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
He gives her a long stare, brow furrowed.]
... Mmrr.
She put you up to this.
[That utter monster.]
no subject
I hope I'm not disturbing you? [Atoli sounds curious but there is a tinge of fear under her voice. She'll walk out the door ASAP if she's unwelcome.Woops.]
no subject
It's fine.
Could get you sick, though.
no subject
Thank you for worrying. [It's very kind of him. Atoli smiles in return.]
I'll leave your food over here alright, eat whenever you feel like it.
[She'll tip toe away quietly soon because he needs rest yo.]
no subject
[This is where normal people say thank you.
Max is rude, though.]
Why're you bringing food? You don't know me.
[Not that he says it in a harsh or even annoyed away. It's just a straight question.]
no subject
[Atoli's really passionate about this. She believes that it's easier to be kind to others than hate people. In the end, it didn't even matter to her if Max was a total stranger.]
no subject
He leans back, tired but... Well, sometimes he can't help but warn people like her.
They're doomed if they keep up that way of life, after all.]
Should be more careful. Could help the wrong type of people.
no subject
I understand! I'll be careful. Oh um, is there any food you like in particular? I'll try to get it for you next time I visit!
no subject
But he sighs and waves his hand dismissively.]
Doesn't matter.
[He'll have a hell of a time eating it, too, with his fear of poisoning.
But he won't tell her that yet.]
No reason to have favorites; food is food.
no subject
You're right. We should be grateful we're even being fed on board.
I think it'd be scary to starve in space. Wouldn't you agree?
no subject
Like usual, he opts for complete honesty, to the point of painful reaslism.]
Going hungry is one of the worst ways to die. Seen cannibals born from it.
It should be one of our biggest concerns. That food — [He gestures to the food she brought. To the pantry of the kitchen.] — might not always be there.
no subject
It-It sounds like you've experienced quite a lot. I won't say you're wrong though.
We should cherish what we have now so we don't regret wasting it later!
no subject
But he relents, giving a nod.]
Take good advantage.
Save up food somewhere in your ship. Non-perishables.
no subject
You have enough on your ship too right? [Actually kind of worried now. There's a hint of concern in her voice.]
no subject
Hasn't stopped yet. It could, but — we're good for now.
[As you can tell, he's the paranoid type.
... Should he bother telling her she should keep her food for herself, because sharing is usually a bad idea? Hrmm.]
no subject
You can call me if you run into any more trouble, okay? I want to keep doing my best here for everyone.
[It's okay, Max. Tensions are running pretty high right now. It's easy to see why he'd be paranoid.]
no subject
So instead, he gives a slow, sure nod; it's about as useful as any reply he can use.
Sure, kid.]