lastvoyageslogs | Trial 6 | Shattered Hope [closed/open]

Entry tags:

Trial 6 | Shattered Hope [closed/open]

« Who: Max, CK, Varker, Sheehan, Sokie, Kahl
« What: Max is doing poorly after the breach and reaches a breaking point
« When: May 28th, immediately after the breach
« Where: hallways, then 'Max's cabin
« Content Warnings: minor self harm, mentions of extreme child abuse, physical violence, blood

[ Before: Cabin 617 | cw the above mentioned]

The first thing Max does when the breach ends is howl. The first time, it's out into the air, a broken sound from a soul-deep wound that had been ripped open, packed with salt and soaked in hot sauce. The next has him biting into his fist to stifle it, drawing blood with his teeth, the taste of it making him almost dizzy with remembrance, grounding him in this world. This reality.

The one where his Pa would ~~be so proud of him and hug him tight and tell him how smart he is~~ beat him to within an inch of his life for trying to escape the ~~wonderfully outfitted room with tools and supplies and books~~ ramshackle hovel built on the side of the barn that he was shoved into and fed ~~delicious meals from the family's cook~~ the slop even the pigs wouldn't touch through a hole in the door. The one where his Ma ~~kissed him all over his face so much he giggled~~ would hold his head in water to make him stop crying, force ~~herself to stay awake by his crib while he had trouble breathing~~ hot sauce down his throat so he would stop asking for her. The one where he helped his Pa ~~stock and compound his medications~~ in a stinking blood-soaked abattoir filled with dead animals and flies in the Texas heat, every breath and movement painful.

He doesn't scream again, but his hands stay in fists. He smashes the table, smashes the chairs against the walls. Punches a hole through one where his memories say the phone used to be in the Texas kitchen because it ain't there and maybe that means this place is a lie too. Ain't it though? Ain't it?

Another way? Another way for him? Bullshit. Horseshit. It's nothing but lies. Lies so much worse than the TV because at least the TV just showed him other folks living like that. It didn't pretend he could be good. It didn't pretend he got loving parents and support and kindness, that he was someone helpful and happy. It didn't plant the lies like a goddamn knife in his chest.

Glasses and plates are getting smashed too, all at once as he empties the cabinet and shoves it all on the floor. It's loud and it's painful and he doesn't care that there's splinters in his knuckles and, soon enough, glass shards. He just needs

He doesn't know what he needs but he knows he can't stay here. He can't stay anywhere.

[ closed to CK | First comes the taunting... ]

So out the door he goes, onto the hallway of the sixth floor. If anyone heard all that racket, well-

Hopefully they didn't.

[ closed to Varker, Sokie, and Sheehan | Then comes the beating... ]

There's no thinking.

No more than when he killed his Pa. No more than when he killed the first of those deputies.

There's just a buzzing in his ears, the ears that his Pa fucked up by screaming in them, and the whole world blurred and red. His hand is still bleeding, especially with how tight he's got it curled up into a fist, but he's going to-

He's not going to. He's not going to fuck up. He can't fuck up.

He hurts someone, he's going into a cage and like hell is he going into a cage again.

Maybe this place wants to play it's cruel games with him, crueler even than the Entity ever did, but it ain't getting that. He's not stupid. He's not going to be-

Which is, of course, when he nearly runs into a half-awake man he's never met.

[ open | Then comes the aftermath. ]
There's less aftermath than he'd have thought. Sheehan's friend had fixed up the cabin by the time he woke up. Then he spent a few minutes staring at his communicator before sending out a few messages from his cabin:

[ private to Lark ]

I'm not going to come to work today. I'll be there tomorrow.

[ private to Malcolm and Matt, individually]

It was nice having you as a friend in the breach.

[ private to Justine ]

I missed you. Can I see you soon?

[private mental message to Kahl]

You okay after the breach?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Varker's holding his head in the hallway, absently petting his forehead and the upper lip of his second mouth as he reorients himself.

The sleep had been good, but when hed woken it was disorienting in the same way it had been when he'd woken up changed. Two weeks on board and then missing a week, it felt wrong and off in all the worst ways.

There is a ringing in his ears that is trying to key him up but if he can just get down to the speakeasy he can calm that and the troubled thing attached to him enough to numb it and that's where he'd been going when Max narrowly avoids running into him.

The hissing and growling is just as automatic as the words coming out of his mouth, "Are you fucking stupid? Watch where you're going you big lug."

Varker might be a coward but he'd never learned who not to pick a fight with following his transformation and it shows.

He was practically charging through the hallway away from the temptation to-

To do something stupid when he'd run into Varker. Even then, he'd startled back at facing a human obstacle, blinking at the strange shape on his forehead (huh! someone else with a weird face!) and that had confused him enough to actually knock some of the immediate panic out of him. Even as he'd heard the strange hissing, he'd been starting to reach for his communicator with one hand while his other lifted to silently apologize with spread fingers.

Then the words 'fucking stupid' hit him like a freight train, the hissing turning to buzzing laughter, the narrowed squinting eyes flickering into hateful pale blue as the world blurs.

Or, more specifically, his fist moves lightning fast to slam into Varker's face, the feeling of impact familiar and satisfying.

"Rhhaooh!"

Edited 2025-05-29 19:06 (UTC)

This is not the first time Varker has pissed off something or someone bigger and stronger than him, but as he watches that fist fly towards his face he realizes that neither Logan or Bia are here to yank or push him out of the way.

"God dammi-" he manages just before Max catches him under the left eye and sends him back against the wall he'd been standing against.

He barely catches himself with his palm as his vision blurs. The hissing and spitting gets louder, a deep growl in response to Max's roar. If he could find his balance running is an option but until then, here he stands, half crumpled and leaning against the wall.

Ready for another, Max.

This isn't what Clark would do.

This isn't what Beaver would do.

It sure as hell isn't what Doc would do.

But the flare of pain from his ripped up knuckles mixes with smell of the blood and the feel of the solid impact that'd been a part of his life for so long: Pa's boots or the hammer or the brick against that nail or his mother's body against a wall or the pallet on his head-

It's not a thought.

It's just steam burst out of pipe, emotion (and the other fist) let fly to slam into the stupid hissing face. Hissing. Buzzing. Laughing. It's all the same in his stupid fucked up head. It's all the fucking same.

"Uuhagh!"

The next blow comes and he's just as unprepared for it as the first, can feel the blood in his mouth, smell it in his nose, taste it on his-

The animalistic sentience above his eyes catches on faster than the logical brain, that bumpy, salivating tongue snaking out and attempting to wrap around Max's neck. Its thicker than Logan’s or Norton's neck and seems to have trouble applying pressure properly. But in it's blind confusion Varker finally catches up as the adrenaline rush hits pushing himself off the wall to latch onto Max's forearm with his teeth, biting down like a fucking crocodile and locking his jaw.

Its disgusting, and he hates every moment of it, but his only defense is offense even if now Max has him rather locked in.