Open | A Monthly Starstruck Mingle!!

[theroadwarrior]

Who: The SS Starstruck's crew and visitors...!
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Aboard the SS Starstruck
When: November 1st—31st!

Everyone get your mingle on for November! This is a quick post for the Starstruck, have at it.

Comments

[noprophecies]

[Ma you are a precious old man stop endearing yourself to her]

I am quite humorous at times.

I don't actually think you are old, Max.

[theroadwarrior]

[He raises his eyebrows at her.]

Why, r'you old?

[He's just an old soul, but he knows there are some crazy folk around here with insanely high numbers. The weirdos. Also note how he gives no shits asking how old you are; that's just his charm, okay.]

[noprophecies]

[it's charming, at least to her. And she does deserve it]

Is almost twenty-nine old?

[theroadwarrior]

[Dryly:]

Very old.

[noprophecies]

[without missing a beat:]

Goodness, that must mean that you are practically ancient.

[theroadwarrior]

[He quirks his brow.]

I can be. Back home, m'considered lucky.

People get sick early.

... Could be radioactive, though.

[He's never really looked into it. But if it is killing him, it's at least slowly.]

[noprophecies]

I don't know what that word means.

[but she knows about getting sick early, having spent her younger years sick all the time. Her smile doesn't budge]

I am young for my kind, but not many live to be my age, either. So I suppose I am both, in a sense.

[theroadwarrior]

... I see.

[He hums, then looks at his hands.]

Radioactive means... poisoned. There was... a poisoning, uh. Of the earth.

Lot of people sick, lot dead. Got lucky, I guess.

[He's seen both the least painful and absolute worst effects of it, firsthand.

It's nightmare fuel, to be sure.]

[noprophecies]

Ah . . . your desert.

[she can't picture the earth being sick. The effects it would have on her own world would be catastrophic - much like his]

I would say you are incredibly lucky, then.

[theroadwarrior]

Mn, my desert.

[Not the best place in the world, but it's home. Terrible, awful, avoidable, hot, sweaty, miserable home. The one he's still torn about. Max is a complicated soul forged from the fires of the place.]

Luck's about all you work with.

...

And ahm, handmade bombs.


N'guns.

[noprophecies]

Guns. [the face she makes is entirely disgusted] Though I suppose it is necessary . . .

[theroadwarrior]

[He taps the raised skin on his neck.]

Guns or this.

[The Wives would disagree. Furiosa would understand more, even if she longed for what the Wives had in mind; maybe there's a place for making a new world, but it would not be without defending that beautifully implausible idea.

Max will let them dream, though.]

[noprophecies]

Mmm. I understand.

[and she does, as much as she doesn't like the more modern weapons. Though her own biases are entirely personal and not much more]