[ he takes it with a nod of thanks, sitting beside her on the couch – close enough that their hips and shoulders touch. He hits play on the film and settles in.
He really only picks at his food for a while, frowning in thought as the film plays; the call, apparently, still has him a little rattled, and his curiosity eats at him for a bit, distracts him, until finally, an urgent knock at the door.
Peter’s brow furrows as he exchanges a glance with Gamora, but a second, louder set of knocks rap against the door. Peter sets his food aside, and takes his time getting to the door, wondering if he really wants to answer. But answer he does, and a wheezing, agitated dude in a Perimeter Guard uniform stands in the hall. Peter only notices what looks like a cheap kennel in the guy’s hands once the dude thrusts it at Peter. ]
We believe this belongs to you. [ And the man sounds out of breath and pissed the hell off, and Peter glances down at the dude’s hands, sees what looks like small bite marks and cuts and abrasions. ]
Uh. What—
[ But that’s as far as Peter gets before the guy is thrusting a datapad and a pen at him. ]
I need you to sign this.
[ Dumbly, Peter shuffles the crate under one arm, taking the pen and glancing over the form. It’s— some sort of acknowledgment of receipt, at first, which Peter signs. Then, the dude swipes the form to one side, switching to another sort of acknowledgment – and Peter only briefly catches sight of something about sedation before he signs that, too.
Once he hands the pen back, the poor delivery guy heaves out a huge sigh of relief, casting a baleful look at the crate tucked under Peter’s arm. ]
Good luck with that, sir. [ And the guy darts away, like he’s fleeing a crime scene. ]
no subject
He really only picks at his food for a while, frowning in thought as the film plays; the call, apparently, still has him a little rattled, and his curiosity eats at him for a bit, distracts him, until finally, an urgent knock at the door.
Peter’s brow furrows as he exchanges a glance with Gamora, but a second, louder set of knocks rap against the door. Peter sets his food aside, and takes his time getting to the door, wondering if he really wants to answer. But answer he does, and a wheezing, agitated dude in a Perimeter Guard uniform stands in the hall. Peter only notices what looks like a cheap kennel in the guy’s hands once the dude thrusts it at Peter. ]
We believe this belongs to you. [ And the man sounds out of breath and pissed the hell off, and Peter glances down at the dude’s hands, sees what looks like small bite marks and cuts and abrasions. ]
Uh. What—
[ But that’s as far as Peter gets before the guy is thrusting a datapad and a pen at him. ]
I need you to sign this.
[ Dumbly, Peter shuffles the crate under one arm, taking the pen and glancing over the form. It’s— some sort of acknowledgment of receipt, at first, which Peter signs. Then, the dude swipes the form to one side, switching to another sort of acknowledgment – and Peter only briefly catches sight of something about sedation before he signs that, too.
Once he hands the pen back, the poor delivery guy heaves out a huge sigh of relief, casting a baleful look at the crate tucked under Peter’s arm. ]
Good luck with that, sir. [ And the guy darts away, like he’s fleeing a crime scene. ]