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Prime hates Procession Day. For most of the other imperators it's an opportunity to get drunk and gorge themselves at the Immortan's table, but for Prime it's a logistical headache. He's the one who has to orchestrate the procession and all the demonstrations, while also making sure the audiences afterward proceed on schedule.
There are a hundred vehicles to choreograph in the opening procession, and all of them are packed with War Boys who want nothing more than to interrupt the proceedings and receive the unwarranted attentions of the Immortan. After the cars come the workers marching on foot. Every skilled war trade in the Citadel gets its moment of glory, from the black thumbs, to the gunsmiths, to the metalworkers, down to the lowliest chromebuffers. The demonstrations are the trickiest part; there are a dozen different presentations arranged for the Immortan's pleasure and they're already running hours behind by midday when it's time for the snipers' target practice.
Imperator Scope steps out with his dozen novices to the acclaim of the crowd and a guitar solo from the Doof Warrior. The guitar adds gravitas to the proceedings, and Prime is pleased once again that Coma was discovered and added to the Immortan's retinue of musicians.
The War Boys start up a V8 chant, although it's a bit halfhearted since they harbor resentment toward the snipers. A hidden man with a rifle can stop a War Boy dead with a single bullet, cutting off a life before anyone can so much as shout "witness." Most War Boys see it as inglorious to kill your enemies from a distance instead of at the wheel of a hotrod.
The snipers arrange themselves in a line, their backs to the Immortan's raised viewing platform as they face the targets. A number of shiny metal plates have been arranged at various distances, the measurements carefully rechecked by Prime the night before. The wretched around the edges of the shooting range move backwards as one, shoving at one another and tripping as they scramble to get further away. No wretched wants to stand on the edges of the crowd least the snipers decide to pick one of them off as a joke.
One by one the snipers step forward and take their shots, the targets ringing out like bells with each successful strike. Scope announces their names, shouting them up to the Immortan so he will remember them upon entrance in Valhalla. The snipers are in no hurry to get there, of course. They're all full lifes, sniping being too important a skill and the training too time consuming to waste on a half life War Boy.
One of the novices is female, which isn't unheard of for a sniper. She's tall and thin, dressed to match the other snipers in dark pants and a flesh-colored top. The only thing that distinguishes her from the others is her long, dark hair, which hangs in a braid down the middle of her back like a feral barbarian.
Scope presents the female last, taking her hand and holding it up like he's especially proud of her. "Immortan Joe, source of all glory, I present to you: Furiosa, my most gifted initiate and new second in command."
Scope drops Furiosa's hand and she stares up at the Immortan blankly. Someone in the crowd whistles and she startles as if she forgot her part in the pageantry for a moment. She bows in a rush and turns to take her shots.
Once Furiosa has her rifle raised, all evidence of nervousness disappears. She fires with incredible speed, hitting each target with hardly a pause to take aim. One by one her bullets ring out as they hit home until she strikes the most distant target, which bongs with a deep low tone.
The Doof Warrior shreds an approving chord and the crowd cheers while Furiosa walks back to stand with the other triumphant snipers.
She looks directly up at the Immortan, not shouting for his attention like everyone else, but staring like he's the only person she can see. Without breaking her gaze, she lifts her rifle over her head, offering it up while the War Boys holler.
Prime claps, approving of the sober display. Now that's proper reverence. No wild screaming or foaming at the mouth, only a simply display of skill and respect to He that Grabbed the Sun.
---
By the time Prime sees the snipers again, it's full dark and he's deep into the audience phase of the festivities. Those of high rank or warriors who caught the Immortan's attention are lined up in the hallway waiting for their moment in the divine presence.
The audience chamber is dimly lit by two small electric lamps, which cast a warm glow over the room. It makes the space feel intimate and hushed, a sharp contrast to the bright mayhem of the processional earlier in the day.
Prime is escorting out a stunned group of tongue-tied wheel artisans when Imperator Scope corners him. He steps into Prime's path, deliberately blocking his way.
"What's the holdup?" he asks, peering over Prime's shoulder and trying to catch a glimpse inside the audience chamber. The entranceway is too long to allow him to see the Immortan himself, but the impudence irritates Prime.
"All must wait their turn," Prime says. He starts to push past, but Scope squares his shoulders and refuses to move. He's stocky and slightly taller than Prime, which only serves to irritate him further.
Scope steps closer, getting into Prime's face. "Surely his Immortan's snipers are more worthy of an audience than these... workers." He sneers the word, looking behind him with disgust at the skilled tradesmen who make war possible.
Prime grits his teeth. "Return to your place."
"Surely—"
"Return to your place," Prime says, cutting him off. "And I will ask the Immortan."
Scope is still irritated, but it's enough of a concession to get him to back down. He walks away, returning to the group of bored snipers and muttering something to his second, Furiosa. She hardly pays him any attention, staring straight ahead with an unfocused stare. It's not an unusual look for someone waiting to appear before the Immortan, although fervent adoration is more common.
Prime mentions the request to the Immortan only because he expects it to bring Scope his disfavor. Yet to Prime's surprise, the Immortan raises his head at the mention of the snipers.
"Yes," he says, coughing and adjusting his position on the cushioned throne. "Bring them in at once."
"Uh—of course, Immortan," Prime says, bowing his head to hide his surprise. He backs out of the audience room and returns to find Scope, who is deeply smug about the news much to Prime's annoyance.
Prime reenters the audience chamber first, motioning to the Pup operating the victrola to crank the handle. A scratchy fanfare starts playing, the opening instrumental soon joined by the screeching voice of a singer from Beforetimes, "Oooooh yeaaaah, we roll tonight... to the guitar bite…"
Scope approaches the Immortan first, naturally, and soaks up his praises for his well-trained snipers. Most of the initiates are to be assigned to the overlook on the signal tower, a high honor for a novice.
Scope steps away from the dais eventually, letting the novices have their moment in the sun. Most of them crowd forward around the Immortan, but Furiosa hangs back behind the others.
Scope must notice Prime looking at her because he leans in and gives him a knowing look. "She's feral-born," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Ever heard of the tribe of warrior women?"
Prime was under the impression that the warrior women were a myth, and he wonders if Scope is pumping his clutch. Still, if Furiosa wasn't born at the Citadel, that would explain the braid. Barbarians don't have much time for cutting hair and keeping clean in the desert.
"She tried to run away on me once," Scope says, leaning in further and dropping his voice in a conspiratorial tone. Prime can smell liquor underneath the sour scent of his breath. "She came back when she realized the mountains are too far to walk across."
"Interesting choice for your second," Prime says, glaring in hopes that Scope will move further away.
Scope doesn't take offense, much to Prime's disappointment, and only smiles wider. "Oy, you know how it is; better to have someone who can think for themselves. Take initiative, you know. Saves me the trouble of having to give her orders for every little thing."
"Hm…"
A loud laugh makes Prime snap to attention. The Immortan gets to his feet, pushing himself up by the arms of his throne and standing slightly unsteadily after the long day. He spreads his hands with an expansive gesture and pushes the snipers aside, parting the group to reveal Furiosa at the back. He laughs again, his voice booming as he says, "I knew it, my feisty one."
Furiosa lifts her head, but otherwise doesn't acknowledge the Immortan's attention, standing stockstill like she's too shocked to know how to respond. Prime has seen it many times before with devotees who don't know how to handle being in the divine presence. He readies himself in case she faints.
"You must be careful with this one," the Immortan says, addressing Scope. "She killed three of my guards during her time with me."
"I—uh, I will, Immortan," Scope says, clearly confused. He hasn't put the pieces together, but then he's not high enough to have ever seen one of Immortan Joe's wives. Prime has been introduced to all of them, of course, and now that he has the right frame of reference he remembers Furiosa. That wasn't what the Immortan had called her then, and she's gained several inches in height, but her steely-eyed expression is the same. She was something of a nuisance from what Prime remembers, but thankfully a short-lived one as it soon became apparent she was barren.
"I should have known you would find another way to fight," the Immortan says, addressing Furiosa directly. Her eyes are still unfocused, staring past his shoulder in a daze. "My sweet, fierce girl."
The Immortan takes another step toward Furiosa and reaches out to pick up the end of her braid. He strokes it and lifts it to his face, breathing deeply and no doubt remembering their time together. His hands leave a stain of white talc streaked across her dark hair.
Furiosa's jaw clenches, but otherwise she hardly reacts. Her gaze remains fixed on an imaginary point in the distance, avoiding eye contact with the Immortan.
The Immortan smiles, holding her braid in his hands like a tether. "Still so vain with your long hair. Tell me, feisty, do my warriors have long hair?"
Furiosa blinks at that, her eyes moving to finally meet his gaze. There's a long moment while the Immortan smiles and Furiosa stares back at him.
She shifts into motion suddenly, reaching behind her and unsheathing a knife from her belt. Prime starts forward in alarm, but he's too far away. The knife flashes in the yellow light of the lamps as Furiosa raises it high.
Before Prime can get to her, Furiosa yanks on her braid, snatching it from the Immortan's grasp. She holds it tightly out to the side of her head as she turns the knife and saws at the base of her plait. Prime stops rushing forward once he realizes what she's doing, surprised and impressed in spite of himself. After a few rough cuts, the knife tears through her thick hair, cutting it clean off. She drops the amputated braid to the ground and sheaths the knife.
This, then, is what Furiosa understands better than the rest of his followers: serving Immortan Joe requires more than simple devotion; it requires sacrifice.
The Immortan laughs and slowly claps his hands three times. "That's my feisty girl, my little angry one. Go now and serve me well."
Prime takes that as his cue to usher the bewildered snipers out of the room. Furiosa is still staring fixedly at the Immortan, her remaining hair in ragged wisps around her face. Prime has to take her by the elbow and drag her bodily away. She startles at his touch, but turns quickly, brushing aside Prime's hands as she hurries out into the hallway.
As soon as Prime emerges from the audience chamber he's surrounded by petitioners anxious for their turn with the Immortan. They've fallen even farther behind schedule now, and Prime knows it will be hours before the audiences are finished.
As Prime signals to the next group, he sees the snipers walking away down the long hall. Furiosa is well ahead of them, marching forward with purpose now that she has the Immortan's orders.