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)
driftfleet2017-11-28 01:27 pm
theroadwarrior) wrote in driftfleet2017-11-28 01:27 pm
Entry tags:
Voice/Action.
Who: Max and you.
Broadcast: Fleetwide Voice!
Action: Starstruck, Iskaulit.
When: Now-ish. Or some such.
(If you have a wildcard, lemme know, we can thread something here if you have a thing in mind!)
[Voice.]
... I need some... help. [Ugh, no wastelander actually likes to admit that.] Work fine with traditional machinery, oldtime stuff. No good at the advance junk other than pilotting, though. Want a leg that works well -- not just the usual prosthetic, something good, something sturdy enough for whatever happens next. Fighting, climbing, running -- need to be better n'before.
... Can pay for it, too.
[He huffs, rubbing his neck off the feed. His bangs are getting too long and unruly again.]
Just need it to get me standing on my own again.
[Action.]
[What a shitshow, these last few months have been. Max has, of course, avoided a lot of the last place thanks to being either sick or not quite of strength to move and help with the situation; frustrating, and certainly not without annoyed grunts or grumbles, but he's working on it. He's moved from wheelchair to a crutch, and so -- the Starstruck will find that he's pretty damn close to his usual self again.
Instead of hobbling on a bum knee, he's clacking around with one good leg, which is better than being dead as far as anyone's concerned, yeah? He's determined, in his usual hard-to-read silence, of not letting himself fall behind -- if he's going to dedicate his limited patience and loyalty to his crew (he's not saying the f-word, either), he's going to do it right. That means visiting the Iskaulit gym and making sure he doesn't go all weak in the knee or anything. It's the first time he's started actually leaving the Starstruck after the meteor incident, and it is admittedly a relief to not stare at the same walls daily now.
He also doesn't... sleep in the shuttle anymore. He sleeps in his room, with a bed. It's a miracle.
Ch-ch-changes, like the Bowie song on the record player'll sometimes belt out. He's still kind of stingy about the record player. But c'mon, you have to give him some slack. He's doing his best here. And speaking of record players...
The atroma sent him something, in a normal fed-ex styled envelope.
... It's a generic record.
For Christmas music.
...
Feel free to catch Max on his crutch, hobbling off toward the airlock.]
Broadcast: Fleetwide Voice!
Action: Starstruck, Iskaulit.
When: Now-ish. Or some such.
(If you have a wildcard, lemme know, we can thread something here if you have a thing in mind!)
[Voice.]
... I need some... help. [Ugh, no wastelander actually likes to admit that.] Work fine with traditional machinery, oldtime stuff. No good at the advance junk other than pilotting, though. Want a leg that works well -- not just the usual prosthetic, something good, something sturdy enough for whatever happens next. Fighting, climbing, running -- need to be better n'before.
... Can pay for it, too.
[He huffs, rubbing his neck off the feed. His bangs are getting too long and unruly again.]
Just need it to get me standing on my own again.
[Action.]
[What a shitshow, these last few months have been. Max has, of course, avoided a lot of the last place thanks to being either sick or not quite of strength to move and help with the situation; frustrating, and certainly not without annoyed grunts or grumbles, but he's working on it. He's moved from wheelchair to a crutch, and so -- the Starstruck will find that he's pretty damn close to his usual self again.
Instead of hobbling on a bum knee, he's clacking around with one good leg, which is better than being dead as far as anyone's concerned, yeah? He's determined, in his usual hard-to-read silence, of not letting himself fall behind -- if he's going to dedicate his limited patience and loyalty to his crew (he's not saying the f-word, either), he's going to do it right. That means visiting the Iskaulit gym and making sure he doesn't go all weak in the knee or anything. It's the first time he's started actually leaving the Starstruck after the meteor incident, and it is admittedly a relief to not stare at the same walls daily now.
He also doesn't... sleep in the shuttle anymore. He sleeps in his room, with a bed. It's a miracle.
Ch-ch-changes, like the Bowie song on the record player'll sometimes belt out. He's still kind of stingy about the record player. But c'mon, you have to give him some slack. He's doing his best here. And speaking of record players...
The atroma sent him something, in a normal fed-ex styled envelope.
... It's a generic record.
For Christmas music.
...
Feel free to catch Max on his crutch, hobbling off toward the airlock.]
action.
she tries to hone in on the good things. like the progress max makes when she finds his shuttle empty during her early morning workout. somehow, that helps her smile to herself as her shoes pound the treadmill. and later, when she's fussing over tea, some of that pride lingers when max crutches his way into the kitchen. ]
You're getting devilish quick.
[ peggy glances at the pot and glances at the mugs. want a cuppa? ]
action.
[It's an unhappy sound, but not an uncommon one. Some days there's just reason to be a grinch. Like... the holidays. Which clearly turn him into some sort of furry green creature. Being reminded of christmas cheer, something that is supposed to be relatively extinct now, is not on his list of fun things for the month. Also, he's begrudgingly and potentially relying on Howard Stark for help.
.... But that cuppa looks pretty great.
He plops down in a chair, grunting. Sure would, since you offered.
Always rely on him to take advantage of an offer.]
action.
she pours two from the steeping pot. one for her, one for max. ]
Is that so? What bee has got under your bonnet now?
[ she places one mug in front of him and then sits across the table. ]
action.
... Gonna let Stark work on a leg for me.
[And while most would be over the moon, he knows that she knows why he'd be cautious about this venture. He'll admit Stark's a genius or whatever, but if he makes a leg that does anything weird, so help him god-]
action.
[ dry as a bone, yes, but when peggy says it there's no ironing out the depth of her surprise. max doesn't say the word 'help' but help is exactly what this is. and of all the people from whom he might get it...?
her smile is terse. cautious. peggy has the sort of wellspring of faith in howard stark that she knows she probably shouldn't encourage. he's been the intellect between some of both the worst and the best work she's ever seen.
she takes a sip of tea, nodding. ]
We won't let him get carried away.
[ don't fret. ]
action.
Are you sure there's anyone who can top him from getting carried away?
[He's assuming you're confident in your Howard Stark wrangling. But also.
Can the great Peggy Carter stop the likes of Howard Stark from getting carried away, forever?]
action.
action.
Need to start using your name as a weapon more often around here, then.
[Just imagine what he could get away with, if he weren't so lazy about social interaction.]
action.
[ that is -- don't you dare push your luck. she'll have his back when it counts. otherwise, he can fight his own bloody battles.
unless they're against steve. then he can always rely on her to wade in -- usually on the side opposite to steve's. ]
action.
[He takes a greedy drink from his cup, before his eyebrows raise high on his forehead.]
I'll put knives somewhere on the crutches, then.
[Much better weapon.]
action.
action.
Thought you'd be more accepting of knife-crutches, with how much you like creativity in fighting.
action.