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theroadwarriorWho: Max and FDR (bigvessel)
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: N/A (unless leads into it?)
When: The 31st (around 6:00 pm)
[Well. Max and FDR sure did fall down a mine shaft on the 29th. Lucky them, they finally found the route out of it (teamwork? shocking), but by then they'd been gone for about two days; it's only a blessing Max had thought to taken food and water supplies, however limited... not that it stayed down very well. Max and FDR are sick after their time switching masks between each other. And, uh. They look terrible.
Which is why when the feed turns on, it's voice — because he doesn't want to hear ceeeertain people point out that he should probably see a doctor. It's just a slight head wound and a lot of fat ugly bruises and scrapes from the tumble down into the cavernous area (and his knee, but who's keeping tabs but him?). He's actually calling on behalf of FDR, who you can hear bitching loudly in the background. Max coughs into his hand, and then addresses the network:]
Hey.
Fell down a mine shaft.
[YES MAX BECAUSE THAT IS HOW YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF BACK ONTO THE NETWORK!
For people who know Max, these kinds of posts seem to be a goddamn pattern. He's a injury magnet, alright, even if it's not always him. He supposes he knows Nami's pain now, of having to call up the fleet to get someone help. He is sorry about that still btw Nami. As he hobbles tiredly out of FDR's reach like an overgrown desert tortoise, he continues:]
Be careful walking above ground; some of the old boards're eroding. FDR broke his lower leg on the way down -- ahm, ankle. Cut it open pretty bad, too. He'll probably need some strong antibiotics.
... Wasn't my fault this time.
[Because that bears saying, since the last time FDR got hurt around him, it was him specifically punching him in the face. And, you know, he punched a doctor in the eyeball recently.]
We're north, outskirts of the forest; pretty exhausted, been down there for... hmm. A few days. I'd drag him the rest of the way, but I think there'd be complaints. Probably all from him --
[HUFF.]
Stop moving.
[He's clearly talking to the complaining agent who is trying to take Max's network device. And is currently unhappy with Max airing his personal life of falling into mine shafts for a living, we can only assume. He'll probably be all over your comments complaining too, because lbr they're both hopeless. At any rate, Max is hopeless, too; he's not about to ask for help himself. In fact, he plans to run off and tend to his own injuries in the privacy of his own ship bathroom. Nothing a good soak and a few heat packs can't solve, right?]
bigvessel)Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: N/A (unless leads into it?)
When: The 31st (around 6:00 pm)
[Well. Max and FDR sure did fall down a mine shaft on the 29th. Lucky them, they finally found the route out of it (teamwork? shocking), but by then they'd been gone for about two days; it's only a blessing Max had thought to taken food and water supplies, however limited... not that it stayed down very well. Max and FDR are sick after their time switching masks between each other. And, uh. They look terrible.
Which is why when the feed turns on, it's voice — because he doesn't want to hear ceeeertain people point out that he should probably see a doctor. It's just a slight head wound and a lot of fat ugly bruises and scrapes from the tumble down into the cavernous area (and his knee, but who's keeping tabs but him?). He's actually calling on behalf of FDR, who you can hear bitching loudly in the background. Max coughs into his hand, and then addresses the network:]
Hey.
Fell down a mine shaft.
[YES MAX BECAUSE THAT IS HOW YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF BACK ONTO THE NETWORK!
For people who know Max, these kinds of posts seem to be a goddamn pattern. He's a injury magnet, alright, even if it's not always him. He supposes he knows Nami's pain now, of having to call up the fleet to get someone help. He is sorry about that still btw Nami. As he hobbles tiredly out of FDR's reach like an overgrown desert tortoise, he continues:]
Be careful walking above ground; some of the old boards're eroding. FDR broke his lower leg on the way down -- ahm, ankle. Cut it open pretty bad, too. He'll probably need some strong antibiotics.
... Wasn't my fault this time.
[Because that bears saying, since the last time FDR got hurt around him, it was him specifically punching him in the face. And, you know, he punched a doctor in the eyeball recently.]
We're north, outskirts of the forest; pretty exhausted, been down there for... hmm. A few days. I'd drag him the rest of the way, but I think there'd be complaints. Probably all from him --
[HUFF.]
Stop moving.
[He's clearly talking to the complaining agent who is trying to take Max's network device. And is currently unhappy with Max airing his personal life of falling into mine shafts for a living, we can only assume. He'll probably be all over your comments complaining too, because lbr they're both hopeless. At any rate, Max is hopeless, too; he's not about to ask for help himself. In fact, he plans to run off and tend to his own injuries in the privacy of his own ship bathroom. Nothing a good soak and a few heat packs can't solve, right?]
