Age Old Advice (Seasonal Post)

[turningcolors]

A mist has settled over the Nexus this morning.

The fog billows and wisps, keeping destinations hidden from view. Muffling the noise of the plaza, stifling everything into a feeling of bleak isolation. Those who persevere will find a warm orange glow drawing them near. At either end of the Plaza--one near the sprawling parks close to the Wilds and the other closer to the beginnings of the urban sprawl--are two oasis from the creeping cold and mists. Hazel has taken the flame from the bonfire she lit at the Equinox that has burned steadily ever since and spread it out among several torches making up the perimeter of these areas now. The bonfire is long gone, but these two areas remain. When she came into the season she was a roaring blaze. So much to prove. With her place cemented here, she has gotten down to her actual work.

The Autumn spirit is seated on a bench in one of the torch lit circles holding a conversation with a person that's difficult to make out. IN fact, when someone approaches, they will find it's a spirit she is cavorting with. After only a few seconds the figure dissolves into the selfsame mist people have sought out these places to escape from. Hazel turns to her new audience.

"If you could talk to a lost loved one just once more, who would you want to see? What advice would you ask from a loved one deigning to cross the veil to see you?"


((Anyone who chooses to participate may choose to either speak to Hazel in general about the question she's posing or if the player is so inclined Hazel will conjure up the spirit of a lost loved one to speak to your character. Please DM me in DW or discord if you choose to have a loved one appear so we can hash out what you want to do. Curses and Blessings are still available as well. Happy Day of the Dead, folks ;) ))

Comments

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley watches Hazel talk to... no one? Until she gets closer and realizes that it is a spirit. And she takes a breath of humble respect, when the figure dissolves.

"I would want to see Diablo. Um... Chato Santana." Harley pauses to think on the second question. "And I guess... I would want to ask him if he got to reunite with his family. If there is still a way to find love and friendship, even after death."

[Diable would be available for a brief conversation. He might feel a little confused on why Harley mourns him still]

[turningcolors]

The vexing woman who gives Hazel such conflicting emotions has come out to see her once more. Today her job as a spirit isn't to do with the earth or the winds, but with the spirits of the dead. On this All Saints Day her job is one of mystery and respect.

Honoring the dead, protecting what they no longer can.

"A friend of yours? Or family? How was it he met his fate?"

[sweetcandygirl]

"A friend. We worked together as part of the Suicide Squad group. And we sort of became family after our first mission."

Harley twirls a lock of pink-colored hair.

"He died protecting us. He called upon his powers to fight a stronger enemy."

[turningcolors]

"Suicide Squad? What an...inspiring name. Either the mission succeeds, or you all perish?"

But there is a stirring from the mists just beyond the line of torches at those words. For a moment all the torches surrounding this area of the Nexus plume their flames brightly, as if the fire itself was a part of the swirling mists. It is not fog that begins to manifest but the smoke from these torches. Intricate designs and stylized tattoos begin to coalesce into the shape of a man. Someone who might be familiar to Harley Quinn.

He is a creature of the flame, this man. Eyes two smoldering flames that hover where they should be inside this apparition of smoke. His first gaze is to Hazel, a grateful nod of his head. Hazel has watched the figure form with interest and gestures over Harley's shoulder to him.

"Your friend...?"

[coldsong]

Well, then. This appears to be his chance. Loki was planning on approaching this powerful spirit to ask clemency for Thor--not that he's not thoroughly enjoying his brother's discomfort, but it increases risk and probably lowers morale amongst the people aboard the Statesman, and he still has vague hopes of seeing this version of Thor defeat Thanos. Or at least not die by his hand.

He assumes his own alternate is a lost cause. Time will tell.

In any case, he wasn't sure she would thank him for performing some kind of summoning, so he's been working out a way to coax her, more politely, because he is actually capable of diplomacy. When he enters the Nexus to find the mist, he realizes he need not have worried. She is here.

...that's good, though, right? Truth is, he's wary. He avoided her deliberately the first time around, because a god is not the same as a spirit of cyclical natural forces. He didn't want to find out whether his power could contend with hers, had no time to make an enemy, and besides, he's far more oriented toward the winter. He is cold, he is ice and fire in the darkest time of the year.

He reels in his magical aura before approaching, keeping it sizzling just under his skin. She will sense him coming, he's sure, but he comes with a neutral attitude, and visually, his bearing is that with which he would have addressed visiting royalty in his princely days. "Lady," he addresses her quietly, green eyes wary. "I request your indulgence. I would speak with you regarding my brother Thor, the king of Asgard. My name is Loki Odinson."

For all that he's an arrogant prick whenever he can be, he's not bad at kissing up, either.

Of course, then her question strikes him, and he realizes belatedly what he's walked into, and--dear Norns, no, he doesn't want to hear what the dead have to say to him. It would be nothing good, he is sure of that. He looks around the circle of torches, swallows, and says, "I have no advice to request."

Haha, there's a lie. He's got a lot he could ask Odin, at least. But then he finds his thoughts drawn to Frigga, and his heart hurts. "Only forgiveness." Those words come from his mouth like a wild bilgesnipe dragged them out between his teeth.

[turningcolors]

Hazel is of both summer and winter by her very nature. One of her fists clutches up to the sun even as the other reaches deep into the earth's cold embrace. She is change incarnate, is every ghost story that has ever been told even as she's the warm hearth waiting for a weary traveler to come home to. Today she is less a harbinger of nature than she is of the dead.

Honoring the departed falls under her domain as well and this is a very special day. Her figure is especially pallid today, her dress more subdued browns instead of the vivid reds and golds she had been wearing before. Hazel stares at Loki's approach. So many powerful magics being wielded around her though this one is at least not being brandished and postured in front of her. He's downright respectful.

"Indulgence...? What a doting brother this god has, to have you out here on such a day." Especially given how he balks at the idea of the dead having advice to give. Hazel turns the end of her shawl between her fingers and studies Loki carefully. "I am Hazel Tasker. Earnest servant of Autumn and--today at least--of mystery and the deceased."

Surely there must be someone Loki Odinson is close to. She can feel the threads connecting him to the spirits here. There are those he has lost, of that she is certain. If one of them were to sense him, well. Hazel finds her interest piqued.

"Forgiveness. You seek it for your brother as well as from the dead? What would they need to forgive you for?"

[coldsong]

It is, perhaps, precisely that contradictory nature that makes her most dangerous to Loki. Simply by being what he is, he stands with a foot in each of two worlds, the center of a Venn diagram between contradictory concepts. He is painfully aware of the risk he's taking by approaching her, because he sees where they have some aspects in common.

He can also sort of see where Thor got the comparison to Hela, now that he recognizes how the veil between life and death wears thin around Hazel. It strikes him as a little unfair, though. Hela was every bit the sneering, implacable face of the mistress of Death. This scene is something else. This is the finger of the unknowable, beckoning the courageous to come closer.

He's not, actually, courageous. That's Thor's department, but since Thor has already gotten himself in too deep, it's either Loki or no one. "Not so much doting," he tells her, "as practical. He is, whether I like it or not, our King, and our people live and die by his leadership. Should they be attacked, they will need him at his full strength. And they are very, very likely to be attacked."

"Lady Hazel," he sketches a courtly bow, but seems reluctant to break eye contact with her. "A fitting name. I-I feel I have chosen a bad time to approach you, but-"

He can feel the stirring around him, and his heartbeat kicks into overdrive. There are so many he has failed, many he betrayed, even more he has disappointed. Given the opportunity, how many will come for him? How many swore to see him dead for betraying Thor? And his father--both fathers--one less worthy of the title than the other--

Stop. Simpering. That is his own voice, and with a breath, he forces himself to step closer to her, head high. "I did not intend to say that. I seek forgiveness for my brother. I am beyond it, a creature of chaos and iniquity."

Or is he? There's a stirring beyond the veil, a female presence that all but radiates pity for this man. For her son. Always so perceptive about everyone but yourself.

[delphicbooksandbaubles]

Her ears perk up and her eyes glow a little gold for a moment in a lupine way, for a moment as she pulls out a penlight just in case she needs it. She rather save her energy for if and when she needs it. She heads toward the closer of the two lights. Hmm yes definitely getting vibes of how it was back in Mist Haven. Her heart panged a bit, lords above she missed it. Sometimes more keenly than others, especially around holidays and the like as much as those she wished her small adopted chosen family in StoryBrooke could celebrate with. Those she still had left as well as herself naturally.


She approaches cautiously, and quietly at first. The fur growing around her spine and in her hair going up on end. Sometimes, her Second Sight or other senses can sort of give her vibes about such things before her conscious mind does. Even so, her eyebrows go up at the sight, well..that was newish. She hadn't seen such things in the Nexus before but she hadn't entirely discounted it either. Ah Hazel, of course, made sense.

She rolls her shoulder a little and waits for her to speak first. Recalling, some things she heard from Thor. She did not like it when folks she'd began to like we're fighting. Powered or no, and those two going at it. She shivers at the thought. Could have been a lot worse she imagined.

She hoped she was in a better state now, but there was really only one way to find that out. ahem, right matter at hand. Her eyes soften a bit, "If I could..see someone..again..it would likely be my Brother and parents..I'm..not sure what sort of advice I would ask. at the moment other..than probably the parenting sort.. I mean I'm not the sort to go and ask about sorts of secrets and things that could land me and them into some hot water.." She adds after a moment. She heard enough tales about such, things never ended well when ya pushed your luck too far.

[turningcolors]

This one.

The den mother who teaches and protects children. The patient cook helping to stock Hazel's stores for winter. Hazel remembers her all too well. The spirit gets to her feet when her deceased guest vanishes and approaches.

"It is not uncommon for people to wish to see family again. We call our elders wise because they have lived longer than all of us and heed their words of experience when they are alive. It's plain to see why the living would seek out their guidance in death as well."

The mists don't cross the perimeter of the torches. The damp chill will not reach here. Still, this place carries a feeling of the mysterious about it. As though it's yet another dimension all its own inside of the Nexus. So close one can nearly touch the realm of the dead.

"Were you close with them?"

[delphicbooksandbaubles]

She smiles softly, She seems a bit more settled in herself since last she saw her. Good. She thinks approvingly. As she waits her turn respectfully. The tension in her shoulders eases a mite. Though her hairs are still slightly up and on edge. There are similar sorts of places in other realms. Where most civilizations build alters or marker stones of one sort or another. Perhaps if they can find a door or stable portal to one this year. She and Dor will find or build a spot more akin to home to honor her kin and his.

She nods with a soft smile but it doesn't quite reach her eyes which are soft and slightly saddened. "Aye..tis true." She murmurs softly. And glances about for some free spot to perhaps sit. She did enjoy chatting with folks by a fire, heath or candlelight. True modern lighting was good for some things..But the other kind called and soothed something..perhaps longing and something more primal, older in her soul.

She slightly tilts her head, some sort of protective aura, perhaps. She half mused noticing the mists respects the lights. Her ancestors on her mother's side had a love and respect for fire. Heck most of their 'heroes' we're flame-haired.

Her face softens a bit more. "Aye..my brother Connor especially." She replies softly. It seemed the time of year to share such things when the veil was thin. She softly rubs her left side, if she and Dor were ever blessed with a son she knew what at least what perhaps his middle name would be. Her hand curls a little into a fist the knuckles going slightly white. The Ogre Wars had dealt heavily on most folks back in the EnchantedForest over the years. Though the last bit of news they'd gotten about home was they had the latest attempted invasion by the brutest creatures under control. But they were tenacious sorts.

[rogueinladysclothing]

Amelia's spent months rebuilding herself, rebuilding her life into something she could handle again. She pushes a little more each day, takes a few extra steps outside of her apartment, just to prove she can. It's not much of a life, but it's hers and it's working. She's stronger than she ever was before she acknowledged the pain and the hurt she was causing herself, and it shows in the way the rogue carries herself as she makes her way about the Nexus.

Part of her newfound life involves staying away from situations that could trip her up before she's ready. It means skipping out on events and hiding from dear friends, but the peace was worth it. There was always time later to deal with the realities of living in a multidimensional hub and the random events that happen therein.

She thought she was doing well, choosing to wait until after Halloween had passed to run a few errands and make her usual rounds. But the Nexus is full of surprises and the unnatural fog is certainly not the first the rogue has seen. She does her best to avoid it, taking the long route back to her apartment between one errand and the next, to see if she can outrun the unnatural mists. It's no use, though, and Amelia soon finds herself lost in the thick gray haze. It's difficult to stay calm, but a distant point of light and the ever present tinkle of her hairpin help keep her grounded. Taking steady steps, she makes her way to the circle of torches nearest the Wilds, her breathing quick but even as her boots crunch the fallen leaves and debris autumn has brought down on the streets.

The woman sitting before her isn't someone she knows, but Amelia can sense the presence of someone powerful before her. It's the similar to others she's met and she realizes immediately she needs to be on her best behavior. Part of her is glad she only has a few daggers on her person, if only so the true "rogue" look she sports isn't too threatening. Whatever this woman is, it seems best not to tempt her anger.

The question Hazel asks, though... That is what really has Amelia's attention - and her heartbeat picking up in her chest.

"What do you consider lost?" the rogue asks softly. "Is death the veil you speak of? Or are there others that someone might be able to cross?"

[turningcolors]

A new voice piercing the veil, a new face Hazel has not seen before.

But Amelia is too solid, to eager to cross the perimeter of torches to be one of the dead. Hazel watches her carefully but there seems to be little to worry about from this woman. Nothing she need fear at least.

"It is All Saint Day. Day of the Dead. I am speaking of those who have passed on, who are no longer among the living. Other people may have their respects another day, but my purpose is toward the dead today especially."

[rogueinladysclothing]

The veil of death. Pulling someone from the Eternal Dream to speak with her. Amelia nods slowly and crosses her arms in front of her chest, a thoughtful frown touching her lips.

With her world sealed off from the Nexus, the rogue has no idea who still lives and who's passed into the Eternal Dream since she left for good. If she were to ask after someone in her family and they were to come forward, she would know the truth of it... but it's a weight she's not certain she's ready to handle. Things have been going so well lately and she's finally able to believe and trust in the health and prosperity of those she left behind. Does wanting to see one of them again justify the suffering it could cause?

No, she decides. The heartache is too much of a risk, as is asking after her world and hearing bad news. If she wants to speak with anyone, it must be someone she knows is gone. And of all those who have gone before her, there's only one she actually wants to see.

"If you can reach out to the dead on the behalf of those still living," she begins slowly, "I have an old friend I would see. A stubborn, grumpy old man who did more for me than he probably realized." The corner of her lips twitch upward at that thought before she meets Hazel's gaze again. "His name was Frederick Blake. Can you reach him?"

[pirateangelbaby]

Thor is regretting quite a few of his life's choices right now.

With the curse still firmly in place, robbing him of a good satisfying meal, why shouldn't he have taken advantage of the Midgardian holiday? Endless candy and sweets offered freely to those in costume, no matter how tacky or cheap, and his pirate guise had netted him more treats than even he could eat in a night. But he did try. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. And oh, what a mistake that was.

The god of thunder is a few shades paler than he normally is, nursing both a headache and an unsettled stomach, so he doesn't notice Hazel until he gets too close for her to miss his presence, her question pulling his attention away from his self-indulgent misery. He hasn't given himself an opportunity to see if the curse is still in place, or if he's learned whatever lesson she intended this teach him, but he sure hopes it's the latter because he's definitely learned that even Asgardians have limits when it comes to Halloween candy.

Should he respond? Risk her wrath again, and get cursed worse this time around? Just walk away and pretend he never saw her? Which would be least insulting, he wonders.

He sighs, and rubs at his forehead. Screw it. "I'd ask my father for more lessons in diplomacy. I don't think I paid enough attention the first time."

[turningcolors]

A familiar figure strides through the mists.

The spirit Hazel had been speaking to disappears back into the swirling dampness and for a moment the Autumn spirit sits with an air of unamusement upon seeing the King of Asgard once more. Yet his demeanor is more civil this time. More subdued. He is not trying to wrest the weather away from her ritual or disrupt her affairs.

Almost as though he's learned his lesson.

And lo, the answer he gives! It is almost enough to make her smirk in satisfaction. Almost, but not quite. Today is not a day to be spent dwelling on the petty squabblings of the living. Her attention today is toward the dead.

"Leaders asking their predecessors for one last lesson...yes. I suppose this is a common enough request. What sort of man was your father? A God King like yourself, was he kind with his words and actions?"

[pirateangelbaby]

She certainly hasn't gotten any more pleasant to look at since he last saw her - not that she's ugly or anything, but the way she looks at him still creeps him the Hel out. Or would, if he wasn't feeling so sorry for himself. Trick-or-treating, never again.

Whether it's the candy hangover or that he's actually trying to get along, Thor's not trying to throw his power or name around this time. And look, she even responded without changing the subject, or getting worked up about who he is. Almost as if these two things were related, hmm.

"A god king, yes," he answers, though not to boast, this time around. "He was a lover of peace, in my lifetime. Weary of war and conquest. He chose to hide certain truths in the interests of keeping that peace, though I wonder now if he was right to do that." Loki, Hela... not to mention the bloody campaigns that plundered the gold which lined the halls of the palace, if Hela is to be believed. It's taken Thor centuries to question his father's motives, to see him as more than the wizened and wise king Odin appeared to be, and even now he struggles to reconcile the father he idolized with the history he's learned since. What more doesn't he know?

"He could be harsh, at times. When he needed to be. He often knew the best thing to say, whether to soothe wounded pride or to push back against youthful arrogance."

[lampyrinae]

There's, uh...there's someone on the opposite side of the veil who seems to be seriously interested in these proceedings, tapping gently on the wrong side of eternity. The effect is a bit like that of a small child with hands and face pressed up against a toy store window.

The age of the dead person is impossible to tell visually, because he's fairly well mummified, but Hazel may be able to guess it. He died young, somewhere in his teens, but there seems to be no malice to him at all. Just a sense of wistful fascination in the window to the Nexus. Where the eye sockets of his skull are, there are twin points of greenish-gold light. They're only fireflies, but they seem like they may have bonded to him, like familiars.

Should she happen to look over at him, he tilts his head sheepishly and sketches a wispy shape in the mist. It's a smiley face and a question mark. :D ?

Apologies for delay!!

[turningcolors]

Well now, this is an unexpected surprise.

As the spirit Hazel had been talking to fades away, another one vies for her attention. Alright, perhaps it is not so surprising. On today of all days having spirits clamor for her ear and her time is to be expected. She raises from the bench and approaches the barrier of the torches.

With a patient smile not unlike a mother's gaze she pushes her hand through into the mists and extends it for him to take if he'd like.

"Would you like to sit and chat?"

((I'm so sorry I took a bit to get to this. Work has had me all over the place and I didn't want ot just rush out a Blah reply.))

It's fine! I'm just here to be whimsical.

[lampyrinae]

Oh, good, she's not angry or scared! He didn't think she'd be scared, actually, she seems pretty comfortable with the dead, but he doesn't need anyone mad at him. Being deceased is actually pretty peaceful; he's not sure he'd want to go back to living full-time if it were offered, but this time of year he gets bored. And sometimes he remembers bad things that happened to him, and looking for something positive is the best way to keep dark thoughts from getting the best of him.

He doesn't want to be an angry or vengeful spirit, see. Just himself. Weird in death as he was in life.

He can't exactly return her smile. His face is stuck with limited mobility, but the firefly-eyes blink expressively. He ducks his head, friendly and abashed, and takes her hand without hesitation. His is gloved, but feels very bony beneath. He's not 100% sure what's going on, but he can tell he can trust her. He nods in response to her question, following wherever she leads, but taps his throat with his free hand. Talking aloud isn't going to come easy, if at all.

Although, he wasn't much of a talker in life, either.

He seems to be able to shape words in the mist though, and waves his free hand again lightly: Hi! I'm Curtis. Perf weather, thank you.


((I'm just voicetesting this little dude and this seemed like the best possible opportunity. <3 ))

[magpiemythos]

It's a flutter of wings and feathers that herald the arrival of another, but the magpie that wings down to alight on the end of a nearby bench certainly was no normal animal, not that he was especially trying to hide such a thing. More just seeking a place to rest a moment than anything. The misty day suited his current mood as much as the form Loki wore did, diffuse and drifting. Like with a simple breath he could simply wisp off into the fog himself. He barely felt like anyone today as it was. Like when he'd worn this form before, the thought-form created for another's purpose and puppetered by another's will.

But the voice speaking to him called his attention back, drew the god's sense of self back into the small body he wore for the moment, feathers fluffing as he tilted his head slightly, witchfire green eyes reflecting the torchlight as he did in a flash of color.

"My loved ones yet live... to be honest I almost wonder if anyone will want to talk to me once I've met my end." It was said in a wry tone to be sure, but there was something softer, almost uneasy underneath. He wondered if she could see it, the creeping grasp of his end, the last gasping spirals in a circle he'd been running since he'd become more than another's intent. The jaws of a long game closing around him, though there was no peace or cold to be found in that void. No mist or soft diffused loneliness.

Oh no, this was fire and smoke, and everything that Loki had never wanted to be again.

"I cannot say I'd have much good advice to give, so perhaps they'd be right in that."

[turningcolors]

The ghost Hazel was talking to before is gone but in its place a morose magpie brimming with magical energies the spirit has never encountered before. So many magical creatures and gods have made the Nexus their homes recently. She wonders if this belongs to one of them. After all, Hazel is no god.

She has no way of knowing what this creature truly is. Mysteries are also under Autumn's domain, and not knowing only makes the mystery greater. Hazel lifts a hand to beckon the bird closer.

"You have experiences you could teach from, you know." Most beings that live cultivate those throughout their lives. At least a few of those experiences will be unique in some way. Those that aren't can be woven into the greater societal wisdom to be passed on. "Tell me, little one. Are you weary?"

[magpiemythos]

"I suppose we're supposed to learn the most from mistakes." And he'd made so many. So very many before he'd realized the magnitude of what had happened and by then...

It was too late to reach out for help. Those who would turned their backs on him. He was exiled from Asgard, his friends had declared him as the dead. Thor had denied him, Verity had left. Odin had only offered his usual cryptic words but had made it clear that there was no escaping what was to happen.

Which meant that Loki followed that beckoning hand willingly to hop a bit closer, taking comfort from the companionship in his current mood.

"I am. I have been... trying to change. To be better than what I was before. But at every turn those who should want me to succeed sabotage me. Because they fear allowing my changing will bring ill winds. Things have gone wrong, so very wrong... and I cannot even blame another, for all it would be a comfort."

[eumenis]

"We tell their stories every tenday rest," Furiosa says quietly, entering the clearing with soft, respectful steps. She's carrying a little roll of green fabric, and she's here to talk to Hazel moreso than the dead, but the question does get her thinking.

"Remembering war boys who died in battle was always important at the Citadel," she says. "But it's good that there's less urgency to join them these days. And more than just them that get commemorated."

She offers out the fabric in her arms. It's the size of a wide scarf, or a table runner, homespun and dyed with plant dye, for certain, but there are little childrens' handprints on it in red and gold and orange paint. Like leaves. "The Dag asked me to bring you this. Her daughter and some of the other children that sort seeds with her wanted to thank you for your gifts."

There's a wry smile on her face. Whether Hazel has any use for arts and crafts she's carrying, she sort of doubts, but it was meant with affection and genuine gratitude, and Furiosa can't help but be a little proud of the children that participated.

[turningcolors]

When Furiosa enters the circle Hazel gets up to greet her with a smile that is more fond than is common from her during this time of year. With only one meeting the former warrior has quickly become one of Hazel's favorite people here in this multiversal meeting point between worlds.

"I am not surprised you do your dead proud, with all else I've learned about you." Such a good and dutiful representative of Autumn this human is. Hazel isn't expecting the roll of fabric to be for her. The surprise on her face is genuine when she sees the designs pressed upon it. Feels the joy of the children who made it and the care those looking after them must have.

"A tribute to Autumn? Truly?" Furiosa you have no idea how thrilled she is about this. It's going to be splayed out on her dining room table back at the cabin she shares with Reynard the second she remembers how to be human again. This is a gift she will hold close for decades to come. For as long as the cloth lasts, more than likely. "This is a fine gift. Truly."

[eumenis]

It's a hell of a thing to have a spirit greet you like an old friend. Furiosa thinks her heart may have skipped a beat at that smile. She gives Hazel a little bow, but it seems like obeisance isn't her thing so much as general respect, so she doesn't feel the need to overdo it.

The uncertainty in Furiosa's smile fades away to pleasure when she realizes how welcome her gift is. She nods warmly, placing it gently in Hazel's arms. "She calls them her Sprouts," she says with a soft laugh. "The smallest red print, at the edge there, that's from Angha, the Dag's daughter. I told them they should all put their names on their leaf, but not all of them can write yet."

Some of the leaves have tiny letters at the edges, and some just have an 'x' or a small wheel design. "I can't wait to tell them you like it. They were so excited."

Her smile is unmistakably fond now. Furiosa has no biological children and doesn't really serve as a mother, but she does have a lot of warmth in her heart for the upcoming generation, and they for her.