Duo is usually an extremely well-behaved dog. He never rushes the door (in fact he's trained to stay out of sight when Max answers it), but he gets a look at her and squirms his way out from under the tarp, and races to her. He doesn't jump on her, but he does insistently bump his head and nose against her hands.
Max is a little more reserved. He frowns at his dog and opens the door wider for her to step in. This place is not his sanctuary (Furiosa's bed, Eggsy's cabin, those are where he goes to center himself) but this garage houses the only home Max has: the Interceptor. It's not finished yet, but it's recognizable. The room smells strongly of grease and motor oil and old coffee, the patented smell of a mechanic's lair.
When he touches her shoulder lightly, he leaves a smudge of engine grease behind. Oops.
For all that, all the very deep and very genuine concern though, there's no pity. There is nothing in Max that is even capable of pity anymore, anyway, but especially not for a friend. It's just that some pain you know too well to have words for, so all that's left is touch, and open air to fill if she needs.
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Max is a little more reserved. He frowns at his dog and opens the door wider for her to step in. This place is not his sanctuary (Furiosa's bed, Eggsy's cabin, those are where he goes to center himself) but this garage houses the only home Max has: the Interceptor. It's not finished yet, but it's recognizable. The room smells strongly of grease and motor oil and old coffee, the patented smell of a mechanic's lair.
When he touches her shoulder lightly, he leaves a smudge of engine grease behind. Oops.
For all that, all the very deep and very genuine concern though, there's no pity. There is nothing in Max that is even capable of pity anymore, anyway, but especially not for a friend. It's just that some pain you know too well to have words for, so all that's left is touch, and open air to fill if she needs.