Chapter Text
As hard as life in the Green Place can be, Furiosa appreciates the reminders that life can be so much worse. It’s almost shameful how good they have it compared to most of the scavs and wasteland wanderers they come across in the journeys beyond their own borders. The starving, the disease, the violence all leads to death, painful and unwelcome.
The Green Place has it’s struggles, toils and worries, all covered in a veneer of monotony, of life dictated by the growing cycles of green things. But, thank the mothers, no one in the Green Place has ever starved, or withered away from any of the various poisons that can inflict a body. Poisons of water, of bad food, of even the slow invisible rotting of one’s own mind after being exposed to too many horrors of the wilderness.
This is part of the reason why Furiosa loves the trade runs when a few Vuvalini will venture beyond their own borders and into the world beyond. For one she can get a break from the sameness, see new places and people, learn more about this fascinating outside. But she also likes these trips because they inevitably remind her that life at the Green Place is good, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. She forgets each time how bad it can be, but it doesn’t take long to remember. The starving babies crying without understanding their own pain; the desperate, dying people, bartering away their last scraps on this earth for something to numb the pain; the leering, dangerous men who’ll kill you as soon as talk to you. These all remind her of the sourness that has permeated the world, the whole world except for her home.
That doesn’t stop her from being eager for this upcoming trade run though. She’s too old to go running around, so excited by this foray into the outside world that she’s incapable of actually helping. But she’s not too old to be first one up the day they’re to leave, the one who checks and double checks their bikes, impatiently cataloging the weapons being taken while the others say their long goodbyes.
“It’s only for seven days.” She tell Valkyrie when they finally get started. “Hardly long enough to go on and on with goodbyes and goodbyes.”
“It’s not just seven days when it’s your daughter. It’s a whole lifetime, until she comes back safe and sound.” Valkrie says, with conviction, but no lecture in her tone. “The mothers still have fear, of the known and unknown, and if hugging me for the sixth time helps them, I’ll take it.”
“I know,” Furiosa murmurs, scanning the horizon, trying not too feel guilty now that the Green Place is lost from view. “I’ll make it up to them when we return, I promise.”
“Not me you need to promise, but I’ll hold you to it.” Valkyrie laughs, and gives her a quick squeeze of the ribs. The conversation moves on to which trading post they’re going to, and eventually into a shouting mock barter where Valkyrie tries to haggle Furiosa down on the price of a basket of potatoes.
Furiosa is a terrible negotiator, at least when it comes to vegetables, and needs all the help she can get. Car parts she can handle, guns she’ll wrangle for a good price until her voice gives out. But how many radishes are worth how many sewing needles generally makes her want to bash her head in. The Vuvalini need her to be good at it when it’s her turn to mind the wares though, so she practices.
Keeper and Mari are on the other bike, and the four of them ride till nightfall. “Trade Post should only be about three hours ride from here.” Keeper remarks. “If we leave at first light, we should have time to set up before the midday crowd arrives.”
They set off again at first light and see the smudge of the trade post in the distance after three hours. It’s short work to negotiate a stall and set up shop next to the other produce sellers. There’s no need to wait for an afternoon rush however, the marketplace is busy by mid-morning. Or busy for the wasteland’s standards, meaning there’s a steady trickle of traders, wandering in an out. Light enough to easily to keep track of who is coming and going, but heavy enough that no single individual wandering the stalls stands out or needs feel that all eyes are on them.
This is perfect for Furiosa, since she can people watch from her vantage point as guard over their bikes beside stall. Mari and Keeper are running it right now, and Val has gone off to see who else is here that they will want to trade for. Leaving her to scan the crowd, looking at the exciting, the strange, the different. There’s plenty of sad and sick mingling about too, but she tries not to focus on that. Keeps one eye out for threats and the other out for interesting people.
The men of course, and it’s mostly men, are both. Interesting and dangerous, all of them. So you can’t blame her when she keeps two eyes on them, especially the younger healthy looking ones, the ones that could probably put up a good fight if they attacked, the ones that are fine enough to look at regardless.
She sees one man in particular that catches her eye. He’s slowly making is way down the stalls, methodically looking at what’s being sold at each one, waiting his turn if someone’s in front of him instead of just moving along. He doesn’t want to make this walk more than once she thinks. He’ll go through each stall, steady and slow, row by row, one and done. He’s too far away yet to hear, so she doesn’t know if he’s the type to drive a hard bargain. Some scavs barter just to hear sound of their own voice, and those you have to tell to fuck off, because they’ll never actually buy anything.
This one doesn’t seem that way she thinks, as he moves closer. He’s too deliberate in his steps, even if his hands twitch like he’s ready to reach for a gun inside his leather jacket at the slightest provocation. He might drive a hard bargain, but he’s not out to waste anyone’s time. She gets the impression that this is a necessary evil for him, talking, being around other humans. Some wanderers get like that, so lost in their loneliness they forget how to interact when in contact with the rest of humanity.
He turns towards their stall, and other than a flick of his eyes over her he doesn’t acknowledge her at all. Which is fine. She doesn’t need men looking her over, trying to make conversation. And she doesn’t feel slighted because he’s barely making any eye contact with Mari either, communicating more with grunts and gestures than actual words. He does drive a bargain, but is honest, no nonsense about the whole affair. He has bullets to trade and Mari calls her over to inspect them.
“I know you mentioned we’d be needing some more, so take a looksie at these and see if they’re worth anything to us.”
Furiosa comes over and looks at the bullets he’s set down on the counter of their open-air stall. She picks one up to inspect it closer. “How many of these do you have?”
He shrugs his shoulders and looks up from her hand holding his bullets to her face (his eyes are… grey? Blue? It’s hard to tell in this lighting.) “Hm, a few belts. Just these here, but more…” he gives a vague hand wave, which she takes to mean he has a stash somewhere.
“Well, these are what we want. But I’ll need to see all of what we’re getting before we trade.” You can’t trust what anyone says about what they have or don’t, and she’s not about to bargain away any of their produce sight unseen.
His brow furrows slightly. “Will be a while before I can get them, here. Hafta go…” again a jerky hand gesture, signaling his need to retrieve his possessions. “Can be back, later, with ‘em.”
“Okay. We’re not holding anything, but if you have more bullets like these we’ll see what we can work out.” Not quite as methodical as she’d though then, if he’s going to go all the way to who knows where he’s parked only to have to come back again. What fool doesn’t bring his bargaining items with him?
He nods and wordlessly turns away which is when Furiosa notices two things. One is the sack he already has slung across his shoulder that looks pretty heavy. Maybe he’s trading lighter things on his first round and saving heavy bullets and root vegetables for round two? The second thing she notices is the slight limp in his step, which draws her eye down to his knees, one of which has a brace. Maybe his leg bothers him too much to carry both burdens at the same time, necessitating more than one trip anyway.
She follows him with her eyes, seeing the way he walks carefully, conserving his steps. Notices the way he thoughtfully considers the rutabagas the next stall is selling before shaking his head and moving on. Ours are bigger, she thinks with only a bit of smugness, and decides that she hopes he comes back with his bullets.
“So who we checking out, hm?”
Furiosa starts with a cut off expletive, turning to see Valkyrie standing behind her, bemused expression on her face. “I’m not checking anyone out, mothers. I’m keeping watch.”
“Oh please, you’ve been staring at him since he came to our stall. Not that I blame you, Furi, not at all.” She’s looking at Furiosa with hidden delight, as though just waiting for her to deny it. Her safest bet is to concede and move on, hoping Valkyrie didn’t also notice how she’s been watching him since he came into view.
“What of it? No rule against looking.”
“No rule against doing more than looking either. I mean you could even –“
“No.” Furiosa cuts her off with a glare. Valkyrie, damn her, only smiles wider, knowing she’s hit a mark if Furiosa’s getting snappy.
“You could though. I didn’t get a good look really, but he seemed healthy. I bet all his gears grind right, if you know what I mean.” She gives Furiosa a jab in the ribs at this.
“No, I mean… I don’t think I can. It didn’t take the last time I tried, remember? And the times before that, they never… stuck.” She’s scanning the crowd in earnest now that the man has wandered from view, deliberately avoiding Valkyrie’s gaze.
“Yeah, I know.” Val’s voice is softer, less teasing. “It’s just the waste Furi, not you. It’s poisoned everything. I haven’t been able to make any of them stick either. But that doesn’t mean you can’t try. Heck, you don’t even have to try, you can just pound him because he’s not riddled with disease.”
“Right, and get myself murdered in the process. No way I’d get anywhere near that close to a man if I didn’t have a good reason to.” It’s true, she tells herself. Men are dangerous, even the quiet ones with blue-grey eyes. The reward needs to be high enough to make the risk worth it, and unless you’re actively trying to populate the Green Place, it won’t be.
Valkyrie shrugs her shoulders. “Like I said, you can try for it. I am. No, not him.” She clarifies at Furiosa’s look of disbelief. “Meet a guy down by the gun stall. We’ll be getting it on later this evening, so you’re helping pack up tonight yeah?”
“Sure.” She turns back to the crowd and Valkyrie moves to give Mari a break behind the stall. It’s unsettling, how for one second she’d thought Val was going to go after her man (not her man, what the fuck Furiosa) and how that had felt… not okay somehow. Not that she has any claim on him, not that she wants any claim on him, she told Valkyrie as much. But still, she’s glad Val has got her own plan.
It’s a few more minutes before she switches with Keeper in the stall, and then she doesn’t have time to think about the man at all. Valkyrie takes the lead with the haggling and Furiosa is mostly free to run in the background, once more watching the variety of humanity that passes their stall. And if she keeps a special eye out for anyone with a slow gait and a leather jacket, well, that’s between her and the radishes.