Peter Quill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nostalgiabomb) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2018-08-24 07:35 pm
nostalgiabomb) wrote in riverviewlogs2018-08-24 07:35 pm
[ open; ] the city streets are empty now
who: Peter Quill & open!
what: Quill is coming back from a canon update, which includes four years and the events of Infinity War. So he's going to be a little off his game.
when: August 24th and onward
where: All around Riverview & a bit outside the walls
warnings: none, aside from Quill having a pretty rough time
i. the sun always shines on tv;
[ Peter wastes a couple days, sitting in his apartment, staring at a wall. He catches Mantis hovering around, sometimes, and occasionally, he tries to send her a small, reassuring smile. Something that says, It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need a second. Groot doesn’t fully understand why Peter is so— weird, but the kid still recognizes that there’s something wildly wrong. And as the days drag on, Groot just drags over the Zune while Peter stares, offering Peter an earbud.
It’s on the third day that Peter realizes he can’t just— do this. He can’t keep moping. Because Mantis and Groot are clearly worried, and— what if the others show up? Peter did, after all. And Mantis and Groot are still here, hale and whole. So maybe the others will arrive, too. Any day now. And if they find out how completely useless he was while he waited, he’d never hear the end of it.
So he scrubs his face and announces that he’s going to take Groot to the beach.
Of course, about ten minutes after they arrive at the banks of the river for a day of fun in the sun, or whatever the hell Peter’s calling it, Groot immediately wanders away, slipping through the legs of the various beachgoers as he chases down one of those alien sugargliders.
Predictably, Peter panics as he works to shove past the crowd. ]
Groot—
Groot, get back here!
ii. new york groove;
[ A day or two later, Peter’s back at work. Unwise, considering he’s still injured, but the four walls of his apartment were quickly becoming suffocating.
His job with the Perimeter Guard, such as it is, is to scout the area, to map it out, to uncover valuable goods buried in the dirt or left abandoned in reasonable condition, and most days, he’s good at it. He’s agile and clever and does one hell of a job avoiding the monsters that lurk in the abandoned areas.
But today, he seems to be attracting trouble – though truthfully, he’s seeking it out, though he’s unconscious of it. Rather than veer out of the angry looking creatures’ way, he stumbles headlong into them. And for a while, he’s forging a decent path, shooting out huge, burning chunks of them and leaving the corpses to rot in the woods.
And then he’s not.
Peter never played Dungeons & Dragons as a kid, but if he did, he’d instantly recognize a Bulette when he sees one.
Or more accurately, he’d recognize a Bulette as it’s leaping at him, all gnashing teeth and sharp claws and hard armored plates. Peter manages to dodge out of the way, but only barely, and he goes tumbling and rolling across the jungle floor.
Little help? ]
iii. yesterday once more;
[ Peter was in the middle of wandering the aisles of Blu-Rays and DVDs in some electronic goods stores. In his arms is a stack of movies, old favorites and new ones he had picked out based solely on how interesting he found the covers.
The criteria for his current selections: Would the other Guardians like these? So far, he has picked out The Wizard of Oz for Groot and The Dark Crystal for Mantis. Along the way, he picks up Predator for Rocket and Rambo for Drax, because, well, they're going to be here eventually, right? And the films would be decent ice breakers, once they arrive
And he was in the middle of reluctantly looking for something for Nebula (would she have a good enough sense of humor about it if he picked up Robocop, or would she just threaten to sew his face to his balls like she usually does?), except right now, he's frozen in front of a shelf, completely zoned out while he faces a copy of Footloose.
Sorry if he's in your way, fellow patron. ]
iv. turn to stone;
[ It's been over a week since he's been back, and Peter's out on a very, very late night grocery run. He's been putting off getting them various odds and ends – paper towels, boxes of cereal, various snacks – and apparently he's decided tonight's the night—
(because the bed is too empty, and the atmosphere in the apartment is too fucking heavy, and Groot and Mantis are so fucking sad, and he can't stay in there, he really can't, not a single minute more, because shouldn't the other Guardians have been here by now? Shouldn't Gamora have come back with him, since they left together?
Why isn't she here?)
—because he's trying to be productive.
He's also decided, apparently, that baskets and carts are completely unnecessary. So here he is now, a former thief turned Guardian of the Galaxy, juggling his items in his arms as he stands in the refrigerated dairy section. He shuffles things around and reaches for a jug.
And fumbles it.
The plastic bursts open as the jug lands, milk splashing across the floor. It pools around his boots, and for a second, he just stares at it all before he lets out a helpless laugh, scrubbing his face.
One might think that life in space would have erased Peter's love of Terran idioms, but it hasn't, really. He used them whenever he could. Phrases like "killing two birds with one stone," or "letting the cat out of the bag," or going the "whole nine yards" were pretty common from him as he grew up on the Ravager ship.
There's another Terran saying that Peter uses sometimes: Don't cry over spilled milk.
Guess who's trying desperately not to do just that? ]
what: Quill is coming back from a canon update, which includes four years and the events of Infinity War. So he's going to be a little off his game.
when: August 24th and onward
where: All around Riverview & a bit outside the walls
warnings: none, aside from Quill having a pretty rough time
i. the sun always shines on tv;
[ Peter wastes a couple days, sitting in his apartment, staring at a wall. He catches Mantis hovering around, sometimes, and occasionally, he tries to send her a small, reassuring smile. Something that says, It’s fine. I’m fine. I just need a second. Groot doesn’t fully understand why Peter is so— weird, but the kid still recognizes that there’s something wildly wrong. And as the days drag on, Groot just drags over the Zune while Peter stares, offering Peter an earbud.
It’s on the third day that Peter realizes he can’t just— do this. He can’t keep moping. Because Mantis and Groot are clearly worried, and— what if the others show up? Peter did, after all. And Mantis and Groot are still here, hale and whole. So maybe the others will arrive, too. Any day now. And if they find out how completely useless he was while he waited, he’d never hear the end of it.
So he scrubs his face and announces that he’s going to take Groot to the beach.
Of course, about ten minutes after they arrive at the banks of the river for a day of fun in the sun, or whatever the hell Peter’s calling it, Groot immediately wanders away, slipping through the legs of the various beachgoers as he chases down one of those alien sugargliders.
Predictably, Peter panics as he works to shove past the crowd. ]
Groot—
Groot, get back here!
ii. new york groove;
[ A day or two later, Peter’s back at work. Unwise, considering he’s still injured, but the four walls of his apartment were quickly becoming suffocating.
His job with the Perimeter Guard, such as it is, is to scout the area, to map it out, to uncover valuable goods buried in the dirt or left abandoned in reasonable condition, and most days, he’s good at it. He’s agile and clever and does one hell of a job avoiding the monsters that lurk in the abandoned areas.
But today, he seems to be attracting trouble – though truthfully, he’s seeking it out, though he’s unconscious of it. Rather than veer out of the angry looking creatures’ way, he stumbles headlong into them. And for a while, he’s forging a decent path, shooting out huge, burning chunks of them and leaving the corpses to rot in the woods.
And then he’s not.
Peter never played Dungeons & Dragons as a kid, but if he did, he’d instantly recognize a Bulette when he sees one.
Or more accurately, he’d recognize a Bulette as it’s leaping at him, all gnashing teeth and sharp claws and hard armored plates. Peter manages to dodge out of the way, but only barely, and he goes tumbling and rolling across the jungle floor.
Little help? ]
iii. yesterday once more;
[ Peter was in the middle of wandering the aisles of Blu-Rays and DVDs in some electronic goods stores. In his arms is a stack of movies, old favorites and new ones he had picked out based solely on how interesting he found the covers.
The criteria for his current selections: Would the other Guardians like these? So far, he has picked out The Wizard of Oz for Groot and The Dark Crystal for Mantis. Along the way, he picks up Predator for Rocket and Rambo for Drax, because, well, they're going to be here eventually, right? And the films would be decent ice breakers, once they arrive
And he was in the middle of reluctantly looking for something for Nebula (would she have a good enough sense of humor about it if he picked up Robocop, or would she just threaten to sew his face to his balls like she usually does?), except right now, he's frozen in front of a shelf, completely zoned out while he faces a copy of Footloose.
Sorry if he's in your way, fellow patron. ]
iv. turn to stone;
[ It's been over a week since he's been back, and Peter's out on a very, very late night grocery run. He's been putting off getting them various odds and ends – paper towels, boxes of cereal, various snacks – and apparently he's decided tonight's the night—
(because the bed is too empty, and the atmosphere in the apartment is too fucking heavy, and Groot and Mantis are so fucking sad, and he can't stay in there, he really can't, not a single minute more, because shouldn't the other Guardians have been here by now? Shouldn't Gamora have come back with him, since they left together?
Why isn't she here?)
—because he's trying to be productive.
He's also decided, apparently, that baskets and carts are completely unnecessary. So here he is now, a former thief turned Guardian of the Galaxy, juggling his items in his arms as he stands in the refrigerated dairy section. He shuffles things around and reaches for a jug.
And fumbles it.
The plastic bursts open as the jug lands, milk splashing across the floor. It pools around his boots, and for a second, he just stares at it all before he lets out a helpless laugh, scrubbing his face.
One might think that life in space would have erased Peter's love of Terran idioms, but it hasn't, really. He used them whenever he could. Phrases like "killing two birds with one stone," or "letting the cat out of the bag," or going the "whole nine yards" were pretty common from him as he grew up on the Ravager ship.
There's another Terran saying that Peter uses sometimes: Don't cry over spilled milk.
Guess who's trying desperately not to do just that? ]
no subject
She could have done something. All she can think is that she could have done something.
She's been lonely and sad, lost and confused, and when she sees her phone light up with an incoming call she doesn't even register in the moment that it says Peter Quill and not Parker. So when she picks up there is no real urgency in her hello - but then she realizes that the frantic sounding voice cutting her off undoubtedly belongs to Quill, and everything changes in an instant. ]
Peter! Peter! [ A mix of emotions hits her like a truck, and there's a sad little crack in her voice. ] You're back! You're here!
no subject
He's relieved. That's the first thing he definitely feels, the first emotion he can name without issue. He's relieved, and so, so, so fucking glad, and he brings up a hand to scrub furiously at his stinging eyes.
(She had crumbled away, just under his arm. She had fallen away and all he could do was watch— ]
Yeah. I'm here.
[ And if there's strain in his voice, if the words come out thickly, wetly, Peter will thank Mantis not to point it out.
She didn't properly answer him, but he starts moving anyway. He thinks— he's pretty sure the trams are this way, and no matter what, that's where he needs to go. ]
Tell me where you are.
no subject
H-Home. Your apartment.
[ Groot had felt better there, and so had she, empty now as it was. Then, after a few seconds of silence, ]
I'm so sorry, Peter, I didn't know.
no subject
Community Housing. Okay. Okay, he's pretty sure he remembers—
And then Mantis is apologizing, and he feels his throat close up, feels the breath leave him, and— ]
Don't.
[ And the word sounds like it's out of him. He doesn't know what Mantis means, doesn't know what it is she's apologizing for. What he does know is that whatever she's about to say, he's not entirely sure if he wants to hear it. ]
Just... don't.
[ The doors are closing on the tram in the station as he rounds the corner – the tram he's pretty sure he needs to be on – and he curses under his breath as he pushes himself. He slides through them just as they slam shut completely, jostling another passenger in his hurry. ]
Just— wait there for me. [ Panted out, and the tram lurches into motion. He latches onto a nearby bar. ]
I'll be there soon, okay? Don't— don't go anywhere.
no subject
I will stay here.
[ On her feet now, Mantis has already begun to pace. She doesn't even know where in the city he is, doesn't think to ask, and so she doesn't know how long she must wait - but then, that probably doesn't even matter, does it? She'll spend every second of it pacing, anxious, excited, and nervous, by the door anyway, twisting her hands together in worry the entire time. ]
no subject
When they start to part, he only waits for the opening to be wide enough for him to slip through, and he just— runs. As fast as he fucking can, because there's a part of him that thinks if he waits too long, if he doesn't get there in time, Mantis might—
She might not be there.
But he runs and runs and runs, barreling through crowds and shoulder checking people as he passes. He makes it to the housing building, paces the width of the elevator like a caged animal, and when he finally reaches the appropriate floor, when he finally races to his apartment, he slams through the door.
(Hopefully it was unlocked, otherwise they're going to have to worry about fixing it.)
Peter's covered in dirt and dust and bits of ash. There's blood on his face and a slightly raw abrasion circling his left eye, and he looks fucking wrecked. He looks terrified. He looks devastated.
But some of that shadow lifts when he sees Mantis, and he freezes for a few long seconds. Just staring.
Then, in a ragged whisper, ]
Thank fucking god.
[ An unmistakable note of relief again, as he closes the distance between them. He wraps her up in a bone-crushing hug. ]
no subject
Excitement, sadness, and relief all fight for dominance on her face, tears welling up in her eyes again once she sees Peter standing there, and she meets his hug with a sad little call of his name.
Mantis wraps her arms around him in return and although her grip is much less bone-crushing than his, it's still every bit as meaningful. She's happy, so happy, that he's here, in spite of everything else swirling in her mind and her heart! But then she touches his neck, and she's instantaneously struck by the overwhelming swell of emotions she receives from him and oh, oh, it is so much worse than the reading she got from Little Peter when he told her the truth about Thanos, about the terrible future he succeeds in bringing forth. Overwhelmed, and her face buried into his jacket, the sound of Mantis' soft crying is muffled. ]
no subject
Not holding it together. Not by any means. But there's so much going on in his head that there's no one emotion threatening to overwhelm him. It's chaos and noise. It's everything, and weirdly, it all swirls around and just leaves him feeling weirdly numb.
But then he feels Mantis' breath hitch, feels the way her shoulders start to shake, and Peter swallows around the lump in his throat, feels his own eyes start to water and sting again, but he bites down on his cheek until he thinks he might taste blood.
He's not going to lose it again. He's not. He's not.
His grip on her loosens a little, and his attitude shifts. He straightens a little, tries to be a little more steady. He tries to make his voice soft and soothing, even if a tremor runs through it. ]
Hey. It's okay, Mantis. It's— you're okay.