Starstruck March Mingle Madness!

[theroadwarrior]

Who: People aboard the Starstruck, visitors and crew alike.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: SS Starstruck
When: The month of March!!

[Just your typical monthly mingle.]

Comments

[theroadwarrior]

... Guess I didn't.

[He's not really sure. Something in him says he absolutely had to.

Not really an option, even if there was. His hand twitches to the two bracelets.]

I told myself not to look in the mirror. Don't look back.

... Punishment for looking, maybe. Made mistakes. Failed my job.

[mucked]

Punishment from who? From what force?

[ her tone is purely curious. but beneath it all, she hopes to challenge his assertion. there is no greater power, she thinks, pulling strings so neatly to invite retribution on any of them. should there be a god, she cannot imagine one who micromanages. ]

[theroadwarrior]

[He leans back, humming, thumbing the bracelet. As she'd hoped.]

It's a long list.

[He glances at her.]

Always growing. Always watching.

[Someday, you or the others might end up on it.

That's something he dreads now.]

[mucked]

There's no higher power waiting to rain hellfire on you, Max. [ no matter what the clergy back at st martin in the field's used to say to warn the girls from breaking curfew or pilfering drink. ] There's only history and circumstance. And your own guilt dogging you, of course.

[theroadwarrior]

[Max would chuckle if he had that in him.

Peggy, whatever power there is, it's already rained hellfire.]

Might be more than that.

[He recollects Glory's influence — how impossible some of it seemed.

He holds out his hand again, and it slowly opens, a bit clunky, like partly broken machinery still trying to work as it once did at peak proficiency. There's a circular scar there where something had clearly cleaved right through his hand; an arrow, the kind blissfully without a triangular arrowhead.]

My hand stopped an arrow, once. It flew through. My hand was stuck to my head. [He holds up his hand, thoughtful, placing it where an old round scar on his forehead was.] Like this. If I didn't put my hand up, probably would have sank further in. Probably woulda' killed me on the Fury Road.

[mucked]

[ now, there's an unexpected twist. peggy takes his hand like a fresh opening -- curling her fingers under the back of his palm and drawing it nearer so she can better investigate the scar. she's adept at reading scars -- and imagining the violence that goes in to creating them. ]

I never took you for the sort of man who believes in -- what shall we call it? Fate? A higher power?

[theroadwarrior]

[Snort.]

I'm not much of anything. Whatever God there is, they hate us.

[He pauses, though, and he supposes that spells some uncertainty.]

Before I was shot by the arrow, ahm.

The ghost who gave me this bracelet -- the girl, she appeared. In my head like the others, but. She startled me into putting up m'hand, right in that spot. Never would've stopped the arrow myself, never would've known to.

[It's one of those things that absolutely mystifies him. Is it the ghosts, realer at times than he ever thought possible? Perhaps just Glory herself, twisted with death but no less helping. Perhaps a higher power -- though he's always hesitant to think it. He just knows that, looking back, some things never added up. And Max is always careful to do the math.]

[mucked]

[ gentle, now -- she relinquishes his hand. it is his own, after all. and she knows he's not so partial to being touched with any frequency or duration. instead, peggy sits back and pins him with her gaze. ]

Let us call it providence, then, instead. [ a brief hum. ] Or perhaps a way in which your self-preservation decided to manifest itself in that moment.

[ she's not callous when she says it. at least, she doesn't want to be. the man is prone to hallucinations -- often giving shape and voice to his darkest feelings. why shouldn't his brighter moments also be represented? ]

[theroadwarrior]

[... Snerk.]

Maybe. We'll see what my self-preservation does next.

[He flexes his fingers, one at a time.]

Hnn. [He shrugs.] Spent a lot of time self-preserving. Dunno, though... I think this place screwed Mr. Survivalist up a little.

[He says it calmly, though. Relaxed. He knows one of the reasons he took his physical outburst so poorly this time around is because he isn't who he used to be back home. He knows it now. Really, truly. It took twenty years to undo him — and yet maybe there's something here. Back home, he wouldn't have cared even remotely if he flailed and bit and punched, because he would have packed up and ran.

Ever since he accepted he couldn't run from the fleet, well...

Survival hasn't really been on his mind, not like it was.]