driftfleet | ∞ 007

[Hmph. He looks unimpressed.]

Mr. Survivalist, right. [Dry humor. His usual brand of poison.] They rigged me to their car. Hmm... Express blood. Chased someone smarter than them, then we crashed in a sandstorm. Their car versus a War Rig.

[He holds up a hand, makes an exploding motion.

Ka-boom, he can hear the old Keeper of Seeds say eagerly.

He somehow survived extremely improbable odds.]

[ express blood. like a front-line ambulance, carting what was needed to the men who most needed it. but never in such a barbaric fashion. peggy doesn't bother to hide the disgust she feels when confronted with such a notion. ]

Bleak, all the same. [ her nose crinkled. ] Damned bloody bleak.

[He's hardly fazed, personally, but he gets it. Not many deal with his type of world.

That's why it's the bad end, right?

He begins the task of bending forward again and pulling his knee brace onto his leg, which bends a bit stiffly for him. Thank god for the new support; the old one he had was such a pain in the ass to strap into. Too old and weathered, with a ton of frustrating buckles. that are worn down.]

That's home.

[It's all many know. He watches the full collapse of humanity from a dystopia to a complete meltdown of all obligations to carry on with humility.]

Y'born there, you're raised to know someday, your life will be ruined. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. [He tugs at the brace straps.] Better to, ahm... go numb, or you'll turn into a psychotic.

Is that how you feel? [ quick. incisive. her question is like a cutting scalpel: straight to the point. ] Numb?

[Max snorts (a cynical, grim laugh?), a smile ghosting his face. It would be a hell of an achievement, for Peggy to pull one -- because it's never easy -- but that may be soured by the topic on his tongue.]

I didn't go numb. I turned.

[Into a crazy. A loon. A criminally insane. He knows the top -- Ah. Bottom. Bottom of the tattoo. It labels him just fine. He's a psychotic, always has been. He doesn't try to find a better, fairer way of labeling it, because he hardly is one to deserve "fairness".]

M'a warning sign.

You're more than that.

[ she won't go so far as to baby him -- to explain that a warning sign is as much a beacon as anything else. because, in the end, those words are hopelessly hopeful. and peggy isn't in the business of peddling false silver linings. ]

I read the words. [ why not admit it? he might as well already know she did. ] Sounds as though you fought back against your situation. Tyrants and bullies always want to make warning signs out of their hardiest, most stubborn captives.

[Oh Peggy. He's still trying to get used to being more than that. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling the Citadel's brand there. It's surprising how much of an imprint that place left on him. How it'll always be a part of him, too literally. A new addition to the random shiny patches of scarring here and there across his body. A reminder of how much violence he's seen. For every cut on him, he had cut them right back.

He licks his lips, smacks them thoughtfully. He's a wordless creature sometimes. Not sure what to say, how to refute things in a way that she'll completely understand. He can't expect her to. She's a warrior, but not the same kind. Similar breed, but still too good for the desert wastelands. If she had wandered into the Buzzard's dwellings, smelled the cooked flesh of human beings, saw the rot radioactivity caused on skin, maybe she'd understand. Maybe if she'd been strung up and shocked into submission, used for her body (for blood, or a sacrifice — he doesn't allow himself to think about the Wives, because then he starts to feel a little guilty, but Angharad's ghost is reminder enough), but these are things he wouldn't wish on anyone. Even he's too nice for his own good in that place, even if he doesn't actually consider that fact.

He gives her an assessing, silent look from where he sits.

Then he rises to his feet and tugs his shirt on over his head.]

Was prone to biting off their ears. And, hm. Fingers.

..........

It's not like you need all of them.

Edited (i'm so picky shh) 2016-02-26 09:44 (UTC)

Good.

[ her answer is mercenary. she takes no delight in her approval, but nor is she horrified by what max admits. he took their ears and he took their fingers -- but they took more: life-blood and liberty and humanity. perhaps two wrongs did not add up to a righteous direction, but peggy's never been above retribution. there are lines to be drawn, but resisting evil has nothing to do with those lines. ]

And I hope it made them think twice before they touched you next. Those words -- the last ones? They're not just a warning. They're a bloody badge.

[Snort. He's not a cop anymore. Doesn't have badges to wear.

He turns his attention down as he buckles his leg back into the brace; he bends the joint back and forth, the slightest of pained lines in his face from forcing it to move. His own brand of physical therapy. If he doesn't bend it enough, it gets stiff, aching. One of the reasons he was in here in the first place was to administer Ino's medicine and to sit in warm water. Not a usual commodity back home, but now it's so much easier to alleviate the sharp aching.

Once again he is surprised at how much easier existence here is.

... And how it makes it so difficult for him, sometimes.]

Just don't collect your own. Not worth it.

Oh, I have them. [ soft -- and (yes) perhaps a little coy. because she's comfortable with max, however uncomfortable he may be with her. ] You just can't see them.

[ there are scars under her prim clothing. no ink, however. and many more of her badges are worn internally. ]

[He considers that for a moment. Understood. He'll remember, even if things get foggy. She has the scars, too; there are levels of experience that make differences to Max. He glances toward her in curiosity, but then the sliver of normal human interaction he has left reminds him it's not exactly normal to look toward a woman's figure, so he's just as quick to glance away with a soft sound through his nose and a slight pull to the corner of his lip, neither up or down, a sort of apologetic wince that goes unspoken.

He had tried not to look at Angharad's body for different reasons entirely. Well, one being he was in a fog of delusional panic; the other being that, once his head cleared and his bones settled in the rig, he didn't want to think of a baby. He didn't want to imagine.

Joke was on him. The baby went under the wheels. He faced it all over again.

A silent, stilted moment passes where Max stares bleakly at the wall.

It's too easy, for him to get lost in his own head.]

[But today is not one of those days to be quiet and careful around him.

He blinks and glances back over, blue-gray eyes open and alert, eyebrows raised, scraping his nails over the back of his head and through his hair, which is getting progressively more untamed just about anywhere on his scalp. He's still working out the perks of trimming it, really.]

Still should avoid them. Guessing you're like Ahsoka.

[He hums, clarifies, wagging his finger as he hobbles.

Suspiciously like a grumpy old man, minus the actual age part.]

Playing hero. Old-fashioned notion, bad for your health. Don't recommend it.

[ oh, no you don't. you curmudgeon beyond your years. peggy nearly grabs hold of him, but instead she slots herself smoothly between max and the doorway. ]

I beg your pardon. I don't play at anything -- least of all hero. [ it's a dirty lie, but no one who could refute it is currently present. ] I served with heroes, but that particular gleam never rubbed off on me. My badges aren't the sort you get to wear on the parade ground.

[ no one lauds the spy. no one thanks the asset. ]

[He stares at her for a moment, unimpressed.]

Hmm. Don't think you see that you do. You would be the hero of the story.

[WOW MAX

But he motions at her, points really, but it's not so much an impolite thing with Max as it is him using his hands with his words, because for some reason when he uses his hands it all comes to him so much easier.]

You don't like bullies, remember?

You wouldn't be able to help yourself.

[He might look a bit humored. Maybe.]

[ she ought to be touched, really. she ought to be damned chuffed that anyone should give her half-as-much credit as all that -- especially after the dearth of recognition she'd received over the last year with the s.s.r.

indeed, max's words twist in her chest like a knife: potent, and stinging. it leads her to speak out of turn, ] Someone ought to tell that to the damned fools I work with.

[ her words give way to an exasperated sigh. and then a clenched fist. she's made an ass of herself. there's colour in her cheeks. chagrined by her own internal monologue, she retreats from his path. ]

[Peggy may be chargrined, but Max just looks befuddled. Really, he has no clue what to do with the reaction, but then, that's usually how things end up for him. People react a way that throws him for a loop - like Furiosa teasing and mocking him with a nickname not long after she had tried with all her might to murder him. Maybe he's a decent reader of character, but it's times like this that he knows he's been too far from casual interaction with people to truly understand how to fit proper. Like a squared peg in a round hole, as they say.

So he just stares at her with eyes slightly wide and confused, eyebrows raised high on his forehead.

uhmmm

hmmmm

ahmmmmhmmmmmmmmm]

[ -- Hey, he's a 'fool', that's rude.

Anyway.]

Drop them in a pitfall?

[I offered advice, I solved this issue.]

[ her laughter is brittle and buried beneath her breath. peggy's chin dips -- and she's almost grateful that he should be so chivalrous in his response. he makes no grand deal out of her discomfort, and that gives her the strength to carry on gracefully. ]

Some days? I wish. [ okay. sorta gracefully. ] Alas, that almost amounts to treason in my line of work.

[ a little more honest. a little more talkative. he deserves to know. ]

[Ehem.]

But only almost treason.

Edited 2016-02-29 20:17 (UTC)

[ this probably comes as no surprise, but: ] I work in something of a grey area.

[He looks up at the ceiling, as if considering the potential options here.]

Should use that to your advantage often, then.

[JUUUUUST SAAAAAYING.]

Not here, I'm afraid. [ -- no s.s.r. means no agency to back her decisions. not that they ever did such a great job at backing her up back in new york. ] Agent Carter's jurisdiction ended the moment the Atroma hauled me out of New York.

[ her nose crinkles. ] Peggy's, however, remains firmly rooted in this ship. My priorities must be different.

[ better. ]

[Max considers this for a moment. He doesn't say people's names often -- mostly when he's talking to someone else about said person. Even now, he hasn't said Peggy's name to her; he noticed she's done the same, and he can respect that she respects that.]

... This ship, it's not a bad ship.

Good to be invested in.

[Says the man who barely stays in it and sleeps in a shuttle and hoards goods all over the thing. But that's just how he is. Even now he seems to trip over his words, has a hard time explaining what his thoughts tell him.

Social skills are annoying.]

Taking care of the ship is a good priority. S'important. For you to keep yourself going. Never know when this ship will be all you have. Or. Shelter. Armor.

She is, isn't she?

[ a good ship. she allows the edge of her thumb to tap lightly against a bit of chrome corner. perhaps a bathroom is an odd place for this observation, and yet! ]

All these months have caught up with me. I find myself caring for the vessel far more than I'd ever expected.

[Ha.]

Never a good idea, caring for a vessel.

[But he says it in an exasperated way, like he's been guilty of it.]

Because then they blow up.

[............. Again, like he's been guilty of exploding vessels.]

∞ 007

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