nexus_sages | Enter the (Ex-)Imperator.

"Mm. The punctured lung was almost a hundred days ago now. If I was going to die of it, I think I would have already." She shakes her head. "I was working in one of the garages."

Honestly, she might have just fallen asleep and dreamed her way to the Nexus. Stranger things have happened. In a world where the sea has literally evaporated due to nuclear disaster, there could be dimensional rifts all over the place. She may need a consult.

She's blissfully unaware of this at the moment, though, more inclined to focus on direct possibilities.

"They can wonder all they want, if we can get some of these plants to grow. We have a lot of mouths to feed." She points to a tree a few dozen yards away. "I've never seen a real peach tree. Only paintings and photos."

Never seen one, but she knows what it is, and she's excited, in an understated sort of way. And determined. Reacting belatedly to his name, she turns, glances at his hand, and then clasps his wrist. It's a powerful grip, actually. When you greet War Boys a handshake is a challenge. Not so, she thinks, with this man, but she'll match him for pressure all the same. "Furiosa. Of the Vuvalini of Many Mothers."

Not Imperator. Not any more.

"Oh dear... you're well enough now, I trust?" The concern is genuine, if mild. She seems to be up and walking and talking without trouble, after all. He figures if she were really in dire straights it would be more obvious.

His handshake is firm, but it's not a challenge and he's learned long ago to adapt his grip in a way that avoids crushing people's hands into the rings. He's gentle, in a way that's probably foreign in her world.

"My condolences for that, but yes... prepared food is a bit risky- the brochure will explain LOL's, I believe, but the plants are safe enough, and I don't imagine anyone would mind you taking some of the produce." If she has a lot of mouths to feed, he wants to be sure she's not going to just strip the place bare, because some people would be short-sighted enough to take that route. "There's a number of different fruit trees, and a few other things besides. Would you like to take a stroll and explore?"

"Well enough." In truth, she's not quite back to one-hundred percent, but every day gets her just a little closer to it. She can actually work now without someone fretting over her and trying to coax her back to rest. That's a big step.

She can't help but note the rings as they shake, but refrains from comment. Jewelry is more of a hazard than an asset, in her opinion--but then she's never seen a magic ring.

There's a limit to how much produce she'd be able to carry. She might take a sampling, but no one needs to worry about her stripping the place. "You're offering?"

Weird. Hospitality is always unexpected, but she nods, definitely curious. She may also want to fill her canteens while she's here.

"I am. I could always use the exercise." He smiles, easily and freely, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "Have you been here very long?" Horvath won't offer his arm because he's not quite sure how she'd take that, she's looking at him like he's something to be puzzled out still. He does set out at an easy strolling pace, though, and the limp is obvious once he's on the move, a kind of swinging stride with an ankle that doesn't really bend.

"I believe most people find the Nexus to be a boon in their lives, despite the... Complications that it also provides. The resources are virtually unlimited and there's supposedly an anti-violence field at least in some of the main areas that keeps things safe. That allows people to speak freely on a neutral ground, with no fear of danger." He gets the impression this is the kind of thing that might be important to her.

"A couple hours. Wanted to make sure I wasn't hallucinating." She's nowhere near as prone to such things as Max, but a little heat and overwork can knock anyone off their rocker temporarily.

She matches pace with him, anyway, and for all that she's missing that arm, her legs seem to be in perfect working order. Of course, having that prosthetic arm means she's very quick to pick out, from his motion, that the left-leg weakness isn't weakness so much as adaptation. Maybe she's perverse, but that makes her a little more comfortable with him, not because she thinks it makes him weak, but because it tells her a story: either he's met with some bad luck and pain, or he was born a little different from most.

"No violence?" That's important to know. "I guess if there's so much to go around here, there's not much need to fight."

"It's not like this where I came from." What the hell, right? She can meet kindness with at least a sliver of trust. "It's all desert. Sour ground, except on top of the towers, and not much water."

"I see..." He gives a slow nod, and if he notices the assessing glances that dart his way he makes no show of it. Horvath tends to assume the fact that his leg is a prosthetic is obvious, even if it's nowhere near as exposed as her arm is. He's slightly curious about that arm, in fact, which appears to be more about function than form, and with the harsher world that she describes he's wondering if she made it herself. Possibly he should try turning his hand to that, since he's putting off seeing a doctor about a replacement anyways.

"Limited resources will certainly make for reason to fight, at least for many people. But there are always those who need little excuse to attack others, too. The Nexus provides a haven, however temporary that may be for you." There's something in the way he speaks about fighting that may strike her as the tone of an old soldier, despite the calm and easy way about him now.

"Just as you're welcome to make use of the resources here, if you find yourself threatened in your own world for that... mm. Well, a retreat is often not an appealing option, I know, but sometimes a strategic one." He sighs, just a little wistfully.

She did make it herself, and this is the third or fourth model, the last one having been lost in the wheels of the Gigahorse. Better materials might yield a better end result, but she doesn't much care what it looks like. Just whether she can use it to get her work done.

She gives a bitter little chuckle at the commentary. "Noticed that, but I don't want a haven, strategic or not."

They are going to make a new Green Place, and she's bound herself to help, for as long as she lives. "Not unless it's the one I've been trying to help build. But I'll take seeds if I can get them, and it's good to know there's clean water here."

On that note, she leaves his side and pulls a canteen off her belt, diverting course to have a look at a shallow little stream. And crouching, she stares into the water, dips up a capful, and then stares again. "...are those fish??"

In point of fact, they're tadpoles, but she's had little occasion to see either, since very early childhood.

He wasn't sure how accepting she'd be of that idea, so he's not going to push it, but some people have gone so far as to flee permanently to the Nexus, if their world is bad enough. That she'd opt instead to stick it out and try to build something better is a quality he can very much admire.

Horvath ambles after her, leaning over on his cane and squinting a little to look. "...No, tadpoles, I think. Baby frogs. Mind you don't catch any by accident." He's just a little charmed, because if water is scarce in her world then probably a lot of this is new to her, and that's interesting to watch.

"Seeds are a good start. Do you have pollinators? I'm afraid I'm no botanist, but it seems to me if you're trying to grow things properly, you could do with a beehive or something."

There was a time she would have fled gladly, but not now. She has too much to make up for. The new Citadel has a government--a council, and Furiosa is all too happy to leave the running of it to the widows--but it may always need a champion.

"...I remember frogs. I think." Little ones that came out once a year and made hideous noises all night. They were good cooked, but there were fewer and fewer of them every year. "They were all gone by the time I was initiated."

Maybe the Green Place was going sour even before she was taken from it. She's not sure that's a comforting thought.

"All our pollination is done by hand." She fills her canteen and looks up at him intently. "There's a hydroponic setup indoors, and gardens on the summits of the towers. There are flies, but no bees."

Bees. Mothers, what a good idea. Bees make honey, too, don't they?

"You said... it's a desert world? You'd probably want to find some sort that's adapted to the climate. I'm afraid I don't know much about it, but ask around the Nexus, you're sure to find somebody who does." He straightens up again, taking a couple of careful steps back from the bank.

"It sounds as though you have a well thought out sort of set-up already. Between that and what you'll find here, you ought to do well." He's not entirely oblivious to the looks of wonderment that keep crossing her face. In his own world, he doesn't want for much, but he's seen other people come here who do, and it's always nice to see the way their eyes light when the possibilities just open up before them.

"It's broken, is what it is. There were plants once. Oceans. Not any more." It's very matter of fact, the way she comments on the apocalypse. "There were wars."

Having filled her canteen, she moves to follow him again. "It was a warlord's lair. It's very well set up. The problem is a lot of it relied on slave labor, and we're not doing that any longer. Ever."

Figuring out alternatives for some things has been tricky. Luckily most of those who were once captives are content to stay on and help, for the promise of safety and food and a little kindness.

Horvath frowns, hearing all this, and of course the idea that it's something post-apocalyptic comes to mind, and that makes him frown all the more. "You don't by any chance- as far as you're aware, have magic in your world...?" Hopefully even if she doesn't, she'll have some idea what that is. Certainly he would hope hers is some more far-distant place rather than a world where he failed and Morgana brought about world destruction, but he can't keep the thought from crossing his mind.

She takes a sip of the water and gives him a long, skeptical look over the lip of the canteen. That ought to tell him all he needs to know.

Magic? She barely knows what he means by the word.

"...Mmm." It's a communicative sound, and his expression is slightly wary in return, but he nods mildly and there's sure to be more words to follow.

"Never mind, then. It's just that one never knows what one may run into here. Some worlds... run parallel, and some of those closer than others."

Unlike with the Fool, who hums thoughtfully and then acts like he's used his allotment of letters for the day. Hmmm? Mmmh.

Furiosa's lips twitch at that thought.

"You're saying magic is...common, in your world?"

"I don't believe I ever did say such a thing, no..." He's resuming the stroll at his easy, rocking pace, granting her plenty of time to look around as they go. There are berry brambles ahead, full of scratchy thorns but also glistening dark blackberries ready for picking.

"It's not common and it's not even widely regarded as... real, anymore, but it does exist. And one of its practitioners was planning the downfall of mankind and the world at large. I've yet to encounter a world in which she's succeeded, but in the Nexus it's hardly out of the question that I might yet." He gives a weary kind of sigh, gaze going slightly distant, and that's a somewhat familiar look but on him it's more melancholy than crazed.

She hesitates, looking at the berries as if she thinks she may be dreaming them. Pausing, she touches the brambles first, with a fingertip, then plucks one of the blackberries. A drop of juice stains her palm, and she tries to catch it with her tongue, too lost in the mix of familiarity and novelty to respond to him for the moment.

And then she tastes the fruit and looks for a moment like she just swallowed a live wire. Her eyes fall shut, and she makes a vague 'wait, wait' gesture with her prosthetic arm.

Horvath lifts his eyebrows in an expression of mixed amusement and surprise, but rocks on his feet to settle into a more stable pose, leaning on the cane. He waits, and watches, and when he's fairly sure the berry is basically gone from her mouth he murmurs a single word softly. "Blackberries."

Whether she's had them before her world went pear-shaped and this is a jolt of memory, or whether she's never had anything like it at all, he's willing to let her savor the experience.

She shakes her head, overwhelmed. "They taste like the Green Place. We must have had these once. Or something like them."

She licks her lips a few times, like a cat that's tasted some delicacy it enjoyed, but then she takes a drink of water to wash the flavor away. "Where I grew up, there was green. Trees and shrubs and plants. Some insects and small animals. Last I saw it, everything had died."

And she didn't remember the taste of these until now. She may need a moment to recover. "I want...I need to take some to Max and the girls."

"...Max?" One eyebrow arches, because he's just a little amused to find she's got somebody else at home that shares his own name. "There's enough for you to have more yourself, too. Would you like me to fetch you something to carry some home in, though?" Now that he's watched her reaction, Horvath can't help but take a few limping steps over to pick one for himself, savoring it with a thoughtful smile.

Most of his food these days comes from the grocery store, although Mara has gotten him back to the land a little, more recently. He can see the nostalgic effect they might have, and briefly his mind goes back to picking them when he was just a boy, very long ago.

"I'm sorry. It's... a terrible thing, to live to see the home of one's early life fall to ruin. Perhaps it could be brought back to life, but I know it wouldn't be the same." That's the voice of experience, there, and genuine empathy.

She glances at him; somehow it didn't register how similar 'Max' is to 'Maxim'. Maybe because she instinctively still thinks of her Max as 'Fool'. She watches him taste a berry thoughtfully and plucks another herself, this time turning it between her fingers slowly, touch delicate enough not to break the skin. After a moment she answers slowly, "My...friend. Yes, his name is Max."

"...if you're willing, I'd like that. At least one for each of them. You're very kind."

"Good name." He smirks just a little, eyes twinkling, and gives a mild nod. "If you don't mind waiting here a few minutes, I'm sure I can find something for you to take some home in. Such things are probably better, shared." He limps back a step or two, careful with the cane.

"...And thank you, I suppose. My Master taught us that it benefits the world best when we lift each other up, use our gifts to aid others." Obviously he took the lesson to heart.

She watches him start to move off, quizzical still. His attitude is unfamiliar, particularly for a man so clearly well-off. He must come from a kinder world in general, she thinks, but even at that rate she's impressed.

When he comes back, she'll be sure to ask him questions. For now, she only nods soberly and pops the blackberry into her mouth. It tastes like a little mouthful of Heaven, just like the last. The Sisters will love these.

He retreats a short distance, not wanting to alarm her too much with his unconventional means of transport, but when he does return he has a small stack of square baskets with lids. They're smallish, only the size of soup bowls, and probably manufactured in some sweatshop in China, but they're woven from some kind of flat straw or wicker, natural materials that he hopes wouldn't raise too many eyebrows in her world. He's not even sure if that's an issue for her or not, but better safe than sorry.

The rocking limp is distinctive, more an issue of balance than a leg that won't hold weight, and his left ankle doesn't bend. It's a kinder world, that he's from, but not one without its share of injurious circumstances. He offers out the baskets with a gentle smile, though. "I'll help pick. You... won't have any trouble, I hope, bringing home unexpected gifts? For some people this place is too awkward to explain, back home..."

Poor Horvath. Straw and wicker will actually raise more eyebrows where she's from than a tupperware container would. There's plastic all over the damn place; it's just considered relatively useless by now. Metal is what's valuable.

She takes the baskets he offers and looks them over with interest, then nods to him. "Thanks. I have no idea how I'll explain, but the people I intend to tell trust me more than anyone should. The worst they'll do is make sure I haven't been hallucinating from heatstroke."

Enter the (Ex-)Imperator.

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