driftfleet | video. (guess who was spared.)

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video. (guess who was spared.)

Who: Max Rockatansky
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck if you wanna find him!
When: In the middle of this glitchapocalypse.

[...................................................]

... Why is everyone acting crazy?

I'm supposed to be the crazy one.

[That is literally his post. That's it. He's done.

Guess who hasn't been paying attention after everyone attempted messing with the comms and whatnot.

... He already hallucinates and has mood shifts and whatnot, so what's new.]

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[The smell is pungent, and she recoils reflexively, but then follows his advice and inhales deeply. Grips the blanket, grips her arm as he directs her. But it's an intense, and overwhelming moment, because he still sounds like Valkyrie, too. It drives home the loss and she's hit with a crippling sense of homesickness for a place that doesn't exist anymore and people who are no longer alive.

She leans forward, feeling her feet pressing into the sand, hearing the bike creaking slightly under her, moving for the whiskey again and gripping her hand over Max's in an attempt to ground her. She's filled with a tension, an internal war of what she knows to be real (Max, the ship, the whiskey), and what she knows is hallucination (vivid, enveloping), the lingering recovery from her concussion, the dredged up memories and pain she'd done so well to move on from. All together, it's too much.]

[Come on, Furiosa, he knows you can do it. If someone like him can, he knows you can.

He sets aside the bottle, moves to put his hand on her neck, a familiar spot, palm rough there on the nape, against her brand. With his other, he moves her hand to the nape of his — where the rough brand is. Best he can think to do, because nothing else is really helping. He's not even sure why he thinks this will, either. In that soft voice, familiar, though unused toward her since she'd nearly died:]

... Hey. Relax.

M'here, just ride it out. Think about the fleet.

[It does help. It's something that Valkyrie didn't have, and it's enough at odds with what seems to be the center of the hallucination that she focuses on it. Palm flat against his brand, then moving to run fingertips along the raised edges to further enforce the shape. His voice cuts through in the distance, overlapping with the memory off what Valkyrie sounded like and then overtaking it until she faded away on a dying wind. Furiosa shifts her feet and there is the scrape of her boot against the metal floor.]

[It might only be the matter of a few moments but it feels like eternity. Eventually she's able to pull in a deep breath and open her eyes and see the truth about them. She's left feeling unsettled and fatigued, but found. She flattens her hand against the nape of his neck and touches her forehead against his in quiet thanks.]

[It takes him a while to actually feel appropriately aware of the way this situation looks — he leans into it, not smiling but expression relaxed and eyes closed for a moment, wary of her state of mind, ready to figure out some other solution if the problem at hand persisted. It's only when the silence truly is silent and he only hears her breathing alongside his that he feels like maybe he should move before this becomes weird for the both of them.

He leans slowly back and looks at the ground in the room, perhaps embarrassed of his own openness, for a moment. It happens more and more lately. Sitting with his hands on the edge of the mattress, while he's not necessarily distant, he's clearly used that small well of fragmented but surviving humanity within him, the one that leaves him as confused as ever.

His ears redden.]

... Should, um. Rest. You'll feel better if you can sleep some of it off.

[It takes Max breaking away and looking at the ground for Furiosa to realize how else it could seem. She looks away at one of the odd boxes in feigned interest, letting herself settle more fully back into reality. The air hit her a little colder than the sorched wasteland and she shivered, but she was grateful for it because she knew it was real.]

Thanks. [It really went without saying, but it wasn't a bad thing to break the silence with.] I'll give it a try. You don't mind me staying here for a little longer, do you?

[Some of it was getting away from the First Breath and its possible influence, but then having Max here to help pull her back was a comforting fact she couldn't ignore - if only to herself.]

'Course not.

[That's a given. Furiosa's free to come and go however she pleases.

He stands up, moves to the corner and sets aside a box before offering her a small blanket; it's old and stitched together, much like a spontaneous quilt, but it's warm and comfortable.]

M'gonna, um, work on some equipment. Send a message f'you need anything.

[She'll take the blanket, and sit with it in her lap for a moment. She knows it's really no question about whether or not she's welcome - and it'd be the same if the tables were turned and they were on the First Breath - but something has shifted and she feels at least some level of intrusion. It's not just the physical occupation of space, but having him - needing him - help her through the hallucination made her realize how grateful she was for him and more aware, perhaps, of whether or not she was taking advantage. He was a private person.]

Thanks, Max. I owe you one.

[He dips his chin just slightly, expression softer than the usual grump.]

Mmm... you don't.

[She really doesn't need to owe him anything at all.

As long as she's alive, that's what matters. Survival.]

... But I'll keep it in mind f'I have someone I need to airlock.

[She huffs a small chuckle, and then starts to situate herself back on the bed and drape the blanket over her. She'd become more or less acclimated to the general temperature of the ships, but she sometimes did miss the enveloping heat. Cold had a way of getting into bones and joints.]

Just say who and they're gone. [Maybe a joke, but really if anyone messes with him she'd show them her teeth.]

[He snorts, amused, and nods before turning on his heel.

He'll give her some space, let her rest. There's plenty of scrap for him to mess with, in the meanwhile.]

Edited 2017-02-25 20:04 (UTC)

[She sleeps well, for a while, but between the augment glitches and the concussion, her nightmares occur more frequently, and more vividly. They take many forms, but common themes are sandstorms without end, a near-empty tank, warparties closing in, reliving loss, experience new loss, being incapable of saving anyone either way.]

[This time she's in the rig, there's a storm all around and she gets the impression they're in the canyon but she can't see the rock walls - it's dangerous. She can hear the pop of gunfire in the distance, closing in. Max is driving. There are others there but she can't discern who. Angharad is there, but then she's falling away, reaching out, and Furiosa lunges from her seat and grasps at the air, screaming in her pain to this time save her, try to grab her and pull her back in --]

[In Max's room, she fidgets and moves, expression playing over the mix of concern and determination, and then throws herself from the bed, eyes suddenly wide but unseeing as she screams Angharad's name and graps whatever is the most solid thing in her way.]

[Max hears Furiosa distantly -- and has a hard time telling if it was really her or not. He decides to get up and investigate for the sake of it anyway, especially when Furiosa really could be having a difficult time out in his room again.

You just never know.

So he moves to enter the room, expression surly, brow furrowed, but concern playing there as always.]

Furiosa--?

[She's off the bed entirely at this point, half kneeling where she's landed, gripping onto a chair to keep her upright. She's come out of the dream and is looking around with at least a bit of coherence, but the sudden rush of adrenaline has left her shaking, sweating, and still a little disoriented.]

Max...

[There's an immeasurable amount of relief in her voice, seeing him, having the sense to notice how the time here has changed him and she's not facing some additional hallucination. Still, the images from the nightmare linger, the sounds, the tension and fear. She pushes up to try and stand.]

[He crouches down a bit, his leg brace creaking, sitting on his haunches.]

Nightmares?

[He studies her carefully, then relaxes, schools his features into something exasperatedly worried.]

You're having a shit week.

C'mon.

[He stands and offers her his hand. He can find something to occupy her time, at the very least.]

[She stays where she is for a moment, breathing deeply, listening to the creak of his brace and letting it remind her where she is. She gives him a tired, wan smile, and nods.]

Few weeks can compare.

[She can think of a couple days that tip the balance, but that's not worth mentioning now. She takes his hand and lets him help her up.]

Guess I just gotta find something more relaxing than sleep.

[He cocks his head to the side, almost smiling.]

Could, uh, work on fixing busted guns with me.

[Okay, yeah, she has to give him a little smile back.]

My favorite thing; you know me so well.

[something hands on and meticulous that would take her minmind off things? Yes please!]

Edited 2017-03-02 18:52 (UTC)

[Ha. He gives a nod and contentedly moves toward the direction of the weapons room. He tries not to just hoard everything in the cargo bay, but well. Old habits. He does his best anyway.]

... You, um. [He hesitates. He doesn't like prodding about things, because he knows he's not good at being prodded himself. But...] You seeing a lot of home, lately?

[Which just highlights one of the differences between them; Max, as a loner, had to have everything on himself at all times for a quick getaway. Furiosa, trapped in the society of the Citadel, benefited more from ferreting weapons away in whatever corners she had access to. There's no complaints from her.]

[His question, though. Anyone else would have gotten a glare and no reply. For max, though, her furrowed brow is more concentration as she tries to think about how to describe it.]

More so than usual. I tend to get a pretty vivid nightmare now and again, reliving those days. Seeing ... certain people. [She figures she doesn't have to tell him who.] Lately it's like every single night I'm back there. I feel the heat, I choke on sand and smoke.

[Quiet listener as always, soaking in every word with that intensity he has. Brow wrinkled and lips thinned, he nods. He knows so very well, what it's like. Feeling everything so extremely, so intensely, he flies awake swinging. Furiosa's been on the end of that panicked, wild Max, but she's skilled enough to know to keep at bay.]

... Hard to deal with. Wish I knew how to help.

Just deal with it. Hope it'll pass sooner or later. [She shrugs.]

[He nods, leading her through the weaponry doorway.]

You can handle it. Y'strong.

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