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)
driftfleet2017-05-29 10:10 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2017-05-29 10:10 am
Entry tags:
Text. stuck in the middle with you.
Who: Max Rockatansky
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: Today, for a short little glitch post.
(Also warning for some serious death talk in a thread below.)
[Max doesn't ask for a lot in life. Food of some kind so he doesn't starve. Water so he doesn't have to drink questionable things when its not there. A lack of ultra violence or cannibals. You know. Typical things. And he's been pretty good about behaving himself, keeping out of the way, not having any issues to speak of.
And then shit like this happens.
He's fiddling around at the little desk in the cargo bay when something peculiar happens. His screwdriver sticks to his hand. And no, he's been very hygienic, thank you — more so than usual — so there's really just one reason this is happening. He realizes it about when the empty tea cup on the desk also moves to stick to his arm.
Glitch.
So it goes. His time on the Starstruck the next few days are terribly bleak for him. See: the multitude of things that have somehow find a strange pulling gravity around him. It's not metal, really, it's anything. He's a Katamari character, and things just sort of fly and stick and he has to pry them off with way too much force necessary. Or they just fall off. In the kitchen, a plate falls off him at last, but shatters on the ground.
At one point, he just stays in the chair he's at, because if he stands up... Well...
It's stuck to his ass.
Records, hair pins, food (ugh), anything people leave behind...
And yes, people. People also stick to him.
This is the literal worst day of his life. Obviously. All the trauma that came before this is nothing.]
don't keep anything sharp or explosive on the starstruck right now.
might need remedies for nagging captains soon.
still tempted to saw the augment out of my neck sometimes.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: Today, for a short little glitch post.
(Also warning for some serious death talk in a thread below.)
[Max doesn't ask for a lot in life. Food of some kind so he doesn't starve. Water so he doesn't have to drink questionable things when its not there. A lack of ultra violence or cannibals. You know. Typical things. And he's been pretty good about behaving himself, keeping out of the way, not having any issues to speak of.
And then shit like this happens.
He's fiddling around at the little desk in the cargo bay when something peculiar happens. His screwdriver sticks to his hand. And no, he's been very hygienic, thank you — more so than usual — so there's really just one reason this is happening. He realizes it about when the empty tea cup on the desk also moves to stick to his arm.
Glitch.
So it goes. His time on the Starstruck the next few days are terribly bleak for him. See: the multitude of things that have somehow find a strange pulling gravity around him. It's not metal, really, it's anything. He's a Katamari character, and things just sort of fly and stick and he has to pry them off with way too much force necessary. Or they just fall off. In the kitchen, a plate falls off him at last, but shatters on the ground.
At one point, he just stays in the chair he's at, because if he stands up... Well...
It's stuck to his ass.
Records, hair pins, food (ugh), anything people leave behind...
And yes, people. People also stick to him.
This is the literal worst day of his life. Obviously. All the trauma that came before this is nothing.]
don't keep anything sharp or explosive on the starstruck right now.
might need remedies for nagging captains soon.
still tempted to saw the augment out of my neck sometimes.
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What you - do to - piss them off this time?
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... Breathe?
[Huh.]
Should be careful. You might go flying with it.
[He's... trying... to sit still... but he appears to be slowly losing strength and is getting dragged with her.]
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Sticks. Across his chest.
Her fall is immediately halted, and a moment later she's dropping the kettle because she's more concerned in figuring this whole glitch business out. As she regains her footing, she stares at her arm on his chest.
It's not the prosthesis.
It's her flesh arm that's stuck.
She looks at him but honestly she's beyond words right now, instead her brow furrowing in deep confusion, hoping he has some answer and yet doubting he would. This wasn't his doing.]
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He has to lean his head far back to look at her where they're uncomfortably entangled as they stand in the kitchen. He sputters a little for words, and if there's anything that can finally turn Max Rockatansky red in the face, it's the fact that his hand is uncomfortably close to her butt.
Oh yes, he's definitely red.]
... Aaaahm — Don't hit me.
[HE DID NOT ASK FOR THIS GLITCH, HE IS INNOCENT AS A LAMB.]
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[In the end, she gives in to it with a primal yell, swinging with her prosthetic arm; not to hit him, but to plant her and on his shoulder and try to push herself off an away. She locks a leg around his and tries to yank back with an intent of throwing him off balance and hopefully off of her, but what happens instead is the two of them tumbling down onto the kitchen floor. She continues to struggle like a wild animal in a snare, until finally convincing herself to still for a moment. She pants heavily. Her forehead is stuck to his and she's not sure anymore where all of their limbs wound up.]
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He is a little surprised that the swing isn't aimed at his head, or no punching happens. When he cracks his eye open he's face-to-face with her, and he glances nervously to the side. She's sitting on him, and his ribs feel a little crushed after that dropped weight on him.
Uh.
He'll just.
Lay here.
How's the weather up top?
You do whatever, he'll be under here.]
.... Makin' it worse.
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I realize that.
[She growls back, shifting for a moment trying to find a more comfortable position while she thinks. She fails. It's just an overall uncomfortable situation and there's no alleviating that yet.]
Guessing we're in as much luck as the kettle.
[Irritated, uncomfortable, but less violently angry, at least?]
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... Sorry.
Probably should've just kept to myself somewhere.
[Then this could have all blown over sooner or later.
He shifts his hips uncomfortably, and that just makes him even more uncomfortable.
Goddammit.]
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You already know that wouldn't have worked.
[Some more of her anger leeches out; he really couldn't hermit now without her checking up on him. Even just her being here now was evidence of how much she cared. Maybe, she thinks, she's worrying too much; he's survived much worse for much longer in the Wastelands, but the earlier abduction attempt had rattled her.]
[She didn't want to imagine losing him.]
With that in mind, she relaxes slightly, willing to take current circumstances in pace of a worse case scenario. Not that this one was any more of a piece of cake, especially any time one off them shifted. She clears her throat softly,]
I guess this isn't so bad, as far as glitches go. Just have to wait it out.
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[He says without much seriousness to it.
... At her recommendation, though, he groans, leaning back and taking her with him. Still red in the ears and cheeks, don't you worry. He's not dismissing a warm body pressed against his, no matter how dry his well's been for two decades.]
That kettle'd been stuck, mmm. An hour or more.
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Guess we've got some time, then. Unless you want to try prying skin off.
[She wasn't trying to, though. When he settles back, she moves in tandem, this time not resisting. Gradually, she relaxes until she's draped partly over him. It gives her a moment to rest her arms as they're still stuck solid to him, but its a good position to settle her weight on him as opposed to trying to keep herself upright. It's a good chance to check in with herself, assess the closeness and just exist with it for a moment without judgement.]
[Like a wary dog coming to a consensus about allowing itself to trust, she pulls in a careful breath and lets it out with weight.]
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[I mean. He won't knock it if she wanted to try it.
But it sounds like it'd hurt like a bastard and a half. He says against her hair, as it just slightly tickles his cheek:]
... M'glad you're not a knife or explosive, though.
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You know I'm much worse when I want to be.
[Meaning; she's being nice right now, all things considered. She liked to think she could be more damaging than a weapon if the situation called for it; weapons just made things easier.]
Be glad you're you and not anyone else.
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Hmmm. Guess so.
We've been in this position before. Think you almost broke my nose.
[He hadn't really been trying to kill her at the time, but. You know. It was a rough one.]
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[They can joke about it now since everything turned out for the best.]
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My ear remembers.
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My ears remember four, five shots?
[So they've both tried to shoot each other. No big deal.]
We've come a long way since then.
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But the next comment leaves him quieted for a moment.]
... I don't know. We're still a pile on the floor.
But, uh. Appreciate lack of guns.
[He's not blushing quite so much now, thanks. Getting used to being crushed under your weight.
... Is it still not kosher to tell a woman she feels heavy?]
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We could try to stand?
[There's only one way to find out, Max]
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[He leans back, skeptical.]
... D'you know what an octopus is?
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Some sort of deep water animal?
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[He looks humored, though, waggling his arms a little. As best he can anyway.]
Starting to feel like one.
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Is that so. [She tries to shift so they're at least on their sides ad hopefully equally sharing the weight as opposed to Max sharing all of it. Oops sorry.]
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So he settles, letting his head sit against the cool floor.]
Mmm.
Yeah. Just throw us in an ocean, we're set.
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