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

open | finally his work in october pays off (depending on who you ask)

[theroadwarrior]

Max has had quite a wild end of the month in October, so he's been taking it relatively easy — that mostly has to do with a colorful variety of bruises and cuts on his face and torso from getting the shit kicked out of him by some vengeful scavengers-slash-slavers. Who knew Max would go pissing off the worst people? Everyone, is the answer. Everyone knew. But regardless of that, Max has come away with new thoughts:

One, he really should just shut himself up in the ship forever.

And two, he was genuinely worried people would think he left them on purpose.

The intrusive thought is not going away anytime soon, and it's one to really ponder on, when he's not completely preoccupied. The fact of the matter is, Max has come to accept this place he's at. Yeah, he's restless when they're not stationed or docked anywhere. And yeah, he has his bouts of monk-like silence. He has his distance measured not in miles, but in the faraway look he'll sometimes get when he thinks nobody's paying him any mind.

But he's — he's something. He's trying to pinpoint when it happened, but it feels unidentifiable. He's settling in a way he didn't anticipate. He's... almost okay, minus all of his baggage and issues. Vexing though it is, he's found a protectiveness in him as well that he didn't intend on ever finding. It's terrifying, and of course he wants to flee, but he's also learned that he can't just run from this one.

For better or worse, he's here.

He can be found with something rather peculiar, today.



An old record player. Yep, an old record player that is slightly busted up. He's been spending his time while healing working on this bad boy — in fact, he'll be ignoring a lot of his fellow crew in favor of trying to make it properly work. Max may be a simple man, but he's a lover of repairing, because it feels like there's something in his existence he can fix, if not himself or his mistakes.

A little cheesy Elvis'd never hurt anybody.

Can't help but wonder how many people back home even know what this is, let alone who sings it.

Is that something that's gonna die with him and the others like him?

He hobbles to stand and plays the record. Grainy but relatively maintained music pours into the vast, echoing chamber of the cargo bay. There's not a lot of records with it, but this is something he was actually able to recognize. It's probably not even an original from Earth — probably a remake of a remake of a remake of a remake, but he had been dead-set on getting this. In fact, he spent an obscene amount on it, for all that it didn't work.

Maybe there's something symbolic in that. Or maybe he just wanted to hear some goddamn music that wasn't Atroma-approved hogwash. You decide.

Re: open | finally his work in october pays off (depending on who you ask)

[kill_switch]

Of course Furiosa is stopping by to check up on Max. He'd been through a lot, and she knows how stubborn he can be about recovery. And, maybe, she just wants to sit with him, still unsettled by the thought that he was almost successfully taken. It'd been close, and every time she thinks about the sight of him hanging upside down like she'd found him, her stomach drops as she's reminded of Immortan Joe's Citadel. She needed a reminder they'd succeeded, to see him happy and healthy (or, as close to happy and healthy as Max would ever get) to push out the sour visions.

The music coming through the cargo bay catches her attention almost immediately, since she associates him with silence more than anything. She finds a wall to lean against while she listens to it, curious, a small, bemused smile creeping over her features.

"Hey.finally got it working?"

[theroadwarrior]

Admittedly, while he's found good revelations about his capture, he's also been a bit skittish — as to be expected, one supposes, for dealing with something that had scarred him so outwardly back home. The tattoo burns a hole through him sometimes, makes him feel like it can always be seen by the naked eye.

He startles only minutely, connecting her voice with her name without delay.

Glancing back, he relaxes, nods. He's still a sad sight, but he's infinitely better not hanging by his ankles. "Mm, yeah. Took me a while. You, ah. Wanna see?" It's entertainment, at least. Something rarely found in their world. Antiques of the old world, they are.

[kill_switch]

Yeah.

[There's no easy way to approach Max, especially given current circumstances, and Furiosa had made it a point to hang back until invited. She pushes off and makes her way over, but before focusing her attention on the record player, she makes sure she catches his eye and gingerly rests her hand on his shoulder.]

[of anyone here, she knows how deep these scars go. Her own brand sometimes burns and itches add if it were newly applied. This whole situation had it acting up more than usual.]

You want me to stay here for a while?

[He didn't need it, his crew was here, but they had an understanding and she at least wanted to offer herself, for silent emotional support if nothing else.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He looks at her, seemingly at ease, and gives a small nod.]

F'you want.

There's a box of records, f'you want to see, uh. If you like anything.

[He flicks his fingers through said record box, moving through each vinyl disc.]

Some of these're familiar. From before the fallout.

[The complete fallout, anyway. Max was lucky to have known any of this.

Most places in Australia had long since fallen, by the time home was wiped out.

He'd been gone before then, of course.]

[kill_switch]

[That settles it. She'll stick around for a few days until he gets his feet under him. She'll have to let Tyrion know, but she can do that later.]

[For now, he catches her attention with mention of the fallout. She hadn't known anything else; either it happened when she was too young to retain memories or possibly before she was even born. Maybe the ruins were new when she was growing up in the Green Place, but the world that came before was almost alien to her.]

[She peers over his shoulder into the record box, looking at the covers and the people, their clothes, the surroundings.] What about that one?

[She's basing it solely off of the cover]

[theroadwarrior]

[... He appreciates it; he may have a hard time explaining that, saying that, but he's always been one more for action than for dialogue. It's clear by the slight smile that plays on his face, that sort of thankful relief that guides him into an easier conversation with her. He takes the record she's pointed out, turning it in his hands. It reminds him of Jessie instantly, reminds him of her feigning completely seriousness when she would lip-sync to a song in particular. For once in his long and miserable existence after his family, there isn't a terrible, gaping wound where the memory cuts at him. For once, it's not a dream that's vivid and leaves him pining.

Lost in his past for a moment and forgetful of the man he is now, he grins at Furiosa, full and boyish.]

This is a pretty good one.

[He plays it, and feels alright for a moment. There's a life to it that he'd mostly lost the feeling for, a life that felt all but gone forever after the end of normal civilization. These don't really exist anymore back home. They do here. It's something special.]

[kill_switch]

[For a moment Furiosa is not quite sure what she's looking at, the way Max smiles - genuinely smiles. It's certainly not anything she had ever expected to see, and there's a fraction of a second where she wonders if he suffered some minor brain damage.]

[But then the music plays and she realizes she's getting to see a rare rare glimpse of the original Max; whoever he was before the Wasteland, before the Citadel and whatever hells he's been through before their meeting. She smiles back, and starts moving a little bit to the music - not dancing, but bobbing her head in appreciation of its joyful noise. It reminded her of moments in the Green Place; hazy, distant memory tucked away and guarded so fiercely they were hard to recover with any amount of clarity, but the feeling was there; happy, safe and secure, carefree. Things that she had to avoid in the name of survival. Things she had hoped on bringing to the Citadel. They were here, and more importantly they were most notable in the people and relationships around them.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He blinks, surprised.

But the slight smile holds for a moment longer before he turns it away, lets it melt a little until he's more along the lines of himself.]

... You can listen to it anytime you want.

[Max is fickle with his things.

But not with Furiosa.]

cargo bay.

[mucked]

"Damn, I thought I'd never see one of those beautiful contraptions ever again," Peggy announced from the far side of the cargo bay.

She stood with a cup of tea nestled nigh-affectionately in her hands. By all accounts, she looked well -- better, certainly, than Max did. Her blouse sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and she was in trousers. But that had been a common look for her, lately. Smart, but useful. Even so, she still wore the heels and they sounded as clipped as ever as she crosses over to inspect his work. She doesn't talk about his bruises, or about where he disappeared to, or about the slavers. She's waiting for him to talk about it first.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. Part of her wanted to turn on a heel and find Steve -- show him this treasure. But no, this wasn't about Captain America. This was about Captain Carter in communion with her crew. She set aside her tea and leaned down to scoop a handful of record sleeves into her arms. "Where did you get it?"

cargo bay.

[theroadwarrior]

Max spooks just a bit, like a dog woken from a deep sleep — he turns his colorfully purple and green and pink face toward her, eyes rounded, eyebrows raised. He's been easier to startle here in the last few days, the events of his temporary kidnapping a bit troubling on his mind; it brings back some less savory memories, it does, and part of him expects to just wake up and find he's dreamed his entire rescue up. Perhaps he's truly gone mad and he's still hanging by his legs.

His knee isn't as painful as before, though, and though he clearly has a hard time putting weight on it — it's better. He uses a single crutch to hobble around until the swelling's down and the medication does what it's supposed to. It's here that he gets up from his chair at the sound of her, as if it's a requirement of her company.

"Someone had it. Junkyard. Worked down there for a few weeks to get it."

And maybe spent some pre-existing credits he had tucked away.

Lord knows he never spends it; why not have this be the exception?

"You familiar?"

It's Elvis, man. Who doesn't know Elvis?

[mucked]

"With the music? Not at all." -- But it sounded nearer to her decade's tunes than anything else generally does. And so that was something of a comfort. Peggy considered the song a moment longer before waving him back into his chair.

"But I know the tech."

[theroadwarrior]

Ah, right. A bit earlier, then.

"Had to repair it, but I like repairing."

He slowly sits back down, his wince only reaching the corners of his eyes. Sooner or later, the leg's gonna outright fail him, he knows. But today is not the day, and he has no plans to slow down anytime soon. He looks at the box, something pleasant (for the likes of Max, anyway) about his features. For all the tension he'd had the past few days, there is at least little in the now, as he listens to the tune.

"Maybe there's a record in there you know." A box of records, surely there must be a copy of something from her era. "... This'll be something you listen to. This song — the singer. Controversial, one of the biggest of the time. Just a kid when you're from, I think."

[mucked]

"That's what I'm hoping for," she admitted as she flipped through the sleeves. Something familiar, which might soften a bit of her oft-panging nostalgia. But as for Elvis: "And while I look, you ought to tell me what makes this fellow so controversial?"

Once upon a time, she might have been able to hear it: the rockier notes, and the cribbing from earlier genres. But she's been a woman too often exposed to 21st century noises. By comparison, this was downright soothing.

[theroadwarrior]

He snorts, humored and smiling a bit at the thought.

"Vulgar dancing and crazed fans."

Oh yes, people lost their minds one way or another. He flips the record, placing it carefully.

"... But he had good music."

He plays the flipside, a more raucous and energized in sound in comparison to the sweet tune before.

One could imagine, somewhere distant, that Max would sit in his over-cramped kitchen, littered with baby toys and hoarded full of strange decorations and plants, the dishes partly done, his son sitting precariously on the counter, his wife pulling the window blinds apart, and a record much like this would drift through the entirety of the tiny place.

One could imagine.

[mucked]

"Oh, listen, it's a song for you--" Peggy teased, because she could. Max always felt a little like a stray she'd insisted on keeping once he'd found his way to their doorstep. Mind you, she's responding only to a fraction of the chorus. The music itself, however, managed to inspire an easy shimmy in her shoulders. Halloween had lightened her spirits; she was eager to enjoy the beat.

"You're lucky you still look like such a fright, because otherwise I'd ask you to dance. Only I don't think you could keep your balance just now."

[theroadwarrior]

He raises his eyebrow at her mild inclination to dance, but is actually a bit more eased by her own easy spirits. If she's in a good mood, it's not very polite for him to sour it, especially on a day like today. After all, he got something to work, and that smooths a lot of tension out of him that he'd been carrying this week.

The mention of his appearance leaves him thoughtful for a moment.

... Yeah, was a rough time. He shifts, clearing his throat. But ultimately:

"I thought I always looked like a fright."

Self-deprecation at its finest.

[noprophecies]

[she wasn't the type to hover and worry, which is why it takes her a few days to actually visit the Starstruck to see Max. He was in one piece and that had been enough for her, especially when she needed a few days to recover herself. But she had never been good at it, and she'd quickly grown restless enough that she'd given in and healed herself - mostly. She'd healed her ribs, okay, and that had been the worst of it all. She would survive the black eye and split lip, both of which were half-healed anyway.

She isn't expecting music, though, and when she wanders from her shuttle to the cargo bay, she finds herself a bit surprised that he's the one behind it. It isn't familiar to her - no surprise, there - and she tilts her head, listening to it for a few moments. And then she heads over to him, steps deliberately loud so she doesn't accidentally startle him]

What in the world are you listening to?

[theroadwarrior]

[He glances back in all of his bruised and scraped glory — not the best look he's adopted here, but he's at least not horribly injured or anything. Worst part is his knee swelling up, but it's not new to him. His knee drives him nuts routinely.

He'd known she'd gotten out alive and in decent spirits, so he'd given her space; after all, it had been his fault for her injuries, or at least that's what he believes. If she hadn't been around him, she would have been without a mark or wound, and that's kind of guilt-stirring.

Max is good at being guilty.]

... Record player.

Bought it on the station.

[He seems a bit sheepish. Gruff, but sheepish.]

[noprophecies]

[she raises an eyebrow at the sheepishness, but decides against commenting. She tilts her head and steps closer, peering at the strange thing before glancing up at him. She was vaguely familiar with other technology because of Kyriakos - projectors, cell phones, DVDs - but this? This was brand new]

I have never seen one before. They are meant for music?

[. . .]

How does it work?

[theroadwarrior]

[He nods, placing the needle carefully onto the record, letting more Elvis play — Hound Dog this time, a boisterous and good ol' time.]

Not too complicated. There're grooves — here. [He points to the lines around the black disc.] Recorded vibrations. Currents generated through a magnet attached to the needle sends those vibrations through a loudspeaker to make sound.

[He seems far more comfortable explaining the specifics of the thing than, like, normal human interaction. Go figure.]

[noprophecies]

[she got him to talk on the waystation when it came to building things, so she figures this is similar - and as he explains she listens closely, nodding slowly as it makes . . . some sense.

Certainly more than it did before, anyway]

But how does one record the vibrations into . . . this round thing is made of plastic, yes?

[theroadwarrior]

Mm, just depends on how the grooves are carved out.

Sound bounces differently off them, makes different pitches.

[He raises his eyebrows.]

Could just call it magic, make it easier to explain.

[noprophecies]

[she raises her eyebrows as well and can't help but grin]

But then I don't get you hear you explain it. I think that is the most I've ever heard you speak.

Besides, calling it magic to a mage is a bit silly, yes? I know it isn't magic, I can't sense any.

[teasing and ruining the joke, she's in top form today]

[theroadwarrior]

[HUFF.

He is mildly grumpy-old-man at that. Like hearing him speak this much was totally an accident and he curses his lack of dedication to silence. But he relents enough, because she did risk her neck for him, so he supposes he owes her that much. He relaxes a bit.]

Guess so.

Is music magic, in your, hn... world?