Why'd You Kill the Merchant?!

[sansseraph]

Who: ALL O' Y'ALL
Broadcast: If you want
Action: FRICK YEAH PARTY AT THE JUNKYARD...I mean, Waystation. Junkstation.
When: 10/07 - Event End

It looks more like a junk heap than a waystation, but luckily there aren't any math fetishists to add you to the pile (hopefully). Talk to the scavengers and heed their warnings...if you want. Or perhaps you'll approach a shady individual for purchasing or selling stuff.

"Welcome, stranger!"

Comments

waystation rescues and doggo protection programs

[theroadwarrior]

[Boy, this feels much more like home. More specifically, it feels like the darker places in the Wastelands — the Thunderdome, Gastown, the Buzzard's home underground. It leaves Max with tension in his shoulders and constant guarded looks, but it also feels very familiar and less out of his control than... pretty much anywhere else.

Home, but not home. If there was such a thing. It reeks of desperation, in the deeper darker places that he so often visits for cheap and easy purchases. One may see him throwing another man into a window — mostly because he had been trying to make a grab for Max's old mixed mutt, Rock, probably out of want for a juicy dog steak.

Max isn't going to say he hasn't eaten animal before, but nobody will be kidnapping his dog, a-thank you very fucking much. The scavenger scrambles away with blood running down his face and shirt, and Max is appeased.

Max can also be found purchasing from the shops, wandering any bars, and generally just moving in to get any work he can, his trusty dog eagerly at his side. Our weary wanderer might actually help you out, if he knows you — say, if someone is trying to drug you and steal your loot at the pubs, or if they're getting geared up to corner you.

He finds he's unfortunate enough to care about, um. Most of you.

... People he's had positive interactions with, anyway.

...... Rescue is not guaranteed.

Okay.

If none of that meshes, just bug him on the street while he's window shopping, okay.

The loser needs company.]

[kill_switch]

[Furiosa has certainly been opening up to more people the longer she's on the Fleet, but no one will come close to the kind of understanding and quiet camaraderie that she has with Max. She asks to accompany him on a supply run because she knows she can trust his instincts to help them find just the right stuff for survival. For herself, she's looking for parts that could be fashioned into a new prosthetic, to give to Tyrion for crafting, odds and ends for ship maintenance, and the like.]

[It's a quiet kind of companionship, and when there is a need to talk to the junkyard manager she's the one that takes the initiative.]

[There is one thing that's been on her mind, however, and when they're walking between piles and have a moment to spare, she speaks up.]

I was wrong. About Tyrion.

[theroadwarrior]

[Max may or may not be gathering parts that would benefit a prosthetic, too.

... If it's out of guilt for not being able to help her before, he's not saying.

Mention of the man called Tyrion has his attention turned to Furiosa once more.]

The dangerous one I offered to kill?

[Max, please.]

[kill_switch]

[She nods. It's all scrap, so she's unaware of the projects he's supplying himself for, but she wouldn't have blamed him; she was the one that caused it in the first place.]

I've been getting to know him a little better. When Nova left, I named him First Mate. When I was lost, he took over. I got back to find my crew was in good hands. He's eager for me to get back in the Captain's chair, but I know I don't have to worry.

I can trust him.

[That, coming from Furiosa, says a lot, especially coming from the checkered history that she had with Tyrion.]

[theroadwarrior]

[......... He considers her words for a lengthy moment.

Then, rather deadpan:]

Hnn. So I don't have to stab him.

[kill_switch]

No, you don't have to stab him.

[She gives him a slight, crooked grin, appreciating his little brand of 'help'.]

He's building me a new arm, actually. He's good with constructions.

[theroadwarrior]

[He appreciates your appreciation, Furiosa. He does look rather surprised at the comment, though. That this guy is apparently good with constructing. The guy didn't exactly look like a wastelander, didn't look like any sort of mechanic.]

Ah. He that good? It's — [He purses his lips, thoughtful.] Just want to make sure it'll hold up for you. The arm. Better be as good as he seems, is all.

[AKA I'm a worrywart. It's all I do, practically.]

[kill_switch]

I trust him.

[But, to help sooth Max's concern, she pulls down her shotgun and hands it over. It's a solidly crafted weapon and she's not questioning his background seemed moot when it was obvious to her he was gifted.] He made this. He's outfitted our crew with a small arsenal.

[Maybe if you ask nicely, Max, you can get a Tyrion-gun of your own!]

[theroadwarrior]

[Admittedly, a new shotgun would be pretty ace.]

Better than the junk you'd find on the market. Back home.

[He turns it in his hands, eyeing it as critically as he does any piece of equipment.]

What kind of world's he from?

[willynilly]

[Doggy!? Doggy!!

Ochako's relationship with Max may still be on the base level grunting stage, but she loves animals, so when she spots the familiar dog with the equally-familiar grumpy owner walking beside him, she waves and crouches down, offering her hand out.]

Hi mister! Hi, Rock! Here puppy, want a pet?

[Has anyone told her Max's name yet? Has he!? Who the heck even knows. She doesn't seem especially bothered either way.]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max, the enigma, just call him Mister mister. Rock is a bit crabby like his owner, but he relents with a huff and leans his head forward for a petting. What a couple of grumpy old men. The human one cocks his head to the side, eyebrow raised.]

What're you doing here?

[This place is full of crooks and thieves.

Are you prepared for these kinds of assholes???]

[willynilly]

[Mister mister sounds pretty legit tbh

Ochako gives the dog a gentle but loving scritch, beaming as if he's an adorably excitable puppy. She glances up at Max.]

I'm waiting for a friend! We're going to go shopping together.

[theroadwarrior]

[Buffering... buffering...

He frowns, brow pinched.]

Here? In this place?

[This place is kind of shady in a lot of places, kid.

He's not sure this is really a hang-out epicenter...]

[willynilly]

It's the only place to shop... I mean, the planet's all forest-y.

[Duh, buddy, haven't you looked out the window lately?]

[theroadwarrior]

... Hnn.

[Good, Max, solid response. He rubs the back of his head and looks unsure.]

It's dangerous.

[willynilly]

It's okay, she's really strong. And I can fight, too! We'll be careful, promise.

[Aww, look at him, worrying about her. He does care! A bit!]

[theroadwarrior]

[I'M NOT WORRIED I'M NEVER WORRIED ABOUT THE YOUNGIN'S.

... >:^C]

S'long as you're sure. This place... got a lot of scavengers. Some slavers, plenty of thieves.

Also, gonna try to swindle you at shops.

[He's basically telling you in his own way to ask around on prices, okay.]

[dancingmd]

[Admittedly, Beverly does not spend too much time around the junkyards - mostly she is preoccupied with the planet and the shipwreck, but she'd be remiss if she didn't at least see if there was anything useful they could use in the lab. So far, nothing seems worth taking: too rusty, too old, too dangerous for legitimate medical purposes.

What's more, as she ventures further into the station, she has the creepy sensation that she is being followed. At first, she does her best to ignore it. However, when the feeling doesn't go away, she stops at one of the shops where an old busted mirror hangs on the wall. While pretending to examine the other merchandise, she glances in the mirror behind her and her suspicions are confirmed: four men hover in the background, spreading out to try to form a net around her.

Well damn.

Without warning, her hand flies to the laser gun at her hip and she spins to shoot her first attacker straight in the chest. He's knocked out but that still leaves three more, who have by now drawn their own weapons, knives and guns that almost certainly are not set to stun. They draw in closer and the leader gives her a wicked grin. "Now that was the wrong thing to do, lady."]

[theroadwarrior]

[Max is — well, you know Max. He wanders but with purpose, always looking out for the next valuable trinket to exchange, or a working part for something better. Always with a hope for something to keep his troubled mind occupied. It's not normal for him to run into someone in a bad situation and intervene; even if he's foolishly loyal once he knows someone, he's usually never keen to offer his loyalty. Ever.

It's easier to pretend he's not remotely nice or charitable in any way.

But of course, these places make him weird. The Tranquility, this ship fleet, they're all the same. Making him care. Making him get into, say, fights with scavenging bastards. That's just what happens — as the men point their guns, Max steps out from a shadow he'd been traveling through before he noticed the severity of the situation and who was in it.

He slams the spare tailpipe into the back of one of the men's heads, letting it clatter to the ground as he pulls his handgun and pressed it painfully into one of the other men's backs while the one is bleeding and dazed. They freeze. Max's eyes are sharp, narrowed, and threatening.]

Don't move.

[It's a low growl, not like his quiet, subdued mumblings.]

...

[He glances over the man's shoulder at Beverly.]

Are you hurt?

[dancingmd]

[Beverly doesn't even see Max step out of the shadows at first, just sees one of the men fall and hears the sharp sound of metal hitting metal as the tailpipe falls to the grated floor. So Max's growl comes as a relief to her.]

I'm fine.

[theroadwarrior]

Mnn. Good.

[He fires one shot with his free hand — to the left, where one man is trying to pull a gun on him while he's preoccupied. Thing is, Max is paranoid as hell, so he sees it well ahead of time. The shot hits the guy's hand, burns a hole right through. Lasers. Helpful. It cauterizes it just as well, and the guy crumples to his knees and forfeits retaliation.

Max looks a bit like a mangy dog ready to bear his canines. Apparently, a guy armed with both a normal handgun and a laser gun is enough to start to drive away the small but greedy huddle of men. He keeps his eyes on them, though. Doesn't break their surprised gaze.]

You want...?

[He flexes his hand on the gun, as if asking her without words.

Should he make them leave, or hurt them, and then make them leave?]

[dancingmd]

[Beverly can't help but wince as the laser cuts through the crook's hand and he lets out a surprised shout of pain, clutching his hand as he stumbles backward away from Max. He exchanges glances with the ringleader, still held in place by Max's gun, before making the decision to bolt, evidently not trusting his fate to Beverly's decision.

That still leaves three, however, one of which is still knocked out thanks to Beverly. Her gazes falls first on Max's hand and the gun, then flickers back to his face. She shakes her head. Let them go.]

[theroadwarrior]

[As hard as it is for any ol' outsider to believe looking at Max and how he is, Max has no desire to kill — he's not like the other wastelanders he's often running into, hardly enjoys the idea of violence. He uses it when he was to, kills if it's required in his world, but he's never felt enjoyment from it. More often than not, he just feels like an animal numbed by instinct, by the need to survive even if his mind isn't always in agreement.

The men scatter as Max lowers his weapon, a fierce gleam in his eye even still until they're mostly gone. Gone, but one obnoxious voice howling their need for revenge. Max doesn't care. He's heard it a million times. He holsters the gun and approaches the doctor, his hard edges softening.]

Scavengers.

... Sure you're okay?

[It's not that he's worried, okay!!

Because! He's! Not!]

[dancingmd]

[Sure you aren't, Max.

Beverly lets out a long sigh as she watches the men flee.]

I am now, thanks to you.

[Though that final threat causes her some concern and her brow furrows.]

All the same, perhaps it is best if we get out of here.

[theroadwarrior]

[He relaxes a fraction more, nodding.

Well, if she's fine and they're gone, it's a good day.]

Mm. Sitting ducks isn't the best way to go.

What're you doing here?

[It's not accusatory per se, but it's clear he doesn't think it's a great idea to be here in this kind of place. It's crawling with unsavory characters — Max included, he feels. Not the best place to be a polite and kind doctor, even if it's clear she's got more to her than that, judging by her defense.]