Action/Voice | Dated October 6th | this didn't remotely fit on a mingle sobs

[theroadwarrior]

Who: Max and you.
Broadcast: Voice (see down a ways)
Action: SS Marsiva and SS Starstruck
When: October 6th, and it spans through the following week as well.

[Closed to others on the Marsiva if desired! October 6th]

[Max is spit up by the Marsiva a bit earlier than his other counterparts. Not much earlier, but he figures it might have to do with what they left behind on the planet -- but not before a nightmare of twisted images, of shadows he can't quite place and memories of his youth, of his adulthood, of what he lost that had made him less than human for a very long time. He's fortune; he knows how to handle the feeling of vivid nightmares and paranoia, of fears and iciness in his stomach. Perhaps it says terrible things about his way of life before the fleet, but death and the sense of dread afterward feels like living.

He wakes up in the Marsiva's healing deck, laid out on one of the cots with a sort of sensation that he's been pumped full of drugs, his body is so exhausted. He tries to swing his legs over the side of the bed to sit up, and it's a herclean effort aided only by the fact that he's been dealing with an ineffectively shit leg for twenty--

He staggers and collapses, arms braced on the bed, as he glances down. No brace. No anything, actually, from the thigh down. Terrible whispers caress his ears as he flat-out ignores them as he always does in favor of reaching out to touch the loose fabric of an empty pant leg. Alright. Alright, alright. It's not there. It hurts, but it's not there. Okay. He blinks hard, and reassesses the situation, pushing it all out of his mind for the moment. So his leg's gone. There's nothing he can do about that right now, other than work around it; it's just a step above the day it'd gotten shot. Work around it.

He looks around, sweat beading his brow and a constant chill shivering his body. At least they were nice enough to give him back his normal clothes, right? A copper-skinned woman holding an older man's hand passes his peripheral vision before he takes note of the pair of crutches leaning neatly against another cot. Time to see if anyone else is here, he supposes. But really, his heart is thrumming for the sight of Furiosa. If he's here, then surely she would be. There's really no logical reason why they would pick someone like him over literally anyone else to return to life.

He ventures forward, sluggish but determined to not be a sole survivor.

He refuses the thought.]




[Starstruck, October 6th]

[There's a pop on the bridge, a little spray of confetti.

Max is just as disoriented as ever when he is abruptly dumped into one of the chairs. He curses, foul words that should never be uttered by a civilized man, tiredly wiping confetti out of his slight beard and feverishly pale forehead. Now that the complete turmoil roiling in his gut over the survivors is a bit more appeased, the terrible, awful mental problems are just a drop in the bucket -- the physical, he could do without, but he's used to it. Really, he hasn't mentally processed losing his leg. Could they not have dropped the crutches in with him?

Pop, clatter. One crutch falls in, and then another, clacking loudly across the room.

...

He growls under his breath.

But on the bright side, his comms device is with him. So he just settles for wearily stamping in the voice command with his finger, vision too swirling and hands too jittery for text. Alright, so. Don't think about the dying part, or the fact that people really do just come back to life at all here, just work on the information part:]




[Voice.]

M'back.

What happened after the planet went out?

[What a wonderful public speaker. You missed this, right?]




[And again, Starstruck action.]

[And yes, eventually he can be found in his room. He's not in bed like he damn well should be, but he has at least gotten himself a wheelchair so that he's not just fumbling and collapsing on a sickly single leg. Or worse, sometimes he's not in his room. Sometimes he's in the cargo bay with Rock the dog (what a good dog), patting his head distantly and looking at the spot where his shuttle, newly resurrected, resides. He grumbles a little more, discontent with the fact that he can't actually use the damn thing in his current state to hide out.

The leg that isn't there anymore hurts. But he finds something... he can't quite explain in the absence. Something illogical for any other person than himself. A sort of... strange relief. Hell if he knows how to explain, so he just sits, patting the dog's head, lost in a swirl of thoughts. If he falls asleep in his chair, you'll be kind and not startle him, okay? It's not like he's got the energy to swing at you this week.]

Comments

Marsiva/Not ... co-here-ant?

[kill_switch]

[Furiosa's in bed ... of sorts. It's fully encapsulated and still running through the restoration process. She's nearly finished, but not quite ready to be transferred back to the First Breath. There's a window in the top of her pod that allows doctors and nurses to visually check in, and should Max look he'll find her resting easy, only a small frown across her brow. Her skin is a sickly pallor, accentuating the dark circles around her closed eyes.

Max might find it a familiar look for her.

But, the prognosis is positive; her vitals are good and in an upward climb.

She just needs more time.]

[theroadwarrior]

[He does come to find her -- and he doesn't plan to relent in his exhausted wandering until he finds her, because the other option is really... not an option. If they were stupid enough to resurrect him but not someone who actually should be brought back, he'll... Well, he doesn't have to even finish that thought. He steps forward toward the restoration pod, figuring he had been in one at some point, too. A sort of bone-deep relief nearly drags his leg out from under him, and he leans against the pod carefully to catch his breath.

She's safe. Alive, at least. Whatever comes after that, they can deal with it. She's got both legs, one arm, other's still gone but that's nothing new. For what she'd tried to do for him, he wouldn't accept anything else. He leans his forehead against the glass, eyes closed, collecting himself. Now everything's alright. Hallucinations, dread, phantom aches, it doesn't matter.

He sinks to sit beside her bed, and when he inevitably vanishes to the bridge of the Starstruck he'll have left from that very spot.

A pissy guard dog.]

Hangar Bay

[kill_switch]

[A few days after Furiosa's return, she's finally coherent enough to catch the little bit of network post that Max had done. It sets a fire under her, spurring her to move and do more than she has in the past few days and really - more than she should.

Namely; flying a shuttle.

It takes her a while just to get to the First Breath's hangar bay, but once she's settled in the pilot's seat she swears she feels fine. It's sitting; it's not too physically demanding. She's got this.

She eases out of the First Breath's hangar bay a little slower than usual, but once out into the vacuum of space the actual concentration of focusing on flying was, in this moment and in her condition, an enormous ordeal.

Whether through her own stubborn nature or current foggy headed state, it doesn't occur to her to rely on the autopilot. Really, it's a miracle she approaches the proper ship at all - but as she's pulling into the Startruck's hangar bay she's miscaulculated the angle she needs to come in as, or somehow confused their floor with their ceiling. She's even coming in a little too fast but is able to pull back at the last moment. What she sacrifices is the chance to correct her entry angle, and as the ship enters the artificial-gravity of the hangar bay it crashes to the ground, wobbles on a corner for a moment, and then very slowly and with a long, sustained creak of metal, falls over on its side.

After a delayed moment, the landing gear deploys.

And a moment after that, the side door is thrown open and Furisoa drags herself out of the shuttle and onto the side. Hello there.

[theroadwarrior]

[Honestly, Max isn't sure how expect Furiosa -- oh, he expects her, but how she comes in? That's an entire matter altogether. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't pretty anxious and being face to face with her again... or, um, as much as he can be, given the circumstances. He's pretty annoyed at how sickly he's been, that he can't use crutches. He nearly jumps out of that wheelchair when the shuttle comes in and crashes (but only mildly, that's nice), and he's pushing back a feeling of sickness when he slowly rolls himself toward the sound. Frustratingly, because he's not trying to roll himself slowly, he just is.

As Furiosa crawls up from the top, he stops at the bottom of the sideways shuttle to look up worriedly, swathed in a mess of blankets. If she's not at full health to pilot a ship properly, he's kind of worried about her falling off the thing and accidentally breaking her neck, or something.]

Aaah... Furiosa.

[You alive up there?

What a non-dramatic reunion, huh?]

Voice

[tallasaking]

[You can hear the shocked disbelief, coming from just that one word.]

...Max?

[Then half panic, half anger, Tyrion's voice picks up volume quickly.]

Where is she? Where is Furiosa!?

Voice

[theroadwarrior]

[He grimaces, grumbling under his breath.]

... Too loud... [He just came back from death; could you not make his migraine worse? At the mention of Furiosa, though, he relaxes and straightens up.] She's gonna be alright. Healing back on the Marsiva; saw her before they sent me here.

[And boy was he relieved to all hell.]

Re: Voice

[tallasaking]

I do not care if I am breaking your ear drums -

[There is a sharp inhaled breath of relief, and then ... an exhale of the same.]

Thank all the Seven. We thought you both dead. Did you see Kaiden, or Kurt?

Voice

[theroadwarrior]

[Max has no idea who the Seven are, but he figures Valhalla-worship is an easy comparison.]

They should be there, yeah. Didn't see everyone who fell with the planet, but pretty sure they were either healing in pods or following behind me soon enough. We were dead, ahm. For a little while. Not sure how long.

voice;

[noprophecies]

You're "back".

[she sounds incredulous and something else because is that how you announce a return? What the hell, Max]

voice;

[theroadwarrior]

... Think that's the word you use when you're leave and return, yeah...

[He sounds sick and tired, though. Because he is. He could keel over again, feels like.

The leg thing, that can wait for later. Much later. She'll figure it out sometime.]

voice;

[noprophecies]

[the only thing that stifles her urge to yell at him is how he sounds. The anger in her voice is replaced with concern]

You certainly sound like you just came "back".

voice;

[theroadwarrior]

[Pretty much. He doesn't sound like he's gargled nails, but there's certainly a lesser equivalent somewhere. He shifts uncomfortably, feeling something akin to icicles curdled up under his ribs; everything's feeling like that, cold and dangerous and something to be wary of, but lucky Max -- it's not an uncommon feeling. He's grown used to dealing with it.]

Mmm. Woke up on the Marsiva.

... What happened after? The planet.

action »

[mucked]

[ peggy's been putting out other fires. she's slow on the uptake -- but after having spent an afternoon on the bishop, she returns to her home-sweet-home with circles under her eyes. heaviness in her step. and there's a light on in max's room.

max's room. she swears softly under her breath and nudges the hatch open. there he is -- the bastard -- snoozing in his chair. since when did he have a wheelchair when he always had a...oh, christ. her attention seizes upon max's missing leg.

rock notices her first. a soft boff from where he lays, and peggy offers up a sharp command for him to stay quiet while she walks inside. it only partially works as the dog is quick to pace a circle around her feet. good lad, good boy, she whispers. and with first hand experience in waking a sleeping max, peggy opts to sit on his bed instead.

it's alright. she'll wait. ]

action »

[theroadwarrior]

[The sleep is by no means completely restful, and Peggy can probably guess why by the heat projecting from the crown of his head. As it turns out, the Atroma do not simply rebuild and properly deposit someone with a clean bill of health. There are creases of pain in his brow, mild twitches in his hand, but it calls to attention how deep and dark his sleep is and how exhausted he feels, that when he wakes up it's defenseless and sluggish like a baby chick.

Gray-rimmed eyes open, look ahead, look to the dog, look to Peggy. There's still a little confetti on his shoulders he hasn't bothered wiping away, and perhaps a little tendril of it stuck on his cowlick. Ahh. There you are. Surely Max has something wonderful to say, after so long away. And dead, to boot.]

Bein' a creep...

[His voice is a bit hoarse, disused, like someone who's had a tube down their throat; make of the thought what you will. Max isn't keen to think about the distant, blurry memories of being revived. If that's what they are, and not his own twisted up mind.]

... watching me sleeping...

[Hi, Peggy.]

action »

[mucked]

[ the sound of his voice -- croaked and raspy though it is -- unties a whole knot of concern within her heart. peg breathes a little easier. her knuckles don't whiten on the edge of the bed and instead she folds them in her lap. ]

It seemed more prudent than the alternative. [ her head tilts. ] Better to be a creep than try and explain to Steve why I've got another black eye thanks to you.

[ hi, max. she's doing her best to make this conversation seem normal. although her voice does waver a moment when she speaks. ]

Besides. Could've done worse. I could have licked your face.

[ -- yes. she's going there. ]

action »

[theroadwarrior]

[He practically growls, though it's entirely harmless.]

... Don't remind me.

[Wasn't his shining moment, that. But it also wasn't the only time this place has made a fool out of him -- beside from what he does to himself. That would indeed include the day he'd pretty much sucker-punched his captain. Now, FDR, he'll cop to. Guy deserved some punching and shoving. At any rate, being a dog? Just reminds him he had four legs then. Now he's gone and downgraded. But he tries not to look to it.

Instead he tries to sit up straighter in his chair, sucking in a sharp breath. Everything still kind of hurts -- but maybe that's to be expected, when you're freshly made after being turned into human dust. He wears the pain well, in the corners of his eyes, and then glances at her with a bit more focus. Not quite in the eye, but at least a sharp and quick look as he recollects surprisingly sharp memories.]

... Rock hit my shuttle when we were leaving.

Kinda -- crashed.

[He figures a sort of update to the captain seemed logical. Let her know where things kind of went terribly wrong. As it turns out, exploding, smaller rocks are an issue in the wake of a big one.]

voice;;

[postocular]

Glad you're back. Guess everyone we lost is coming back, too??

We got everyone off the planet.

voice;;

[theroadwarrior]

[He would be a sassing asshole and say "not everyone", but.

He'll let it go. He's exhausted.]

... Hope so. Saw others, mmm... healing.

....

Takes a lot of power, t'bring people back from dust.

voice;;

[postocular]

I'm glad they're coming back, too.

[namisan]

Welcome back.

We hung around for another week and helped the refugees get settled, then the Marsiva started drifting again.

[Someone probably already said that, but whatever. Largely she's just acknowledging his return. In the flattest kind of voice.]

[theroadwarrior]

[A soft sound of approval; thank you, Nami, he depends on you to be straightforward.]

... Good.

Sooner we get away from that, the better.

[namisan]

Agreed. [She hates leaving them, but there's nothing else she can do, so Nami would prefer trying to recover herself at this point. She can't do that with a gaping wound of a planet on the horizon.]

...some people come back from stuff like that not... feeling the greatest. You doing okay?

[I mean, she's still being clinical. Nami is vaguely concerned for all the resurrected, but it's buried under a lot of layers of detachment.]

action; a bit later

[willynilly]

[She's been awfully preoccupied with Aizawa's return, but she can't forget that they also lost Max, so once she's gotten someone else (Jayden probably) on watch duty and the word on the ship is that Max is also back, she goes to his room, knocking on his door in the hope of finding him awake. Aizawa's feverish and sleeping a lot, so she's not sure what to expect.]

action; a bit later

[theroadwarrior]

[It's all good, Ochako. He expects her to be focused on Aizawa, and really, he prefers it that way. He's never been very good with the idea of a spotlight of any kind on him; dying sort of sets that up, in a sense, and he's keen to avoid people. Also, he's sick and being awake sucks, so he drinks some of Tempest's tea and nods off a lot, albeit for far shorter times than he really should allot. He had just gotten up from his own slumber, sitting on the bed looking surprisingly un-Max-like in his weariness: just in sweatpants and a normal shirt, like a normal human being and not someone in love with old leather. Who knew.

And looking rather morbid, one pant leg dangles, unused from the thigh down. No more brace, no more bitching about said brace at 2 in the morning when it decides to break or bend or otherwise cause him trouble. Blinking awake and also just as feverish as poor Aizawa, he glances over at her, rubbing one eye.]

... Ochako.

Ahh... Something wrong?

[She looks anxious, and he's... lost track of time. Has he even seen Ochako yet? Maybe he forgot. There are patches of his rest that don't particularly feel real. Hell, right now, he doesn't even feel like he's missing a leg at all; he senses it like he always does, right there, feels a twinge in his toes like he'd been standing too long on his feet. It's hard to even consider the alternative.]

[willynilly]

["Something wrong", he asks. geez. he looks terrible, made worse by the clearly missing leg. everyone who came back returned sick, it seems, but better that than not at all. she just has to keep reminding herself of that.

it's hard not to break down crying again, so instead she steels herself and approaches where he sits, fingers twisting together.]

N-no... um... I wanted to check on you. See if you needed anything.