My name is Max. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theroadwarrior) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-01-02 02:26 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2016-01-02 02:26 am
Entry tags:
open action | ADVENTURES ON ICY PLANETS
Who: Max Rockatansky & Whoever is willing to bump into him.
Broadcast: N/A.
Action: The planet Arslae.
When: January 1st — January 8th.
ACTION A.
[Max gets off the SS Starstruck very quickly — he thrives on open space, needs the natural world around him, even if it's a frozen land that he's unfamiliar with. Snow and ice is bizarre; thanks to the landscape he was from — the radioactivity, the climate issues, all of it, he's never witnessed it at all firsthand. Doesn't even know where to really begin. Armed with a rather intimidating kitchen knife wrapped up and carefully hidden on his person, he bundles up and treks into the thick of it. Admittedly — and a rare occurrence — he finds his curiosity curves his caution just enough for the task.
It's like a dog or a cat being thrown into the middle of a snowy backyard. He tests the earth, quirks his brows when his legs sink deeper and deeper into the flurry. Almost reminds him of quicksand, only there's still the solid sensation of earth underfoot.
Careful Max, wouldn't wanna get slurped in, a young voice chimes in. He can't place it exactly, but it's not Glory. He's seen and heard so many children die in his life out there in the Wastelands, he couldn't begin to guess who it could be. He grumbles under breath and slips his fingers into the snow, forming a snowball in hand. Strangely, it feels like the natural reaction to snow. Heavy when compacted, holds shape unlike sand. The voice keeps knocking on the inside of his skull, slipping through the folds of his brain, tickling his eardrum.
Max. Max... Come find me, Max. Help me, Max—
He sees the shadow of a ghost in his peripheral and throws the snowball in its direction.
Mostly out of relaxed irritation. He's used to the sounds of the dead.
But sorry if you're actually standing there.]
ACTION B.
[Max lingers around a bit closer than he'd usually stay, near the bonfires. He's nowhere near close enough to be brightly lit or partake in any of the good will or hospitality, but he's at least close enough in the background to leech a small amount of the warmth while he sits and starts slowly packing up a pack made of hide that he'd bought with the limited money he had. He supposes that's one small upside to being on a 'show'.
But he's also unfamiliar with using a real form of currency nowadays. So that's strange.
The biggest foe he's faced so far here, however, is his knee. He sits away from the others and suffers in silence, unbuckling part of his brace and moving it so that he can knead the aching scarred, stiff joint with his hand. He's not unused to it hurting sometimes, considering the inside of his knee is a mess of tissue and rough bone. But that's in the desert, where the sun rose — inevitably as it did — on the coldest of nights, and the aching would stop while he could bask in harsh sun like a lizard on a rock.
Here, it's a constant nagging. A little chiming bell of nerves that fight their own body. He doesn't like it. He chews the inside of his cheek, expressive only in the lines of pain forming at the edges of his eyes, near the creases of his mouth, beneath his slight beard. Maybe he'll look into medications, since this world may have them. His, not so much. It is a rarity, medical care. He's learned plenty in looking after himself.]
ACTION C.
[One may find him hunting, but he's surprisingly with a group of natives. It's not that he wants the company — he just wants to barter, to get things in return for staying in motion. It's really quite simple: you live, you move, you keep your supplies well-maintained. In exchange for using their weapons and going on the hunt with them, he'll earn salted meats from their supply. It's interesting for him to see such simple measures taken on a planet with some surprising technology. Then again, home had some interesting machinery of its own, for how broken the system was.
Maybe you're out there with this group. They're going after mostly easy game, but they're bound to run into the less pleasant sort of monster out here. Until then, Max plays it simple, opting to stay in the back of the group and reply only when he's needed. He's a man of few words, always has been, always will be.
But... this sort of thing keeps his wandering and fractured mind on track.
He sneezes into his sleeve, tightens up the jacket and scarf he has tucked into his collar, and pushes forward.
His mind is blissfully silent.]
ACTION D. (STARSTRUCK)
[Max hauls what he's given back to the ship in one of the small shuttles. He supposes this is where it's a good thing he's a pilot — it's not completely effortless, but it's like working an old atrophied limb, and he comes to find that he actually enjoys the trips back and forth more than he'd admit to anyone. Just having something to drive... wheels or not... it's good.
He brings back both raw and dried meats, most of which he tries to discreetly stock the kitchen of the Starstruck with. He's not one to share his things — anyone can tell that by how he carries everything he owns on him, in his pack — but he's also aware that the struggle for food here is not-so-woefully absent in comparison to the planet he had just been on, before joining the fleet.
It's not an easy thing to shake. Sharing. It's not in his nature anymore. But you know, going against your nature is okay, from time to time. After all, he's usually a scavenging buzzard himself. A vulture picking off the old world. For now, he'll try to play along.
He tries to leave the place as fast as he'd arrived, of course.
He hasn't picked a bunk, a place to sleep; he hasn't made a place for himself here yet.]
Broadcast: N/A.
Action: The planet Arslae.
When: January 1st — January 8th.
ACTION A.
[Max gets off the SS Starstruck very quickly — he thrives on open space, needs the natural world around him, even if it's a frozen land that he's unfamiliar with. Snow and ice is bizarre; thanks to the landscape he was from — the radioactivity, the climate issues, all of it, he's never witnessed it at all firsthand. Doesn't even know where to really begin. Armed with a rather intimidating kitchen knife wrapped up and carefully hidden on his person, he bundles up and treks into the thick of it. Admittedly — and a rare occurrence — he finds his curiosity curves his caution just enough for the task.
It's like a dog or a cat being thrown into the middle of a snowy backyard. He tests the earth, quirks his brows when his legs sink deeper and deeper into the flurry. Almost reminds him of quicksand, only there's still the solid sensation of earth underfoot.
Careful Max, wouldn't wanna get slurped in, a young voice chimes in. He can't place it exactly, but it's not Glory. He's seen and heard so many children die in his life out there in the Wastelands, he couldn't begin to guess who it could be. He grumbles under breath and slips his fingers into the snow, forming a snowball in hand. Strangely, it feels like the natural reaction to snow. Heavy when compacted, holds shape unlike sand. The voice keeps knocking on the inside of his skull, slipping through the folds of his brain, tickling his eardrum.
Max. Max... Come find me, Max. Help me, Max—
He sees the shadow of a ghost in his peripheral and throws the snowball in its direction.
Mostly out of relaxed irritation. He's used to the sounds of the dead.
But sorry if you're actually standing there.]
ACTION B.
[Max lingers around a bit closer than he'd usually stay, near the bonfires. He's nowhere near close enough to be brightly lit or partake in any of the good will or hospitality, but he's at least close enough in the background to leech a small amount of the warmth while he sits and starts slowly packing up a pack made of hide that he'd bought with the limited money he had. He supposes that's one small upside to being on a 'show'.
But he's also unfamiliar with using a real form of currency nowadays. So that's strange.
The biggest foe he's faced so far here, however, is his knee. He sits away from the others and suffers in silence, unbuckling part of his brace and moving it so that he can knead the aching scarred, stiff joint with his hand. He's not unused to it hurting sometimes, considering the inside of his knee is a mess of tissue and rough bone. But that's in the desert, where the sun rose — inevitably as it did — on the coldest of nights, and the aching would stop while he could bask in harsh sun like a lizard on a rock.
Here, it's a constant nagging. A little chiming bell of nerves that fight their own body. He doesn't like it. He chews the inside of his cheek, expressive only in the lines of pain forming at the edges of his eyes, near the creases of his mouth, beneath his slight beard. Maybe he'll look into medications, since this world may have them. His, not so much. It is a rarity, medical care. He's learned plenty in looking after himself.]
ACTION C.
[One may find him hunting, but he's surprisingly with a group of natives. It's not that he wants the company — he just wants to barter, to get things in return for staying in motion. It's really quite simple: you live, you move, you keep your supplies well-maintained. In exchange for using their weapons and going on the hunt with them, he'll earn salted meats from their supply. It's interesting for him to see such simple measures taken on a planet with some surprising technology. Then again, home had some interesting machinery of its own, for how broken the system was.
Maybe you're out there with this group. They're going after mostly easy game, but they're bound to run into the less pleasant sort of monster out here. Until then, Max plays it simple, opting to stay in the back of the group and reply only when he's needed. He's a man of few words, always has been, always will be.
But... this sort of thing keeps his wandering and fractured mind on track.
He sneezes into his sleeve, tightens up the jacket and scarf he has tucked into his collar, and pushes forward.
His mind is blissfully silent.]
ACTION D. (STARSTRUCK)
[Max hauls what he's given back to the ship in one of the small shuttles. He supposes this is where it's a good thing he's a pilot — it's not completely effortless, but it's like working an old atrophied limb, and he comes to find that he actually enjoys the trips back and forth more than he'd admit to anyone. Just having something to drive... wheels or not... it's good.
He brings back both raw and dried meats, most of which he tries to discreetly stock the kitchen of the Starstruck with. He's not one to share his things — anyone can tell that by how he carries everything he owns on him, in his pack — but he's also aware that the struggle for food here is not-so-woefully absent in comparison to the planet he had just been on, before joining the fleet.
It's not an easy thing to shake. Sharing. It's not in his nature anymore. But you know, going against your nature is okay, from time to time. After all, he's usually a scavenging buzzard himself. A vulture picking off the old world. For now, he'll try to play along.
He tries to leave the place as fast as he'd arrived, of course.
He hasn't picked a bunk, a place to sleep; he hasn't made a place for himself here yet.]
no subject
[He does put a shaky hand out, purely on reflex; he doesn't want help, he doesn't want people to poke around his business, even as he sits shaking and cold to the bone. His heart is beating wildly and he clearly is dizzied, standing rather haphazardly on unsteady legs, which just ends up being too much for what his body had just been through, and he staggers to sit on his good knee in the snow.
Stupid icy snow planet. He's definitely not staying here, that's to be sure.
... Prepare for some stubbornness. And some slurred mumbling that is hard to distinguish from normal Max and freezing Max.]
M'fine. I -- can [He swallows hard, unconvincing with the way he looks like a bearded icicle.] ... walk...
[He doesn't look like he actually believes it. Because he's starting to realize he's really not going to get anywhere on his own without being a snowman in the foreseeable future.]
no subject
Either way, I didn't pull you out just to have you freeze to death now. [She shudders a little, the cold finally starting to sink in a little too much. She needs warmer stuff too, and she can't take her coat back without you kind of, y'know, freezing faster. The shock of that water needs to be slowed.] Your only other option is to get c-cozy with me for body warmth and you really don't want that.
[Even if you didn't have clear intimacy issues, she charges by the minute, man. She blows on her fingers and tries again.]
no subject
He looks away, not at all pleased or proud of these turn of events. Little trickles of madness cloud his vision — flashes of Glory under the water, melting into a stream of pale, icy visages spitting venom at him. His hands curl around the ends of the coat roughly and the way he shakes his head is a bit violent, looking pained. Sometimes it's like little fingers lancing down to the knuckle into his brain matter. The sudden cold and rush of a heartbeat, of his blood pressure, it worsens what is usually so easy to push under the surface.]
F-fine.
[His voice is tired as he steps away from Nami and it seems like maybe he's not actually aiming that slight edge to his tone at her at all. His eyelids flutter as he clenches them shut, but he starts pacing. It's better than staying still, right? One step ahead of — well, doesn't matter. He's not going far, promise.]
no subject
Once she's done, she hurries to Max's side, keeping pace-- on the side with his bad knee in case it folds. She'd yell at him to sit down, but honestly the movement is probably good for him. She just feels bad for how much that has to hurt.]
What were you doing out there, anyway?
no subject
Huh—hunting. Creature jumped out, cracked th-the ice.
[The ice he didn't realize was there. Snow on it made it look innocent enough. He doesn't really elaborate on anymore than that, seemingly satisfied with the brevity of his answer as he offers back the gloves. He blinks tiredly, mumbling in a low voice that Nami might not even catch.]
M'fine with the — j-jacket.
[You don't have to freeze to death either, and it's not like he can't tuck his hands away. He's tan as it is so the slow paleness isn't as noticeable as the creeping tinge of cool color on his lips.]
no subject
[And your lips are going blue. To be honest, though, the gloves will do fuck all if he isn't fully covered in other ways, but icy hands are no fun and it will help with coordination should he need it, which is definitely a possibility. She is still fully dressed sans coat and scarf and can jam her hands into clothing, and walking helps a lot.]
I saw the creature. Kind of a jerk, huh? [Look, small talk again. She smiles faintly.] I'm guessing you don't have much in the way of this kind of weather at home.
[Or you'd know better.]
no subject
He sneezes, sniffing.]
D... Desert. No lakes. No snow.
There are... M-m-marshes. Earth's sour.
no subject
Sounds like a shitty place. No offence.
In places like this-- bodies of water can be hard to spot, and a lot of them are safe to travel on because they'll be frozen solid. You just got seriously unlucky. But if you're in a forested area and you get a flat expanse, it's best to avoid it. Just in case.
no subject
It is.
[ A shitty place. The raised healed burn on the back of his neck is a testament to how much he agrees, the skull peering out from a constantly shifting collar to peer menacingly at Nami. He's craning his head to look back at the lake, a deep, troubled frown at his lips and forehead. He's a little dazed, a little hazy in memory. It's like the gears in there are freezing over. He vibrates where he stands.]
C-can't tell f'quicksand is — worse.
[At least you can swim in water. :|]
no subject
I think they both suck equally. You deal with them both the same way-- flatten out, spread your weight. Not take a step back onto the fragile part. [Pointedly. But by now she's put it down to panic. First time with a frozen lake and all.
--oh good, Allen is offering to come out. She stops to talk briefly with him, then keeps moving.] We'll have someone out here in a few minutes.
no subject
They're not s-supposed to touch me.
[It's the vaguest statement he's made so far around here, more to himself than to Nami -- but Max doesn't seem invested to continue an explanation. He just talks under his breath for a moment, continuing his painful walk. He's getting a little tired, though.]
Wh-who is he?
[Max is not fond of strangers. We all know.]
no subject
Instead she glances away, and angles her step to try and veer them both back to where she left her staff.] Allen's a medic and he has a shuttle. So warmth and treatment real soon.
[Yeah, you're not keen on strangers, but suck it up.]
no subject
And boy, does he hate it.]
no subject
--be right back. Gotta make a marker.
[She yanks her staff out of the snowy ground, different to the one she had in Ax, just plain wood, and snaps a third section onto it before gathering her scarf and heading for the road, glancing back over her shoulder at Max.] Stay out of the wind.
[She'll be back in about two minutes. Try not to faceplant into the snow while she's gone. Talk. Furiosa'll keep you focused.]