welcome aboard, space marine

[bloodbathing]

WHO: Agent Maine
WHERE: South Village fountain & inn. North Village ... everywhere.
WHEN: December 27th-30th.
OPEN TO: Everyone!
WARNINGS: Language. (Please note that Maine has a violent temper. For permissions and a link to his opt-out, check his info post.)

---

Fountain: Just Keep Swimming (CLOSED: first come, first served!)

When Agent Maine opens his eyes, he's underwater.

It's not the most disorienting way he's ever woken up. That "honor" probably belongs to one of the times he came out of cryo, or maybe a time when he hit the ground and rolled for cover before consciously registering the sounds of an attack. Still, it's pretty high up there. He kicks hard and surfaces with a gasp. Treads water as he looks around, trying to figure out where the hell he is.

Did he blackout at a party or something? He doesn't feel drunk. Last thing he remembers is killing the target and taking the briefcase. Carolina and York arrived to retrieve him, and ... then he woke up underwater.

What the fuck's going on?

The massive Freelancer shakes his head and starts swimming for the edge. He'll figure it out after he gets solid ground beneath him.



Inn: People Are Friends, Not Food

Socialization isn't a strength of Maine's. He's taciturn to a fault, preferring to speak through body language, facial expressions, and grunts rather than using words. He's picky about his personal space; he's distrustful and unfriendly towards strangers; he has the opposite of an approachable demeanor. Oh, and there's the not-so-trivial fact that he's seven-feet-tall, four hundred pounds, and built like he could throw a car. (If there were any cars around, that is.)

But the shitty thing about being in a strange place with archaic technology and little information is that Maine has to gather intel. And, unless he's beating it out of someone, he's really bad at it.

So here Maine sits in a chair that looks like it might snap beneath his frame — or else catch on fire, given how close he's pulled it to the fireplace. He's wearing what looks like every single piece of clothing from his pack (minus the peacoat; that's draped over the back of his chair), including a black baseball cap to cover his shaved head. Everything about his attire screams 'Newbie,' and yet he's not approaching anyone for help. Instead, he's eyeing people. Sizing them up. Silently debating how to approach.

... So maybe saying 'socialization isn't a strength' is a huge understatement.



North Village: Mine! Mine! Mine!

The house that Maine decides to claim as his own is a large one with far more rooms than he knows what to do with. But its location is defensible, it's removed from the general population, and it has a fireplace. As far as the cold-loathing space marine is concerned, that makes it the best antiquated, poorly insulated, low-tech hovel around.

It's easy to spot Maine moving around the North Village, familiarizing himself with his surroundings and carrying supplies to his chosen house. Anyone who approaches will be greeted with a flat look and a low grunt of acknowledgment. Not exactly friendly — but he does pause what he's doing to see what the person wants.



Wildcard

( ooc: None of these look good? Come at me with something else! For TDM continuations, click here. )

Comments

[bloodbathing]

For Maine, those twenty minutes are spent warming himself by the fireplace. He strips off his outer layers and hangs them on the backs of chairs, then pulls those chairs close to the fire as well. He's determined to be both warm and dry by the time he has to venture back out into the cold.

Removing layers really doesn't help make Maine look any less massive. If anything, it only reveals that his bulk has nothing to do with clothing. So he's a little surprised when, once again, the commanding girl approaches without a hint of fear.

He's starting to get the feeling he shouldn't be surprised. That maybe she's just some sort of firework in human form.

At the mention of color, the space marine shrugs. He has a preference, of course, but he values function over appearance. The bundled fabric feels warm when he accepts it. Maybe that's just in his head. Some kind of unconscious reaction to touching the wool.

The items look well-made. Hell of a lot better than what he'd been working with. He's used to wearing black ... and the teal stripe reminds him of Carolina.

Maine meets the girl's eyes and nods. "Thanks," he grunts. His voice is deep and sounds a lot like a growl, but the word is clear.

[morphogenia]

Firework in human form is the best way to describe Kamala Khan. She may be the tiniest person here, but that really doesn't stop her. She lets very little intimidate her including a guy who probably has muscle as big as her head.

She smiles at the thanks. "You're welcome. Next time say something, okay? There's always someone who can help." While it's not her job here, it had been once. She can't really stop doing it.

[bloodbathing]

It's a commendable thing for Kamala to continue doing. Unfortunately, Maine is quite frankly terrible at asking for help, even when he desperately needs it. Might as well ask him to retreat without an order, or back down from a fight.

The massive man presses his lips together and breaks eye contact. Looks instead at the scarf as he runs a thumb over the teal stripe.

"Made this?" he asks. It's not the accent color he'd normally have chosen, but it's nice. He likes it.

[morphogenia]

Kamala stares at him as he breaks contact, processing what that means. She's getting fluent in tough guy language. Yeah, there's no way he'll ask for help later. Kamala is going to have to make a note to keep her eye on him. Kamala rebounds with a cheerful smile and claps her hands together, bouncing a little on her feet as she does so. "I contributed, but mostly it was my horror bff. He stayed up for days working on these!" She drops her hands and adds, "I actually had to yell at him a lot about it. He always works too hard." The concern for him is plain in her voice even if she's resigned to his antics at this point.

[bloodbathing]

Her "horror bff"? Maine has no idea what Kamala means by that. Maybe it's someone she likes reading scary stories with, or someone who's a big fan of horror movies. Whatever the case, it's apparent that she cares about her "bff" a great deal — and that she looks out for him.

Maine thinks of his own best friend. Thinks of the way Wash put his back to the wall and avoided eye contact. How Wash looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin.

... Yeah, he can relate to taking care of a best friend.

When Maine looks up again, it's with a slight upturn of his lips; the shadow of a smile. "Stubborn friends," he says, then shrugs as though to say, 'What're you gonna do?'

(Never mind the fact he can be just as stubborn, if not more so.)

With a little gesture to himself, he gives his name: "Maine."

[morphogenia]

Her heart flutters. No, she doesn't have a crush or anything. She doesn't know if she has a type, but it's not older dudes aka anyone over seventeen. It does feel great to get even a shadow of a smile. Being the new person is tough. Kamala is a generally happy person, but even she struggled at first. She wouldn't blame him for feeling the same way.

"Right? They're the worst... but also the best because we love them." Who doesn't love their friends? Kamala offers her hand to shake. "I'm Kamala. It's nice to meet you!"

[bloodbathing]

"Love" isn't the word that Maine would use. However, that's not a reflection on Kamala; it's more of an indication of how emotionally closed off Maine is, even with those closest to him. That said, he understands the sentiment. Snorts in amusement before he reaches out to take her hand.

Maine's hands are calloused from hand-to-hand combat, weightlifting, and shooting firearms, and they're as big as everything else about him. But he's mindful of his grip as he takes Kamala's hand and shakes it.

[morphogenia]

Kamala's grip is firm as she shakes, hands a little tougher than one would expect, but it's basically lost in that giant hand of his. Hers are the size of a child's despite the fact she's starting to get into her late teens. She takes after her mother in that respect.

Kamala lets go after a few seconds and grins brightly. "I've got chores to get to, but remember you can call me for stuff! Or text. You seem like a texter more than a caller." She taps the side of her face thoughtfully before throwing her hand up fully to wave at him.

"Bye, Maine!" She runs off to the next adventure outside the Inn like some video game protagonist. Yes, she's really that dramatic. Just roll with it.