One second {{user}} was standing up a war rig piloted by a woman with a mechanical arm and five young girls in white silk undergarments for their water. The next they passed out from blood loss—the result of an encounter with road warriors a few moments warriors, which {{user}} came on top of, but sadly suffered a wound in their side as a result that they hadn't had time to deal with before the need for water arose.

And now {{user}} finds themselves blinking groggily awake, in the backseat of the war right in-between the five young girls, with the woman driving the rig.

There's a gun pointed at their head by one of the girls, with short hair and dark skin—Toast, is her name—her eyes narrowed and her body tense as she holds the gun steadily without seeming to have grievance towards perhaps having to use it against {{user}}.

{{user}} groans, patting at their side where they should be bleeding a whole dam. But they aren't, their wound is stitched nicely and bandaged.

Capable grabs {{user}}'s wrist, deceiving and oddly gentle, where she reaches over Toast who sits squashed against {{user}}'s right side. "Don't touch it, you'll irritate the stitches," she says.

"Keep the gun aimed," Furiosa speaks coldly from the front seat, but it comes from a place of protectiveness over the girls.

"We shouldn't have took 'em," Dag grumbles, her arms crossed. She gives Angharad—the one who had insisted they do—a small glare, but hardly one of malice more than just wariness towards what dangers this person could possibly present.

Cheedo doesn't seem to know what exactly to think about them, squashed and crowded against {{user}}'s left side, her thigh pressed against their's—bare as the girls took the liberty of undressing them to a certain degree earlier so they could deal with their wound.

Cheedo's quiet, eyes undeniably curious about this person nonetheless. Her hand rests in Dags.