riverviewlogs | [ open; ] the city streets are empty now

Entry tags:

[ 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? ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I live in the community building. So the roof is part of my home, if that's the roof we play on.

[Implying that there are many roofs to choose from, obviously.

(There are and she's been all over them.)]

[ He puffs out a breath, something that's not entirely sure if it wants to be a sigh or a laugh. ]

D'you have school in the morning?

[ is that what you kids do

go to school

he stopped going when he was eight years old. ]

[Shrug.]

I have school if I want to have school.

[LaUrA NoO

But hey, she's had more school in this year than she's ever had before!

... Which is easy, since she had zero days of school, before Riverview.]

[ Listen. Peter should know better than this. After four years of raising a small tree person to something like adolescence and herding the feral cats that comprise the Guardians of the Galaxy, one would think Peter would be more mature, would think that he'd be more encouraging of normalcy and a consistent routine. Maybe if she caught him on a normal day, Peter would be ushering Laura up to her room, would be giving a practiced lecture about accountability and obligations

But this isn't a normal day. This hasn't been a normal day for about a week, now, and he's tired, and he doesn't want to sit in the apartment in darkness and silence, alone with his thoughts. And Laura is throwing him a desperately needed lifeline, so—

It's why he lets out a breath, relenting with a slow nod. ]

Hungry Hungry Hippos on the roof it is, then.

[She smiles, looking too content with his answer. What better way to ignore or avoid nightmares, than a game of murderous hippos? She turns on her heel and starts leading the way.]

We have plenty of snacks for it, too.

Better than what the hippos eat.

Yeah, little white plasticky balls aren't exactly part of a balanced breakfast.

[ They make it back to the housing complex, stopping off at Laura's floor first. When they reach Peter's floor, Peter creeps back into his shared apartment, dropping off the perishables and plucking up a couple of the snacks he had purchased tonight – mostly candy, because Peter's always had one hell of a sweet tooth. He hooks his old Walkman over his belt, tucking the headphones behind them.

He briefly checks on Groot, on Mantis, just to make sure they're still fast asleep. Groot rouses a little, reaches sleepily to briefly curl a vine around Peter's finger, but the kid is fast asleep soon after.

Peter takes a breath before backing away to join Laura back in the hallway. ]

After you.

[She starts him toward the roof with Hungry Hungry Hippos under one arm and a pack of playing cards in her pocket, taking the elevator to the top floor first. Better than going the whole stair well, even if she doesn't mind it much.]

Do you visit the roof at all?

Not a lot.

I mean, I don't really have a lot of reasons to go up there.

You should do it more. You'd be surprised how much easier it is to think.

[She says it casually, carefully. Like she's admitting a serious secret.]

When I get angry or sad and I cannot think straight, or I'm scared of doing something bad to someone or myself, I come up here and watch everything down below. [She figures if he's falling apart, it's only fair to be honest with him about when she does, too.] You feel like nothing can reach you here.

[ Peter falls quiet, for once in his life, and really listens.

And maybe someone else would point out that it's weird for a grownass man to listen to the advice of a kid, but— listen. Peter's at a point, right now, where he'll take any grain of wisdom, no matter the source. Because she's... sort of got his number. He's crumbling, he thinks. He was already shattered when he arrived here, broken when Thanos had gritted out, I had to. And ever since he's been back in Riverview, Peter's been scrambling to pull himself back together, but he's losing more and more of himself, more of that control.

(Why the fuck aren't they here—?)

But he doesn't give voice to any of that. Instead, he follows Laura, walking out onto the topmost floor, finding the stairwell leading up to the roof. ]

I'm that obvious, huh?

[ A joke, cast out with hardly any conviction. ]

You are nothing new to me, Peter Quill Star-Lord.

I have been in the same place. [She glances back as she walks the steps; she's been here so many times, she doesn't even need to watch where she walks at this point.] I don't usually drop milk, though... I cut things up. All sorts of things. After the kidnapping, I fell very hard on those bad habits.

[She opens the door to the roof. Someone used to try putting a lock on it, so people wouldn't go up on dangerous ground. But. Well. Adamantium claws. The wind is pleasant, and there's a quiet that permeates all around, since they're high enough that sounds down below aren't quite so loud.]

... I'm better now. And sooner or later, you will be, too.

Living leaves little choice in the matter.

[ He follows her out, and for a second, he just. Breathes. A deep inhale, a long exhale. The air is crisper, colder, and for a brief, dizzying second—

He doesn't feel relaxed. Not by a long shot. But he brushes a lot closer to it than he has since he woke up in that hospital bed.

Her words draw a brief, bitter little laugh from him, and he croaks out, ]

Technically, I'm— dead.

[ His voice catches on the word, and his expression twists with it.

... It's his first time saying it aloud. He's thought it a lot, of course, because it's impossible not to think about, but—

He shouldn't be telling this to her, but here he is, doing it anyway. ]

I died. Back home. I think— a lot of people died. A lot of my friends, and—

[ I think it might be my fault. ]

—and it's just... a lot to process.

[She had wondered, morbidly, if something like this happened. Other people, they try not to assume the worst — but Laura is very, very good at it. She watches him, the only emotion being the glint of unshed tears she expertly keeps at bay. She hadn't really cried for anyone before Logan, because it was considered a punishable weakness for someone older, for a weapon who knew better. She didn't weep for Gabriela, someone who was the closest thing to a mother she had. She didn't cry for Charles, though she screamed and screamed and bit the inside of her lips until they bled.

Really, she had been bad at emoting. But she can spare tears for friends now. She knows it's alright — and normal. Now, however, she figures that Quill isn't looking to bother her or anyone with the burden of feeling terribly on his behalf, so she blinks it away.]

I understand. Losing friends has been normal.

[Lots of dead children. They were never friends like the ones she has here — none of them ever had a chance to be normal childhood friends. But there was this unity, this feeling that they held each other together, that could not be matched. She reaches out and squeezes his hand.]

... You are alive here.

And that means you have to suffer a little extra in the meanwhile.

[She lets go of his hand, and then pinches the back of it. Very hard. Hard enough that it's most certainly a real and annoying pain that can just as easily cut through his current thoughts.]

Like losing at Hungry Hungry Hippos many times.

[ He instantly feels guilty, when he sees that faint glassiness in Laura’s eyes, and an apology is instantly on the tip of his tongue, ready for him to cast out.

But Laura beats him to the punch, starts speaking, and—

“It’s normal,” she says, but it’s not. Not really. Peter— hasn’t really had friends until recently. Like, sure, he’s had friends, the kind of folks he might call up when he was in the sector, might chat up over drinks for the latest news or a few tips for the next job, but the Guardians had been his first real friends. The ones that stuck by him, through some of the wildest shit he’s ever experienced in his life.

And— god, he misses them. He misses them so fucking much, and he feels his own eyes sting a little, feels his throat close up, though he tries to hide it all with an unconvincing cough.

But she’s right, at least. He’s alive here. And soon enough, the others will be here, too. (He has to believe it. If he doesn’t, he’ll just— fall apart. Crumble. That hope is the only thing holding him together.) Wordlessly, he nods, tries to force a halfhearted smile, because he is not going to dump his baggage on her, he is not going to breakdown, and— ]

[ He yelps when she pinches his hand, flinching away from her with a look out outrage. ]

What the hell was that for?

[She makes a pinchy motion at him, stone-faced.]

It's my true plan. I gave you a sense of security, and now that I have you where I want you, I'm going to pinch you to death. I will get away with it, because nobody will suspect I would kill you in such a mundane way.

Descansa en paz, viejo amigo.

[Her eyes are still a little glossy, but her will is strong.

She goes to pinch him on the arm, like a bird pecking someone on the head.]

[ Listen, four years have done a lot for Peter and his reflexes.

Gamora had been training him during their time in Riverview, but when they went back, that training had to start again, practically from scratch. But he’s made leaps and bounds, since then; like, he was good before? But now, he’s better. Faster, and a little more graceful.

So when Laura goes in for another pinch, he lets her, hissing out a sharp sound, but now that she’s in close, he—

—rests a hand on her shoulder, tugging her in close for a hug.

He’s not good at hugs. Not yet. Probably won’t ever be again, and hasn’t been since he was eight years old and still on Earth. For now, though, he’s working on it.

He swallows thickly, and in a voice just barely above a whisper, ]

Thanks, Laura.

[You're gonna have some nasty little bruises there, from those two pinches. She holds no punches — but there's method to her madness, and she lets him pull her into a hug. It's not very often she embraces someone else, even if she feels that urge from time to time, to be hugged and loved and thought of as someone important or cared for. In this case, it's confirmation that she did what she was supposed to and everything she hoped for came to succeed. She carefully wraps her arm around him and hugs him.

Peter's so tall, she only makes it to his ribs as she pats his back. And while she's also not very good at hugs yet, she figures she can work on it, too.]

... You're welcome.

Now, we play Hungry Hungry Hippos.

... And maybe you can teach me poker later, too. So I can learn how to take everyone's money.

Edited 2018-09-06 04:53 (UTC)

[ He breathes out a laugh as he takes a seat, sitting with his legs crossed. (It's slow going, and he huffs out a quiet breath as it jars his injured ribs, but beyond that, he seems to be holding up okay.) ]

We'll see about the poker.

[ In that disapproving way that's more rote than sincere. Four years as the leader of the Guardians means Peter's gotten into some mild parental habits.

Who would've thought? ]

First, though, hippos. C'mon. Let's see what you've got.

[She plops down, and begins to set up the board.

... Though she does give pause to judge him with her stare.]

You hurt your ribs more than any other person in this entire city.

[ On any other day, Peter might let out an affronted sound, might send her a sour look and immediately retort, I do not.

Today, though, he lets out a quiet noise of agreement, something a little resigned. ]

Yeah. Probably.

I've been losing a lot of fights, lately.

[Does she have to pinch you again, Peter?]

... Then you'll have to work on it here.

[She looks over the top of the game board, as she unloads white plastic balls into the little hippo arena; then she quiets, with what must be a very serious follow-up to that commentary-]

I would like to see hippos, on Earth. They can be so many colors.

[Ah, nevermind, it's not serious at all.]

[ See, the thing was, he had been working on it here. He spent a year training with Gamora, spent a year having her push him, helping him improve.

And then it was gone, the instant they were back. Obviously it was replaced with four years of entirely new experiences, but—

Not quite the same, right?

But Laura's little comment earns a huff of a laugh, catches him mid-spiral. ]

I think the genuine article mostly come in shades of brown.

[She looks a little surprised by that, as if she never remotely considered they weren't rainbow in hues.]

... Brown is much more boring.

Do they also not eat eggs?

[This is madness.]

[ open; ] the city streets are empty now

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

no subject

1/2

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)