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)
driftfleet2017-10-05 12:42 pm
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2017-10-05 12:42 pm
Entry tags:
Action/Voice | Dated October 6th | this didn't remotely fit on a mingle sobs
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.]
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.]
no subject
He's okay. He's sick- like you, I think. Maybe it's part of... part of coming back.
no subject
[He's honestly surprised it's not more than that.
He's not regretting that it happens, or angry that they've returned; maybe a Max from years ago would be bitter, but he's relieved. Mostly for people like Furiosa, or even Aizawa, because sure... he likes him enough. Don't tell him Max thought that. Regardless, it's all... something to think about.]
no subject
...I don't care. I don't care if it's not natural! I'm... I'm really glad you're both okay!
no subject
[He sighs, soft. Dammit, child, don't you look so depressing on their behalf.
He's pretty sure Aizawa would feel similarly, to someone looking so relieved and sad on his own behalf.]
I'm -- glad, too. Ummm.
Glad you're... okay. Everyone did a good thing, back there.
Were... mm, good people.
no subject
Y-yeah... yeah, we did, um. We helped. I don't like how it ended, but... it wasn't for nothing.
[it doesn't make her feel much better, but...]
no subject
[He sits quiet for a moment on the bed, conflicted. Damn sappy looking kid, always worried or hopeful or all those things that bite you on the ass later. He holds an arm up... inviting? And motions with it, as if to say -- well???]
... D'you need -- [...... um] a hug?
[Hell freezes over very suddenly, on Earth.]
no subject
but you know what?]
...Yes.
[her voice is small, her body equally so as she leans into his arm, accepting the hug, because yeah, she does need one. and she feels badly for taking comfort from him the way she'd done with Aizawa, because they're the ones who'd died, not her. the truth is, she's just not that strong. not yet.
so she hugs him, fingers curling to cling a little, her face pressed up against his chest, for as long as he lets her.]
no subject
He sighs through his nose, rubbing her back a little.]
Gotta move past it, Ochako.
Otherwise, you'll drown in it. Can't be a hero if you drown in it.
[He's not necessarily saying it has to be right now, but...
It has to be, at some point.]
no subject
[she's too touched by the fact that he's letting her do this, that he's actually holding her back, to do anything but cling to him. just a bit longer. just a little bit.]
It's... it's just... my first time.
[her first loss; the first deaths in combat. it's not something that children can just shrug off, and she can admit all too easily now that she is still a child.]
no subject
But...
[He ruffles her hair and lets her remain there.]
We're not in my world.
And -- it's... mmm... better to feel like this than not feel anything at all.
[He doesn't feel much when he sees death. Not... usually. Some manage to get under his skin in ways he can't really figure out. People like Peggy, or Ochako. Good people with good hearts, they rub off on him.]
no subject
[she just hates this feeling, and the knowledge that, with the more people she speaks with, the more she can recognize how many people have already felt this way. so many have already lost people...]
...but it hurts. It hurts, and I don't know how to make it stop.
no subject
Wish I had advice on how to make it stop.
Time doesn't always help.
[It's a hard truth.]
... Finding something to focus on can, though.
no subject
[she sounds a bit desperate; her voice anxious and eager. anything to ease how this feels.]
no subject
Maybe... focus on helping who you can in the fleet.
There's a lot of us; not just Aizawa n' me. They could use a helping hand or ear. Something like that. Makes you feel, ah... less helpless... easier to keep yourself focused. [A silence; he's thinking.] Don't know what it's like to be a hero, but. That's something they do, right? Focus on helping the next person.
no subject
[it's dumb to say that to him- how would he even know? and it's not like he's here to alleviate her guilt. maybe it's something of a confession.
god, she really doesn't know anymore.
lifting herself up, she wipes awkwardly at her eyes, hands clasping firmly together.]
I'll... I'll keep trying. I'll work on helping people, I'll do better from now on. Otherwise I'm not much good to anyone.
no subject
[Talking kindly is hard, but it's surprisingly gentle for the likes of Max.
God, this place has messed him up real good. Bastards.]
... Don't doubt your worth. Being helpless in a situation doesn't make you useless as a whole.
Just makes you like the rest of us. All'f us.
no subject
It's hard to compare... you all seem so capable and strong. But hearing that from you means a lot, so... thank you.