with scarves of red tied 'round their throats

[skelepun]

Who: Sans + lots of people + YOU
When: Throughout March
Where: Around the Moira, not so much planetside
What: Catchall for march + come get drunk with a skeleton
Warnings: Alcoholism, probably some general nihilism bullshit. it's sans, so, y'know.



(( if you would like a top level, please let me know via PM or contacting me on plurk at safelybeds ))

Comments

[skelepun]

[Sure enough, no trouble. Most of Sans' time is spent poking around the external shell of the cab, trying to source its component parts to images from the magazines he and his brother fished out of the dump as children. Between them, they read and reread them until the pages went soft from overhandling. Cars weren't Sans' passion, but they were Papyrus's. And seeing as Papyrus was Sans' passion, he took a vested interest in learning all he could.

Furiosa will find him on his side in the cab, examining the gearshift and clutch. More gears than he could remember seeing before. The implication was fascinating, to say the least. Enough so that he didn't bother turning when Furiosa approached -- he knew it was her. That soul signature was hard to miss.

[swaddledog]

[ Furiosa doesn't say anything when she arrives at the War Rig; she just slides into the cab and closes the door, looking at Sans for a moment, before she reaches over his head at the shift he was looking at and curls her metal hand around the femur bone. She pulls up, sliding the knife from its holder, a motion she was obviously used to checking, and then pushes it gently back down. ]

I hope you're not allergic to dust.

[ There was a lot of it in the rig, though it was less 'dust' and more fine reddish sand, with the faint smell of salt, just barely visible over the smell of diesel. Much of the rig is made from items that would be considered 'junk' in the old world, now welded into the giant hull.

As Furiosa settles into the driver's seat, she puts her hand over Sans's, directing it to the magic 8-ball, then makes him pull the lever. There's a loud clang outside. ]

That one is the cow catcher. At high speeds it can kick up sand and put out engine fires.

[skelepun]

Not this kind.

[Sans winks, not bothering to explain that particular cultural difference. Other than the fineness of it, there's nothing about the red sandy coating that mirrors a monster's dust. Sans runs a bony hand across one of the instruments, for all the sand only wipes away in thin streaks. Not having flesh can come at a disadvantage from time to time.

But then Furiosa is showing him something new, and his eye sockets widen just a hair.]

Wow. [He can't quite help how his mind rushes to Papryus. His brother would be over the moon to see this.] I gotta ask... is this what cars are like on the surface? Our magazines are a little outdated, sure, but... y'know. Kinda a world apart.

[swaddledog]

[ Furiosa pulls the lever back and there's a hydraulic hiss as the cow catcher lifts back up and against the nose of the engine again. ]

Where I'm from vehicles are essential to survival, but like everything else, they're made from scavenged parts from the Old World. It's all we have. No one makes new cars.

[ Her hands return to the steering wheel, and she circles around it, feeling the grooves. ]

They hold a... significance. This steering wheel is mine, and if someone else were to drive this rig, they would use their own. It's supposed to symbolize my connection to the machine.

[ Her hands drift to the steering column, and there's a small click before the steering wheel is released and she can pop it off. ]

Style varies by tribe. The Citadel where I lived made war machines, like this rig. The Buzzards are scavengers and their cars are covered in rusty spikes to blend in with the sand. The tribe I was born in -- The Many Mothers -- prefer motorbikes. They were farmers. Swift and strong women.

[skelepun]

Sounds pretty cool. I think my bro's best friend would get a real kick out of a place like that.

[Not that Sans meant it sounded nice, or even particularly livable. But there was a tenant of life that all monsters practiced by necessity -- if you can't find something to smile about, you're better off dead.

Quite literally, as it happens.]

So you designed that yourself, huh? [He gestures to the wheel, grin quirking thoughtfully.] Y'know, Furi, I think you really might've been one of us in a past life.

[swaddledog]

Yeah. You've been saying. [ She smiles slightly, then settles the steering wheel down by the seat. ] The Wretched barter with scrap for water and food, sometimes so that their sons are taken. We use the scrap to build our cars and steering wheels.

[ Furiosa reaches up and hooks her fingers into the roof, then slides it open. Once it's open she stands up, then climbs out, pausing with one leg still dangling down. ]

Two supercharged V8 engines, by the way, to answer your question before. Is there anything specific you want to know?

[skelepun]

[V8 sounds familiar, right alongside flashy pictures of red sports cards Papyrus loved so much. Two of them in one vehicle? And supercharged no less? The look on his brother's face when he gets a load of this thing is enough to buoy Sans' own enthusiasm.]

Yeah. [Sans doesn't climb up, but the moment Furiosa takes her eyes off him -- even for just a moment -- she'll find him suddenly beside her up on the roof of the cab.] What's it feel like to drive this thing?