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)
driftfleet2016-12-19 01:23 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2016-12-19 01:23 am
Entry tags:
video/action. one hobo and a baby
Who: Max Rockatansky and a small kid.
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: Corona, Starstruck.
When: From now to a few days, until the panicked fam is found.
[VIDEO.]
[Max starts the feed looking entirely uncomfortable, and it's abundantly clear in no time at all why that is. He's standing in one of the halls of the Corona, and there's a brunette toddler a little over two clasped to his neck like a legitimate barnacle; she's not exactly afraid, and she seems to have sandwiched a teddy bear between her cheek and Max's chin, and furthermore, she's not remotely concerned about her current predicament. Balanced on one of Max's forearms, she's smiling a thin-lipped and impish sort of smile. One single messy braid hangs down her back.
Did no one teach this kid about stranger danger? Nope.
She's wordless, though — dark-eyed and wordless and not at all ready to unleash her claw-grip on the poor man. He'd been walking her around the area already trying to figure out where she'd come from, but it's really to no avail. She can't do anything but signal her age with two fingers, as if perhaps she's incapable of conversation — and he's found her sign language is mildly understandable in the way sign language is, though nothing at all from any place from Earth. Also, she says a lot in the fact that he can't set her down without her demanding him mule her around; he'd tried to leave her with other people, and even considered, for a moment of blind panic, to just leave her somewhere and figure someone else will do something about it.
... He's a pushover, really. And his paranoia over the safety of a kid in any world trumps his desire to never hold another sprog ever again. If he left and something happened, he would never forgive himself, and that's just the nature of his life. Leaving behind the small and needy is a constant battle, with this one. And he's totally failed the leaving part. Again.]
Erm.
I found a kid.
... S'not my fault; she knocked on my door.
Need some help finding where she came from. Dunno, must've wandered off. She doesn't talk.
[He looks pretty nervous about the whole thing, thinned lips and worried grimace telling.
For good reason. It makes him think about the past. Makes him wanna bolt.
He considers dumping her off on someone for the hundreth time.
She just taps her stuffed bear's nose against his cheek, a bear kiss. He looks mildly offended.
(distracted from his own misery)
............................. Please don't do that, thanks.]
[ACTION.]
[He can be found boarding the Starstruck with said Kiddo later on (it's all he's taken to calling her, and it's not a Name, but it's something), primarily to make a beeline for the medical bay (yes it's kidnapping, sort of, leave him alone). Nothing serious, the kid just has a runny nose and Max sort of remembers how to treat toddlers with mild illness. A little congestion is normal when you're surrounded by so many germs in one place. She sits precariously on his shoulders watching him shift through the bottles, babyish eyes round and interested. She signs at him something he can't decipher, but he's trying to figure it out.]
Gonna drop your doll. Not gonna pick it up again.
[It's a sulky mutter. He's gonna pick it up again.
He can also be found on the Corona itself, looking for the mother or father or family member who must surely be seeking the kid out. Asking people when you hate talking to strangers is really not his thing, he's totally dying here. Please help him. Pls.]
Broadcast: Fleetwide.
Action: Corona, Starstruck.
When: From now to a few days, until the panicked fam is found.
[VIDEO.]
[Max starts the feed looking entirely uncomfortable, and it's abundantly clear in no time at all why that is. He's standing in one of the halls of the Corona, and there's a brunette toddler a little over two clasped to his neck like a legitimate barnacle; she's not exactly afraid, and she seems to have sandwiched a teddy bear between her cheek and Max's chin, and furthermore, she's not remotely concerned about her current predicament. Balanced on one of Max's forearms, she's smiling a thin-lipped and impish sort of smile. One single messy braid hangs down her back.
Did no one teach this kid about stranger danger? Nope.
She's wordless, though — dark-eyed and wordless and not at all ready to unleash her claw-grip on the poor man. He'd been walking her around the area already trying to figure out where she'd come from, but it's really to no avail. She can't do anything but signal her age with two fingers, as if perhaps she's incapable of conversation — and he's found her sign language is mildly understandable in the way sign language is, though nothing at all from any place from Earth. Also, she says a lot in the fact that he can't set her down without her demanding him mule her around; he'd tried to leave her with other people, and even considered, for a moment of blind panic, to just leave her somewhere and figure someone else will do something about it.
... He's a pushover, really. And his paranoia over the safety of a kid in any world trumps his desire to never hold another sprog ever again. If he left and something happened, he would never forgive himself, and that's just the nature of his life. Leaving behind the small and needy is a constant battle, with this one. And he's totally failed the leaving part. Again.]
Erm.
I found a kid.
... S'not my fault; she knocked on my door.
Need some help finding where she came from. Dunno, must've wandered off. She doesn't talk.
[He looks pretty nervous about the whole thing, thinned lips and worried grimace telling.
For good reason. It makes him think about the past. Makes him wanna bolt.
He considers dumping her off on someone for the hundreth time.
She just taps her stuffed bear's nose against his cheek, a bear kiss. He looks mildly offended.
(distracted from his own misery)
............................. Please don't do that, thanks.]
[ACTION.]
[He can be found boarding the Starstruck with said Kiddo later on (it's all he's taken to calling her, and it's not a Name, but it's something), primarily to make a beeline for the medical bay (yes it's kidnapping, sort of, leave him alone). Nothing serious, the kid just has a runny nose and Max sort of remembers how to treat toddlers with mild illness. A little congestion is normal when you're surrounded by so many germs in one place. She sits precariously on his shoulders watching him shift through the bottles, babyish eyes round and interested. She signs at him something he can't decipher, but he's trying to figure it out.]
Gonna drop your doll. Not gonna pick it up again.
[It's a sulky mutter. He's gonna pick it up again.
He can also be found on the Corona itself, looking for the mother or father or family member who must surely be seeking the kid out. Asking people when you hate talking to strangers is really not his thing, he's totally dying here. Please help him. Pls.]
no subject
[which probably doesn't surprise him, but Tempest isn't known for her choice in friends, either. Still, he isn't as bad as he wants to seem - he's doing something to help her find her parents, and that means something. It isn't about entertaining the child so much]
no subject
There's better.
[Trust him.]
... But... hm... I guess there's worse.
[At least he wants her fed and changed, that's a plus. Kiddo hops up and extends her arms out, needily, making a strange squeaking noise in her mute demand for 'up'. Max exasperatingly obliges and she clings like a barnacle again.]
... Needy sprog.
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[and she gestures, as though its obvious. As the little girl clings to him Tempest can't help but smile, one that's a little less teasing and more genuine. For as grumpy or scary as she tries to come off as sometimes, she has a terrible soft spot for children]
Children usually are.
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... She's been going for a while.... Might need a nap.
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She tilts her head, then lowers her voice a bit]
It's likely. Would you like me to take her somewhere she can rest and you can get a break?
no subject
... You sure?
[It's not her problem. It's not anyone's problem. She's done a decent thing just bringing food.]
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[teasing aside, she doesn't forget her original reason for answering his call]
no subject
Guess so.
[It's appreciated, and he doesn't say it, but the thought's there to linger.
Where to?]
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Which he does without any outward complaint. Small victories, Tempest.
... Are you leading him to your hotel room? Because that's only mildly awkward.
For people who aren't Max and care about that, anyway. He bounces Kiddo as she drifts into sleep on his shoulder anyway. Shush.]
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The room isn't too far down the way, and she stops and opens the door, then steps to the side so he can carry the little girl inside]
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Or maybe it just calls too closely to memories from a long time ago.
By the time he steps into the room, he looks genuinely lost, little babe asleep against the underside of his jaw.]
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She waits for a moment, then tilts her head and gestures to the bed] Go on and lay her down, dear.
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Don't call me dear.
[But he'll lay Kiddo down anyway. He has to hunch over and carefully peel her fingers off the fabric of his shirt, though. Already fast asleep, of course. But by the time she's laying down, he can finally rest easy for a moment - sighing softly, more relaxed. He sits heavily on the edge of the bed with this newfound freedom.]
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[once she's settled, Tempest takes the blanket folded down at the end of the bed and covers up the little girl. She's careful and slow about it, almost as though she's never really done this before, but - after, she takes a step back and sits down on the floor in from of Max]
Careful, you look as though you may nap with her.
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Never dealt with kids like that?
[He figured she had, but maybe he was wrong.]
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Once or twice, but there are not a lot of children where I stay. Which is for the best, really; it is not the safest of places.
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Sometimes they have at least one. Ahm. Parent. Rare to have two.
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There are some merchants who have children - mostly sons, who are learning their father's trade. But they are not young like she is. [she nods to the sleeping little girl. Her mouth quirks]
The other children one would see, though - they are orphans. Pick-pockets. I was one for a time.
no subject
Can imagine it.
[You being a pickpocket, anyway. You're a scoundrel.
Which is hardly a real insult, in the wasteland. We're all scoundrels.]
no subject
My, I do not know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment.
[can you guess which way she's taking it, though]
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[That's just how home is.]
I'll be sure t'check my pockets just in case.
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Now I'm insulted. You do not have anything I want.
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They're muy tasty.]
Didn't know pickpockets had such strict guidelines.
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But I was also a very different person, then.
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