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The parties that would join the so-called state lunch were small. Angharad watched them approach from one of the Vault's wide windows, balancing on a ledge about the size of the ball of her foot, Capable helping to steady her, through the binoculars Miss Giddy had scavenged for them. The window faced more towards the stone buttes of Citadel than it did the road, meaning she held herself at awkward angles to keep the lookout, but Angharad had to see as much of what was coming as she could.
You couldn't even truly say that there were scouts going ahead of the visiting parties from the Bullet Farm and Gas Town. Both travelled as two loose knots of vehicles, smallish, spread out enough to have a reasonable warning if they ran into Buzzards, but making no gesture towards the danger of Joe's capacity to gut them. Brotherhood and trust, they'd call it, and not having any wish to disturb the balance of resources maintained between the three in charge. Angharad tried out different words for the situation - complacency; tyranny.
"How bad is it?" Toast called, and when Angharad turned away from her perch on her improvised viewing ledge, she saw Toast leaning against the wall by their sleeping alcove. "Are they close?"
"About halfway. Looking as if they expect peace, too, I think - no extra parties. I suppose they assume the Buzzards will still be lying low after the preparatory sweep the War Boys had to make."
"Not much time left, then, I suppose," Toast muttered, and went to the bathing pool, stripping off her wrappings as she went. She could sound the most bitterly mutinous about getting ready for the 'state lunches' - which mostly felt like an excuse to parade Immortan Joe's treasured wives around - but she usually got ready before the Dag and Angharad, leading the example that made capitulate. Sometimes Toast was outright scornful of their attempts to protest, made up of torn clothes, tangled hair, fresh self-inflicted wounds that bled into poorly done, obvious bandages. Being from the Wasteland rather than Citadel-born, she wasn't one to watch people court hurts. There were other ways to fight than dramatic gestures.
Knowledge, for one. Angharad now felt she could say that she knew properly what comprised a war party, and if it was a small thing, without practical application yet, it still made her feel more prepared and centred. She'd known what to look for as the guests came nearer - the types vehicles, the equipment that signalled the presence of specialised fighters, the formations ... some of the formations, anyway. It wasn't like she'd been able to study war first-hand.
Better do as Toast hinted. There was more knowledge to be gained at the lunch.
Capable had also noted the hint and was looking up with a questioning expression, ready to help her down. As Angharad stepped off the viewing ledge, she glimpsed Cheedo coming over. Good - she'd been sitting still as a rock as the shadows lengthened, scared to mess up her new dress, so it was nice to see her moving, even if it was for this. They all moved together with the ease of years and the familiarity of their cage: As soon as Angharad had both feet on the floor, she undid her hair tie, and Capable's fingers sank in to comb the obvious tangles, moving enough that Cheedo had space to help with the proper comb she carried.
"Do whatever you want with it," Angharad said, relieved for not having to think about it anymore, and then even more relieved for Cheedo's smile. Those were getting all too rare.
And if ever they managed to get out of here, that wasn't going to be easy either. Cheedo would not have a lot of smiles to spare either way.
-
The five of them were beautiful enough, apparently. Joe led them to their seats by hand, each one in turn, and looked satisfied and greedy both. They were interspersed between the real guests, not able to sit next to each other, there to make Joe, the Bullet Farmer, the People Eater, Imperators Prime from Citadel and the other two towns, Corpus, and Rictus's meals go down more easily. Fine. That gave opportunity to learn from each and every one of them. They were supposed to be charming and to make conversation.
Once they were all settled, the afternoon's strange turn came in. Some of the men were still standing, getting drinks, but if Angharad didn't miss her guess, there was an empty seat between Joe and the Bullet Farmer. That was where she might usually sit - Joe was better friends with the Bullet Farmer than with the People Eater, and being near her indicated favour - but today she was between Joe and Corpus.
Guards from all three of the Wasteland strongholds stood by the windows and entrances. Closest to Angharad, stonily watchful, was Imperator Furiosa. The only woman left standing, but Joe went up to her and held up his hand. Instead of doing as he had with Angharad and her sisters, he seemed to allow a concession, not taking her hand to lift it, held in his grip as he led her, he made a sweeping gestured of invitation towards the open chair.
"A treat for you. For all your hard work, please join us to lunch. Sit, Imperator Furiosa."
Did her throat work, as she obeyed, a hard swallow? Angharad thought there was a lurch in the way she moved, something jarring, remarkably uncoordinated for a woman in her position. But she obeyed immediately.
Throughout the stupid lunch Angharad had her work cut out for her not to stare at the seat opposite her, the woman who was not there to be beautiful--there specifically to be humbled, she would guess, to be reminded of where she once might have been. As if she'd forget.
Furiosa, on the other hand, did not really succeed in doing the same: She stared openly, eyes flicking away and then back, even as she followed through on a conversation with the Bullet Farmer on the topic of the Buzzards' latest war-ready vehicles. And it was the kind of conversation to commit to memory, practical information in among the more plainly brutal practices, but that was not where Angharad's curiosity lay.
-
There was no real rest for Angharad until she could find a chance to speak to Imperator Furiosa. It took forever, leaving her dreaming of shoddy plans, hope without foundations. Trying to decide if Furiosa had been humbled; if there was worship to her, or loyalty, or satisfaction in the position she'd surely fought for ... or rejection of her station. Perhaps she was bitter, or petty. But why had she also been curious! Everyone knew them by sight, with Joe parading them around to act 'regal' to his specification on special days, and even an elaborate hairdo and new clothes in rich colours shouldn't be much of a surprise. And it had been Angharad, specifically, that had attracted her attention, not any of the other wives around the table.
Miss Giddy was technically able to speak to Furiosa to pass on a message, but she couldn't make the attempt too often or it would attract notice, and day after day she never found a quiet moment to catch the imperator in. In the end it came down to Joe and Rictus both leaving Citadel for a day or two, for raiding purposes. While Corpus was a trusted lieutenant he wasn't guard material, so it fell to the female imperator to take special charge of the Vault, as she did every so often --because surely there was no risk of a woman touching Immortan Joe's treasures. That was a little funny, but, Angharad considered, it could be that it wasn't supposed to matter what power she might exercise over them, if she couldn't usurp Joe's claim to children. Never mind. The important thing was that Furiosa was within questioning distance.
Angharad rang the gong that was set by the door to the Vault. It made a sound piercing enough to hear from outside if you were close to the door, and usually it meant that whatever guard was there would send a messenger to fetch Joe or one of his sons. Furiosa could still decide that she ought to send for Corpus… It didn't take a moment before the door opened - maybe Miss Giddy had managed to give Furiosa an idea of what to expect.
Furiosa walked in and came to a stop just inside the door. While her eyes were still running over Angharad and the rest of the room, Angharad stepped closer into her space and spoke urgently. "I've wanted to speak to you since that state lunch. You were staring at me."
"Don't beat around the bush," Furiosa said, half sarcasm and half observation, and there was a chorus of sniggering behind Angharad. It made Furiosa's gaze settle on the others for longer than flickering glances of assessment, although if she was amused, there was no sign of it.
"We've heard plenty about each other, and we have at least seen each other from a distance. I want to know what was such a surprise in person."
"You're not dead," said Furiosa. Her eyes were cool enough to remind of photographs of ocean water, bright in the black smears of an Imperator's half-mask, and it was easy to follow as they turned to the cross-hatched marks scored up and down Angharad's arms. "That's all. I noticed the scars that day. Never got close enough before." She set her body in a way that created distance, though she didn't step back. "None of my business." It was a Wasteland sort of kindness.
"You weren't looking only at the scars. I'm used to people staring at those the first time."
Furiosa's gaze tracked back to the others, but Angharad hadn't had concerns about privacy for years and waited as if she hadn't noticed. The hint of unease on Furiosa's face came and went. "Even from the look on your face, I think I can tell that ... it's not like you're looking for death. You don't strike me as the least bit suicidal, in spite of--" She gestured - some of the marks were over Angharad's wrists, too, though none had gone deep enough to be dangerous. "If I don't miss my guess, you even train in here to build strength."
Angharad didn't bother to respond, though it would have worried her if one of the other imperators had bothered to notice. "You're not dead, either. What kind of War Boy were you?"
"Desperate," she said, more solemn than Angharad could have expected of an imperator.
"Same as most of them, then?"
"The very same."
She couldn't imagine this woman being one part of Joe's white-painted army, howling and eager, subservient and singing praises. "It's probably a difference that you're more conscious of it." Only half-knowing what she did, Angharad tucked a wisp of hair behind one ear and then turned that easy gesture into an equally easy reach for Furiosa. She wanted to look friendly--she must, she must try and win something here. More knowledge for the escape plan that still had to form. Or even merely the unexpected gratification of acknowledgement. She needed to be strong and to desire life - for the escape, her sisters, and herself - and Imperator Furiosa had seen that in her, easily.
"You can guard us from in here. It's not as if Joe would have reason to mind," she said, hand light on Furiosa's flesh arm. War Boys had very little in the ways of boundaries with each other, but did imperators have the same luxury of friendly gestures? Angharad's mind was partially on the sensation of the skin, dusty and a little tacky, toughened with the way she was allowed to live in the world, and then on making her invitation sound plain and without double motive. "It would do us good to have new conversation, if you'd stay a while."
The others chimed in. "Ooh, yes, please come be entertaining," the Dag said. "There's water," Cheedo mentioned, and Capable went to get a jug and glasses. Toast went to drag a chair from over by the class room area. "Won't be long, don't worry," she said. "Our lessons are going to start in another hour."
There was something hungry in Furiosa. Her arm moved enough to dislodge Angharad's hand, but the motion seemed not quite voluntary, a trembling transmuted into a shrug. If she were one of Angharad's sisters, this would be a moment where Angharad would have hugged her, or asked someone to play the piano as a distraction, or read aloud from a favourite book. As it was, they watched each other, and now Furiosa watched Angharad's sisters, too, re-assessing all over again.
"You're each as blunt as the other," Capable chimed in as Furiosa regarded her. "I want to see who wins a fight."
In the middle of complaints about how impossible it was to tell when Capable made a joke and some more laughter, Furiosa took the chair, with the look of someone swallowing a smile. She was a fighter - perhaps it wasn't a surprise that that idea made her feel more comfortable.
Right then. Angharad felt free to start asking about the various brutal ways she remembered Furiosa and the Bullet Farmer had discussed dealing with the Buzzards.
-
The raid Joe and Rictus were on lasted two full days and nights. Furiosa didn't lose in that time – she really did know the world's dangers and necessities the sisters wanted to debate on; she lived fully in it, it was the most tantalising thing - but Angharad had kept fighting, too.
Furiosa was a fairly awful debating partner, though. She gave out facts easily enough, but real opinions were dredged up few and far between, with effort. Angharad kept thinking of oceans in photographs they had all pored over in lingering disbelief; the surface bright, the depths immensely dark.
Imperator Furiosa was strange, up close – they all agreed that she was not what they had expected. The thing was, she also didn't seem to be what she expected. There were abortive gestures that made her stare at her hands, there was a liquid sound to her voice that came and went when she listened to them for a while and then had to make her own responses.
What caused it? That, Angharad had the tact not to ask. But she wondered: was it the luxuries of the Vault, the simplicity of being with a handful of people who offered no danger, the friendly hand here and there that Angharad offered? Everyone else stayed a little more wary, watching things play out - aside from Miss Giddy, who swatted Furiosa off the chair so a lesson could begin, and then ushered her back into the Vault afterwards. Trusting Miss Giddy as she did, Angharad had another reason to feel that there was a real chance in Furiosa: an ally.
For those two days. The raiders returned early on the third day, and Furiosa went back to her usual duties. They would have to wait for Furiosa to go on guard duty again - a few more times, so that they could truly make sure of her.
"Imperators became emperors," Cheedo said that night, when their supper was finished and the Vault locked with one of the usual guards outside the door. Everyone had been sitting quietly, thoughtful, despondent, and then every head whipped around to stare at her. "That's where the word emperor came from - you know, the root. If it was Furiosa in charge here, just think..." She looked haunted in a familiar way, though it wasn't a thought she'd shared before.
"Stop reading about the gory historic bits," Toast demanded, moving over to rub her back along with Dag. "You have too much imagination."
Angharad found herself suddenly developing the same problem. She could imagine herself taking the hand of a woman king and standing beside her with full willingness, the clasp as gentle as those stark blue eyes were not. Furiosa would let her pull away.
Stupid. The ideal would be that there was no emperor to wield control alone - but what if the Citadel demanded that system and wouldn't brook another? That was the kind of thing she thought she could discuss with Furiosa. It might not be a good debate but it would be completely honest, she was already sure from the short amount of time they'd spent together.
-
There was, as always, very little to do. The dangers of the outside world were still the easiest thing to plan for, and the next-easiest were the values they hoped to hold out there. But the concrete means of escape, and the destination...
For once, the others told Angharad to have hope far more than she did for them. She had had hope - but her sisters didn't seem to view Furiosa the way she did. They were still wary, still willing to see where an alliance might go instead of sure that it was the next necessary step. It wasn't that Angharad could say she felt trust. Could you call it recognition? Angharad had never been a warrior, couldn't contemplate fighting in the ways that Furiosa excelled at. But there were questions under Furiosa's surface – she saw the world and had twisted it one way, to allow herself to live. Angharad wanted to try a different way, but even if she abhorred some of Furiosa's methods … she was going to need them, too. And it gave her all the more hope to know that Furiosa, one of the next best things to a ruler of Citadel, was still willing to listen and to ask new questions.
The world was dead. They weren't yet. They didn't all have to be the Wasteland.
-
Furiosa showed up of her own accord.
One morning, shortly after breakfast, when they played cards or read or practiced their instruments – Rictus Erectus came to take his role as his father's voice, saying that Furiosa, silent in his shadow, had been kindly allowed to visit with them, and then he left with a nod and a smile.
Angharad clasped Furiosa by the arms, unhesitating, and won a smile – and a brush-off on the side of the prosthetic, with the admonishment that it could be both sturdier and more fragile than it looked, but either way it was best not to hang on it.
"Miss Giddy said it would be good for you to have other stimulus," Furiosa said. "And then the Organic Mechanic agreed – said it would keep you that little bit healthier to have some other things to think about."
"Healthy, hearty, hale – Joe does love those magic words," the Dag said.
The sisters snorted, but Furiosa grew serious. "Splendid Angharad," she said. "You remember what I said last time? What I noticed about you. You don't want to die."
Angharad watched her, acknowledging that she listened, but waiting for the rest.
"If you don't want to die … I know you don't want to live like this, either." Angharad's sisters gasped. "What do you plan to do?"
"You know it would be easiest to do it with you," Angharad said. "Our best plan, our chance, is with you."
Furiosa inclined her head, and Angharad had the awful, crawling thought that she had elegance enough that she might have been a favourite of Joe's. "I do know that."
"Would you help? If you won't - just, don't say anything."
"There are things I don't remember," Furiosa said. "There are things I'll never forget. When I listen to you talk, all of you – that all comes back. I…
"I know of a place."
Furiosa told them of her past. Even as she spoke, more details came back to her. She gave them a destination, and she put forward the War Rig as the means. It was the very beginning of a plan, but it was, at last, a viable one. Something to work their framework onto.
Before Miss Giddy came for their lesson and Furiosa had to leave, Angharad asked for privacy for the first time in years. It only meant that her sisters huddled in the bedroom alcove and that she and Furiosa went to a far corner of the room, but - she needed it. She took Furiosa's arm as she had before, she took her hand as she'd dreamed of. She cupped her face, stroked a thumb along her cheekbone.
"Don't you dare say thank you."
"You're doing the right thing. You still know that. You still recognise that. No more, no less," Angharad told her, and gave her time, and offered some of her cloths to wipe her eyes with. Furiosa embraced her.
"We've still got a lot to talk about. To fight about," she said, and Angharad felt her heart clench in the strangest, joyous way at the slight laughter in her voice.
"There's nothing I want more. Would you be able to come tomorrow?"
"We can't be too eager."
Angharad took her hand again, and it seemed that she was the one who might be in danger of holding on too tight. But Furiosa looked grateful. "Too late for me."