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)
driftfleet2016-03-14 01:09 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2016-03-14 01:09 am
Entry tags:
[Action]/[Text] Remember to floss kids. And don't get hit by giant fists in the mouth.
Who: Max and you!
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: SS Starstruck — cargo bay, medical bay, shuttles, kitchen; Iskaulit — bar, community garden.
When: Monday and Tuesday (because he's gettin' shit handled Wednesday... hopefully.)
((Also just FYI this talks a bit about dental issues so if you're grossed out by teeth this ain't your post.))
[Max seems to be in a bad way this week.
Not a 'distant' kind of way, not avoidance because of skittishness, or his own inner demons wrestling with him. It's not one of those rather dreary episodes.
No, Max is — just even more easy to annoy and even more temperamental than usual. It all begins Monday: he sits in the cargo bay with The Dog, AKA Rock, who is still on casual bed-rest with his thin furry leg in a cast. The dog huffs and Max matches the sound himself, massaging his temples like something is burrowing into the bone there. Headache, perhaps? His crew will probably notice it first. Any attempt to talk to him will leave people, even those he's more patient around, with a cold shoulder of sorts or a shorter fuse on conversation than usual. He doesn't talk much (even compared to usual), sort of has a hard time concentrating, replies sharply and then is gone just as fast with a miserable scowl on his face.
Be so careful approaching him, guys.
He's probably gonna aggravate you as much as you're gonna aggravate him.
In the kitchen, he seems to have switched over to the room temperature liquid foods — nothing solid, and he spoons it with a completely unhappy look on his face. Sloshes it around, grumbles at it, and finishes the bowl when his stomach gurgles to urge him on. Whatever it is that is clearly bothering him (it's getting more and more transparent), he can barely focus sometimes. He paces instead. And then he leaves the ship, ignoring the gumball thing entirely. The thought of chewing on those makes him want to bash his head into a wall; meanwhile, his jaw throbs painfully, like a heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump.
His fingers move to prod the back of his mouth as he digs at the culprit of his bad attitude, but it ends with him cursing aloud in the cargo bay, an echo of a sailor's mouth. Not PG-13, kiddies. Max apparently knows some super special no-no words. Excavating the root of his issue leaves nothing for results.
Max goes to the bars on the Iskaulit, because that's where people go when they're not happy and need a drink for it, and—]
.... Nothing cold.
[Yes, bartender, give him his lukewarm booze. Thank you. This guy can hold guzzoline in his mouth; he can handle bland, iceless liquor.
He meanwhile scrubs at his cheek as he sips and finally makes an exception to his drinking limit; not enough to get him drunk, of course, but enough to numb his gums a little. If not that, then he'll just have to medicate himself later. At any rate, maybe he's a familiar figure hunkered over his glass. Or maybe you want to to know why there's someone who hisses and flinches like something bit him. every time he massages his jaw. Either way, forced company will do him some good.
He also visits the Iskaulit garden here, and... then he looks around to see if anyone's going to catch him. Looks all clear. He moves to swipe whatever vegetable is easiest to squish down in a bowl to eat. It's good for you. Vitamins, and all that. Nobody will miss these, right? It's like old times, when he used to pilfer from the gardens aboard another ship from another world, which feels like a blink ago.
The SS Starstruck finally has a medical bay (thanks, Lauralae), so he moves to find some decent painkillers in there, too. Which is good, because... The longer he's gone on to ignore this... the worse it's getting. It's not much of a plot twist by now, is it? Nah. It's a broken molar, a tooth fractured and now officially infected thanks to certain giant behemoth smegs in his world throwing him around and trying to beat his head in.
Thanks, Rictus.
He lays in the shuttle with the chair tipped back, arm over his eyes.
... Maybe he should find some decent pliers and go for it.
Mmmrph.
Yes. It's starting to look promising.]
FLEETWIDE TEXT.
i need surgical pliers.
[how is it that max's entries end up him needing medical supplies what's up with that, huh]
Broadcast: Fleetwide!
Action: SS Starstruck — cargo bay, medical bay, shuttles, kitchen; Iskaulit — bar, community garden.
When: Monday and Tuesday (because he's gettin' shit handled Wednesday... hopefully.)
((Also just FYI this talks a bit about dental issues so if you're grossed out by teeth this ain't your post.))
[Max seems to be in a bad way this week.
Not a 'distant' kind of way, not avoidance because of skittishness, or his own inner demons wrestling with him. It's not one of those rather dreary episodes.
No, Max is — just even more easy to annoy and even more temperamental than usual. It all begins Monday: he sits in the cargo bay with The Dog, AKA Rock, who is still on casual bed-rest with his thin furry leg in a cast. The dog huffs and Max matches the sound himself, massaging his temples like something is burrowing into the bone there. Headache, perhaps? His crew will probably notice it first. Any attempt to talk to him will leave people, even those he's more patient around, with a cold shoulder of sorts or a shorter fuse on conversation than usual. He doesn't talk much (even compared to usual), sort of has a hard time concentrating, replies sharply and then is gone just as fast with a miserable scowl on his face.
Be so careful approaching him, guys.
He's probably gonna aggravate you as much as you're gonna aggravate him.
In the kitchen, he seems to have switched over to the room temperature liquid foods — nothing solid, and he spoons it with a completely unhappy look on his face. Sloshes it around, grumbles at it, and finishes the bowl when his stomach gurgles to urge him on. Whatever it is that is clearly bothering him (it's getting more and more transparent), he can barely focus sometimes. He paces instead. And then he leaves the ship, ignoring the gumball thing entirely. The thought of chewing on those makes him want to bash his head into a wall; meanwhile, his jaw throbs painfully, like a heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump.
His fingers move to prod the back of his mouth as he digs at the culprit of his bad attitude, but it ends with him cursing aloud in the cargo bay, an echo of a sailor's mouth. Not PG-13, kiddies. Max apparently knows some super special no-no words. Excavating the root of his issue leaves nothing for results.
Max goes to the bars on the Iskaulit, because that's where people go when they're not happy and need a drink for it, and—]
.... Nothing cold.
[Yes, bartender, give him his lukewarm booze. Thank you. This guy can hold guzzoline in his mouth; he can handle bland, iceless liquor.
He meanwhile scrubs at his cheek as he sips and finally makes an exception to his drinking limit; not enough to get him drunk, of course, but enough to numb his gums a little. If not that, then he'll just have to medicate himself later. At any rate, maybe he's a familiar figure hunkered over his glass. Or maybe you want to to know why there's someone who hisses and flinches like something bit him. every time he massages his jaw. Either way, forced company will do him some good.
He also visits the Iskaulit garden here, and... then he looks around to see if anyone's going to catch him. Looks all clear. He moves to swipe whatever vegetable is easiest to squish down in a bowl to eat. It's good for you. Vitamins, and all that. Nobody will miss these, right? It's like old times, when he used to pilfer from the gardens aboard another ship from another world, which feels like a blink ago.
The SS Starstruck finally has a medical bay (thanks, Lauralae), so he moves to find some decent painkillers in there, too. Which is good, because... The longer he's gone on to ignore this... the worse it's getting. It's not much of a plot twist by now, is it? Nah. It's a broken molar, a tooth fractured and now officially infected thanks to certain giant behemoth smegs in his world throwing him around and trying to beat his head in.
Thanks, Rictus.
He lays in the shuttle with the chair tipped back, arm over his eyes.
... Maybe he should find some decent pliers and go for it.
Mmmrph.
Yes. It's starting to look promising.]
FLEETWIDE TEXT.
i need surgical pliers.
[how is it that max's entries end up him needing medical supplies what's up with that, huh]
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