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.]

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[Maybe it's naive to expect to find him in his room when she comes to visit. Furiosa is definitely not surprised to find it empty, though, and what ensues is a short manhunt before she finds him in the shuttle. She doesn't wake him up, but starts to set a few leftover supplies from her own bout with illness. There's a couple boxes of tea and soup that she'd gotten from the planet, half a pouch of cough drops, a scarf that she'd gotten herself when she'd been there (freshly washed), and of course, a packet of tissues.]

[After that's deposited, she shifts slightly and sets a small, potted plant on the console infront of him, looking down to see if he's awake now. This she wants back.]

Edited 2016-01-09 01:17 (UTC)

[Max, as usual, wakes with a start. It's not quite as violent as him in the war rig, but he does suck in a breath and dart to sit upright when he realizes he hears someone nearby; it's when he knows he must be sick, letting someone wander up on him. When his wild eyes dart to Furiosa, though, he calms quickly, sinking back into the seat.]

Mm. Hey.

[His faintly flushed expression grows a bit more puzzled as his gaze drifts across the supplies, landing on the plant. As if he can't comprehend that maybe she's legitimately bringing him things to help with his sickness.]

Hey.

[She doesn't flinch, since she was already half expecting him to wake in such a manner. She points down to the supplies in the seat, her prosthetic is different, cobbled together from items she'd found on her own ship.]

Tea, soup, scarf, tissues ... [She points up at the plant,] Air. This one you can' have, I'll need it back when you're better. [It was more the image of green that kept her morale up when she was feeling under the weather, but the idea of having her own fresh oxygen supply didn't hurt either.]

[After dealing with Felix, Wanda had thought that she'd be able to handle any other ship patient that might fall ill with whatever cold seemed to be going around. Max was doing his best to disprove this assumption. He was being even more bull-headed than Felix had been about refusing to stay in bed. Luckily, she always knew where to find him. Sure enough, she walks into the ship's cargo bay, and finds him sulking about in there.]

Why is it so difficult for people that are sick on this ship to just stay in bed and rest?

[His gaze washes over all the supplies once again, as if the first time wasn't enough.]

Aahm.

[He'd never say as much, but he's humbled by the offer of the plant. He knows even by their short time together how much she appreciated the green, appreciated the image of home. The Citadel would have so much more for her to enjoy, this time free to sow the seeds herself with the others. It's unfair that she's here, but life is so unfair. And this is not as dangerous as their world. Small mercies.

Perhaps it's better for her here.

He leans forward to inspect the plant a careful touch not characteristic of him. The blanket slips down and reveals the healed Citadel mark at the base of his neck — the reminder of home, one that he isn't so sure is as awful as it was before. After all, while it's... a memory of being used, it's also a symbol of what the Wives and she now owned.

Though he imagines they'll likely change it from Joe's old vision.

Better to look at it more positively. Unlike the tattoo.]

Where'd it come from?

[He gives her a particularly petulant look, leaning against one of the walls near the shuttle with a blanket wrapped securely around him, eyes red-rimmed and nose a pink from being a sick little desert man. Clearly despite the sad look of him, he's determined to be as impossible as possible.

He huffs and looks away, less than enthused by the attempted conversation.

This is your crew, Wanda, enjoy.]

Edited 2016-01-10 08:19 (UTC)

[Ahsoka does her best to keep track of where all her shipmates are in the Force. It's harder, now that most of her shipmates are non-Force-sensitives, rather than the beacons in the Force that are the Jedi. But she feels responsible for this crew, so she does her best.

So it doesn't pass her notice that Max's presence has been on the ship for more than a whole 24 hours at once, now. Which is... unusual, for him. It could be that he's just settling in more. Still, something in the Force compels her to go check on him.

When she finds him, she raises one eyebrow high.]

... Wow. What happened to you? You look awful. [She sniffs.] ... Smell it, too.

[He glares wearily at her from the sanctity of a heavy blanket, clearly unimpressed with her raised eyebrow. Isn't that his job, raising eyebrows? But it's true, he looks awful. He's jacket-free and red-nosed, hiding out just momentarily in the kitchen. Until someone comes along and tries to usher him back to his bed, which... judging by the tired slump of his whole self, he should really just get back into.

He's a stubborn mule though, and he'd rather sit and pretend he can eat something without getting nauseous.]

Got sick.

[SUCH A CLEARLY PAINTED PICTURE.]

Really.

[Said in a similar tone of voice to how one might also say "No shit."]

Well, I hope you're not counting on me to cook you anything. I'm terrible at it.

[That said, she does go and turn the kettle on.]

[She feels a slight shiver seeing his own brand. Being on the back of her neck, she didn't see hers all that often, and though you never really forget something like that, most times she liked to ignore the fact that it existed.]

[She turns to settle her back against the console and cross her arms. She appreciated the gentle touch he had with the plant; it was pretty much her most prized possession here.]

Asteffiel gave it to me. He's on the Tourist. He's a plant-person. Walking, talking flora.

[Wanda lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.]

An apology, at the very least, wouldn't hurt.

Mmm. No.

[He's not really interested in eating what someone else prepared, not unless he's watching over their shoulder. You know how he is. Instead he sniffs and tries to look around her from where he sits, as she goes to make tea.]

As long as what someone makes is edible, they can cook fine.

[HE EATS LIZARDS RAW, MAN.]

[Ah... He's surprised to find he's not surprised.

Traveling worlds has really done a number on him.]

Nice of them.

[That was sort of a compliment to the guy! Good on ya', Max.]

Last place I was at... Think you would've liked it.

Dangerous, but not as bad as home; it was all green.

[Excuse me what.

Max squints, as if she spoke in some imaginary language.]

Apology for what?

It... depends on your definition of "edible."

[It's really that bad.]

I mean. It probably won't kill you. [Probably.]

Let's just say it wasn't a skill that was prioritised where I grew up.

[ -- why does she care?

it's a valid question. peggy, after all, doesn't always care. especially when to all proper observances, the man has plenty of allies of his own. she decides it's because he's part of her crew, and the old military blood can't be beaten out of her. they are comrades by lottery and random assignment, and that's enough for her. so -- well aware of his tendencies to wander -- she doesn't even bother checking his bed.

her heels click on the cargo bay floor as she crosses it. it takes some hunting, but she tracks him down as he sleeps in one of the shuttles. she doesn't try to wake him. instead, she leans in to deposit a steaming mug of tea within arm's reach.

there, she thinks, a cup of your own. ]

[She can do dangerous, that doesn't get a comment, but the idea of a whole lot of green? She raises her brows.]

Really? I'm sorry I missed that. [Not like she had a choice in the matter.] I guess it's not unlikely that we could find someplace like that here; the last planet we stopped at was all desert.

[Desert, not Wasteland, since there was a difference, but the temperature was right.]

[Huh.]

Maybe should just eat your game raw.

[Really, raw meat isn't so bad. It has some downsides.

He sneezes into his blanket, shifting slightly. He gets up to hobble over to the tissues Furiosa had generously left him, collar low enough to show the first half of a burned-in brand on the back of his neck that looks potentially skull-like, before he rather ungracefully blows his nose.

Such a gent.]

Or survive off old cans of pet food.

[He shakes his head, letting his hand drop from the plant to run along the console dash smoothly. From her angle, Furiosa could likely make out the fresher wound — a few months old — that is clearly a burn mark the shape of hand, wrapping around his forearm, near his wrist.]

Maybe we'll stop by that planet. We could pick up the others.

[Snort.

Though...

Though —

He would. Ask to stop there, pick them all up. He... likes most of them. The chicklet, Tadashi, Mystique — Rey, even. There are many who deserve to be saved from that to this.]

The ground water there, it was acidic. Turned bad. The rain was good, though.

[He leans back with a sigh.]

Food supply was getting bad, too. Not sure why. The animals were all getting rabid. Mangy.

[There's an unspoken concern, maybe.

Stupid Tranquility.]

[Max's in the middle of running in his head, when she comes in.

He runs and runs and runs, through brown corridors and around metal pipes.

'look out, we got a live one here, boys!'

His shoulder hits one of the heavy metal doors to throw it open —

Max jerks awake at the slight clack of the cup, blanket flipping off his shoulders.

If it makes her feel any better about him suddenly coming rather aggressively back to life where he sits, it's that he probably will look way more freaked out about it than she will; his eyes are wide, anxious, like a burned animal wanting to bite at the hand that burned them. One fist is ready for lashing out, clenched, but he is quick to stop himself because he looks at the enemy and it's —]

[A cup of tea.

He freezes, hand still up for punching, and just stares at it like it's a plot twist and a half.]

[They could both be accused of being decent people. The planet he talks about loses some of its luster, but she finds herself wondering how much she'd be willing to put up with for a green place. Admittedly, probably a lot.]

[She tilts her head to see his old wound a little better, the motions to it almost idly.]

What happened here?

[Mmm? Oh. He glances to it, flexing his hand. The skin there always feels tight now.]

A woman who could light her body on fire tried to murder me.

[So casual, you know how it is. One minute you're pals, the next she's shattering the bones in your knee.]

Well... I can do that, but last time I checked the same wasn't true for humans.

[The kettle boils, and Ahsoka grabs two mugs and some tea she bought when she went planet-side. She might not be able to cook, but tea at least is not outside her capabilities.

She walks over to where Max is sitting and puts one of the mugs in front of him. All business:]

... Careful, it's still hot. Don't burn yourself.

[ she doesn't seize up. she doesn't flinch -- and she doesn't flee. point of fact, her brow creases with otherwise unexpressed sympathy. the words shellshocked as good as dance around this man; she's intimately familiar with the burn in his eyes. soldier after soldier after soldier has been hollowed out by that slow-burning fire, leaving only bitter ashes behind. sometimes, she fears the fire in herself. loose ends of traumas left buried, sizzling back to life in her gut whenever some politician decides a celebration is worth fireworks.

peggy steps backwards. she gives him space. but she does not give him mollycoddling: ] Spill it, and you'll be sopping it up on hands and knees so the circuits don't fry.

[ an edged and steely voice. almost like a drill sergeant's -- but it's a mercy! deflection and escape disguised as disappointment. she'll not call his startled pain out for what it is. not aloud. ]

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