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)
driftfleet2016-01-08 02:44 pm
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2016-01-08 02:44 pm
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.]
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Max is sick after falling into a frozen lake. He is insufferable about it.
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.]
no subject
Jedi are supposed to defend those who need it, regardless of their allegiances. But now with the war on, it's always "You can't go there, it's illegal" and "You can't protect that person, they're an enemy!"
People on planets that are aligned with the Republic are already getting plenty of help! Meanwhile, people on neutral planets are suffering for the crime of refusing to pick a side! The Republic and the Separatists alike won't trade with them or offer them any aid, so their economy and military strength is in the toilet. That attracts pirates who are looking to take advantage of the situation. Then you've got more war refugees fleeing to them than they're equipped to handle. Tie it all up in a bow, and you've got a recipe for planetary-wide poverty and unrest, which then results in domestic terrorism and political chaos!
[Her voice gets more agitated as she goes; it's clearly something she feels strongly about.]
The neutral planets are a mess! All because they wanted to remain peaceful! And the Order isn't allowed to help them. It's wrong.
no subject
You seem to have some feelings you need to get out more often, child.]
no subject
I. ... Sorry.
I guess I felt more strongly about that than I realised.
no subject
Just a little strongly.
[Is he bein' sassy.
He bein' sassy.]
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no subject
[It's said so dryly, with such a serious expression, but it's all trollin'.]
Guess my world is a simpler place.
No official wars to fight anymore; everyone's mostly dead.
[HAR HAR.]
no subject
[Well if you didn't have her attention before, you sure as hell have it now.]
no subject
But then he recalls that he hadn't actually told her about it; that was Peggy.]
World's a radioactive wasteland. Most everyone's killed each other off.
[He's not very upset about it. It's not spoken with anything but common casual tone.
Because you get used to it, after decades.]
no subject
no subject
It's life. You get used to it.
[And now you know why he's so weird and awkward.]
That's what happens, when people turn on each other. Was a matter of time.
no subject
no subject
[He almost seemed humored when he continues - ]
Or you just do yourself a favor and go insane early on.
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no subject
He drinks from his cup again.]
What do you think?
[It's not spoken harshly, but in a wry, uncaring sort of way.
He knows what he is. He doesn't bother mincing words.]
no subject
I don't think I really know you well enough yet to say.
As far as I'm concerned, you're just a meathead.
no subject
Fine by me.
[It's accurate.]
no subject
... Drink your tea, meathead.