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)
ataraxion2015-07-02 10:03 pm
theroadwarrior) wrote in ataraxion2015-07-02 10:03 pm
Entry tags:
[Accidental Video] y'all suck
[Max knew this whole stupid mind powers thing was a generally awful idea. Elizabeth and even a little bit of Rey's work on the comms (even if he still would rather glare at her, in private) had done a relatively bang-up job making Max think maybe there was a shadow of possibility this powers business would actually do any good for them. Besides — if he could calm his mind down enough to actually control it, he would stop giving away memories and hallucinations and feelings all willy nilly. So yes, he tried focusing, tried materializing things, tried to keep it all in check. Nothing too personal — just channeled it. Other than a few rather personal thoughts hovering through the cracks from other people he'd never know the names of, he has had pretty good luck.
'Til of course, a particularly rough series of nightmares had caused him to muck things up. He'd woken up in the corner of his room with something heavy and rough against his jaw and cheekbones and lips. Somewhere in his fervent dreaming, he'd gone and materialized that fucking muzzle; the same one he had supposedly locked up in his locker, kept away so that it couldn't actually get used against him again. And now it's on his fucking face.
So he does the totally wise thing, which is struggling pathetically to remove it with his hands before he rushes into the nearest kitchen and starts pulling out drawers and ripping open cabinets. The motions are rough and not too careful, and his network device crashes onto the ground and displays him pretty much wrecking one of your kitchen areas. This drawer? He's pouring it out on the counter and digging around. It's all spoons, who needs spoons. There's a knife and he tries to shove it under the padlock behind his head and scrape it open, but it's just grinding down the grooves on the blade.
As he pushes over appliances and spills someone's coffee, this is an approximate translation one can hear while he spits the dummy:]
Fucking [INCOHERENT CURSING] shi—fuchgk [INCOHERENT GROWLING] my face, for fuck's sake, bloodghy— [???????] FUCK!
[WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL YOUR SHARP THIN STABBY OBJECTS, I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN AWESOME HIGH-TECH KITCHEN
EGG-BEATERS ARE NOT GOING TO FUCKING CUT IT.
He tugs pretty pathetically on the long chain hanging there, slips his fingers under the thick metal bands before he tries to shove a butterknife into the keyslot.
....
THWUMP.
This the sound of his forehead softly thunking against the cabinet door in frustration.
... Well, maybe there's a decent nail file somewhere in engineering or something...
Fuck your powers y'all can eat your powers and get indigestion and cark it, for all he cares.]
((OOC: Action permissible for Nami and Elizabeth, have fun girls.))
'Til of course, a particularly rough series of nightmares had caused him to muck things up. He'd woken up in the corner of his room with something heavy and rough against his jaw and cheekbones and lips. Somewhere in his fervent dreaming, he'd gone and materialized that fucking muzzle; the same one he had supposedly locked up in his locker, kept away so that it couldn't actually get used against him again. And now it's on his fucking face.
So he does the totally wise thing, which is struggling pathetically to remove it with his hands before he rushes into the nearest kitchen and starts pulling out drawers and ripping open cabinets. The motions are rough and not too careful, and his network device crashes onto the ground and displays him pretty much wrecking one of your kitchen areas. This drawer? He's pouring it out on the counter and digging around. It's all spoons, who needs spoons. There's a knife and he tries to shove it under the padlock behind his head and scrape it open, but it's just grinding down the grooves on the blade.
As he pushes over appliances and spills someone's coffee, this is an approximate translation one can hear while he spits the dummy:]
Fucking [INCOHERENT CURSING] shi—fuchgk [INCOHERENT GROWLING] my face, for fuck's sake, bloodghy— [???????] FUCK!
[WHERE THE FUCK ARE ALL YOUR SHARP THIN STABBY OBJECTS, I THOUGHT THIS WAS AN AWESOME HIGH-TECH KITCHEN
EGG-BEATERS ARE NOT GOING TO FUCKING CUT IT.
He tugs pretty pathetically on the long chain hanging there, slips his fingers under the thick metal bands before he tries to shove a butterknife into the keyslot.
....
THWUMP.
This the sound of his forehead softly thunking against the cabinet door in frustration.
... Well, maybe there's a decent nail file somewhere in engineering or something...
((OOC: Action permissible for Nami and Elizabeth, have fun girls.))
[Action]
I agree; it takes a lot of practice, and... well, a good amount of concentration, but it can really be amazing.
[ Remember the bread? Hadn't that been worth it??
She glances to Nami when addressed, arms linked behind her back. ]
Thank you! I've... strangely, had a lot of time and locks on which to practice. Back home, we encountered a lot of doors, and...
[ She frowns slightly, wondering if she should explain the "we," if she should explain why there were quite so many locks. ]
It's worked out well, anyway.
[Action]
Max will stare at you all he wants, Nami, he's clearly in a compromising position here. But her grin does soften the edges of his usual grim expression, leaving him mostly just frustrated at said powers in general. Practice? How do you practice this kind of thing without screwing it up and doing something like this? He'd probably have a pile of muzzles if he kept this up. Granted everything so far has vanished, mostly...
He grumbles a non-reply at Nami, tossing the muzzle onto the counter without care for the sake of it or the actual counter. Both are metal, they can handle it He cricks his neck in continued relief and breathes in and out deeply, trying to find some zen after that mess he made. Which is still a mess. We're all in the middle of World War III in this poor kitchen, okay.
And he's letting you two talk over him. He is so down with that.
Casually — ]
Mmn. You're both marauders.
[SURROUNDED BY THIEVES
I MEAN, I'M ONE TOO SOMETIMES, IT'S ALL GOOD LADIES.]
[Action]
[Well, that accusation was out of thin air, gosh. She sits up straight, blinking at Max. Does she have I am a thief tattooed on her forehead or something. Rude.
Also accurate, though. Sort of. Let me correct you on that--]
Pirate. Actually.
Though I can't speak for, uh-- [Elizabeth, she's looking at you.] I'm sorry, what was your name?
[Action]
The brunette glances at Nami, though, perking up at the word "pirate." ]
Oh-- Elizabeth. And you are?
[ And is she really a pirate? She thinks of novels she's read, of Treasure Island and Blackbeard and stands a little straighter, her body language clearly interested. ]
[Action]
Max will be totally polite and let her answer that. Or not.
It's not like he's sharing his own name right. But he does grumble:]
Pirate, same difference...
[Action]
Nami. I don't know, picking locks does tend to make you look a little roguish. [She's just gonna reach behind herself casually for something soft-- this dishcloth will do-- and lob it at Max's head. Quiet, you heathen.] What are pirates like in your world?
[Action]
[ Sorry, Max. Girl talk now. ]
Well, it isn't as if I've met any; I've just read stories about them, and heard some historical accounts. Really, they sound like they have terribly exciting lives, but I also think they kill more often than they do anything.
[ She pauses. ] That's just all from books, though; I'm sure it's different where you've come from.
[Action] 1/2
Am I the third wheel?]
[Action]
Wandering off to investigate okay bye assholes.]
[Action]
But some crews tend to be in it more for the freedom of it. If you don't want to kowtow to the marines or the World Government, then generally, you might take to piracy. You're not necessarily a terrible person, just... you don't like being told what to do.
[Action]
I can understand that. It's somehow similar to Columbia, where I live. If you don't agree with the main ideology, you can be badly persecuted, or worse.
[ Comstock isn't exactly known for his open-mindedness. ]
But it's more religious than political. And... there is a group that opposes it all, but they can be just as difficult, in some ways.
[Action]
Excuse him while he eats this greedily, with big, heart bites and a less than pleasant table manner.
He's learning, okay, just keep going.]
[Action]
[She snorts. And then there are the corrupt marines which are everywhere, but that's a whole 'nother story.]
Not much in the way of religion, though. At least-- not anything widespread. A lot of islands probably have their own. Do you get into trouble at home, then?
[Which is another way of asking if Elizabeth is religious and on good terms with her own government. With a lockpicking skill, she wonders.
...also Max, get some taste. First that vile swill you were drinking and now this.]
[Action]
[ Elizabeth watches Max rummage, slightly distracted. He reminds her of Booker, somehow. ]
Well... yes. [ Does "supposed to be an icon for one of the groups and absolutely fed up with it all" count as "trouble?" ] I don't really fit into either side, and... my father isn't very happy about that.
[ Beat. She turns fully to Max, then, sidetracked. ]
Would you like me to cook something for you? That can't be enough.
[Action]
Glancing from Nami and the girl to his food, he seems a bit puzzled.]
This is a lot. Shouldn't stretch your stomach.
[Shrug. The muzzle beside him, oddly, seems to be slowly eroding from reality.]
You could cook for you.
[Action]
It's not about quantity, it's quality. That stuff is disgusting! At least have a balanced diet while the option's actually there.
[She's curious about Elizabeth's father, so don't think she won't get back to that. But they both managed to sidetrack her into being a nag, so...]