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Nux was bone-tired, and Slit wasn’t faring much better. The day had been a brutal one, a blur of adrenaline and burning rubber, but a glorious day of battle nonetheless. All the War Boys on the raid were still hollering and grinning manically, dripping blood and sweat and thrumming with excitement even as they jumped out of their parked vehicles and made their collective way to the medicine bay.
The Organic Mechanic was waiting for them, giving each Boy a quick once-over before either pushing them to the side to be treated later, or sending them to the antibacterial pool for wounds that didn’t need tending. No one was completely unharmed; Nux had a dozen thin gashes across his chest and shoulder from some Buzzard spikes, and Slit had two broken fingers (which he had splinted on the lancer’s perch) and a good sized slice down his thigh. The Mechanic sent them straight to the pool, for which they were both secretly grateful. No one liked staying with the grubby doctor for long.
War Boys didn’t enjoy much, but if there was anything they could agree on, it was that raid days were the best thing that ever happened to them. The thrill of the chase and battle and the massive explosions that followed would have been enough to keep them happy, but then there was the pool, and oh, was that just fucking magical. Immortan Joe didn’t like losing his War Boys outside of battle, and the pool was probably the main reason that most Boys kept healthy. The large basin was always filled with hot, chemically treated water for the Boys when they got home from a raid; it killed off infections and helped healing, or so the Mechanic said. Nux didn’t really give a shit what it did. It was warm and deep, and he could ignore the smell as long as the water didn’t get into his sinuses.
Each Boy only got a few minutes in the pool, so they made the most of it, splashing around and shoving each other under, laughing raucously at each other’s antics and crowing about their conquests of the day. The pool was cloudy with war-clay within minutes, but no one particularly cared; it was the most luxurious thing they had the pleasure to experience, so no one even dared complain, lest the privilege be taken away.
Nux whooped as he ran into the dim room and tugged off his pants and boots. Slit moved to grab him, but missed completely and soon slid to the ground, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter. The floors were slippery, and Nux had fallen and busted his ass just before he reached the edge of the pool and ended up sliding into the water with the remnants of his momentum.
“Shuddup!” he shouted over the boisterous laughter that followed his momentous fall. “That fuckin’ ‘urt you fuck’eads!” No one paid any attention, though the chuckles died down after a few seconds. Slit dropped his pants, stepped out of his boots, and walked much more sedately to the water, sitting down on the edge and letting his feet soak as he looked down at Nux.
“You always look fuckin’ weird wi’out your clay,” he pointed out, running a finger along Nux’s head to draw a stripe in the dissolving paint.
“So d’you, Shit.” Nux’s gazed up at his lancer with heavily-lidded eyes, smiling slightly. Slit’s brows furrowed.
“What’re you- Fuck!” Slit yelled incomprehensible curses all the way to the water; Nux had grabbed him around the waist and pushed off hard from the side of the basin with his feet, sending them both crashing with a splash into the pool. A scuffle immediately broke out, Slit trying and failing to get a hold of Nux’s paint-slimy skin. When they finally broke apart, panting heavily, the driver’s expression was perfectly innocent.
“Was only helpin’,” he said, the guiltless expression cracking into a wicked grin. Slit huffed and turned his back, using the momentary lull in conversation to begin scrubbing himself down with his hands. The war-clay dissolved fairly easily in water, but had an annoying tendency to stick if it wasn’t rubbed off quickly. The cut on his thigh burned in the chemically treated water, but it was a good, cleansing ache.
Nux followed his lancer’s lead, ducking under the water to scrub his head when the rest of him was clean. The little scratches on his chest would heal up in a day or so, so he wasn’t at all worried about those. Slit’s fingers were a bit more of an issue; if they didn’t heal right, he wouldn’t have all the dexterity he needed to work on an engine or tie explosives. He made a mental note to check Slit’s bandage job later and waded over to the Boy, jabbing him between the shoulder blades with an elbow.
“C’mon, let’s go get repainted. Gonna crash soon.”
For once, Slit just nodded and obeyed without question. Nux could see the first shadows of exhaustion in his eyes; raid days were great, but the crash afterwards was potent. It was best to already be in a bunk when it hit.
They wriggled out of the pool and grabbed their pants and boots, shaking their arms and legs every now and then to remove excess water. They’d have to be almost dry when they got to the painting room, and besides, walking around the cold, dank corridors outside the pool was bad enough when you weren’t already wet.
The warmth of the painting room was a welcome reprieve after the ten minute trudge up the main spire’s inner stair. Completely encased in rock and lit by only the occasional gas lamp, the stair was the fastest way to get from the pool, at the very base of the spire, to the painting room near the top. It wasn’t, however, the most pleasant. Or temperate. Still damp from their dip, Slit and Nux made their way to a window cut in the rock and flopped down, slinging their pants over the sill to warm them in the midday sun. The raid had started in the dark of the morning, and it was now barely passed noon.
A few Boys were already painting, drivers and lancers helping each other reach backs and missed spots. “You wanna wait?” Nux asked, nudging his own lancer with a foot. Slit shot him an irritated look, but nodded after a moment. Nux smiled; most Boys liked painting alone but were rarely patient enough to wait for the room to clear, especially after a raid. The clay took a while to dry, and it was honestly torture to stand around waiting for it when the only thing on your mind was collapsing and sleeping for a week. Nux and Slit liked to think they were made of sterner stuff than the other boys, however, and thought being able to paint without having other Boys around was nice enough to warrant the delay. Nice didn’t happen often for War Boys, so they took it when they could get it.
Nux watched as boys filed into the room, mostly in pairs, and started painting. It was a relatively easy process; grab a large bowl from the end of the long, stone slabs flanking the room, fill it with water from a trough at the end, and then mix in the actual clay, ground so fine it floated away at the slightest breeze. Each Boy had their desired consistency, so the “do-it-yourself” aspect of the process was essential. Though no one said it out loud, the appeal of paint mixing lay in the ability to control something other than a car or body mods. It was something unique to each Boy, almost like a possession, and they guarded their recipes like dragons protecting their hoards.
While waiting for the room to empty, Nux leaned over to inspect Slit’s fingers. The lancer, wrapped up in his own thoughts, jerked away when Nux took his hand, but relaxed quickly, an exasperated expression clouding his features when he saw his driver’s intent. “They’re fine, Nuts.”
“No they ain’t,” Nux insisted, unwrapping the strip of fabric from around the fingers and inspecting the break. The fingers were purple and swollen; Slit was lucky it was his left hand, even if he could throw a lance with either. “You’ve been bendin’ ‘em.”
“Well, it’s kinda hard not to,” Slit argued, resisting the urge to thump Nux in the nose as the Boy prodded at his fingers.
“Here.” Nux dropped Slit’s hand for a moment and dug around in his pockets, pulling a thin rectangle of steel from the third one he tried. “This’ll do nicely.”
Slit hissed sharply when Nux re-bandaged the fingers, using the metal as a splint; now that his adrenaline had all but worn off, the pain was much sharper. “Thanks,” he grumbled, refusing to meet Nux’s eyes. The driver hummed in response.
“Your leg looks good,” Nux said after a few minutes, gesturing to Slit’s thigh. The lancer looked down and shrugged.
“Yeah. S’not so bad. Gonna have to fix the pants though.”
“I’ll do that,” Nux replied.
“A’right.”
The pair sat in sleepy silence until the room cleared, ignoring any glances thrown their way. Slit was the first to break the calm, pushing himself to his feet and stretching as he shuffled down to the end of the room for a bowl. “This sucks,” he groaned, massaging a knot in his shoulder. “We’re getting’ too fuckin’ old for this.”
Nux grunted his agreement and followed the shorter Boy to the water trough and then to the clay powder. They mixed their paint wordlessly, occasionally bumping shoulders as they let muscle memory guide their actions; the exhaustion was setting in. They did liven up a little when the actual painting started, the cold, mushy clay sending shivers up their spines after so long lounging in the sun.
Soon, their entire bodies were covered in white, a clean, even coating that came from years of practice. Nux rubbed a thumb over his chest and lip scars so they stood out pink against the white, then did the same for the splatters on Slit’s staples. Couldn’t cover the mods. No point to them if you didn’t show them off.
The charcoal was the final step. The black powder, not quite as fine as the clay, was held in a metal basin in a niche at the end of the room, which Nux and Slit sprinted to as soon as the tops of their feet were dry. Slit made it there first, his grin triumphant as he pressed his thumb into the powder and held it at Nux’s eye level. The driver sighed and closed his eyes, struggling not to fidget as Slit covered the area around his eyes in the charcoal, steadying Nux’s head with a hand around the back of his neck. When Slit stepped back, Nux’s eyes fluttered open, their startling blue all the more apparent against the black background.
“How do I look?” he teased, spreading his arms. Slit rolled his eyes.
“Like a War Boy, you ‘lil shit. Now hurry up an’ do me, I’m fuckin’ tired.”
Nux could comment on the lancer’s choice of words, but he was just as fatigued as Slit looked and wanted to get to bed, so he set to work coating Slit’s eyelids and forehead, making sure the color was dark and even. Once satisfied, he rubbed away the extra dust on his fingers and motioned toward the door.
“Ready?”
“Clothes,” Slit intoned.
“Oh, yeah.” They both started back down the long room, dragging their feet and grousing all the way. It was a routine, safe and familiar, comfortable for them. They didn’t bother actually putting their pants and boots on; they’d be naked again when they got in bed anyway.
The clay was dry by the time they finally stumbled down to their bunk. Climbing in was a challenge, but after a few tugs (and curses about Nux’s weight) on Slit’s part, they were both sprawled in the little nook, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed together contentedly.
Nux didn’t know what happiness was. He wasn’t sure if he ever really felt it, if any War Boy did. But, he thought as he drifted off to the sound of Slit’s heavy breathing, if there was such a thing as happiness, and if a War Boy could have a perfect day…well, this would probably be close to it.