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)
driftfleet2017-07-23 02:17 am
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2017-07-23 02:17 am
Entry tags:
Text/Action.
Who: Max and you
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: Now-ish! Potential talk of mental health, but who knows! PTSD always, anyway.
[Max is not really social, in the days that follow the calibrations. In fact, he's downright hard to find — even for the Starstruck crew. Not mysteriously so, as there's always a shuttle missing and one can assume Max is marooning himself nearby in space itself, but he's still even more out of sigh than usual. He mainly just checks in to make sure nothing much has changed. Finally, after so much avoidance, he wanders back in and appears to seem... semi-manageable as company.
Or maybe he just got sick of space. Feel free to find him around the Starstruck; he's not leaving it much, if at all. He likes napping on the lounge chair, leaving the record to spin without the needle or a tune. If your character is really quiet they can sneak around him and play something. Or maybe try to stir him. But — wait. What's that? Written in Max's handwriting, there's a little note on the spot beside him.
Such a pleasant note. He's apparently learning after the last few punches or near-punches he's given people.
Or, you might find him with his rather nicely-crafted knee brace off; it's sitting beside him as he sits at his desk, and he's carefully working on a busted part to the shuttle with a melding gun. His bum leg is stretched out, relaxed, with a little TLC — one of those nice icy hot packs to quell the ache. Is that a single solitary beer bottle on the desk? Shucks, he's just having a nice cold one while he works. Or, you know, maybe a cuppa tea he took from the kitchen. Maybe. Maybe you find him in the bathroom, trimming his beard, because he hasn't been cutting it and it's getting way too out of hand. Like his hair, which is currently trying to go down his forehead and eat his eyes.
Anyway. He's had some things on his mind. What better way to ask than a text, so he can possibly ignore replies or disconnect early or take his time building his social gauge again?]
medication.
how far has it advanced for you
back home.
doesn't really exist anymore in my world. not a lot other than some natural remedies.
no pharmacies to visit.
anyone need to take them here?
[Just... wondering. He's got a bad knee, after all.
And, well. A bad brain. But he's not about to go into detail about that being a reason he's asking.]
if you were in my head
leave it alone. don't want to talk.
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Starstruck
When: Now-ish! Potential talk of mental health, but who knows! PTSD always, anyway.
[Max is not really social, in the days that follow the calibrations. In fact, he's downright hard to find — even for the Starstruck crew. Not mysteriously so, as there's always a shuttle missing and one can assume Max is marooning himself nearby in space itself, but he's still even more out of sigh than usual. He mainly just checks in to make sure nothing much has changed. Finally, after so much avoidance, he wanders back in and appears to seem... semi-manageable as company.
Or maybe he just got sick of space. Feel free to find him around the Starstruck; he's not leaving it much, if at all. He likes napping on the lounge chair, leaving the record to spin without the needle or a tune. If your character is really quiet they can sneak around him and play something. Or maybe try to stir him. But — wait. What's that? Written in Max's handwriting, there's a little note on the spot beside him.
Such a pleasant note. He's apparently learning after the last few punches or near-punches he's given people.
Or, you might find him with his rather nicely-crafted knee brace off; it's sitting beside him as he sits at his desk, and he's carefully working on a busted part to the shuttle with a melding gun. His bum leg is stretched out, relaxed, with a little TLC — one of those nice icy hot packs to quell the ache. Is that a single solitary beer bottle on the desk? Shucks, he's just having a nice cold one while he works. Or, you know, maybe a cuppa tea he took from the kitchen. Maybe. Maybe you find him in the bathroom, trimming his beard, because he hasn't been cutting it and it's getting way too out of hand. Like his hair, which is currently trying to go down his forehead and eat his eyes.
Anyway. He's had some things on his mind. What better way to ask than a text, so he can possibly ignore replies or disconnect early or take his time building his social gauge again?]
medication.
how far has it advanced for you
back home.
doesn't really exist anymore in my world. not a lot other than some natural remedies.
no pharmacies to visit.
anyone need to take them here?
[Just... wondering. He's got a bad knee, after all.
And, well. A bad brain. But he's not about to go into detail about that being a reason he's asking.]
if you were in my head
leave it alone. don't want to talk.