Max's Personal Kingdom of Selfies (And RPing too)

"Nothing much to say, friend! I’m just thinking of a very interesting idea!. You see, I think I might need a bit of help carrying some of the…rations, I might find. Or, in fact, I was wondering if you might have found some.  After all, in such a time…we must help one another, must we not? I actually quite like your tail, but I suppose I could do without it.”

He dug the tip of the big crossbow, smirking. Just trying to cause pain.

... But that can come later, probably!

"What kinda rations are we talking here? Gold coins? Health potions? Rat whiskers and bear asses? 'Cause if there's anything my buddy Sam and I know how to do, it's fetching obscure objects off the corpses of estranged fauna!" Like picking the wallets off of justice'd crooks. As far as Max is concerned, there's really no difference between the two. Standing in a half-stiff, half-lazy way, the rabbit slooowly raises a hand to scratch at his head-- and unless Pokey is especially trigger happy (If he was, at least they'd have something in common!), he decides to go all out on the ask first shoot maybe later front. Might as well sate his curiosity, if nothing else!

"And, uh, no murder-beseeching offense intended, but if you needed someone to carry your medieval groceries, couldn't you have just... y'know, asked some guy off the road? One better suited for menial labor?" Max isn't really one to talk when it comes to asking nicely instead of blatantly threatening, but he talks and talks and talks despite that fact. It's not that the crossbow isn't causing him discomfort-- he'd just have more trouble if he wasn't running his mouth. "I mean, I know Craigslist isn't a thing right now, but I'm really sure you had other options!"

Are you exploring the Hive? Just trying to survive? Maybe on your way home?

Well, you’re going to love this shit. Get ready to feel something cold, and metal pressing against the back of your neck. And the sound of wooden ‘click!’, and a far too happy voice speaking.

There's nothing better than the feeling of steel pressing against your furry, squeezable little neck to remind you that this city's got as many problems with it's moral fiber as anywhere else. It's a kind of chill that toes the line between genuine shock-- which is something he has a hard time finding, in both his line of work and a city like this (And that's not even considering how Ye Olde it's turned!)-- and pleasant surprise, and that alone is worth a far too happy reply of his own. While he may still be thinking of how he can get out of this and bite the guy behind him, Max doesn't seem to mind humoring his assailant, if only because he's got nothing better to do.

... And, y'know. The whole getting shot thing. That plays a big role in what he's doing right now, too. Even though he likes to think it's mostly the first reason.

"Ooh, a shady midnight shakedown! If the convo topic's about robbing me blind, I've gotta warn you-- the only thing I've got is the adorably fuzzy tail on my backside!"

"I was the lost dog? Max, are my sides really that chubby?” Sam took out the poster he had stored away in his coat, and eyed it criticizingly.  Yep, Sam was kidnapped just like Max has; and well he can say that he’s a bit glad, since he’s found his partner in crim- I mean justice. But this also does solve the vandalism case Sam had picked up. There’s another mystery solved by our dog detective friend.

"I’ll say that these posters are one of your greater works, Max. It almost tops your visual portrayal of how shrived up the world would be if you earned world domination." Sam crumbles up the poster he had kept, and threw it over his side. Hey, it’s not like it’s his job to worry about litter. 

Okay maybe it was, but he didn’t care right now. He’s got his little buddy back by his side again. Now Citta’s crime success rate will drop now that Sam and Max were back together. That and the destruction of the city might as well improve ten fold.

Anyways, Sam was glad that he could socialize with his partner again, and something tells him that Max was more excited than he was. Sam had only recently got here, so he was suspecting that his little pal wouldn’t be here without him? It’s buy one psychopath, and for free get the complimentary detective!

The fact that he had all the time to make all these posters, it must of meant Max actually put effort and all his time to something? Now that’s a full blown horror movie right there.

"Say Max, did they take your gun away too?" Sam patted his jacket’s pockets in shame, knowing full well that his good ol’ revolver isn’t in there. Oh well, it’s not like he ever hit anything anyways.

But still, it was a part of him he wanted to keep close to him. It’s like parting a mother from a child. How could someone do that?

"They say the missing persons poster puts on ten pounds, Sam! I was gonna do milk cartons, but people got pretty steamed when I started nailing them up instead!"

And you know what the real horror movie is? The Hitchcock kicker of it all? That's something he actually, for real did. Without a gun to his name (Not even one of those cheap toys the scientists handed out to fill the void!) or a crime he can bust (Not even the slightest infringement!), he's had more time on his hands than a clock maker-- and with nothing better in the world to do, he was left with no other option than to do something productive, and helpful.

Like nailing milk cartons with crudely drawn dogs on them into the sides of buildings. He was mostly working with the reused paper he stole, but that's not exactly an improvement.

The pay off was kind of nice, though-- this reunion's like that feeling of satisfaction you get when a puzzle is solved through elaborate, convoluted, unconventional means. Maybe he'll make a habit of this! Maybe this was the turning point in Max's life, where he'd finally put aside his aimlessly violent ways for the sake of a better upheld society...

... Pffthahahah, but naw, naw. One step at a time here.

He's about to go on about how all those two-bit artists like Leonardo and Michaelangelo (Or are those turtles?) couldn't hold a birthday candle to his hypothetical world domination illustrations (He's trying to make kids boks out of 'em!), but Sam brings up how painfully gunless the both of them are, and it reminds him of the situation just a bit too harshly. He huffs.

"... But. Yeah," He dejectedly admits, scuffing the papery foothold he's on before hopping back down, fearful of it's dubious stability. "I'm about as disarmed as Buzz Lightyear. Or that one guy from Saving Ryan's Privates! ... Ryan's Private Savings? Save-- Ry--"

"You know the guy," He finishes, finally giving up on his search for the words. Nothing else mattered-- not even the name-- after the point where that one guy lost his arm. It was his favorite part! "And it's been like that for who knows how long! It's terrible, Sam! A catastrophy! Disaster!"

Not like anyone would miss that person in particular anyways. Besides, if someone dies here, they just come back right? So no real reason to despair. Which was very aggravating. If someone found out one of their loved ones died here, they can just “poof” be right back. No despair, just a tad disappointed. 

Come on! What’s the purpose of death other than causing despair? You might as well just send Monokuma to hell already. At least the new-comers kept Monokuma entertained, with their panicking and yelling about where they hell they were and where were their friends. That always got Monokuma in good spirits if he could watch that.

The new soldiers didn’t really get to bother Monokuma much. He’s been a “good” bear near them. And if good means just doing wicked things out of their view, then that definition was spot on for him. Also watching them occasionally intervene was interesting too, people getting beat up or sometimes receive life-threatening injuries was cool, but maybe he should try going off somewhere else.

Maybe he’ll just hang out at the shopping district. He’s been saving up so he can actually buy himself a gun, or some sort of weapon. Once he’s got a gun or tranquilizer, maybe he could teach a certain white wolf a lesson. A quick stop to the store that carried any weapons, and he got kicked out the second he asked, “Got any toddler-sized weapons?”

Never mind then, he’ll just have to live without a weapon and succumb to that evil wolf that enjoys chewing on something as cute as him. Hey, his own despair is still despair, right? He’ll live.

Now what he wasn’t expecting was some rabbit that looked like it’s been taking caffeine supplements every other hour had yelled at him, addressing him as “Yogi”. Now that’s new. He was used to the Winnie, Pooh, Teddy, and so on and so forth, but it’s been a while since he’s ever been called a western cartoon character.

Monokuma crossed his arms, impatient to be interrupted. It was getting late, he was going to miss playing music really loud in the apartment while his roommates are asleep.

Now here’s the really funny thing. This rabbit (I think), is now claiming that he was under arrest. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t going to take orders from someone that wasn’t three times his size. He’s only like- 1.5 times his size or something. 

“Pah- Ahahaha! And what are the charges? Maybe we should talk about the charges I should be ignoring for you, since you’re impersonating a police officer!” Monokuma threw out that rebuttal. 

The only cop this rabbit could be was a stripper co-…

... At that exact second. Max was too busy standing up for his right to read people their rights for that kind of shenaniganry! Flexing psychic power could wait! His way-too-eager disposition shifts to defensiveness in the blink of an eye, and as he retorts, he considers whether or not he'd get away with it if he bit the guy in front of him. The laws involved with stuff like Monokuma can be kind of vague!

"Hey! Just because I don't have a gun, or a badge, or handcuffs, or any legitimate authority, or... anything, does not make me any less of a cop than the hordes of military personnel meandering around town!"

... Okay, so maybe it did make him a little less of a cop than the hordes of military personnel meandering around town. Maybe even more than a little less. But if you don't think too hard about the lack of firepower (And believe him, he's trying--), it's not like that's anything new! Maybe Max didn't have an entirely official line of employment, but at the end of the day, someone needs to keep the law upheld, and crime doesn't give a damn about credentials!

... Unless crime comes in the form of a black-and-white bear, apparently! But Max still won't budge.

Jabbing a finger in Monokuma's direction, Max does his best to make it clear he's as serious as an only-slightly-taller rabbit can be, eyes narrowed to a slightly beadier squint and tone as stern as it's ever been. (Which isn't saying much.) "And I'm sure there's something to book you on. If I'm fooling myself and saying I've learned from past experiences, which I am, animated teddy bears usually mean some pretty nefarious business!" He never would've guessed this city had a mafia problem, too (Well, unless you count that one thing--), but with little else on his agenda, he's more than ready to tackle it. The last time even ended with an explosion! There's no better incentive than that!

Her own culture - if she could identify as a part of it, due to her solitude - had never used the custom of Thanksgiving, due to its oriental region. It probably wasn’t even in the correct time period. This concept was entirely new to her, but it certainly sounded interesting. She liked to eat. Then again, who didn’t?

"I can usually tell when it's time by the insatiable death growl my pal's stomach unleashes, but seeing how he's not exactly here right now, your guess is as good as mine!" Seriously. You could set your calendar on how hungry Sam gets-- but otherwise, Max just can't be bothered to keep track of when's what!

Not wanting to be any more useless than he usually is, he's quick to follow up on himself-- although dubiously beneficial couldn't begin to describe half the things he says. "You'll probably know it when you see it going down, though. This place gets in an uproar over just about anything!" Let alone something really worth getting into an uproar about. Not that he's objecting to it, mind you! Sure, he gets a kick out of all the senseless banter this city spouts on a whim, but hell, it's his job to spout senseless banter!

VRISKA: Heeeeeeeey, so, anyone know where I can get a knife????????

"I don't have a knife in the technical sense, but maybe if I dig my unnaturally serrated fangs into a sciency-sounding part of him, it'll count!"

"…"

"He's trying to get into your head, Sam! Shoot BB's at his eyes until he concedes to your gun-lusting ways!"

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