[Closed-ish] and here's the flipside

[theroadwarrior]

Who: Max Rockatansky (still 22... for a bit...) and you.
Broadcast: n/a
Action: Iskaulit, Starstruck, etc.
When: the days before the 8th. Follow-up to his first post. It may also involve threads after Max reverts back, to keep things all together.

Max slowly reverts back to his old ways -- and it's terrifying.

Warnings for mental illness, PTSD, and the situations that may arise from them! There will be top comments for different people inside; if you're interested in tagging into this with Max as he reverts back to older!Max, hit me up via PP on plurk or PM, and we can flesh something out!)

Comments

Max & Beverly | a doctor visit

[theroadcop]

[Max had been having strange issues for a few days now -- weird flashes of memory, mostly, phantom pains in his knee other times. The dreams are gnarled, strange fever dreams, things he doesn't quite understand. They're bloody, they're miserable, they're so realistic that he wakes up in a sweat. And that's even when he sleeps. The longer this goes on, the more he finds himself too paranoid -- too awake, too alert. He doesn't know why. Well, maybe he does. Maybe it's the dreams.

But there's an unsettling feeling that he should never sleep at all. Eventually, he finds it within himself to side-step his pride. Eyes bruised with tiredness, he gives her a quick call on the comms.]

Doctor, hey. Don't suppose I could do you a talk real quick?

[dancingmd]

[Frankly, this isn't...entirely unexpected. They couldn't just have a conversation about children and have that be the end of it. So she braces herself for whatever is coming.]

Of course. Is everything all right?

[No, of course it's not, but it's what she has to ask.]

[theroadcop]

[No, everything is not alright.

But he tries to play it off a little anyway, because otherwise he'd be a bit more afraid on the outside. And he can't allow that.]

Just some... odd things. I've been having some trouble sleeping.

Weird dreams. Bad ones. Among other things.

Was wondering if it was worthy of a doctor's appointment.

[dancingmd]

[Damn. There's a telling pause before she answers.]

Yes, I think that would be a good idea.

[theroadcop]

... Alright. Alright, sounds like a good idea.

[And wow, he doesn't feel any less wigged out.]

I'll come to your ship?

[dancingmd]

I'll be here, in the lab. Let me know if you have any trouble finding it.

[And this time around, Max won't have to wait outside the cargo bay doors for someone to let him in. Though they are still present, the locks are disabled, now that Azula has gone. As soon as he comes into sickbay, Beverly stands to greet him, gesturing towards a nearby chair.]

Please, take a seat.

[theroadcop]

[He smiles, but it's a weak one, gone as quickly as it'd come.

He's really in no mood to be jovial and social, today. Feels all wrong.

Not like himself.

He takes a seat, hands on his knees.]

... Hey, doc. Hope I'm not bothering.

Max & Nami | restless wandering

[theroadcop]

[The sleeping problem is persistent. And worse, even when he's not trying to sleep, he feels all wrong; feels like he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be staying still at all. It's like someone's watching him from afar and he can feel it; not possible, though. It's just him. Everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be? Other than being stuck in space -- which is madness, but at least everything's okay -- he hasn't had any problems. None. Everyone's been fine.

He wants to run from something, though. He's just not sure what.

And then he has flashes of a burnt corpse, hands gnarled. He can't tell the face. But he feels the thoughts bubbling up. It's real. It's real, isn't it? Did this happen? Fuck, he's going psycho.

He paces the Iskaulit, because he's not sure what else to do with his sudden thrum of energy, back taut and guarded, a troubled expression on his face. He thrusts his hands in his pockets and wonders if maybe drinking himself into a stupor can keep this all at bay, just so he doesn't have to think on it for a while.]

[namisan]

[Drinking yourself into a stupor might have to wait. Nami's closing up bar for the night, yawning and bone-weary and heading for the shuttles and home. Or so she thinks.

She doesn't recognise the figure pacing aimlessly through the wider shared area of the Iskaulit at first, having met Max's younger self only at the bar, probably a handful of times by now. But there's something in the gait that makes her look twice. She's still not sure whether to leave him be or not, and to be honest heading home for sleep is really tempting...but this is an augment glitch, and it occurs to her she has no idea what other side effects there might be.

So. She hoists the paper bag with her a little higher and heads for him. Smart enough not to surprise, at least; he'll see her coming.]

Max? It's kinda late.

[theroadcop]

[He startles anyway at his name, something a bit more heavy in his stare before it smooths into begrudging sheepishness. Caught redhanded, as it is. He squares his shoulders a bit, hands in his pockets. So he's at least not looking like a complete psychopath. Good on ya', Max. He smiles a bit, but even he can stop some of the strain that wriggles its way through.]

Issit? Hard to tell in space. I guess it's bad when even the barkeeps are heading off.

[namisan]

Gotta sleep sometime. [Gotta replace some vanished staff, too. She needs to get to bed at a decent time, dammit. Thoughts for another day; Nami looks him up and down with a small frown.]

You doing okay?

[theroadcop]

Honestly... I don't...

[He trails off, hands in his pockets, unsure how much to even tell a stranger. Or is she a stranger? For some reason, she feels familiar in some way. Beyond the bar meetings. He decides to sacrifice some of his pride, because he -- really is scared.]

... I've been having -- strange episodes. Sleeping problems. I guess that sounds worser than it is, but it's been really giving me a run for my money.

[Beverly told him a few things.

Not so good things.]

[namisan]

Nightmares? Or just insomnia?

[Her gaze is overly watchful for a stranger tbh, but it's overlaid with sympathy, and she digs into the paper bag, pulling a bottle half out.]

You wanna talk about it over a drink? I could let us back in again.

Max & Furiosa | the captain's room

[theroadcop]

[Memories keep coming. Killing people out in the hot sun, pillaging from the remnants of camps that have been obliterated by hungry men and women. They're short, confusing moments that come and go, leaving his knees weak and his mind whirling. Where is it all coming from? His headache is gonna fuckin' kill him.

The overwhelming feeling that hits him is like an elephant sitting on his chest, and he isn't sure there's a safe place to be. He zones out, legs moving him against his will. It's how he ends up in a familiar captain's room, where he finds a corner that seems safest and crams himself there, gun sitting beside him where he can reach it. He doesn't know why he'd need it. He feels like he's waiting for something terrible to catch up with him.

But the gun, it can help someday.

He loses track of time.]

action

[kill_switch]

[There were a lot of things working against Furiosa of late; the appearance of the smoky woman (who she's not entirely certain was even real or just a figment of her imagination, missing knife notwithstanding), preoccupation with the realization that Angharad was no longer with the Fleet and had most likely gone home to her tragic fate, wondering what to do about Max, and then MAx's general sneaking skills.]

[To say the least, and especially given his demeanor the last she talked to him, is to find him in her room. She stop, and stares, noticing the gun and waiting that fraction of a moment to see how he reacts.]

action

[theroadcop]

[He glances up at her, then looks back down between his bent legs. There's a shame there that he can't quite shake, fists pressed against his temples. He clears his throat, but the quiet anxiety is obvious as it falls out from between his teeth]

I don't... I don't know why I'm here.

[He runs his fingers through his hair, makes fists there, tugs loosely in frustration. He doesn't look at her.]

For some reason, I just -- came here. I remember it's quiet.

Re: action

[kill_switch]

[She relaxes slightly, but keeps back; mindful of his space.]

It's safe here. We didn't have many safe places in our world ... I like to make sure there's always a safe place here. [And her quarters on her ship is the easiest to ensure.]

You have come here before. [She's not sure if he knows he's been here, or if she should really be telling him, but uncertainty can be as much of a killer as a sour truth. She'd keep it brief, concise, leave out the details and speculation and stick with the immediate.]

action

[theroadcop]

[He laughs, humorless and edged with something sad.]

I've come here before. Alright.

[He rubs his hands over his face.]

I'm remembering things I shouldn't. We've fought before. You almost broke my nose. I threw sand at your eyes; I was a monster, some kind of feral psychotic. I can remember some f'it. Don't want to, but I can see it.

[Things trickling in. Frightening things.

Some of which he's pretending is made up.

Because he can't think of the alternative: that it's all true.]

Re: action

[kill_switch]

[She nods, taking a careful seat on the bed.] We had a rocky start, but we worked it out.

[She wondered why this was happening to him, but it was an invisible enemy; this wasn't something she could protect him from.] You were just trying to survive. You weren't the worst obstacle I've encountered.

Max & Peggy | bad memories

[theroadcop]

[Everything hits him at once, and something in him snaps, like a rubber band. It all rushes in -- memories, feelings, instinct -- starts to hollow him out. It's quick, so quick, and before he knows it there are connections being made in his head. His mind is playing catch-up. The gears are grinding, rusted or not. He's not safe, he's not home, and there is no home; he's looked, oh, he's looked. But everything's gone. And something here is so very, very wrong.

He's still the young face, still affected by the augment glitch, but Max is spiraling back down into who he is. He's hit by the memories of Glory and Hope getting ran down, and then of the Warboys dragging him up by the arms, chaining him, dragging him when he trips behind the road of their cars.

The Plains of Silence. That's where he wanted to go.

Go to live, go to die, go to be something in-between.

He sits in the shuttle with his hand pressing his forehead, his body pressed as far into the corner on the floor as he can be. He's making himself small, decisions roiling around in his fuzzy thought process. There's a war there: leave, don't leave, leave, don't leave. He holds his gun in his hand. It's a good weight. He can't let it go.

The desert is far away. He needs to go back. Back to the Wasteland.

Everything's gone. He needs to go back to where he belongs.]

[mucked]

[ the captain's been in uncommon spirits. pleasant, if not outright jaunty. their circumstances haven't much changed -- but there's a peace that comes with small certainties. the world is beginning to make itself organized again, despite the glitches at its peripheries. she hums a bar of music that trails off into silence when she steps into the shuttle bay -- she'd taken a small short-range ship that wasn't max's preferred space, and she's just now returning from the iskaulit. she has a gun, too, but it's holstered on her thigh. today, she's wearing trousers.

peggy is about to breeze by max's shuttle, but at the last moment her steps stall. rock is curled up at the door -- a sure sign, she decides, that max must be inside.

she knocks. ]

[theroadcop]

[He flinches at the knock, glancing up from under his bangs at the empty shuttle and seeing... nothing at all, nothing as usual despite the sound — but he doesn't rise, doesn't at all come to open the door for her. He clasps the gun more securely in his hand while Rock whines on the outside of the shuttle; the old dog rises to his feet, limps over, and paws at Peggy's leg with all the attempts in the world at cluing her in something isn't right. Isn't normal.

Which is clear enough. Max pushes himself further against the furthest corner, which by all means should be impossible. But Max is certainly determined enough to make it happen.]

[mucked]

...Max?

[ maybe this is a mistake. maybe he's found his older self again, and she has further alienated him by speaking his name. peggy knocks again, a little more forcefully. she whispers soft reassurances to the dog.

and she knocks a third time before she forces the shuttle's door open. ] I'm coming in.

[theroadcop]

[There will be two things to take note of first - one is the dark aura permeating in the corner of the shuttle, where all the suspicion and paranoia in the world is huddled. Two, he's got his gun pointed up at her, not to shoot - but to keep at bay, unless she gives him a reason to. His memories are at war with each other, visions of the skull-themed warboys and of a relaxing conversation with tea spliced into some ugly creation that is honestly hard to sift through.

Anxious, he says nothing, but it's clear; he's quietly, and in that familiar rough way, terrified.

But he also is still just a kid, still a little younger than Peggy.]

[mucked]

[ a gun is hard to miss. she sees it -- and feels a familiar prickle of caution along the back of her neck. peggy's hands fist loosely at her hips, allowing her to appear as only a bare threat, but her fingers are inches away from the gun holstered on her thigh.

rock the dog whimpers at her heel. ]

Whoa, now. It's only me.