright and wondering eyes like a child's. Disparate parts. But that was what most things from his world were made of and the people were no different.
On each floor they made all different toys. He hadn't even dreamed there were that many different kinds of toys that could be made and the sight of them reminded him of something he'd long since forgotten. His Mamma and Dadda had made him a toy when he was very young, a little doll of scrap metal and wire. He'd forgotten it but for some reason this place made it easier for him to remember some of the things he'd long forgotten.
He was fairly sure his parents had been kind to him. Yes. Yes, "beautiful boy," his mother had called him. But then his father had gone away and his mother had gone still, and the rest was...
The rest was a very long time of not having had that sort of kindness. Oh, he'd had his place with the War boys, certainly. They had their strange camaraderie, but it was one filled with head butts and punches and challenges and aggression. And they were not truly important to each other because they were only important if they died for him.
Not like Capable's gentleness. Not like his mother's soft words or his father's soft promises of a better life.
How had he forgotten it? How? But he knew. He'd put it out of his mind. His parents had died soft, soft and meaningless. His mother, from sickness. His father, from violence, most likely, as he went out searching for water or food or something to trade. He'd said he'd come back. He hadn't.
Then he'd been swept up into a new life with a new "father" until his parents were a lifetime away.
That was how it was, wasn't it? Each time you found yourself somewhere new and strange, what you'd left behind suddenly seemed a lifetime away. From milling about with the wretches to a War Boy in the Citadel. From War Boy to 'reliable,' traveling in the War Rig, with Furiosa and Capable and the Wives and the road warrior. From crashing in the canyon to a different world, one of bright lights and strange sounds and beauty and darkness chewing at the edges.
He didn't want Capable to seem a lifetime away. That was why he'd chosen the wrap he was wearing around his torso. It was soft and comfortable and less constricting than the shirts the yetis had offered and it was the color of her hair. Every time he looked down at himself, she wasn't a lifetime away, only yesterday. Forever yesterday.
All that he could do was find familiar things and try to make sense of the strangeness, which was why he was taking apart a Transformers toy (not that he knew what it was called). He'd already figured out the little puzzle of how to make it transform back and forth to the different forms but there were little lights and it made sounds and the black thumb in him wanted to see how it all fit together, how it worked, so he'd stolen a screwdriver and was taking it apart right in the middle of the floor, not even bothering to do it in the lounge area. Just right in the middle of the floor near the stairs.
One of the yetis saw what he was doing and gestured at the toy, argle bargling at him in distress.
"I'm going to put it back together and put it back," Nux protested. "It's your fault, anyway, for making something I'd be wanting to take apart."
It was a child's logic. He didn't care, he was just saying whatever might get the big hairy thing to go away. The yeti rolled his eyes, argle blarging something that was possibly the yeti equivalent of 'Are you fucking kidding me?' before throwing his arms up in the air.
Nux just bared his teeth in a very obvious display of 'back the hell off.' He wasn't really as aggressive as he'd been in the past but he figured the expression still might work to get the yeti to leave him alone, and sure enough, the yeti moved on, muttering to himself.
This little exchange happened with more than one yeti. They weren't particularly keen on having people unbuild their toys when they'd put so much work into building them.
It made for a strange sight, the bald, pale, young man, sitting on the floor bent over a Transformer like he was dissecting the thing, lips and face ritualistically scarred and skull-like. He wore a red woolen wrap around his torso, brand new, and battered cargo pants (with roughly a million straps and pockets) clearly rather old and worn. And battered, mismatched boots.
Old clothes and new ones. Menacing scars and bright and wondering eyes like a child's. Disparate parts. But that was what most things from his world were made of and the people were no different.
no subject
The voice came from behind him as an amused blond haired woman stood with a candy cane sticking out of her mouth. She wore a sweater that came down to just below her hip, red with three black diamonds on the chest. Her long powerful looking legs were clad in green and white striped stockings and she wore curly toed green shoes like the elves.
Leaning forward she peered at him closer and winked "Of course I think we're allowed to be a little naughty since we're doing Sandy Claus such a big favor." She added.
no subject
So much of what they had was scrap back home, barely functional.
"I'm a black thumb, that's what we do. Take things apart and put them back together again."
A pause.
"But usually with extra V8s and spiked rims," he said with good humor, scratching the back of his neck with the screwdriver. "Somehow I don't think that'll work with this one."
Looks like new guy at least had a bit of a sense of humor.
no subject
"Yeah probably not. Leave it to a car guy to zero in on the car toys around here. Course at the rate we're going I wouldn't be surprised if some version of that little guy appeared here full sized and ready to fight." She half joked. So far the biggest heroes that had shown up were all still around the six to seven feet range as far as she knew. A giant robot car might have to live outside.
no subject
He didn't really understand that the car robot was meant to be a character. He thought it was just a little toy car that turned into a human shaped...car.
no subject
"Somewhere in some universe where machines are alive, that is a real creature that can turn from car to robot and back again. And if some little kid feels like that guy is the only one who can protect them from the darkness, then sure enough he'll end up here same as you or me."
And heaven help her the idea of Nux trying to take apart a robot/car man is hilarious to Harley.
no subject
"Oooh I hope one does," he said, wide-eyed. "I'd love to meet a thing - a person - like that. So I could ask what it's like."
He looked back at the pieces on the floor, his expression now exhilarated at the thought of it.
"Imagine that: Nitro-boosted, pistons pumping, gas burning in your gut, oil slick in your veins. All that power under your skin. Bet it feels like nothing else."
no subject
"But enough about me and enough about potential new recruits!" She declared cheerfully, "Tell me about you snowball! It's not every day I meet someone bald, bleached and beautiful. And trust me...you make that look work." She added with a wink.
no subject
He looked surprised at being called beautiful. That was...not a word he'd ever imagined anyone using to describe him. Not since his mother had called him it from the time he could barely remember.
"My name is Nux," he started with. Then he pursed his lips together and tried to figure out what else to say. He didn't really talk about himself. Ever. It was hard to think of what about himself someone else might want to find out. "What is it about me you want to know?"
no subject
"Aw come onnnn! Why do people do that? Is it really so hard to talk about yourself? Alright don't worry! I'm a professional."
leaning back she flopped into a chair and brought her knees up to her chest.
"Start by telling me about where you came from and what you like to do there."
no subject
"Crikey, how many blood diseases do you have?" he asked in astonishment, loping a couple of meters near the kid and sniffing. He didn't have to get any closer to pick out the cocktail of hepatituses (hepatiti?) and a person that made up to look like a member of a death cult probably wasn't someone whose personal space to invade real quickly. "Has anyone taken you t'see a doctor yet?"
no subject
"No one has on account of I don't know what a doctor is," Nux said, looking up at the -
That was some kind of furry animal man...thing. Okay.
Well, he'd already seen the other furry man...things in this place, so he assumed this was just another one. This was his life now, it was full of furry people and people who could fly.
As for the diseases, it really wasn't on to call attention to the fact a War Boy was dying. It was a given, anyway, and just about every one of them got annoyed when someone called attention onto it in any way other than one of grudging respect.
They were half-life but the way they brought it up was in connection with being kamikrazee, with the implication they were going to make something of the end of their half lives.
Admittedly that something was nothing since it was just being a warlord's battle fodder, Nux knew that now, but Nux was still just as annoyed as he'd have been any other time someone brought up how sick he was the way the furry man had just done.
As if he didn't know.
Blood kept War Boys alive but sometimes it also helped kill them. They all knew that.
"And I'm sick, you say? I hadn't realized," he said earnestly. "Hang on, let me repeat that, I think my mates missed it."
He pulled the wrap he wore down slightly so Bunny could see the two tumors - which had smiley faces drawn on them.
"Hear that, Barry and Larry?" he said, craning his neck slightly as if talking to his tumors. "This great furry fellow says I'm sick, all filled up with diseases, can you believe that?"
no subject
Cultural or personal, maybe he'd annoyed the new kid (a kid who'd drawn smiley faces on his own tumors - there was something heartbreaking about that), but why walk on eggshells around something that could outright be fixed?
"Whaddaya say we go get ya cured?"
no subject
Wait, what?
Nux's eyes widened as he looked up at the animal-man and for a moment they gave an air of innocence that made it seem that maybe the scarification and harsh bald head belied a far more gentle nature.
Then his eyes narrowed and he went back to messing around with the pieces of the toy.
"Not funny. Cruel. There's no cure for being half-life."
The last time he trusted someone else offering some kind of salvation it'd all been a lie. He wasn't about to trust just anybody.
no subject
"Not where you're from, maybe." Bunny shrugged. He sniffed again, thoughtful. "Honestly? Not in most places. But this is the north pole, mate, Santa's workshop."
Maybe the boy was too old, too damaged by whatever life had made his so short to have his wonder still - but that flash of hope had said otherwise. If Bunny could just remind him of what this place meant to so many children, must have meant to him once -
"Miracles happen here," he said, doing his best to draw the sick young man in. "The like of which don't happen anywhere else. Must be hard to still believe in miracles, but -"
He grinned, confident at the young man.
"You are talking to the Easter Bunny. Why not believe in two impossible things before breakfast, ey mate?"
no subject
Then he asked, "What's Easter?"
A pause.
"And what's a bunny? Is that what you are? Giant furry...things?"
no subject
About as horrible a place as could be expected to produce a child this ritualistically scarred, this heavily diseased. Not a place where hope likely flourished. But very likely a place where hope was needed, and that was a sad thought.
"Easter's my holiday. A spring holiday. It's hope, new life, the earth waking up again after winter. I bring the spring, and then I make an egg hunt for the kids of the world - see?"
He reached into his rucksack and pulled out a couple of the candy eggs he always had on hand these days, in case a young Guardian needed cheering up, and also to practice his painting on. He held the pink-and-green shelled egg to Nux.
"You can eat it. It's candy. Grew it myself."
He waited for the scarred boy to accept the candy, thinking that tossing something at him might be seen as too threatening a gesture.
"There are bunnies, and then there's me. I'm the only Easter Bunny. Regular rabbits are small, and they don't talk. Or think much."