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She was upset about the new War Boys dying. Slit was bothered by it too. If Valhalla was just one of Immortan Joe’s lies, like Imperator Furiosa and the wives insisted, then they weren’t going to ride eternal shiny and chrome. They were just dead. Crank, Rigger, and Slug had been on the verge of dying soft; they’d been able to have historic deaths even if that was the end and there was nothing after that. But the new Boys had been mere pups, with thousands of days to live before they grew lumps and the night fevers started.
“Toast,” he said again.
She kept walking. Didn’t even turn around to look at him. She had to know there was nothing he could have done to keep the new Boys alive. He’d tried. He wouldn’t have gotten this mediocre wound if he hadn’t lunged at one of them and forced him to take cover.
Capable was giving him a look like she felt sorry for him. Slit glared at her. He was acutely aware of the whole crowd of them – other Boys, the other wives, the Imperator, those old women, platform guards, and even useless Wretched – pretending they weren’t looking and listening. He wasn’t going to give them something to laugh at. Slit scooped up the injured new Boy and headed to the Blood Shed.
“Congratulations, Slit,” Organic told him, still poking and prodding at the new Boy’s insides.
One of the Pups who helped out in the Blood Shed was stitching Slit up. Slit was about ready to slap him away. He didn’t need so many stitches. They didn’t have to be so neat and tiny. Damn Pup was sewing like he was mending the Immortan’s own clothes.
“On what?” he asked. He didn’t think Organic would know before him if he was getting a promotion. The wives barely tolerated him and Furiosa had always seemed to hate him. Organic was damn lucky none of them had tattled about him helping to interrogate the old History Woman.
Organic chuckled. “Not for me to say. Wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Toast had told Furiosa that nothing had happened while they were gone. Had she left something out, or had something happened she didn’t know about? It couldn’t be good for her if Organic was so amused about it. Slit knew Organic had to hold a grudge against Toast for bashing his face in. Not that Slit hadn’t been proud of her when he’d heard, but it wasn’t a good idea to make an enemy out of the only organic mechanic they had.
“Don’t fuck with Toast, Organic,” he said warningly.
“I’ve got no intention of messing with your girlfriend. I’m a very forgiving fellow.”
Slit wasn’t in the mood to play Organic’s games. He wondered how long Toast would stay mad at him. The problem with trying to predict anything about her was that he simply couldn’t understand her. Whenever he thought he understood what she was doing and why, she said or did something that made him realize he’d gotten it wrong.
When he’d awoken to the sight of her after Fury Road, he’d thought he had to be in Valhalla. Hadn’t the Immortan said there would be the shiniest of women in Valhalla to make them happy?
But then he’d felt the pain of his battered, living body even as she informed him that he wasn’t in Valhalla, and he remembered crawling out of Razor Cola, his instinct not to burn overriding his will to die historic. He’d been too tired, too thirsty, too hungry, and too much in pain to fight when he and the others reached home and found out the Immortan had fallen and the Citadel belonged to Furiosa. Finding himself chained down wasn’t a surprise, although he had been surprised to be in the Dome rather than in the bowels of the Citadel.
He’d thought she wanted revenge. He’d expected to be tortured. But her half-hearted attempt at torturing him had actually been exciting. It’d excited her too. Slit had never been prouder of himself than he was that night. Knowing one of the Immortan’s own chrome wives wanted him had been the best feeling, even better than the fucking.
Even the true torture, her doing something to make it impossible for him to come and then doing wonderful things to him, had been one of the best times of his life. Not that he hadn’t felt like strangling her at the time. But he probably wouldn’t have actually killed her if he’d managed to break free. He would have just fucked her hard. He’d fully intended to do just that when she unshackled him, but then she seemed so frightened. He still didn’t understand why he’d let her fear stop him. Well, he did. Her fear had made him feel bad. What he didn’t understand was why. Why her.
She was so confusing. She’d been so upset and afraid of him, but then she’d wanted to be held like a little pup. He was glad he’d followed her cues though. It had been amazing. Slit still didn’t know what to call it. It’d been far more than fucking. He’d thought he understood things then. She was a treasure for making him feel like that. Made sense that Immortan kept her and the others hoarded away just for himself.
But telling her that had made her angry and she’d shouted at him about the Immortan. Slit still couldn’t believe it. Not that he thought Toast was lying. But it was impossible to understand why the Immortan would have hurt his wives.
Slit hadn’t even hoped that he would get the chance to fuck her again. That was too impossible. But then she’d found him and told him to go to her room.
Of course when he got there and things started, he’d realized her mind was somewhere else. She hadn’t just been distracted; she hadn’t been there at all. She wasn’t seeing him or hearing him or feeling him. Slit had been about to shout to the other wives for help when she’d snapped out of it. No way he was in the mood to fuck her after that. Then she’d told him he could stay and started talking about her mother, and Slit had thought he understood. She wanted to be comforted and, for whatever reason, she wanted him to do it rather than one of the other wives. Slit had been okay with that. She made him want to be gentle almost like she was a very young pup.
But then she’d found him the next day and dragged him into an empty bay and sucked his cock, and then told him he could use a knife on her. Slit had realized he simply couldn’t comprehend anything about her. He didn’t know whether it was because she was Toast or whether all women were like that.
“I said I’m finished,” the Pup said, sound annoyed. “Unless you got something else needs stitching?”
“Your mouth if you don’t watch your tone,” Slit said.
She was the one they called the Knowing. She understood War Boys better than that damn Capable. She wouldn’t stay mad at him for very long.
By the fifth day, Slit reasoned that she’d told him not to go to her bed anymore, which wasn’t an order not to talk to her. So when he saw her observing a group of Pups learning how to build an engine, he started towards her.
She looked right at him and frowned. Then she pointedly turned and walked off in the opposite direction. Slit had to admit to himself that she didn’t want any contact with him.
By the twentieth day, Slit was desperate. He needed her like he needed Aqua Cola. Organic kept smirking at him every time their paths crossed and Slit had begun to suspect that something had indeed happened that had Toast so mad and it wasn’t the new Boys dying.
That Capable was always around, fussing over the Pups like they were newborn pups she’d birthed herself. Coil and Glock were still making fools of themselves every time she came down here, despite the fact that she was still talking about Nux.
Slit hadn’t yet decided how he felt about Nux. Nux was a traitor to the Immortan and to all War Boys. But he suspected that the wives and Furiosa wouldn’t have let him and the other Boys who survived Fury Road live if not for Nux having joined their side.
Capable seemed surprised when Slit sidled up beside her. Even more so when he offered her the wrench.
“Here. Your damned Nux’s best torque wrench. I hid it from him and kept forgetting to give it back.”
“Thank you,” she said, after a moment. She was holding it like she already loved it as much as Nux had.
“Why is Toast angry with me?” Slit asked, not wasting either of their time.
Capable got a sad look on her face. She sighed quietly. Then she said, “She’s not angry with you, Slit. She’s just afraid.”
“Afraid of who?” Toast couldn’t still be afraid of him. If she was afraid of Organic, Slit was going to slice him up so good that smart-mouth Pup was going to be sewing for days.
“No one. She’s just afraid to hope.”
Slit stared at her. “What the fuck kind of answer is that?” he demanded.
“It’s the only one I can give you. I’m sorry.”
Slit was tempted to shake her until she gave him a proper answer. But that would definitely make Toast angry and probably Furiosa too.
“Should have kept the stupid wrench,” he muttered.
He could have kicked himself when he realized what the best source of information was. Little Pups were always everywhere. Capable even took them into the Dome with her. Those little bastards saw and heard everything.
Slit snatched one of them and carried him into an empty cavern. “Tell me what the wives talk about with each other, and I’ll give you this little glass ball.”
The Pup grabbed at the thing, but Slit held it out of his reach. He’d never figured out what the purpose of the thing was, but it was nice to look at and nice to own.
“The Dag said she wants to rename the latrines the ‘Joe’ and the other wives all laughed. Toast said she didn’t think the name would stick unfortunately and the Dag said something about ‘John’ but I stopped listening because it was my turn for a bath.”
“What else?”
“Capable and Toast had an argument. Capable told Toast she was lucky and Toast said something mean that I didn’t hear and then they both cried and Toast apologized.”
“More.”
“The Dag said Warlord Junior is kicking so hard it hurts and that’s how she knows it’s Warlord Junior. She asked Toast if hers was kicking yet and Toast said hers probably didn’t even have legs.”
Slit felt like someone had kicked him. Toast was breeding. What Capable had said to him made sense now. Toast wasn’t mad at him; she was just mad about having the Immortan’s pup inside her.
All his life Slit had cheered whenever they were told the Immortan was getting a new son and mourned when the Immortan’s sons died without ever living. Now, though, he wished this son had never been made. He hated him already.