[Well, the cat is out of the bag — a few days earlier than anticipated, thanks to Sevika and anyone else who had started having questions and did some due sneaking. Max had walked away from Jayce with complete distrust for the concept of anyone being anywhere near his knee... but now he's at a bit of a crossroads.
His knee had been kicked in, dislocated. The brace he wore is busted.
And there is a mission coming up in a very limited amount of days.
He might be royally fucked.
This is the most begrudging outreach, and one he expects to be ignored or immediately turned down.]
[Max has not said please since he was married and sane, Jayce. Besides, does he have to ask sweetly if it's business and he ignores the massively bizarre circumstances of his arrival?]
I'll supply you with goods in the next mission. Fair trade.
[No manners whatsoever. He makes a point to inform Furiosa where he's going — she may or may not have accompanied, but he at least is adamant she keep busy outside around Ocheward, keep an ear out on her earpiece for any signs that Max is being gutted or anything less pleasant than getting hardware. Frankly, it's a miracle he's been able to move enough to hobble his way toward this forge and rap his knuckle on the door.
The man Jayce is greeted by is sweating from the exertion of the trip — a bit too obviously struggling with a makeshift crutch that he's used to keep pressure off his leg. The old brace, tattered as it was, is completely gone. Scrap now. And in his sweaty hairline, there's a few small stitches and an ugly goose egg where something had bashed him in the temple.
He has. Had a week, Jayce. He's so over it.
... But at least he has his handgun back in its holster, where it rightfully belongs.]
[The forge is pretty elaborate looking. Like a mix between a work place and a cathedral, if the religion was to steam and gears. Jayce waits nearby the entrance, not one hundred percent trusting Max alone here. What surprises him is how badly Max is limping, the severity of his injuries.]
My god, okay—
[He expected that even with a broken brace, Max would at least be in better condition to walk if he had some sort of mobility aid, but this is way worse.]
I would have met you somewhere if I knew it was this bad!
[Because despite the apparent 'betrayal' and Max's rudeness, it was never even a thought in his mind that Max should physically suffer for it. He moves fast and close without thinking, arms open like he intends to help Max with an arm under his own to help him walk, before he freezes and thinks better of it. Max probably would shove him off before he could even assist him in walking anywhere.
Okay. Plan B.]
Take a seat, anywhere. I'll bring my supplies over here.
[Max just huffs at the comment. Might take Jayce more time to learn how to decipher Max's less verbal responses, but he might at the very least hear some kind of translation along the lines of 'whatever, I'm here'. He sits down, his weight plopping heavy into the nearest chair with gravity as his weapon of choice; he slowly and achingly outstretches the leg in question.
The entire time Jayce wanders around to gather supplies, Max is quiet. Studious, in a sort of paranoid way Jayce would likely recall from that first odd meeting. He's looking for any signs of danger — maybe a perceived vengeance from one of the other Etrayans, or even from Jayce himself. It's not until Jayce has a majority of his supplies that Max finally offers some shred of information:]
Got dislocated in a fight. Brace broke.
[He swipes his arm across his forehead. The sweat's cooling by now.]
Need something that'll keep me on my feet for the mission. While it finishes healing.
[He's actually a little more adept at knowing what various grunts and sighs mean that one might expect, and doesn't take the lack of explanation personally.]
Yes, I figured, give the-
[Jayce gestures to the bruising bump on his head.
Armed with his measuring tape and journal, he doesn't ask Max to stand up, but instead kneels on the ground next to him, unwinding the tape and taking his first measurement, from knee to ankle.]
I assume someone popped it back into place. I also need to know the extent of your injury.
[Max's hand clenches around the arm of the chair when Jayce kneels down near him. Reflexive, because someone studying him at this proximity has been to survey the goods. O negative, high octane blood. This one's a keeper. Invested followers of Alrys in Solmara, looking him up and down as he's practically dragged in by the underside of his arms.]
Isn't the first time it's been popped back.
[So yeah, it is corrected; he's used to it, though he's not about to bring Furiosa's name into this. Lucky for Jayce, Max doesn't smell like a man who rolled in trash today, courtesy of having running water systems — but there's an unmistakable scent of gasoline and oil and dirt-blood-sweat that is so ingrained in his jacket that it wafts off him.]
Kneecapping. Healed long time ago. Pieces are probably jig-sawed in there.
Swells up sometimes.
[It's just bone on misaligned bone at this point.]
[He's doing his best to move slowly and carefully around Max, only touching when he's made it clear he's about to press tape to skin. From knee to ankle, knee to hip... And for his own nose's sake, he doesn't stay leaned in too closely for long.]
It never healed right the first time.
[Not scolding, just a comment.]
The damage is probably impacting your spine as well, but that sort of thing's going to need a doctor to look at it. Good thing you came in with one, huh?
[Jayce jots a few of those measurements down, and then makes eye contact this time with purpose.]
Need to measure the circumference of your upper thigh.
[The doctor, that is. Always asking when he'll get the chance to look at that knee, do something about the damage inside. The fact of the matter is, Max can't bring himself to allow it — organic mechanics, they're untrustworthy. Always in it for them, always up to something on their best days. There's some kind of mutual respect for one another's assholery between him and Romano, but even the doctor knows getting him to allow treatment is on par with pulling all of his teeth out.
A painful fight, through and through.
Max braces his hands on either side of the chair, then pushes himself up onto his feet without complaint. From where Jayce hovers, there's probably a muffled crackling sound in the joint.]
[A small amount of sass as he ignores what sounds like Max's bones shattering just a little more. He wraps the tape around his calf, notes the number, and then moves away for Max to sit back down.]
I'm going to add gears to it.
[A pause. He looks up.]
Uh, not those kinds of gears. Well, some of those types of gears. But I mean levels of how much tension you can put on it, since I doubt you're going to take it easy any time soon. There'll be a lever you can use to shift between the gears. One for sitting, walking, running, climbing. Don't keep it in climbing mode too long, or you'll wear out the tension. Make sense?
[The moment Max hears gears, he's immediately locked in. Whether it's alluding to the gears in a truck or the simple construct, you can bet his attention is instantly fixated on the topic at hand. As he plops back down into the chair like a bear on a log, he nods. Is this a man finally buying into the prospect of getting help, as long as the help sounds infinitely more interesting than usual?
Yes.
A wastelander's paranoia will go so far if they get something 'chrome' out of it.]
[He looks over the design again, opening up his journal a little further so Max can get a peek too.]
It would have to be a small one. Maybe in the lever handle, two inch blade at most. It's also going to weaken the structural integrity of the torque. But if you really want it...
[He considers the design carefully. His eyes usually flick from place to place, be it from paranoia or from some obvious lack of social comfort — but in this instance, his eyes are clear and his expression relaxed.]
F'there is a weakness in an attacker's eyes, it's good to make it a secret threat.
... A two inch blade is enough to stay alive. Keep someone you know alive.
[It's probably worth the instability, to be able to stab a man in the throat mid-struggle.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
voice. | un: guy (this is so funny coming immediately after the thread above this one...)
His knee had been kicked in, dislocated. The brace he wore is busted.
And there is a mission coming up in a very limited amount of days.
He might be royally fucked.
This is the most begrudging outreach, and one he expects to be ignored or immediately turned down.]
I need a new brace.
I KNOW...
I think at the very least you owe me a 'please.'
no subject
[Max has not said please since he was married and sane, Jayce. Besides, does he have to ask sweetly if it's business and he ignores the massively bizarre circumstances of his arrival?]
I'll supply you with goods in the next mission. Fair trade.
no subject
[The next mission with the only instruction being to survive. He's not worried about himself. But, Viktor...]
Fine. I'm going to just hope you're a man of your word.
Come to my forge in Ocheward when you're ready for measurements.
no subject
[No manners whatsoever. He makes a point to inform Furiosa where he's going — she may or may not have accompanied, but he at least is adamant she keep busy outside around Ocheward, keep an ear out on her earpiece for any signs that Max is being gutted or anything less pleasant than getting hardware. Frankly, it's a miracle he's been able to move enough to hobble his way toward this forge and rap his knuckle on the door.
The man Jayce is greeted by is sweating from the exertion of the trip — a bit too obviously struggling with a makeshift crutch that he's used to keep pressure off his leg. The old brace, tattered as it was, is completely gone. Scrap now. And in his sweaty hairline, there's a few small stitches and an ugly goose egg where something had bashed him in the temple.
He has. Had a week, Jayce. He's so over it.
... But at least he has his handgun back in its holster, where it rightfully belongs.]
no subject
My god, okay—
[He expected that even with a broken brace, Max would at least be in better condition to walk if he had some sort of mobility aid, but this is way worse.]
I would have met you somewhere if I knew it was this bad!
[Because despite the apparent 'betrayal' and Max's rudeness, it was never even a thought in his mind that Max should physically suffer for it. He moves fast and close without thinking, arms open like he intends to help Max with an arm under his own to help him walk, before he freezes and thinks better of it. Max probably would shove him off before he could even assist him in walking anywhere.
Okay. Plan B.]
Take a seat, anywhere. I'll bring my supplies over here.
no subject
The entire time Jayce wanders around to gather supplies, Max is quiet. Studious, in a sort of paranoid way Jayce would likely recall from that first odd meeting. He's looking for any signs of danger — maybe a perceived vengeance from one of the other Etrayans, or even from Jayce himself. It's not until Jayce has a majority of his supplies that Max finally offers some shred of information:]
Got dislocated in a fight. Brace broke.
[He swipes his arm across his forehead. The sweat's cooling by now.]
Need something that'll keep me on my feet for the mission. While it finishes healing.
no subject
Yes, I figured, give the-
[Jayce gestures to the bruising bump on his head.
Armed with his measuring tape and journal, he doesn't ask Max to stand up, but instead kneels on the ground next to him, unwinding the tape and taking his first measurement, from knee to ankle.]
I assume someone popped it back into place. I also need to know the extent of your injury.
no subject
Isn't the first time it's been popped back.
[So yeah, it is corrected; he's used to it, though he's not about to bring Furiosa's name into this. Lucky for Jayce, Max doesn't smell like a man who rolled in trash today, courtesy of having running water systems — but there's an unmistakable scent of gasoline and oil and dirt-blood-sweat that is so ingrained in his jacket that it wafts off him.]
Kneecapping. Healed long time ago. Pieces are probably jig-sawed in there.
Swells up sometimes.
[It's just bone on misaligned bone at this point.]
no subject
It never healed right the first time.
[Not scolding, just a comment.]
The damage is probably impacting your spine as well, but that sort of thing's going to need a doctor to look at it. Good thing you came in with one, huh?
[Jayce jots a few of those measurements down, and then makes eye contact this time with purpose.]
Need to measure the circumference of your upper thigh.
no subject
He doesn't shut up about it.
[The doctor, that is. Always asking when he'll get the chance to look at that knee, do something about the damage inside. The fact of the matter is, Max can't bring himself to allow it — organic mechanics, they're untrustworthy. Always in it for them, always up to something on their best days. There's some kind of mutual respect for one another's assholery between him and Romano, but even the doctor knows getting him to allow treatment is on par with pulling all of his teeth out.
A painful fight, through and through.
Max braces his hands on either side of the chair, then pushes himself up onto his feet without complaint. From where Jayce hovers, there's probably a muffled crackling sound in the joint.]
Just need it to support me 'til it doesn't.
no subject
[A small amount of sass as he ignores what sounds like Max's bones shattering just a little more. He wraps the tape around his calf, notes the number, and then moves away for Max to sit back down.]
I'm going to add gears to it.
[A pause. He looks up.]
Uh, not those kinds of gears. Well, some of those types of gears. But I mean levels of how much tension you can put on it, since I doubt you're going to take it easy any time soon. There'll be a lever you can use to shift between the gears. One for sitting, walking, running, climbing. Don't keep it in climbing mode too long, or you'll wear out the tension. Make sense?
no subject
Yes.
A wastelander's paranoia will go so far if they get something 'chrome' out of it.]
... There a way to hide flat weapons and tools?
no subject
What, in your brace? Uh...
[He looks down at his notes, and at the rough sketches he's drawn so far.]
Tools, sure. I could try to find a space for a lockpick set or something.
no subject
... Space for a knife, too?
[Never say he didn't try to push the limit.]
no subject
It would have to be a small one. Maybe in the lever handle, two inch blade at most. It's also going to weaken the structural integrity of the torque. But if you really want it...
no subject
F'there is a weakness in an attacker's eyes, it's good to make it a secret threat.
... A two inch blade is enough to stay alive. Keep someone you know alive.
[It's probably worth the instability, to be able to stab a man in the throat mid-struggle.]