Mad Max AU
Mar. 16th, 2018 08:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
supra_et_ultraOut in the dust of it all, out in the red-hot of the desert, things feel more real. More certain and true, that what they've done cannot be taken back even if they want to, and now they must live with it. They are a knot and a knit that only obliquely knows each other, at first. War boys nowhere near their half-life ends, none of them really tried and tested except for Jiang, who's done a run or two or five. Nothing hard or serious, but he's done it, and he is known, a face and a name. A call at least. Named for his wheels, but he remembers his names, the one from his parents and the one they gave him before he became a pup.
It's a mess. He tries to keep his eyes ahead. They've got three cars between them, between five boys, and they'd probably be better off with just one, but that would be much easier to track down, to know where they were going and know how to find them out in the red-hot dust.
Today, he's got the prize. The fair boy who isn't but is. Jiang doesn't know what to think of him. He'd first seen him years ago, as a child, through a spy glass when refugees entered the city. That was before he was even a pup, he thinks; those days are blurry things, before he was a war pup. Now, he's grown. They both are. Much has changed, as they head into the red-hot desert.
Now, he's dressed in the layers and coats they've managed the scrounge together for him, but Jiang knows about the gauzy things he was wearing when they stole him from the Imortan in the middle of the night. Even without a mirror to glance back at him, he can see, in his mind's eye, the shape of his shoulders and the length of his legs, and the deep, terrible frown on his face.
He drives. In another car, he knows Kavinsky drives alone. In the third, Skov drives while Swan rides, their only lancer. The desert stretches silently out in front of them, and the silence stretches on inside the car, beside the rumble of the engine.
It's a mess. He tries to keep his eyes ahead. They've got three cars between them, between five boys, and they'd probably be better off with just one, but that would be much easier to track down, to know where they were going and know how to find them out in the red-hot dust.
Today, he's got the prize. The fair boy who isn't but is. Jiang doesn't know what to think of him. He'd first seen him years ago, as a child, through a spy glass when refugees entered the city. That was before he was even a pup, he thinks; those days are blurry things, before he was a war pup. Now, he's grown. They both are. Much has changed, as they head into the red-hot desert.
Now, he's dressed in the layers and coats they've managed the scrounge together for him, but Jiang knows about the gauzy things he was wearing when they stole him from the Imortan in the middle of the night. Even without a mirror to glance back at him, he can see, in his mind's eye, the shape of his shoulders and the length of his legs, and the deep, terrible frown on his face.
He drives. In another car, he knows Kavinsky drives alone. In the third, Skov drives while Swan rides, their only lancer. The desert stretches silently out in front of them, and the silence stretches on inside the car, beside the rumble of the engine.
