[January 11] [Mad Max: Fury Road] Layers of Life
Title: Layers of Life
Day/Theme: 11. Family means taking the folks we're stuck with and choosing to love them anyway.
Series: Mad Max:Fury Road
Character/Pairing: Vuvalini, War Pups
Rating: G (also posted over at the mad max kinkmeme for a prompt that was similar)
The Pups had only seen very old faces among the Wretched. Most War Boys didn’t live that long. Wives were always young and beautiful and nobody but Joe and few others was allowed near them. Same for the Milking Mothers. Finding themselves face to face with the remaining Vuvalini, the youngsters didn’t know where to look. They took in the wrinkles and the gray and the layer upon layer of life in awed silence. There was suspicion there too. They knew Furiosa. They did NOT know these women.
The Vuvalini stared right back though. One took a step closer and the Pups drew back. She stopped, studied them carefully and asked “Are you a ghost?”
“No!” the bravest Pup tried to laugh, but it faltered away under her eyes.
“What was your mother’s name?” the old woman asked. “Where did she come from?”
He looked at the others for help and they all shifted nervously. They didn’t know. None of the Pups knew, and their discomfort grew as the elders looked them over.
“If her name was May,” one of the women said. Her hard-lined face softened. “You would be my nephew.”
“If it was Jenny,” said another. “You would be my grandson.”
“If she was Atty…”
“If she was Fala-“
“If she was Hope-“
Every name was met with the gesture of loss and remembrance from the women. The Pups watched them close their fingers and pull the hand to their hearts. Some of the children tried to imitate it on reflex. Some had begun to cry.
“It’s all right,” said one of the women. She was speaking to both sides. “They don’t have to be.” She squatted down on her heels to be at eye level with the Pups.
“We lost so many of our children,” she said. “And we were haunted by them for so long. They used to say that their pale little ghosts would follow the riders, always just out of reach, holding out their hands and crying for their mothers, to be held, and fed, and made alive again.”
The Pups were silent now, staring wide-eyed. They didn’t get many stories and they were as starved for it as they were for water.
“They said they would reach for those little ones, wanting to give them all that, but their hands would pass right through them. They weren’t really there. They were just ghosts.” She tilted her head at them. “Are you really children under there?”
“I am!” one said immediately. He rubbed his face hard, scraping off some of the white. “See? It’s just paint. I’m real.”
“Me too!” one chimed in, as anxious not to be left behind as their older brothers. Then they were all saying it, clawing at their paint to show the skin underneath, jumping up and down and jostling each other to be seen. The Vuvalini traded sideways smiles. That had been easy. One by one, they held their arms out to the Pups, and there was barely a moment’s hesitation before they were being piled into. The Pups pressed into their hands, climbed into their laps, traced the lines on their faces. and let themselves be petted and hugged and kissed.
“My mother might have been Jenny…” one ventured, trembling with hope. “I could be your gan- grandyson.”
“You could be,” the woman agreed, cupping his face and rubbing at the tear streaks with her thumbs. “Baby, you could.”
Day/Theme: 11. Family means taking the folks we're stuck with and choosing to love them anyway.
Series: Mad Max:Fury Road
Character/Pairing: Vuvalini, War Pups
Rating: G (also posted over at the mad max kinkmeme for a prompt that was similar)
The Pups had only seen very old faces among the Wretched. Most War Boys didn’t live that long. Wives were always young and beautiful and nobody but Joe and few others was allowed near them. Same for the Milking Mothers. Finding themselves face to face with the remaining Vuvalini, the youngsters didn’t know where to look. They took in the wrinkles and the gray and the layer upon layer of life in awed silence. There was suspicion there too. They knew Furiosa. They did NOT know these women.
The Vuvalini stared right back though. One took a step closer and the Pups drew back. She stopped, studied them carefully and asked “Are you a ghost?”
“No!” the bravest Pup tried to laugh, but it faltered away under her eyes.
“What was your mother’s name?” the old woman asked. “Where did she come from?”
He looked at the others for help and they all shifted nervously. They didn’t know. None of the Pups knew, and their discomfort grew as the elders looked them over.
“If her name was May,” one of the women said. Her hard-lined face softened. “You would be my nephew.”
“If it was Jenny,” said another. “You would be my grandson.”
“If she was Atty…”
“If she was Fala-“
“If she was Hope-“
Every name was met with the gesture of loss and remembrance from the women. The Pups watched them close their fingers and pull the hand to their hearts. Some of the children tried to imitate it on reflex. Some had begun to cry.
“It’s all right,” said one of the women. She was speaking to both sides. “They don’t have to be.” She squatted down on her heels to be at eye level with the Pups.
“We lost so many of our children,” she said. “And we were haunted by them for so long. They used to say that their pale little ghosts would follow the riders, always just out of reach, holding out their hands and crying for their mothers, to be held, and fed, and made alive again.”
The Pups were silent now, staring wide-eyed. They didn’t get many stories and they were as starved for it as they were for water.
“They said they would reach for those little ones, wanting to give them all that, but their hands would pass right through them. They weren’t really there. They were just ghosts.” She tilted her head at them. “Are you really children under there?”
“I am!” one said immediately. He rubbed his face hard, scraping off some of the white. “See? It’s just paint. I’m real.”
“Me too!” one chimed in, as anxious not to be left behind as their older brothers. Then they were all saying it, clawing at their paint to show the skin underneath, jumping up and down and jostling each other to be seen. The Vuvalini traded sideways smiles. That had been easy. One by one, they held their arms out to the Pups, and there was barely a moment’s hesitation before they were being piled into. The Pups pressed into their hands, climbed into their laps, traced the lines on their faces. and let themselves be petted and hugged and kissed.
“My mother might have been Jenny…” one ventured, trembling with hope. “I could be your gan- grandyson.”
“You could be,” the woman agreed, cupping his face and rubbing at the tear streaks with her thumbs. “Baby, you could.”