enter if you dare (i'm kidding we're 80% approachable)

[theroadwarrior]

Who: Crew and visitors for the Starstruck!
Broadcast: None!
Action: The SS Starstruck
When: March! And, y'know, until the next mingle too.


[EVERYONE GET IN HERE AND MINGLE AND STUFF OKAY.]

Comments

OTA | Sewing Mama in the Kitchen | Or Rambling Handyman in the Cargo Holds

[theroadwarrior]

[also here is the 20% unapproachable

Max has been busying himself, now that he's decided to keep a watchful eye on the dog (which is now in a proper cast, though he makes it a point to not let the old mutt hobble around too much on it). He misses a few jobs on the station, but he's been paid very well in the past, and he's not particularly hurting on money. The audiences must've enjoyed watching him play hero to a dog — not that that was his thought process, but you know how animal rescue is for the sentimental heart.

At any rate, he can be found checking Dog Two's leg to make sure there's nothing more sinister going on with it, like an infection or torn stitching, and then he lets the pooch settle while he sits calmly at the kitchen table, sewing a rip in his leather jacket; the Citadel's brand is perched high on his neck, revealed under his normal shirt collar. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to mend it. The jacket. It's just not usual that it's because he'd gotten it caught on some machinery while working on the space station.

He's been thinking a lot lately, stuck in his own head. About a lot of things.

Obligations, and whatnot. Having a place here. Helping Peggy when she fell, helping the dog when he found it hurt. This isn't what he's made for. This is not only undeserved, but it's foreign territory. Even when he was stuck aboard the Tranquility, or the planet it crashed on, he at least had a way to always remain at a distance. Relatively, anyway.

He isn't sure how to feel about... any of that. What he does know is that when he's not tending to the dog, he's utterly restless and goes out for hours at a time. He always comes back, though. That's important to note. He comes back.

The bearded, wild-haired man is around. He can also be found inventorying his tools; it's kind of important to have them in order for shuttle repairs. The more concerning thing is that he's... kinda talking to himself. In his isolation in a corner of the cargo bay, with his tools being cleaned and properly maintained, one may hear him:]

Transmission won't burn up fluid during use... running low means a leak, might be disconnecting cooler lines, th'gaskets and the seals; worn down, no good, check the bell housings or loose transmission pans. Worn axles, mounts... unbalanced drive shafts... Grinding noise after engagin' the clutch... gear synchonizers... Whining... buzzing... humming sound...

[Yeah, he's repeating detailed information about transmission fluid damage in cars.

He only stops in his rambling to pat the dog's head when it whines nearby.]

[storminside]

[Ororo's still prone to wandering around the ship, trying to familiarize herself with her new temporary home, and happens to catch bits and pieces of his rambling words as she enters the kitchen. She admittedly doesn't understand all of it - it's a lot of jargon - but she's been around enough transport (everything between earthbound and spaceworthy) to sort of translate a bit of it for herself. Kind of.]

... Is there something wrong with our ship?

[theroadwarrior]

[Max looks back over his shoulder toward the approaching figure, a typical torch in hand — though if he's honest, it's practically glowing and a far cry from the sadder tools you'd find in the Wastelands. He hasn't seen her yet, because he's fucking terrible at actually stopping to see who's new on the ship, but her saying 'our' is plenty enough for him to figure it out. He hums in his throat and stands with a pop of the bum knee, moving to the shuttle, the toolbox shut and under his arm.]

No.

[For a moment, it seems like he's about to totally just ditch her with just a word.

It wouldn't be that shocking, really.

But he does poke his head out, wiping his hands.]

What's your augment.

[He's a surly sort, 5'9" of intensity and seriousness. Don't worry, it'll let up sooner or later. He's rough around the edges around strangers.

...

And FDR.]

[storminside]

Communications. [ ... she says, crossing her arms across her chest. Was he really about to walk away without a word? She just barely manages to keep herself from turning the stern goddess persona up to eleven, as she tended to do when someone disrespected her. ]

[ But the last thing she wanted to do was make more enemies rather than friends on this tiny ship, so she keeps her expression as neutral as she's able. ]

I hope that's useful to this crew. I'm not new to spacecraft, but I've not flown in something like this before. [ Ororo was (unfortunately) used to Shi'ar tech. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Sorry Ororo, don't take it too personally; everyone in this ship has been left without so much as a word at some point. He's a little oblivious shit like that. The injured dog watches the two of them with a tired but curious stare, as Max continues wiping his hands of oily grease.]

S'fine; unless you're a pilot with the — [He taps a finger to his augment, the bump behind his ear she's just as likely familiar with.] — it's all, ahm. New. Communications is good. Should... get together with first mate. She knows comms. Tries to find new transmissions, I think.

[He's trying to be friendly, alright? Even if his voice has no real warm in it, just a sort of walking instruction manual of things to please the person in his vicinity enough to leave him be soon. Though — he has a curious way about him, stumbling over words, motioning with his hands, speaking in that sort of growly voice with a mish-mash of accents that aren't quite lining up with anything in particular.

Just about as odd as he looks, really, tanned and gritty, knee set in a metal brace and scars here and there in fine white lines — a burn scar that is clearly the outline of a hand at second glance graces his forearm. He wears a battered jacket, a scarf. A tube for what seems like transfusions is coiled and tethered to one shoulder. His pack is on his persons, strapped on his back.

An odd fellow.]

[storminside]

[Definitely an odd fellow, but Ororo's seen her share of odd characters in her lifetime. She definitely counts as one herself, if the sleek, streamlined uniform and flamboyant plume of hair were any indication.]

[Still, she supposes she was a bit naive in hoping she'd get a warmer welcome. Part of her expected this sort of indifference, probably, and she can't really blame him.]

New transmissions for...? [She's barely been around a week, she still doesn't know how these things work. ... Though perhaps she should be asking the first mate, and not this monosyllabic fellow.]

[theirinurpants]

Tell me the dog has a good name.

[ After all, he clearly got injured, and such a noble beast deserves a good name! ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Oh my god, why is everyone so hung up on dog names around here?]

... Rock.

Someone else named him.

[Are you guys happy now? It has a name. Don't give him anymore judgemental stares (Peggy).]

[theirinurpants]

Rock? That's no name for a dog!

[ Sorry, Max, you're talking to a Fereldan. Fereldans are, by definition, dog people. ]

What about, I don't know - Ser Barks-a-Lot?

[theroadwarrior]

...........





Terrible.

[REJECTED.

And that's coming from someone who tried to name the dog 'Dog Two'.]

casually threadjacks

[resnipstance]

I don't know. I think Sir Barks-a-Lot is kinda cute! Has a ring to it.

What about Meatball? To go with his Meathead owner.

[theirinurpants]

It is not! It's a great name! Or what about... Barkspawn!

Action

[notmutantbutmiracle]

[Now that the dog was better and on its feet, Wanda wasted no time in taking multiple opportunities to play with him. She'd even managed to sneak him a few treats now and then when he wasn't completely under Max's watching eye. Know where the two of them might be--or rather, knowing where they always are, she enters the cargo bay, looking around for them. She spies Max first, and Rocky wastes no time in walking over to say hello to her. She greets the dog with a smile, kneeling down to give him a few pets.]

[She then straightens up and walks over to Max. Rocky follows after her, taking a seat nearby. She watches Max tinker away for a little bit, listening to him mumbling to himself like a weirdo, before she clears her throat a little, letting him know she's here.]

Whatever you take apart, make sure you know how to put it back together.

[Not that she doesn't trust Max's expertise, more so that she can't resist taking a little, teasing jab at him.]

Action

[theroadwarrior]

[The dog — 'Rock', as Peggy has officially titled him — has warmed up a bit to Wanda's charity; at first interaction, the pooch is about as friendly as Max can be, any given day. It huffs and sighs and complains, but when she offers food, he starts appreciating her visiting. When she approaches, the mutt sits up with its ears perked, and Max turns nearly just the same.]

... Ah.

[For a moment, he wasn't sure what she was talking about.

But he shrugs.]

Not taking anything apart. Just remembering.

[notmutantbutmiracle]

[Wanda crouches down next to him to get a better look at what he's working on.]

Remembering? Remembering what?

[theroadwarrior]

[He rubs a hand across his chin; there's a greasy mark on his jaw from his work.]

Remembering... ahm. [He stops, as if unsure what to say.] Need to remember home. The cars. Keep my mind... sharper.

[notmutantbutmiracle]

Cars?

{Wanda naturally looks a bit confused. This is the first time she can recall Max talking about his home. Not about his past, but about where he's from.]

And the shuttles, they are similar then to the cars from where you are from?

[speedboat]

[ oh look it's the dog. howard shoots him a quizzical look, but he's focusing on the man's words. ] Are you in engineering, son?

[theroadwarrior]

[... Great, it's you. :|

But — ! It's also Peggy's... friend(?). So Max will... try to play nice. Keyword: try. This replies are still short, but it's better than nothin'.]

Mn, no. Not like that. Mechanic's better word for it.

[speedboat]

A mechanic. You like cars? [ he can speak that language. he too is trying to be nice-nice even if it might usually be in his nature to dismiss someone like max. ] I made a hover-car, you know. They told me I couldn't do it.

[theroadwarrior]

[He motherfuckin' loves cars man, but he's not about to wax poetic.

He quirks a brow at him instead.]

Hover car.

[Said oh-so-skeptically.]

It works?

[therewerefifty]

[True to her word, Makie comes looking for Max once she's accumulated enough money to pay the price they'd agreed on, stepping on board a little diffidently. This is the first ship she's visited other than her own; it doesn't feel right.

It doesn't stop her seeking him out, though, and the fact that he's in the cargo bay is handy. She doesn't have to go very far. Though once she hears him muttering, she slows, brow furrowing as she tries to make any sense whatsoever of what he's saying. Man, doesn't anyone talk about normal stuff around here. :|]

[theroadwarrior]

[He twitches, which is really the way you can tell he's suddenly and acutely aware of her presence. But as he looks back grumpily to see who it is preparing to bother him (gosh, everyone seems to lately), he stops — and then schools his face into something far less crummy for a guest. Ahem.

He stands up slowly, hands on his knees.]

Here for the machete?

[therewerefifty]

[He has hair trigger senses, she notes. Not a surprise, given how she met him the first time, but it's the sort of facts Makie files away as a matter of habit. Her lips twitch a little as she watches the change in expression, and she inclines her head in a small nod.]

Yes. I have the required funds now. [She pulled a couple extra shifts, but worth it. The machete will at least give her something to do with her hands while she finds something-- ah. Nastier. Probably.]

I thank you for holding on to it for me.

[theroadwarrior]

[He gives a brisk nod, moving toward the shuttle he had stashed some of his things in for the moment. When he returns, it's the machete, same as she'd last seen it — washed and cleaned a bit, actually. He offers it out to her.]

You only use blades?

[SEEMS LIKE A CORRECT ASSESSMENT ANYWAY.]