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)
driftfleet2016-10-25 03:15 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2016-10-25 03:15 am
Entry tags:
SLAVERS PLOT LOG |closed-ish. this is why we don't get nice things, bud.
Who: Max, Tempest, and a buttload of others who want to be involved (and slavers).
Broadcast: N/A
Action: that shitty junkstation what up
When: IDK TODAY SURE.
SUMMARY:
Max helped Beverly out with some shady people a while back. Well. They didn't appreciate that. Cue them deciding to wail on Max and Tempest and drag the guy off to sale on the slave trade market. That just won't do, who else is gonna grunt and complain and accidentally punch or threaten small children on the fleet? Rescue squad, assemble.
(AKA there will be a Part A thread and then future open threads for rescuing or just... y'know, an excuse to beat the tar out of some terrible people. Also maybe a thread for Max after the fact?? Who knows.)
Broadcast: N/A
Action: that shitty junkstation what up
When: IDK TODAY SURE.
SUMMARY:
Max helped Beverly out with some shady people a while back. Well. They didn't appreciate that. Cue them deciding to wail on Max and Tempest and drag the guy off to sale on the slave trade market. That just won't do, who else is gonna grunt and complain and accidentally punch or threaten small children on the fleet? Rescue squad, assemble.
(AKA there will be a Part A thread and then future open threads for rescuing or just... y'know, an excuse to beat the tar out of some terrible people. Also maybe a thread for Max after the fact?? Who knows.)
no subject
... To a normal person, anyway. Likely he'll use it as rags after; waste not, want not. He limps after her, forcing his battered knee to keep up with her speed, regardless of the pain. He's sweating from it after even just a quick pace down the hall, but he's determined, biting his already bruised lip hard enough to draw blood.
He'll stay behind you, not gonna fall back.
No running at all now, he supposes. Not ever.
no subject
Furiosa tries to keep the pace a little lighter for him, in recognition of his condition, but she is pushing them to make it back to the shuttle as quick as they can. She's on high alert, a sharp tension that keeps her taking the little moments before rounding corners or coming to an intersection in the corridors to pause and listen.
The closer to the cargo bay they get, the longer get moments become; she wants to know add much of the climate before stepping in.
She glanced back at Max. "Holding up?"
no subject
He's pretty beat up, but nothing is broken, and he isn't nearly concussed enough for it to be a problem. That's the nice thing about Max — for all the issues in his head, he seems to be able to navigate his thick-skulled state of mind fairly well in crisis.
The knee is mostly the problem, and even though he's sweating and a bit pale from the pain, he forces himself forward and will continue to until he collapses and needs a moment. Whenever that is. He trusts Furiosa to keep an eye out for anymore violent surprises while he focuses on trying to push the white lancing ache to the back of his mind. It's all in one's head, huh?
He breathes in through his nose, hesitates for just a moment before pushing onward.
"Never a dull moment."
no subject
Furiosa will try and stick back to catch him before he hits the ground, and let's him take the time he needs to recover; true to form keeping a vigilant eye and ear out. When he is ready to go again, she's at his side this time; right hand manning her shotgun and left arm coaxing him to lean against her as they make their way through the remainder of the ship.
"We're almost there ..."