[ open; ] the city streets are empty now

[nostalgiabomb]

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? ]

Comments

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

[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.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

[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.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

[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.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

[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.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ A small, almost helpless shrug. ]

‘Fraid not. I think they mostly eat grass.

They’re huge, though. Basically built like tanks. And they may or may not be pretty skilled in ballet.

[shoplifter]

[A squint of confusion.]

What is 'ballet'?

[She has no reason to believe hippos can't do ballet if she has no clue what it is, right?]

[nostalgiabomb]

A kind of dance.

[ Simply, but that's— vague, he knows, and he presses his lips into a line before he elaborates: ]

Graceful, kinda, I guess? I don't know a lot about it, except ladies wear tutus and wear uncomfortable, special shoes, and spin around a lot.

[shoplifter]

... Spinning around sounds fun.

We should try this. This 'ballet'.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Another short huff of a laugh, and he lifts his shoulder in a shrug. ]

Dunno that I'm a ballet kinda guy.

Tap dancing, though. That might be a maybe.