driftfleet | first one to make that doctor who joke loses

[THUNK, that's the sound of his head hitting something as his butt jumps in surprise -- and then he's sitting up out of the jeep's guts with a scowl and a distorted huff through the mask. Funnily enough, Max speaks quite a bit through his eyes, so she doesn't even have to see more than the raising eyebrow on his forehead.

Yeah, he's looking at the paint all over her outfit.

.......

What's up with all that mess, Peggy?]

[ her eyes might be a bit more...veiled -- by glass, chiefly. but she can still see his, which often speak louder than his mumbled words. in response, she points at herself (at the smudges) and shrugs. ]

Got in the way of someone's game. [ her voice is muffled, but peggy makes a point of adjusting her own volume and elocution in order to make herself heard. ] Nothing serious.

[Oh, well, nothing serious. Works for him. He still is trying to wrap his head around this talk of 'games'. Apparently no violence, none that he's used to. How on earth did this world not spiral into pure chaos? It makes him wonder. Is his world really so lost? (Yes, yes it is).

He climbs back out from under the jeep's hood, putting down a wrench on a chair nearby with all his essentials. They'd just removed the original engine -- apparently they go bad very quickly here -- and he's working out the kinks before the new one gets shipped in. Looks good, though. And it's also strange to find vehicles without rust, without the need to be held together with chain or rope or whatever works.]

Should be more careful where you walk.

[Such apt advice, Max. He wipes at his hands while an older woman wanders over towards them — she's got a mask much like Max's, her warm eyes crinkled in the corners as she addresses him with a rough voice, like a smoker's.

"Should be in today, Handsome." She motions at Max, laughing a spell in Peggy's direction. "Doesn't have much in the way of names, does he? Anyway -- here. Fresh from my own pan. You been working for hours without stopping, haven't you? I notice everything around this dump."

She's gone as fast as she's arrived, leaving Max standing there with a Styrofoam container of dinner. Yet another gift from the woman who had given her name... which he didn't absorb. Ah. Anyway. He turns back to Peggy.]

... Working for pay n' food.

[Clearly. In case you thought he was conning older ladies out of exotic casseroles.]

Edited 2016-03-26 01:55 (UTC)

[ the woman -- stranger though she is -- gets a smile that can't be seen and a warm tip of the head. although peggy doesn't answer with words, there's an immediate camaraderie to be found with someone coming to much the same conclusions as her own. she lets the two of them tidy up their transaction. silent, observing, and amused.

she saves her spoken reaction for after the woman leaves. there (predictably) turns max, and he makes his clumsy attempt to explain away what seems to her a perfectly natural exchange. ]

Whatever you say, Handsome, [ she teases. how could she not? ] From where I'm standing, it looks like a mighty fine hustle.

[He practically groans in annoyance at the nickname, turning and placing the food down on the chair where that familiar ol' jacket is folded neatly -- left to chill, apparently, because he's already turning back toward the jeep and is trying to climb back into it. Apparently hours is not really bothering him; he's got a fine layer of sweat on his brow, grunting as he twists his arm around to unscrew something deep in there.

He's secretly too eager to get back to something so familiar. The burn in his muscles is nice. Feels like home. Well, no -- he doesn't have a home. But it feels as close to one as he can get anymore. He speaks from inside the jeep, his tone carrying with a tinny reverberation.]

We need supplies -- this place has fuel. The more work, the better.

Lots for me to do. Familiar with most of this place.

Edited 2016-03-26 02:26 (UTC)

Fuel. Yes -- and what else will we be needing?

[ the playful jolt in her voice recedes, now, as she considers more practical matters. peggy had seen a significant bump in her credit account, lately. doubtless because of the little peaks of high-drama she'd weathered. loss, and gain. hot and angry tears cried in private over a man she might never see again. ]

I've been to the markets. Hardly any food worth purchasing, even if the price was half what they ask for.

[He looks back out from the jeep, shutting the hood. Until he gets an engine in, there's not much else that can be done. Which he notes with some disappointment. Turns out, spending hours on the car meant... fixing any issues that he could be working on later. Oops. He rubs his hands on his shirt.]

I bought one extra mask. But we should stock up on a full collection.

Never know when we'd need that again.

I see you're actually using one, now.

[ she speaks with the mildest of approval. ]

[He nearly pouts with his eyes, shrugging haplessly.]

Needed to see f'm toxic, too.

It's easier to navigate when you're simillar to the scenery.

Less easy to navigate when you're dead. [ flinty, but ultimately on his side. there's a new quality, lately, to her jabs. they're less exploratory and far more...familial. hard, but warm. ]

Mm, well, I'll let you know when that happens.

[He does hate that tone in some ways. Hates how nice it is. But he also likes it today -- it's a good day, a simple one, and his mind feels tacked on right. And as ashamed as he partly feels for it... He thrives well here. Better than he did on the Starlight.

He closes up the tool box and wipes his hands one last time, not getting all the oil off in one swipe, but it's enough.]

.... Um. Hungry?

[Now that he's stopped moving so much... He kinda really is.]

Certainly. [ a stiff nod, though it's mostly obscured by the mask. ] Though only if you're agreeing to accompany me back to the ship for lunch. I won't be exposing myself to this air unless absolutely necessary.

Mm. The ship.

[Come on, Peggy, he's not that oblivious. He knows you'd go green as a goblin out here in too short of a time. And he'd rather not have you vomit up your meal and pin it on him (because he has enough women judging him in his life). He nods toward the direction of the ship, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on, then the boxed meal.

Which is. Actually quite delicious. He will... admit... in his head.

He's not particularly used to good ol' fashioned home-cooked meals. It reminds him of something distant... very nostalgic. But foreign from years of scavenging, eating cans of old dog food and thrashing reptiles.

A question crosses his mind, when he sees Peggy's current state as he goes.]

Did you shoot back?

[ they walk in congenial silence until he (obliquely) brings up her appearance. she shoots him a glance before relenting -- smiling -- and dabbing her fingers against a patch of still-tacky paint on her sleeve. ]

I did, despite the misunderstanding. Perhaps I should be feeling guilty for that. [ but clearly she doesn't. after all, it's just paint. she's no less harmed than the perpetrators are, and she managed to get in some very good shots. ]

[snort.]

Was it fun?

[He's pretty sure he'd be upset and anxious about it.

But if she enjoyed herself, that's good, right?]

It was, in point of fact. Odd to say, perhaps, but it was a welcome change to use those skills in a game instead of at war. You don't usually get to shake the hand of the man you shot.

... Usually.

[It's a confirmation, but an amused one. It seems to be all he has to offer for a stretch of their walk -- but his mood seems to be... a good one. Actually, he's seemed a bit more content when they landed here. At ease with the world more than the station or the planet before that.

This is closer to home. And as guilty and awful as it makes him secretly, he quietly...

Likes it.]

Used to have games in our world -- these... war games. Only not a game, not really. Not the name on the tin. It's how you got parts. Supplies you can't get out there on your own.

[He waves hand dismissively.]

Always a pain. Last time didn't go well.

[ he's given her an opening -- she can't not take it. ]

What happened last time?

[Be careful what you ask for, Peggy, because Max has no qualms talking business. He looks absolutely exasperated, from what she can see of his eyes and brow. The huff of air says as much.]

Won an engine. Sore losers.

Buzzards stabbed me in the leg, roped me flat to the ground to sunbake.

[YOU KNOW. BUSINESS.]

[ oh, look! the ship. or, at least, one of the short range shuttles that can bring them back up to the ship. his, likely -- rather than whichever one she'd taken down. best to let max do the piloting when he's making the trip. it's one of those rare concessions she made. ]

I take it you're not talking about literal buzzards?

[Max shakes his head, apparently too involved in his own memories to read the humor in Peggy's reply. He's sliding into the piloting seat and punching in the starter controls as he goes -- a smooth, distant action, one done enough that he barely pays his own hands any mind as they work.]

They feed off the world. Mm. I do, too, but not... like that -- they don't see things as they are. Cars are scrap metal. Buildings are brick and rock to take. People are meat to consume. I was lucky they left me to die instead of stringing me up for their dinner.

[It's an easy topic, home. Even in regards to the Buzzards. But with it carries a bit of silent animosity, in Max's heart. He is not on good terms with them. The bracelet he fidgets with on his wrist is memory of that.]

[ she waits until they leave the ground and the air systems within the shuttle have cycled at least once before she unbuckles her mask and frees her face. she gives her curls a shake, and welcomes cool air on her cheeks. ]

They unmake things.

[Max follows her example, unclasping the mask from his face and setting it aside.

He takes a deep, rumbling breath, and then replies much like a correction:]

Not just things.

[They unmade Glory and her mother, after all. Back into the earth. Recycled.]

People, then. Lives. The undo it all --

[ peggy is looking elsewhere. out the blurred and scratched shuttle 'window' perhaps, as they break atmosphere. or maybe she's merely lost in thought. but then her head turns to address max once again and...

christ on a cracker. ]

You've bloody done it. [ she doesn't hide how she stares. ] My word.

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