driftfleet | action.

Entry tags:

action.

Who: Max and the crew of the SS Starstruck and any visitors.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Max is sick after falling into a frozen lake. He is insufferable about it. ~~he's been awful active for an antisocial dude~~
When: January 8-9th-ish.

[After a rather disappointing day of nearly freezing to death thanks to big ugly creatures, hallucinations, and generalized know-nothingness of an arctic terrain, Max is confined (at last) to a bed aboard the SS Starstruck. Well, partly. A slight fever and a sneezy, lethargic exposition is apprently not enough to keep him pinned down.

A sick Max is even more insufferable, turns out.

It's just — difficult for him to explain in words, what being still does to him. It's one thing to sit in a driver's seat, or even a passenger's seat, and to get out and feel your ass and legs numbed after hours of going on and on until the guzzoline runs dry. At least you can see the open world whizzing passed you.

But a bed. For one thing, Max hasn't slept in an actual bed in... He's not sure how many days. Not counting the rare occurrences, he's not even sure he's slept in anything more than a car's reclined seat since he first began his journey on the dystopian-gone-apocalyptic roadways. This is torturous. He's fairly sure Peggy and Nami and Furiosa are out to get him for sure. As it turns out, no-nonsense women are still far and beyond his greatest weakness and adversary. He's been shed of his bulky uncomfortable jacket and left in his mid-sleeve shirt, and in that way he's looking like an paradox: the most comfortable discomforted man in the galaxy.

So yep, when people aren't looking, he's getting up and wandering back into the cargo holds, where he had originally spent most of his time. In fact, one could probably board a shuttle and find him passed out asleep in the driver's seat, swaddled up in blankets. And still with a mildly sour disposition. Be careful waking him, he swings sometimes.

He only wanders to the main control room, where the crew would pilot their ship, when it's empty enough. Otherwise, he'll dip into the kitchen and eat, because being sick back home didn't mean avoiding food; if you were needing sustenance and it was there, you had to keep going, force something down to keep your strength up. Max was fairly good at it.

Unlike... you know. Being horrible at staying put.

On the bright side, he doesn't consider returning to the planet?

Not yet, anyway.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ sand.

a world of old structures -- buildings, beauty, and robust creation. buried, under sand. peggy swallows. the revelation humbles her. worse yet, it catches her off-guard. she brushes chilly fingertips across her brow and, in a fit bizarre flung-forward grief, she decides to be honest with him. ]

I'm sorry. I ought to have traded a little more honestly on my answers. I can't tell you what I am because -- because I don't have the answer. But I can tell you that I was once a sort of soldier. I imagine you still have those in the Apocalypse.

[He sips his drink, glancing sideways at Peggy.

He looks - humored? - by her honesty.]

Of course you were.

[He could tell you had some sort of skill, some sort of invisible medal to be had for field work. Max has never been involved in wartime, or as a soldier... but working as a cop in a nearly apocalyptic society does have it's interesting battles to be fought.]

Soldiers are nearly extinct. Not as much to fight for but yourself, anymore.

[What he'd done for Furiosa, that was very rare. And he's not about to pretend it makes him anything worthy of a badge of honor or anything like that. He was a tool, and then he was a tool once more, and then he was a man returning a favor. Hoping. Furiosa - now, she's a soldier. Built to carry the hopes of people on her back, whether she'd realized it or not. Terrible thing to carry, but she's strong. It's why she got on that platform and he did not.]

Survivalists is a more popular term.

[ she cracks a bare smile -- but it doesn't last. still, she had to recall what she'd surmised when she'd first met him in person. not a solider, but a survivor. peggy rarely cared what others thought of her, but she still enjoyed being right about things. ]

And that's you, isn't it? Whoever-you-are in a nutshell. [ she's not bothered to learn his name; it will come in time. ] Mister Survivalist.

[He shrugs, as is his usual aggravating answer. But it's an honest one, and it does come with words a few moments later, when he's pretty much inhaled his tea, it's gone so quickly and urgently. He takes no time to enjoy anything.]

Not much of one. Almost murdered by a frozen lake.

[But he has survived some pretty immense things. Things that in hindsight are insane, of course, to anyone but him. He's been sapped of blood, survived countless crashes, countless concussions and broken bones and hungers, thirsts. He's somehow managed to get through an incredible sandstorm and walk out of it, straight from captivity. He's taken arrows to the head and bullets to the leg, wheels to the arm.

But he doesn't much linger on those things. He lingers mostly on slipping up and falling through ice.]

Mister Survivalist. Hmph.

[Pulling the blankets back over his shoulders securely, he actually looks quite approachable and maybe even nice for a moment. Warmed by something, whatever it was. It happens. By all accounts, he should be uncomfortable resting in the pilot seat of the shuttle. But it's here that he looks the most at ease, compared to his room, or any other place in the ship.]

Guess you're Miss Soldier.

[ formerly miss soldier, but she won't quibble. quibbling leads to questions, and she's not prepared to tell him she's a quasi-field agent for the same organization who had their sticky fingers deep into a-bomb project. even the word 'agent' on its own would betray more than needs betraying. he doesn't need to know anything beyond ex-soldier and current comms-officer.

perhaps that's why she so readily accepts his stoicism. there are words she's not saying, either. but she hides them better beneath ornate speech. ]

Almost. The most important word in that particular phrase is almost. You were almost murdered by a frozen lake, and yet here you live and breathe. Looks like surviving to me.

Edited 2016-01-14 00:23 (UTC)

['Suppose he agrees with that. He feels like he weighs a ton in exhaustion and he's fighting with the lines of pain in his forehead and mouth when he shifts his swollen bum knee, but he is alive, it's true. That's what he rates the day a success on: is he dead or alive? And sometimes — sometimes — he rates it on if someone who managed to endear to him is dead or alive. Those days, those are the hardest for Max. The day Hope and Glory died, he could not quiet the voices in his mind for weeks.

Every time and place is a hard day, a rough world.

... Except for this place. Where everything is quiet, calm. Food in the kitchen, a place to rest without fear of attack. Compensation for their kidnappings. Max doesn't like it, but he doesn't view it as venomously as some do. Even if they're likely floating towards a potential battle. War. Whatever the fight ends up being. The fleet certainly is better to be in than the planet they'd crashed the Tranquility on.

He hums thoughtfully.]

Never seen a frozen lake before. Or, mmm. Walked through snow.

[He clearly is not very fond of it.

At all.]

No? [ her interest is unfeigned. she means every syllable of it. nuclear fallout. ] No, I suppose you wouldn't have. It must have been quite the shock.

[ she leans on a piece of the shuttle's frame. comfortable, but not settled. she won't threaten him with the thought of being caught in her company longer than he wants to be. ]

I promise it can be quite beautiful when you're not making a run for it. [ half-smile. ] Or is that not what you were doing?

[He rolls his eyes, though it's nothing too aggravated.]

Hunting.

The animal rushed by, cracked the ice where I stood.

[He's not about to tell her that he could have laid down like Nami had yelled for him to do. Because then it would lead to the fact that the ghosts had decided for a poor moment in time to wrestle for his attention again. And the panic, it just makes them worse. Far, far worse.]

Got its revenge on me.

[And he wants to go find it and cook it and eat it.

Because he hates that wild smeg.]

Edited 2016-01-14 01:10 (UTC)

[ hunting! now, there's a thought. and (for a moment) all her lofty criticism seems to melt away. perhaps he isn't the fool she'd thought he was. not wholly the fool, at least. because fresh meat would be a welcome change... ]

What did you take with you? You're new enough -- you can't have managed a firearm already. [ her head tilts. ] Have you?

[He looks at her like she's talking ridiculousness. Of course he has. Granted, he didn't get to take it with him — but that's beside the point. When Max wants something, he's usually pretty good at keeping his word and getting it. He motions in the direction the kitchen would be, grunting an affirmative.]

Didn't get to keep the gun — made a... um. Deal to split meat with the natives.

Kitchen's fully stocked. Should last a while, if it's properly cared for.

How entrepreneurial. [ dry-as-bones in her voice, but ultimately she affords him some grudging respect. but peggy doesn't precisely know how to say 'thank you', so she stares -- silent -- for a moment, before: ]

Save up your credits and perhaps by the time we stop at another planet or waystation, you might find something worth purchasing.

Survivalist.

[It's a bit snarky, if you read between the serious nature of his voice.

He moves to stand, using the shuttle wall as support for a more prominent limp as he scans the small space. He may never say it, but he's extremely glad for Ino's medicine — he's getting back to the basics. Funny, he's only two inches taller than her. But it's the broadness of the bastard that makes him seem more sturdy.]

Should get these armed, too. Hidden weaponry on them. Blades and guns.

Should be a priority.

[After he arms himself, of course.]

[ far from rankled, she finds it gratifying to hear snark slither its way into his voice. it speaks to a vitality and spark that too often is missing from a man beaten down and defrosting. when he stands, she she holds her ground. shorter, and not at all so broad, but still sturdy in her own right. sturdier than the high heels give her credit for. ]

If you'd like, certainly. [ he wants for make-busy work, and for the security of knowing there's a weapon to hand when he needs one. she can't fault him for that. ] We could see to it. You and I.

[ it's a lot like a truce -- an offer of a joint effort. peggy's not certain the atroma will even allow one of their shuttles to stay subtly armed, but it's the attempt that's most important now. ]

['You and I'. That's a very rare and strange statement.

Max looks incredulous at the idea, like it's not in practice often (it's not).

But eventually, begrudgingly, he turns his gaze away and hums.]

... Better than leaving it unarmed. This whole place could use stashed weapons. If not guns, knives. Tasers, maybe. Good to put people down in case we're — hmm. Boarded. [He glances around the area, talking a bit more than usual — rambling, maybe more to himself than to her. It's much easier for him to speak when it's about things that kill people, you know. Plans to outlive someone else.] Everything here is temporary. Sooner or later, you fight for it or lose it.

Better to start early.

[ some might call his attitude admirable -- but, for the most part, it only makes peggy sad. she buries the emotion deep and, with an amicable nod, appears to agree with him. ]

My gun stays with my things. [ a quasi-gentle way of assuring him she owned one. ] And I didn't see much on offer down on Arslae. But there were knives, and I have some credits to spare. I could pop down and haggle what I can out of the market-men before we leave.

[ in the end (sad though it is) his plan remains a clever one. she'll support it. ]

[Yes. He gives a nod, blinking blearily.]

I have credits. Could go look, too.

[Except he's still flustered with fever, hardly good on his feet. He forgot about the whole 'you fell into icy lakes and are sick' issue. Who keeps track of that kind of thing? Not Max. He's got shit to do. If there's one thing that skirts by his need to live, it's his need to be in motion.

He's been losing his mind, confined in his illness.]

You ought to stay on the Starstruck.

[ but the moment she says it, she understands how futile a command it's going to be. there are many ways that max is different from any creature she's ever met -- he's filthy, and rude, and shattered. he's also sick and recovering. but peggy thinks upon her own low moments, and how she would have been livid to hear someone talk to her the way peggy's trying to talk to max. her expression pinches. ]

If you came with me -- [ she offers him the thinnest of olive branches ] -- would you stay close by? And listen to what I say, so I can get you back here in one piece without Nami and all the rest of them shouting me down for my foolishness in letting you back down on the planet for a few hours?

[Max flat-out sulks.

Yes, he sure does. He even folds his arms.]

Don't need a babysitter.

[Remember how he hung up rudely the second time on the network, when he was an ice cube?

Yes.]

Do I look like a sprog?

[..... Ah.

The slang — the fond nickname — leaves before he can think, and he stops, expression softening, leaning back. He seems thoughtful for a moment, before rising up and speaking without as much indignation and belligerence. But still that stubborn streak is strong. He reaches for his jacket, given back by Nami, rubs his nose on his sleeve.]

I'll be fine on my own.

[Always have been. He doesn't need a bunch of people pestering him about his health; he can handle it, and he doesn't need to — get these strange connections to his crew anyway, because it's fleeting and he knows that. He was getting to sentimental in the other world, and now he's getting too chatty here. He blames the sickness. Clogs his thoughts up.]

Likely so. [ she offers him this dour vote of confidence. after all, she can't go calling him a survivor and then dismissing those skills a few breaths later.

peggy almost -- almost reaches for his arm to stop him. instead, however, she makes it clear that she's not leaving this shuttle so long as he's on it. ]

But it'll be my hide that's tanned for letting you wander off, won't it?

[ she's surviving, too. ]

[Snort.]

Shouldn't get hung up on wandering crewmates.

[He plops back down in the pilot's chair, looking a bit more comfortable, a bit more determined to do the task before him. Even if his nose is red and he looks like he should really be sleeping.

... The mussed hair is typical, sick or not, though.]

Worst case, I vanish and you get another space for crew.

[SUCH GOOD THOUGHTS WITH THIS GUY.]

Worst case: you vanish, and we've left a man behind. Perhaps it doesn't work like that in your version of the world, but -- in my outfit, we try to make a point to keep an eye on our...our colleagues.

[ pointed. matter-of-fact. she doesn't say it as though it's somehow inherently better. in many ways, it's not. short of being captain bloody america, such a stance is often a death-wish. ]

[He looks at her, a hint of confusion in his eyes — as though he doesn't really get why she'd bother to care, with how much misery such outlooks cause — and then Max shrugs as he prepares to leave to go planetside; might as well, since he's here and all.]

Same case, same outcome. Wouldn't hold it against you.

[It's honest, because he'd leave people behind if they'd vanished without a trace.

... Most of the time.

There are always exceptions.

Max always seems to find them.

Though — for some her her honesty, he'll offer a bit of obvious honesty of his own.]

I don't... um... stay. For long.

I'm sorry -- [ here she would have spoken his name, had she known it. ] I'm afraid it' likely not up to you. Not until we find a way to grind down the Atroma's will.

That's what the last place said.

[He doesn't seem too bothered by the whole 'Atroma's will' thing.]

Mmm. I'm used to breaking out of prisoners.

[Whether it's intentionally or not.

Nothing likes to hold him for too long.]

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pretend i wrote 'prison's up there yup

roger roger!!

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