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- Alt-rock and grunge
Max was still too woozy from being shot to do anything beyond weakly follow Joshua's instructions, thankful, at least, in the knowledge that the injury was temporary. It wasn't exactly the most dignified of departures, considering she was still sitting down awkwardly and still sniffling miserably as you'd expect an eighteen-year-old gunshot victim to do, but she was able to muster up just enough fortitude to grasp the reaper's hand blindly when it was offered to her. She screwed her eyes shut when he bid her do so, trying to ignore the stinging tears of pain streaming down her cheeks, and held her breath as she was transported.
She was dizzy when she came to in the wasteland, briefly staggering unstably as she tried to get to grips with being both back among the living and bullet-free. Unfortunately, while she was trying to readjust to her surroundings they almost instantly went ahead and shifted again, and as the dusty wasteland gave way to yet another ruined iteration of New York Max straight-up toppled over and faceplanted with a THUD.
She gave a miserable groan, hardly even stirring throughout the Watcher's telepathic broadcast. Which wasn't to say she didn't listen, and when Uatu finished speaking the photographer finally heaved out a deep, weary breath and pushed herself to her knees, swiping dust off her sleeves somewhat vigorously. Her eyes, naturally, automatically flickered to her erstwhile-injured leg, and even though no trace of tissue damage remained, she did affix the suspiciously bullet-shaped hole in her jeans with a dark glower and a disbelieving shake of the head.
Ugh. So petty.
That witch had to know there was no way for her to actually read the stupid names, too, which meant she prioritized victimizing Max over doing her fucking job. But ha! The joke was on her!
She was dizzy when she came to in the wasteland, briefly staggering unstably as she tried to get to grips with being both back among the living and bullet-free. Unfortunately, while she was trying to readjust to her surroundings they almost instantly went ahead and shifted again, and as the dusty wasteland gave way to yet another ruined iteration of New York Max straight-up toppled over and faceplanted with a THUD.
She gave a miserable groan, hardly even stirring throughout the Watcher's telepathic broadcast. Which wasn't to say she didn't listen, and when Uatu finished speaking the photographer finally heaved out a deep, weary breath and pushed herself to her knees, swiping dust off her sleeves somewhat vigorously. Her eyes, naturally, automatically flickered to her erstwhile-injured leg, and even though no trace of tissue damage remained, she did affix the suspiciously bullet-shaped hole in her jeans with a dark glower and a disbelieving shake of the head.
Ugh. So petty.
That witch had to know there was no way for her to actually read the stupid names, too, which meant she prioritized victimizing Max over doing her fucking job. But ha! The joke was on her!
[FLASHBACK]
*totally not awkward or nosy neck-craning to see the names Bayonetta was carving over her shoulder*
[FLASHBACK END]
So at least she knew. Still, that really wasn't an experience she wanted to repeat any time soon. Who knew the afterlife could be such a nightmare?
Once the Maxinator finished running her system diagnostics, she finally managed to stand up, watching the group split up to go off to their various destinations. Which, of course, was important, and she'd probably get to that, but right now there was only one thing on her mind.
"Chloe?"
@TheBlueBurch @w/ever lel I've only been tagging the same three people for days now this is different