Furiosa's not sure she appreciates that laugh from Blaze. Her eyebrows go up. She, of course, has no idea the extent of damage Blaze is capable of bouncing back from, but she stands by her opinion that no one is invincible. When you've seen entire places die, it gives you a very strong sense of impermanence and fragility in the world.
That said, she's also not inclined to argue if Blaze wants to draw all the fire she can. If she's convinced she's going to be the last one standing, Furiosa's willing to trust her on it.
"As far as sapience," she says, "I'd say they're capable of verbal communication. They just haven't bothered. Palmer said something to one of them and it very clearly laughed at him. Pissed him off." She shrugs. "But I don't think much of their strategic skills, based on what I've seen so far."
They remind her of the Buzzards, back home, in fact. Wily, brutal, but not exactly military geniuses. But she can only base her opinion on what she's seen, herself, and may find out later she's mistaken.
She watches Azwel's performance with sharp, analytical eyes. It should be shocking and impressive, and it is, but she quickly becomes caught up in wondering how long he can keep that up, and what the energy draw it takes might do to him. Based on how he crackles with narrowly-controlled energy now, she's inclined to think they'll all be better off with him using that ability as a weapon of last resort. She gives him a nod, though, and a gentle hum and smile. "Nice."
By contrast, Natasha's declaration of her abilities is understated, quiet. Furiosa doesn't know her well, but she's seen her injured and gauged a fair bit about what sort of person she is from her behavior back then. Tough. Wary. Perceptive. Exactly the kind of person you need to size up a situation. She gives her a smile, as well, something a bit more knowing in it.
And then it's her turn. "Same. Standard-issue human. But the world I come from has about as many resources on tap as we have available here and now. I'm used to deprivation, bad weather, and fighting tooth and nail for survival. I'm used to everything around me wanting to kill me to one degree or another, and I'm still here."
"I have fourteen years of experience scouting and making supply runs in the desert--under conditions not quite like this, but just as hostile to living things. I've gone alone and I've led crews, and I've fought and won a road war with less than two dozen on my side against well-armed war parties from three different cities. I will never die easy."
"But in the interest of complete honesty, my left arm is a prosthesis, and it depends on hydraulic fluid to function. If it freezes, it's useless and I'll have to dump it. I can function without it; I can shoot and fight without it, but I'll be a lot better off if it stays functional and attached."
no subject
That said, she's also not inclined to argue if Blaze wants to draw all the fire she can. If she's convinced she's going to be the last one standing, Furiosa's willing to trust her on it.
"As far as sapience," she says, "I'd say they're capable of verbal communication. They just haven't bothered. Palmer said something to one of them and it very clearly laughed at him. Pissed him off." She shrugs. "But I don't think much of their strategic skills, based on what I've seen so far."
They remind her of the Buzzards, back home, in fact. Wily, brutal, but not exactly military geniuses. But she can only base her opinion on what she's seen, herself, and may find out later she's mistaken.
She watches Azwel's performance with sharp, analytical eyes. It should be shocking and impressive, and it is, but she quickly becomes caught up in wondering how long he can keep that up, and what the energy draw it takes might do to him. Based on how he crackles with narrowly-controlled energy now, she's inclined to think they'll all be better off with him using that ability as a weapon of last resort. She gives him a nod, though, and a gentle hum and smile. "Nice."
By contrast, Natasha's declaration of her abilities is understated, quiet. Furiosa doesn't know her well, but she's seen her injured and gauged a fair bit about what sort of person she is from her behavior back then. Tough. Wary. Perceptive. Exactly the kind of person you need to size up a situation. She gives her a smile, as well, something a bit more knowing in it.
And then it's her turn. "Same. Standard-issue human. But the world I come from has about as many resources on tap as we have available here and now. I'm used to deprivation, bad weather, and fighting tooth and nail for survival. I'm used to everything around me wanting to kill me to one degree or another, and I'm still here."
"I have fourteen years of experience scouting and making supply runs in the desert--under conditions not quite like this, but just as hostile to living things. I've gone alone and I've led crews, and I've fought and won a road war with less than two dozen on my side against well-armed war parties from three different cities. I will never die easy."
"But in the interest of complete honesty, my left arm is a prosthesis, and it depends on hydraulic fluid to function. If it freezes, it's useless and I'll have to dump it. I can function without it; I can shoot and fight without it, but I'll be a lot better off if it stays functional and attached."