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

[thud, thud — thump.

One last good punch leaves him sweating and stepping back, fists throbbing painfully. He's not tired, though; he sizes the bag up for a splint second before he realizes... it's not a person. Even still, Max's thrumming with more energy, seems to be a fountain of it, like that gale hasn't at all blown itself out even yet. It's a familiar sensation, one he usually feels after fighting for his life, tooth n' neck. He seems dazed for a moment, and he steps back again. He's just as easily a muscled, stout pit bull circling around a makeshift fighting ring.

Something about it unsettles him — that he had gotten out so much aggression, lost himself for a moment again. slowly, he peels his hands into open fists.

Is this a good thing, or a bad thing?

He couldn't tell.

He has a hard time telling, sometimes.

When he catches her eyes, he looks away just as quickly, as if he just as well broke something apart by accident. He rubs a hand over his longer hair, pushing it back wetly. Energy for him converts like sugars into caginess. But there's more to his sudden absence, like he wants to melt into the floor.

Surely his cheeks are reddened because he's heated, and not because of something else altogether. Surely no shame or anything like that. Mm.]

It was... hn.

[He looks to be at a loss.]

Bad? [ she asks. ] Good? Somewhere in between?

[ slowly, she steps out from the other side of the bag. peggy's curiousity is barely constrained. but it isn't pure academic interest any longer -- her questions are edged with a very warm concern. ]

Or maybe you didn't feel anything quite like bad and good. There's nothing stating you need to feel a certain way about it. Hell, you need never do it again. [ ... ] But I'm glad you tried.

[He did try. Which is yet another confounding thing. He remembers a time when he would have ignored Peggy outright and carried on with his existence. But then Furiosa and the wives happened, and then the Tranquility stripped him of privacy and isolation -- and now he's in a smaller ship, looking after yet another dog, trusting too much and itching to ruin it all -- break it all down -- by fleeing.

He doesn't look at her, rubbing his neck with stiff fingers.]

Don't know if it was good, or bad. It does... Something. Takes something.

[He can't tell if what it takes is a good or bad thing, though.]

What's it do for you?

[Removing the conversation from himself seems like a great idea right about now.]

That is a...terribly complicated question.

[ she rolls her shoulders like banishing little twitches and tics from her muscles. leftover adrenaline that begins to course, again, at the very thought of throwing a punch. complicated or not, she owes him an answer. it's the reward he gets for bothering with her bit of 'therapy', though even peggy herself would hesitate to call it by that word. ]

I get frustrated. [ peggy confesses. ] It's better to work that all out in one college try. [ she wets her lips, and remembers jason telling her she couldn't just go around punching all of los angeles. for a moment, her teeth grit. ]

And it's a comfort, at times, to be reminded that I am capable. [ self-conscious, she runs her fingers over her knuckles. ] To remind myself that I am strong, regardless of the circumstances wherein I find myself.

Easy to get frustrated. Being stuck.

[He glances back to the punching bag.]

Not used to punching unless it's a person... and most times, fists can't work.

[It's almost impossible, to go through a fight with just your knuckles.

But boy, have they helped.]

And that would be why I like to carry a shotgun, as well, but -- [ she closes her fists loose and holds them up. demonstrative, not threatening. ] I make do with what I have.

[He quirks his eyebrow.]

Bony little knuckles.

What? [ play-acting indignation. ] These things? They hit heavier than you might think.

[ it isn't a challenge. nor much of a boast, really. peggy isn't interested in proving herself -- least of all within the ship. her role here isn't to throw right hooks. ]

Power doesn't come from the knuckles.

[He shakes his head.]

Misunderstand.

[Because learning his language, misreading's easy enough to do. Hell, even if you were the grand champion at reading him, he doesn't always explain his replies that well. A piece of what should have been said, so to speak.]

... Bony knuckles hurt. They're sharp.

Edited 2016-03-21 18:35 (UTC)

...You were saying something nice. [ sort of. almost. perhaps nice is the wrong word -- but the point is that max had been commenting positively upon her 'weapons'. and she, accustomed to his doubt and negativity, had missed that slant entirely.

but now she warms up to the prospect. ] Thank you.

[Max glances away, apparently modest about complimenting people. It's not really something he's used to. Or good at. At all.]

Mm.

[You're welcome, the noise says. Probably with a question mark behind it.]

Many think small means weak. S'not true. That kind of thinking will get you killed.

... By the smaller people.

Edited 2016-03-21 21:45 (UTC)

One of the single-most comprehensively trained and impressive operatives I'd ever seen can't have been any more than -- oh, ten stone soaking wet.

[ dottie underwood. because (somehow) it was easier to discuss a mad soviet spy than even reconsider once again approaching the topic of steve rogers. ]

[He nods, thinking about his own history. His own small warriors out in the sands.]

Smaller's faster. Smaller... finds special shortcuts to get ahead.

Knew a kid, for a few days. Couldn't talk, was, mmm. Worse than me. He made himself a boomerang with a blade. [He motions, mimics a throw.] Used tunnels and copied dog sounds, knew how to sneak around.

[He sounds mildly impressed.

The feral child was strangely endearing. He hated to admit.]

[ she looks pleased -- because it's always welcome to exchange one piece of information for another. and max bestows this piece upon her with such ease. ]

Clever boy.

[Max hums.]

Don't know if he ever made it.

[He shrugs, looking distant, thoughtful.]

His people left for the coast. Not sure if they ever found it; I've never seen it. Could be like the Plains of Silence — go in, never come back out.

Why are they called that, anyway? Odd sort of name.

[ now! here's a riddle: does she ask the question in order to soften way she now raises her hands and bids him to hold out his own, so she might reclaim her boxing wraps? or does she seek out such physical contact as a way of distracting from the question?

or maybe each independent action is meant to throw shadow upon the other. ]

I can unwrap them.

[He shakes his head, hands working at each other. But even so, while he unwraps the bindings with sturdy yet war-damaged hands, he continues to speak. Tentatively. His expression softens at the topic.]

It's flat, endless land. Smooth sand that goes on as far as the eye can see.

If anyone's gotten across it, nobody's ever heard from them again.

[He was going to try. See if it consumed him or not.

But that is a dark, sad topic about himself he'd rather not bridge.]

Maybe it's because there's something better on the other side. [ -- so good it defies return. but that's far too pretty a thought, even for her, and the stiff shake of her head suggests she knows she's talking nothing but hot air. ]

[He nods. Hesitates.

Well, it's not so bad if he paints it in an optimistic light.]

Think maybe I'll try and see, someday. If I go back.

... Maybe there's something good.

[ as good a moment as any to make her graceful exit. peggy raises her hands -- as if, perhaps, to take her old and battered wraps from his possession. to reclaim them as her own crutches. but then her fingers twitch and her arm falls back to her side. ]

You keep those. Just in case the mood hits, [ she shrugs. ]

[He blinks, but eventually surrenders well enough, putting them into his pocket. He isn't a fan of receiving things, but... beat up wraps aren't... a big thing. He can just conjure up that it's trade for the meat he'd brought in back when. It'll do.]

... Just in case.

[It's about as successful as you can get, with Max and something new.]

[ fabric -- especially the plain and undyed sort -- isn't hard to get hold of. doubtless, peggy must have spares hidden away inside the trunk at the foot of her bed. but she says nothing of that, only pleased that he should accept the gesture in the first place.

she nods her head -- little more than a dip of her chin, really, to accept his acceptance. ]

I'd -- better go. Shower. [ leave you to your own devices. ] See you around, right hook.

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject