riverviewlogs | [closed] Let me up on the stand

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[closed] Let me up on the stand

who: Death and Peter Quill
what: Making a compilation.
when: Early August, following this.
where: Floor 13
warnings: N/A

[Peter's floor remains uninterrupted even though Death follows through on what she said. As soon as she switches off the feed of her device she looks up from her seat. Not the one from her room, but the one on the balcony of the thirteenth floor. Like she had been there all along.

Black boots made themselves at home on the edge as she starts writing down songs and artists in a small black book. Anyone else passing by wouldn't notice her unless they were looking for her specifically. No, she was here to see Peter.

Every once in a while she glances over her shoulder through the glass door to see if she can catch his eye or have to resort to knocking.]

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[ Okay, so, polling the masses for music had been a pretty successful endeavor. Agreeing to meet someone to exchange music in person – that had been a slightly more spur of the moment decision.

Her last message is— kind of weird, though? "The balcony on your floor." Odd way to phrase it. But maybe she knows someone up here, or maybe she lives up here? Not that he recalls seeing her in the hallways, but still.

... It's only after a few seconds that he realizes he hadn't actually said what floor he was on.

He drags his gaze up from his Zune after a few moments – slowly, like he might be in a weird thriller-action movie. And sure enough— There she is.

Peter actually jumps a little in his seat, letting out a soft curse. Once he trusts his heart to not beat out of his chest, he stands, tucking his Zune into his back pocket and moving toward the glass door. He steps out, studying her, though he tries not to jump to too many conclusions. ]

You're not messin' around, huh? [ Lightly, like he hadn't nearly leapt out of his skin just seconds ago. ] You got up here pretty quick.

[She really shouldn't be enjoying each and every single reaction he's taking in. This is why she likes people so much. When your best connections are ancient, permanently nonplussed and overall unfun, what can be expected, really.

An unassuming grin of black lipstick greets him when she looks over right after finishing the word "Estefan", pen paused.]

I get around. [Understatement for the ages.] For a second there I almost thought you were going to leave me hanging.

[Her chin lifts just enough to gesture at an empty patio chair.]

Any questions before I share what I've written off the top my head?

[There's always questions and as always, her tone's casual and kind.]

[ He takes the seat, beside her, sitting on the edge and resting his elbows on his knees. Peter peers at her for a second, and he has this weird nagging feeling that they've met before. Which is kind of possible, because Peter is really bad at matching names to faces, especially when drink is involved.

But she hasn't brought it up, and he figures if she hasn't, he won't, either.

Doesn't mean he doesn't have other questions, though, like, ]

Did you recently move onto this floor or something? I dunno that I've seen you around up here before now.

No, you haven't. Not until now.

[Ever so helpful. Hints that border on cryptic, that's how she usually goes. The still grinning girl is completely unperturbed while he tries to place her.

If anything she's impressed he's even got the faintest bell ringing.]

They put me on floor four, but I like getting familiar with where I'm staying.

[Her grin grows into a smile.]

That wasn't the question I was expecting.

[And she doesn't have an ounce of disappointment in the statement.]

[ He sort of just. Frowns at her for a second. If she's on floor four, then how'd she get up here? And how'd she get up here so fast? ]

... Yyyyeeaaah. I'm getting some serious Cheshire Cat vibes from you, right now.

[ But he says it in good humor, at least. He gives her another once over, smiling a little (though it might be closer to a "just play along" smile and not a "ha ha, oh, what fun" smile). ]

But, sure, okay, I'll bite. What were you expecting me to ask?

[Not that it's neither here nor there, but she just cannot help herself.]

Alice in Wonderland just so happens to be in my top five Disney [or fourth-wall friendly equivalent] movies. Just had to get that out there.

[Yup. They need to have this talk first before anything else. She quietly closes the little black book and tucks it in the pocket of her leather jeans.]

"What's your name? What are you? Can you stop creeping me out?" You know, the usual.

[That smile doesn't slip past her for even a pico-second.]

It's okay to show how you really feel, Peter. You make a great you.

You’re not creepin’ me out.

[ With the sort of immediacy that signals it out as a lie. But really, Peter’s met creepier. Once, he got hired by an alien with six eyes darting in every direction who spoke only in rhymes, and that had been an interesting day.

Her comment about being more genuine startles a laugh from him. Of all the weird, motivational-speaker-esque things she could have said, that manages to make him relax a little, and he rubs at the back of his neck. ]

Okay. You’re kind of creepin’ me out.

But I figured your name was Didi. [ He gestures over his shoulder with a thumb, back to the apartment he shares with Gamora, where he left his comm device on the kitchen table.] From your screenname. Is that not it?

[The admittance doesn't put her off, she's way too used to it; ages of experience. Instead she nods ever so slightly while taking in a quiet breath.

Using one of the patio chair's arms, she holds up her cheek with a black gloved hand. Not looking away from him.]

It kind of was for a day, but not exactly. [That's so unhelpful and she's painfully aware of it.] When they asked me what username to put for me I said that. I should have given real name.

[But she doesn't mull over it for long.]

I'm Death, Peter.

[Much as she wants to give him more, she always preferred letting mortals figure things from there at their own individual pace. Even so, she's saying it just as casually as their meeting on a balcony to talk music.]

[ Peter stares at her for a long moment, trying to digest those words. Not a lot of it makes sense, honestly. Like, the words definitely make sense individually, and they certainly make sense grammatically arranged in that manner. And he heard everything she said, but it doesn't seem to mean much to him.

His primary response to her declaration, though, is a solid, What the hell? ]

... What, is that, like, a nickname?

[ His secondary response, apparently, is to assume it's a joke. ]

On account of all the black?

Have you tried all black before?

[Never let it be said that Death doesn't have a sense of humor.]

Not a nickname, but I do have plenty of those.

[A lazy roll of her eyes. There's not many flattering or appealing ones in her opinion.

Regardless, this is one of those rare opportunities where she actually has time to talk instead of ferrying someone off only to move to another.]

I haven't been here long and you were the easiest person to talk to that I saw. Who doesn't like music?

[That and he's building up some cosmic experience. Always a +1 in comprehending beings like her.]

[ ... Okay, you know, that's a fair point. Peter does pride himself on being approachable, especially when it comes to attractive women.

(Don't tell Gamora he thinks that.)

But he continues to peer at— Death, apparently, and he's still obviously skeptical, still expecting her to go, "Haha, just kidding! Had you going, though, didn't I? Anyway, my name's Bethany." ]

So, did you, like, have really mean parents? Like, some seriously grim folks who went, "You know, this miracle of birth needs to be commemorated appropriately. Let's name 'er 'Death'"?

[The temptation to do just that is so incredibly strong right now, but she perseveres by raising her eyebrows. As if that might help him find whatever he's looking for in her.

Her amused expression stays as her eyes drift when she brings her feet down from the ledge, turning to sit mirroring Peter.]

I don't think even you believe that.

[Finally she brings her gaze back from where her boots were just propped upon, though they were looking far beyond that point.]

I've got the pudding if you want to see the proof. Want to come along? It won't take long.

[She holds out a gloved hand for him to take. Simply having the chance to offer a mortal is rare, but there's so much less work to do during her stay here.

Death's taking every new opportunity as it arises; even if her acquaintance may not know what he's in store for.]

[ ... You know, Peter's pretty sure he's been warned about the dangers of letting strangers take him places. But they're on a balcony – it isn't as if there are many places they could go.

He's curious to see where this might go, admittedly. He lifts a hand, but he doesn't place it in hers just yet. ]

What exactly have you got in mind?

Beachside Aquarium. They put me in charge there and it just so happens to have your answer right now.

[The hesitation's understandable. She's seen too many people get blindsided by her cryptic abruptness, but that won't stop her; she knows what she's doing.

And she's taken a shine to him.]

Don't worry, you'll be with me.

[A statement that holds so much more protection than simple comfort.]

Trunks unneeded.

[ Okay, he just has a lot more questions after that explanation – like, "How are we getting there, exactly?" or "Why an aquarium?" or "What do fish have to do with you being called Death?" – and it shows in the way he squints at her, in the way his lips part to speak.

But eventually he lets out a breath, shaking his head more at himself than at her. He's always been the sort of person to go with the flow, more often than not. ]

Oh, what the hell.

[ He mutters this lightly, carefully placing his hand in hers. ]

But I'm tellin' you right now, if I end up swimming in a tank with Jaws, I'm gonna be really ticked.

[Her eyes brows rise as her eyes roll, fingers closing around his hand. Firm and unyielding, the kind that she has to use for reluctant souls.]

We'll see.

[All he gets as an answer as she uses the ledge to jump off with one leg. A truly superhuman act that doesn't fit her short height and slender build.

Towing Peter behind her, the scenery changes from the ground coming closer to sudden quiet and blue light. Also, water everywhere since her boots lightly touch the bottom of a very full, isolated aquarium. It's huge enough to comfortably house an adult whale shark that's hardly moving.

Her normally wild hair is a misty black and waves ever so slightly when she looks to see how Peter's fared her own variant of teleportation. She's not expecting the best reaction and keeps her grasp firm.]

[ Oh, what the fuck.

It's disorienting as hell, and it's weird. Weird as hell. Peter had thought he'd be used to weird by now, but he absolutely isn't.

By the time they stop, Peter is (quite understandably, he thinks) freaked out. On instinct he tries to wrench his hand out of her grasp, but man, she's strong, a lot stronger than he had imagined.

The first thing out of his mouth: ]

What the fuck?

[She's strangely proud of him for not trying to hold his breath. Much as she wants to shoot a little banter at him, Death puts a free gloved hand out before her.]

Watch.

[She motions her head to the creature with them. The giant whale shark seems to split in two and everything else besides the trio stills. The slow, stationary original and the other that swims lively over to them only to stop in front of her. Mere inches from her hand.]

Big guy's had a long run, way before I got here. [Finally she releases Peter's hand and looks back to him, the toothless mouth idly opening and closing.] This is your last chance to see or touch one for a long while, Peter. He's been patiently waiting for me to take him.

[ That explains exactly nothing, but Peter reluctantly looks toward the big— fish thing. It's massive, and Peter is pretty sure creatures this big are usually accompanied by the descriptor "man-eating." This fish-thing, though, seems tranquil enough, and it helps that its mouth isn't lined with dozens of rows of teeth.

It just seems to be waiting, and reluctantly, Peter uses his freed hand to rest it against the whale shark's nose. Its skin is rough beneath Peter's touch, and he swallows thickly against the nervous lump in his throat. This is all surreal, and a part of him thinks he might actually be going insane, or at least that someone slipped him the good stuff, and he looks over to Death. ]

Where's he going?

[ Because even as confused (and slightly terrified, though he'll never admit it aloud) as he is, Peter's curious, in spite of it all. ]

Is there something wrong with him?

The "where" is up to him. I'm just how he's getting there.

[She runs the tips of her fingers between the spots and gently smiles, her eyes suddenly moving to it. The same kind of attention one gives when listening to another talk.]

Not wrong, no. Just old age. Time catches up with everyone and everything.

... You're saying he's dying.

[ A quiet edge of sympathy, there, and he looks back at the shark-thing with a frown. ]

That's just it? There's nothing else to do for him?

[The lingering look she gives him might have taken a tiny eternity, but her eyes go downcast as she continues softly petting the giant fish.]

There's nothing anyone else can do. He might choose to be reincarnated and live here again, or not.

[The palm of her gloved hand stop on its dorsal fin, her eye brows lift ever so slightly when she looks up to him again.]

Thank you. [It was as if she had read it from a book. Then she smiles and her usual tone comes back.] Not many get a final visitor, Peter.

[ He fidgets under the look she gives him, and when she finally speaks, her answer doesn't quite sit right with him. But it's not like Peter's, like, a fish biologist or a fish doctor or a fish whatever. Old age gets the best of everyone, he knows, and if that's it, he supposes that's just...

... it.

Peter frowns again, his hand still smoothing back and forth in the wide expanse between the whale-shark's eyes. The words of gratitude are met with a shrug. ]

I mean, you kinda brought me here, so.

[ "It's not like I had a choice," is the implication, though his voices holds no resentment for it. ]

What happens now?

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[closed] Let me up on the stand

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