[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

[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.

[theroadcop]

[Only her. Only her. He barely knows her, what does that matter? His stomach twists into knots and his his expression relaxes into something frightened for a moment -- just a moment, a lost, confused, and foggy moment. The gun stays where it is. He grunts, not a word but still somehow a command, motioning her with the gun to stay back.]

Don't.

Stay away.

[The voice is still higher, not rasped by years of misuse. But every muscle on him is tense, rigid. He breathes out, feels the hot burn of the desert sun on his head. This is all wrong. Even as he stares at her, the paranoia battles all the logic. She's not going to do anything. She's a friend. She's not going to hurt you. Why would she? It's so hard to shake it. Words feel trapped in his throat, down deep.]

[mucked]

I'll go. [ she promises -- but it won't come without strings. attachments. ] I'll go if you first give me the gun.

[ she can't have him here, holed up and armed. it isn't safe. what if the next person who came across him isn't so fortunate? when he's himself, he's hardly in the right state of mind to carry a gun.

it's worse, now.

her hands stay up. open. plaintive. ]

[theroadcop]

Not safe.

[The short responses are back, from an older Max. He does take his eyes off her - in fact, they're scanning her, keeping track of her hands, of her posture. He believes her. He does. But he can't. He couldn't. He mumbles:]

They'll kill me. Can't - Can't be unarmed.

[mucked]

Who will? [ she keeps her voice low; easy-toned. ] None aboard this ship, or I'll have their hide.

[theroadcop]

Buzzards. Raiders. Bandits.

[He grimaces, looking pained for a moment. It's hard for him to separate the young Max from the old, the wild clawing creature that wants to break free and drive off into the night. The voices, he can hear them, off and on. Something in his expression seems to change, a vulnerability blossoming as he knocks the side of his gun to his temple.]

I know I was here before.

[He shivers, is silent, and -- ]

... I think I'm going crazy, Peggy. I'm going psychotic. I can't.

[Beverly explained it enough. He's lost in a cloud, fighting to tell the old from the new. Memories keep raining down on his head. It's too much.]

[mucked]

[ he's beginning to remember. he's confused, and he's hurting. peggy wastes no time, then. she doubts he'll shoot her -- so she steps a little deeper into the shuttle, encroaching upon his space. foolish, but friendly. stiff but supportive. ]

It's alright. Whatever's happening, you're not alone. [ buzzards. raiders. bandits. they aren't here, of course. but he believes they are. ] And I won't let anyone lay hands on you or your shuttle. Captain's word.

[theroadcop]

[Against all common sense, he flinches backward, but there's nowhere to run. And she's not going to hurt him. The memories, they're just memories. She hasn't done you no harm, Max. He swallows hard, grip on the gun still strong, though it sits calmly in his lap now.

His voice is hoarse as he rambles, disturbed.]

You knew. All that time, you knew. That I was a goddamn loon.

I can't turn into some psychopath. I don't want this -- I don't wanna be one of them. These memories can't be real; I can't let this happen.

[mucked]

What I knew, the whole, time, was that you were a pilot aboard my ship. And a staunch ally, no matter what your memories are. [ and yet she can't fault him for wanting to stave them off; they're horrible. she's only heard the edges around those memories, and they're liable to give her nightmares if she thinks on them for too long.

she holds out her hand. either for his hand, or for his gun. ]

[theroadcop]

[He looks at her hand, but he doesn't move. Yet. For every confirmation he gets around him, he feels something crack down the middle. Like everything he is has began to devolve into something, with every little fragmented piece of him. He swallows hard, leaning his head back. His voice takes on something hollowed out, tormented -- but most of all, confused. Confused at the indignity and injustice of it all.]

... He was just a baby. Couldn't even walk proper yet. He didn't do anything wrong. And Jessie'd never hurt a fly. That's what I was for, you know. I killed the spiders in the house; she couldn't stand them.

[Nobody was around when he remembered these things; it's best that they weren't. After a moment, he extends the gun out to her, grip-first. His voice is thin like mountain air, almost a whisper.]

I don't know why it's so hard, to follow 'em.

[mucked]

[ -- she exhales. his family, his son. max is working through the loss of them, once again. like she imagines he must do daily. only now she knows about it, whereas before it was a carefully concealed secret beneath the psychosis and the growls. but perhaps she ought to have seen it all the same. after all, she knows loss. she ought to recognize loss.

once upon a time, she'd wanted to follow love to the impossible place. briefly! but even so... ]

My dear, sometimes it isn't in the cards we're dealt. To follow, instead of staying behind.

[ with a deft hand, she takes the gun. smoothly, she ejects the clip. ]

[theroadcop]

[He drops his hand.]

Killed 'em all. I remember... I killed the one's who'd done it. Ran my family down.

[... He's going mad. He'd gone mad. He remembers.]

I remember. Mmn. I do.

[He closes his eyes.

'Max... Where are you?'

'Max... Max...']

Please - go away.

Get out.

[mucked]

[ she hesitates -- tempted, it seems, to break her word and stay. but what can she do for him? nothing more than to make certain the weapon is out of his hands. and (for that matter) that there are none too easily at hand that he could hurt himself or someone else.

peggy knows where every piece and blade has been stowed away on this shuttle; without a word, she begins to collect each one. ]

[theroadcop]

[Max doesn't seem to pay her much mind; no, he's gone all zombie on her, staring at the first corner of the room. Occasionally, his eyes flicker to somewhere else, as if tracking. The faintest tension of fear shows only then, like a wound-up animal.

As she finished collecting and moves to go, Max speaks - hesitant, but speaking, at least. There is so much filling his head, he's not sure what to do with it all. But...]

... You've got terrible taste in allies.

The dented pot says "Sorry".

[Sorry, because she didn't take the thing he needed most. The way to run. He doesn't look at her, feels like he just can't, so he stares at the figure in the corner instead.

Everything breaks down eventually, yeah?]

[mucked]

[ she pauses at the door -- a slew of dangerous things in her arms. and peggy looks over her shoulder, brown eyes filled with a sadness she can't quite abate. some wars can't be won, maybe. but she remembers the tender care he'd given her when she'd fallen unconscious. and she remembers the way he called her a hero, through whatever misguided reasoning.

she inhales, and sighs, and shakes her head. ] I think your wrong, Max Rockatanksy. My taste has only ever proven to be impeccable.

[ she sees the glimmer of worth and she anchors herself to it. she likes the underdog. she admires the uphill climb. with a curt nod, she makes her exit -- intent to check up on him again after supper, and maybe bring him some food.

she doesn't say goodbye. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[Saying goodbye has never been in style, anyway.

When Max turns back to himself - completely turns back - he sits in quiet contemplation for a long moment. Or maybe it's less contemplation and more of a sudden overwhelming fear and heaviness akin to pinning a large rock to his chest, making it harder to breathe. He thinks of the connections he's made begrudgingly, the people here he's found himself painfully welded to. He thinks, over and over, they know, they know, they know. And his instinct is to run away. Full sprint, run away.

He's always been one for trying.

When Peggy returns, she'll find his shuttle gone.

As always, Max leaves Rock in his place. He never planned to take him anyway; it's not his, and it'll die out there with him. Inevitably. He'll find a way-station and settle there, see if he can get a better ship somewhere. That's his game plan. That's his method of fleeing. As useless as it probably is, he's never been one to just roll over and die.

(Unfortunately to some, he thinks.)

If he keeps trying to escape, it could eventually work, right?]