She doesn't mind the smudge, hardly even notices it there. And it's funny, in a way, because engine grease for a car doesn't smell that different from grease she would use in the Falcon and that's a comparison that makes being here even more soothing.
It's Max, though, that makes her feel a little less on edge, and Duo's cold nose against the palm of her hand. She doesn't smile at either of them but her shoulders relax, she leans over a little to give the dog a proper pet, and Max doesn't ask her how she is and it's the best thing he could have done.
"You're working on your car?" She asks him, looking over at it and making that the focus of their conversation rather than broken, haunted men and the fact that she's still in love.
Max takes his cue from her and leads her over to show off the welded metal, the pieces that have been salvaged from around the Barge and the ports they've visited.
"It's home," he says, "People ask why I don't have the Admiral give me things."
But he has to do this himself, with his own two hands, the same way he's made the others.
"First one I had, they made it for me. Put it together from cars run off the road, cars driven by men we hunted."
"I work on the Falcon, too," she admits, reaching out to run a hand over the metal of the hood, feeling a little more grounded once she does. "It's kind of pointless when it's not a real ship, but it's- it makes me feel better."
Knowing her skills aren't languishing, knows she's making this representation of something she loves so much be the best it can be.
She moves around to look, leans in under the hood and reaches out to run her fingertips along the engine parts, the fan belt, things that match and things that absolutely do not between her world and his.
"I have something that's sort of like Furiosa's motorcycle," she says, voice a little muffled by how close she's leaning into the engine. "No wheels, though. It sort of hovers off the sand a few feet."
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It's Max, though, that makes her feel a little less on edge, and Duo's cold nose against the palm of her hand. She doesn't smile at either of them but her shoulders relax, she leans over a little to give the dog a proper pet, and Max doesn't ask her how she is and it's the best thing he could have done.
"You're working on your car?" She asks him, looking over at it and making that the focus of their conversation rather than broken, haunted men and the fact that she's still in love.
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"It's home," he says, "People ask why I don't have the Admiral give me things."
But he has to do this himself, with his own two hands, the same way he's made the others.
"First one I had, they made it for me. Put it together from cars run off the road, cars driven by men we hunted."
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Knowing her skills aren't languishing, knows she's making this representation of something she loves so much be the best it can be.
"Do you ever drive yours in the Enclosure?"
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"Know how to drive something like this?"
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"I have something that's sort of like Furiosa's motorcycle," she says, voice a little muffled by how close she's leaning into the engine. "No wheels, though. It sort of hovers off the sand a few feet."
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What matters to Max is speed and maneuverability, after all.