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Nux was having a great day, and that was weird. War Boys didn’t have great days. At least, not when they weren’t blazing through a desert at seventy miles an hour in their favorite rigs. Though the familiar itch for combat hadn’t died down, he was actually finding the space between supply runs and raids and any other outings rather enjoyable. He had no other word for it than weird.
This particular day saw Nux and Slit sprawled across an abandoned causeway now perfectly familiar to Nux; the corridor in which he had first met Doof was one of the musician’s favorite haunts. The Warrior himself was lying on his back in the middle of the hallway, plucking away on his ukulele as he always was when Nux saw him. They had talked quite a bit since their initial meeting. For some reason, Doof had taken a shine to the half-neurotic War Boy, and Nux certainly wasn’t complaining.
Slit had been just as taken aback by Doof as Nux was the first time, but he had warmed up to the little guitarist much more quickly. It had taken quite a while to find an afternoon that neither of them had any kind of duties, and Nux thought it would take even longer for Slit to get accommodated to the eccentric musician. His worries were unfounded, however, as the novelty of the situation was all but forgotten when Slit saw Doof’s prized throwing knives; Nux had just sat back and watched with a smile as the pair animatedly mimed killing things in a myriad of different ways. It was funny, almost…endearing.
“This is fuckin’ bizarre,” Nux suddenly blurted. Doof made an approving noise.
“Good word.”
“Thanks, I- See! That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” he said, wriggling into a sitting position while Slit, who had been reclining against Nux’s stomach, grumbled at the loss of his pillow. “War Boys don’ say ‘good word.’ They don’ take naps and they don’ smile about their stupid friends doin’ stu- They don’ even have friends!” He gesticulated wildly to prove his point. The other two seemed unimpressed.
“Why not?” Doof asked, his fingers stilling for once. “Culture doesn’t dictate you.”
“Yeah, what ‘e said,” Slit yawned, stretching languidly.
Nux sat quietly for a moment, digesting this. This was all so new and weird and he just felt like he should question it. But then again…why? He didn’t particularly care what the other War Boys thought, after all. They wouldn’t care what he did. He was still able to drive, and dammit, he was happy. Even the tumors on his shoulder seemed to hurt less.
“Well, you seem to be perfectly fine with all this,” Nux yielded grudgingly, nudging Slit with the tip of his boot.
“Oh, you know me,” the lancer responded with a side grin. “I roll with the hits, or wha’ever. Do what feels good.”
By this time, Doof had sat up as well, listening to the conversation. “See, Nuts, he’s got it right,” he said, finally starting to play again. The two War Boys watched in silence. The music was relaxing; Doof’s melodies were never quite sad, but they all had the slightest bit of underlying melancholy, enough to draw Nux’s thoughts inward, forcing him to reflect on the sudden turn his life had taken. Though he hadn’t really noticed it happening, his outlook had changed. His burning desire for glory hadn’t diminished, and he would see Walhalla one day, but it didn’t seem like such a pressing thing anymore. He didn’t want to throw himself in front of any vehicle he saw, and suicidal screams for a meaningful death were no longer waiting just behind his scarred lips.
He even had friends. The word hadn’t really been a part of his vocabulary; even Slit hadn’t been a friend. His lancer, a brother, yes, but a friend? It would have been laughable a month ago, but now he couldn’t see the other Boy as anything else.
Doof interrupted the silence by gripping his ukulele by the neck and holding it out in front of him. Nux and Slit both tilted their heads, confused.
“Wanna learn howta play?”
Slit glanced at the other Boy, who just shrugged. “Uh, sure,” he replied, tugging at the metal embedded in his cheek. Nux slapped his hand away; fiddling with the metal had become a habit of Slit’s, and Nux didn’t want him to yank it out accidentally.
“Great, I’ve always wanted to teach someone.” Doof grinned, sharpened teeth gleaming, and reached for Slit’s arm to yank him into a sitting position against the nearest wall. Nux giggled. It was still amazing to him that Doof was so aware of his surroundings; he always cited vibrations for the ability, but that didn’t really make any sense to Nux. Well, he thought, whatever worked for the little guy.
Blind or not, Doof was a good teacher. Or Slit was a fast learner, either way. Though he was nowhere as near as good as Citadel’s self-proclaimed number-one-musician-extraordinaire, he could strum out a few little melodies before he handed the instrument back to Doof with a mumbled thanks. The guitarist just smiled and nodded, keeping his honestly unnerving teeth hidden this time. Without missing a beat, he picked up a tune and flopped onto his back, wiggling across the sandy floor until he could lie his head in Nux’s lap. Slit took his place on Nux’s other side, crossing his legs so their knees were touching.
“Well,” Nux said, smiling crookedly, “this is disgustingly sweet.”
“Almost like family. Gross,” Doof replied.
That hit Nux hard, for some reason. His chest tightened. Though he would never say his revelation out loud, he thought he finally understood; War Boys were just that: boys. They were all just dying boys trying to find meaning. It was sickeningly cliché, but at least he was on the right side of it, maybe.
Blinking against the afternoon sun streaming from a near window, Nux cast around for a way to change the subject. He settled on Doof’s outlandish clothing and reached down to pluck at the bright cloth. “Why d’you wear this thing anyway?”
“It’s comfy.”
Nux laughed out loud at this reply; though he did expect something like that, the word ‘comfy’ sounded utterly ridiculous in the guitarist’s rasp of a voice.
“Don’t knock it ‘til ya try it, Nuts,” Doof asserted, raising a finger for a moment before returning the hand to his ukulele.
“You’re both fuckin’ nuts.” This was Slit, who was now lounging against Nux’s side, yawning once again. Nux ignored him.
“Well, what’reya gonna do when it falls apart then?”
Doof shrugged. “Can’t be that hard to find black onesies Down Below.”
Nux and Slit threw perplexed glances at each other for the second time that day.
“I know colors, I wasn’t always blind,” Doof said, misinterpreting their silence.
“Um, I hate to break it to ya, but that thing’s red. Bright red,” Slit provided.
“What?!” Doof suddenly shot upright, banging Nux’s chin with his forehead as he sat up. Nux yelped and grabbed at his face, but the little musician appeared unfazed, turning to face the two War Boys with an aggrieved expression that was evident even with the cloth over his eyes. “Red? And you fuckfaces didn’t tell me?”
Unable to hold back any longer, Nux burst out laughing, the sound echoing around the otherwise empty hallway. Slit joined in a second later, and both were soon doubled over on the floor, gasping, coughing, and laughing till their sides ached. Though he tried to keep a straight face, Doof eventually cracked as well, his normally quiet voice the loudest of the three as they howled with uncontrollable laughter in a heap on the floor.
“Oh, shit,” Nux wheezed, small tears rolling down his cheeks. “Fuck, I’m dying, oh fuck…Slit!” He suddenly grasped at Slit’s pants. “Slit, Witness me, I’m fuckin’ dying…”
Slit’s laugher only grew more raucous at this, sending him into a fit of coughing that lasted a solid minute.
By the time they calmed down, all three were flat on the floor, gazing up at the ceiling. Doof was the first to struggle to a wall, resting his back against it as he waited for his breathing to settle. “Our lungs aren’t healthy enough for such activity,” he chided, picking up his ukulele and starting up a jaunty tune. Nux just nodded, and Slit looked like he was about to break down again.
A mumbled ‘fuckin’ red’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back.