[He reaches up to scratch his head and his hand swipes across the little metal cuff on his ear as if he only just realized he put it on when he entered the colder area just on impulse. Realization floods him and he tugs it off and slams it on the ground with enough force to break it. He'll regret that later when his ears are cold, but at least it'll save him this embarrassment. If he could turn red, he'd be doing it right now.
But as it stands, he still looks like a cat that fell off a table while everyone was watching and is a little huffy about it.]
That stupid- [he makes angry noises] Who builds something that keeps you warm but also projects your frickin' thoughts, huh? What is the technological advantage of that? Those two things don't even correlate!
Peter just sort of watches, eyes wide behind his mask and lips pressed together in a thin line – that awkward sort of face one makes when witnessing something at least a little wild. Like being a kid at your friend’s house while their parents start lecturing them about the unwashed dishes still sitting in the sink.
It takes a second or two for Peter to mentally catch up, but at length, a slow smile spreads across his face. ]
Dude.
That’s hilarious.
[ sorry about your dignity tho rocket. F to pay respects. ]
[Rocket's tantrum is short-lived but no less beautiful in its angrish and flailing. At some point, he just stops saying words at all in favor of just miming strangling and growling, but it all comes to a head when Quill speaks and he remembers that his loss of dignity had a witness.]
Oh, shut up, Quill. You ain't hot shit 'cause you got a nice toasty helmet to wear all the d'ast time. [That wasn't even remotely a good comeback, but... but SHUT UP.
Much like the kid who got scolded while his friends were around, he has nothing to say in defense of himself.]
[ Peter could point out that wearing the mask too long in below freezing temperatures probably isn’t a strong move, since the metal at the top of the helmet has a very real chance of freezing to his skin.
But, no, Rocket has a point. His helmet is awesome.
And with that little ego-boost, Peter moves further into the bay. His grin is hidden behind his mask, but it’s obvious enough in his voice. ]
If it makes you feel any better, at least all you were doing was bitching about the cold. Which, you know. Is obviously fair. But it could’ve been way worse.
[ Like, can you imagine hearing Peter’s thoughts? Snippets of songs and random clips from 80s TV shows and the occasional, I wonder what Gamora’s doing right now? and all the unbidden daydreams that come with it?
That does not make it better, Quill! The contents of my head are not for public display!
[He's yelling that over his shoulder as he crosses his arms over his chest and gives his head a good hard shake. That cold takes no time to set in around the ear area and the wrist cuffs only do so much.
Well, it's either this display of pathetic or making this trek useful, so after letting Quill get a significant headstart, he scowls, and takes off at a brisk pace to catch up.] Aw hell. Wait up!
[ Guess who’s still grinning like the little shit he is. ]
Trust me, man. Nobody in the world wants to see the weird shit you think about.
[ He’s picking his way through, just sort of getting a lay of the land. The funny thing is, distracted as he was by the bullshit with the earpieces, Peter has totally and completely forgotten that this crashed station is fucked up and old and held together by shoestring and prayers. It slips his mind that exposed to the elements as this area has been, he should probably keep an eye out for falling debris from overhead or—
Weak deck supports.
It’s kind of like walking out onto a frozen lake, feeling and hearing the ice crack underfoot. Because Peter takes one step, then another, and there’s a sudden worrying groan, a worrying lurch, and Peter freezes.
And when Rocket approaches, Peter frantically holds up a hand. ]
Sssstoooop!
[ And in case he didn’t hear him the first time: ]
Oh my god, Quill. [Rocket's exasperation can be heard back on the station and his eyerolling is probably in danger of straining something, but he does stop just shy of where the unsteady deck supports are threatening to cave inwards.] Y'know that hand signals thing? It's never gonna take off. Stop trying to take it happen.
[He steps down beside Quill's foot without consideration, figuring that Quill may have said stop, but he didn't say where to stop, and the groan and lurch of metal gets that much louder and that much more foreboding, tipped further towards its breaking point by a scant twenty-five pounds of extra weight.
And then he realizes why maybe he should have listened closer, because sometimes Quill has a point and sometimes not listening to him is a bad idea. That acknowledgment is not what he says. Instead, he sums up the situation a little more succinctly.]
[ You know, someday, one of the other Guardians will listen to Peter's good sense. And you know what'll happen on that day? Everything will go right.
Today, as has been the case with many others, is not that day, and as Rocket moves closer, Peter just keeps telling him to stop to an absolutely predictable amount of success.
And as the ground groans, Peter rocks back to keep his balance.
In a half-octave higher than usual: ] What part of "stop" did you not understand?!
The part where you're telling me what to do like you're the captain or something. [Said through gritted teeth, because Rocket is not egocentric enough to deny that he was very, very wrong in this scenario and that this is going to cause a mess. On one hand, still better than the batteries. On the other... Definitely not great.
He has nothing to say for himself except teeth-gritted frustration, but he does very cautiously, take a step back. There's another crack and another groan as he removes his weight from the portion of the ground he was standing on and he stops short, not even daring to breathe- just in case.
When nothing shifts again, he takes another step back and then another, but his weight is a lot less, so he was always going to be better at this. Quill... on the other hand.]
Dude, you're gonna need to channel some Kevin Bacon-ish moves to get your ass off that.
[ Peter, in the meanwhile, shoots Rocket another glare over his shoulder as the guy moves back. Luckily for both of them, the shift in weight doesn’t do much more than send a quiet lurch through the shifting support beams and panels.
Once Rocket’s clear, Peter takes a quick, rallying breath before rocking his weight back. There’s an accompanying creak and judder, but hey so far, so good. One step, then another, then, with an almost disappointed frown, ]
Maybe this isn’t as big a deal as—
[ why would you tempt fate like that
Because the whole thing groans and lurches and, with a thunderous crack of metal grating against metal, the support beams beneath give way. The section of the floor gives way beneath him and Peter reels around, running up the collapsing section. He leaps, chest slamming against the raw edges of the still solid floor, knocking the breath out of him. His coat protects him from slicing his gut open, thankfully – wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of a shit sundae? – but his gloves keep him from getting a good grip on the floor. He slides a bit, scrambling for purchase, before he finally halts his backslide by catching his fingers on some warped metal panel.
He's still hanging from the edge, but he’s— good, he thinks. Not dead. Or, at least, not really, really hurt. He risks a glance down to see the section of the flooring in the darkened room beneath.
Jesus.
He turns to catch Rocket’s gaze, breathing heavily, eyes wide behind his mask.
He was panicked while Peter wasn't paying attention and almost lunged to see if he could do something even if he can't lift Quill worth a shit. But now that Quill is as fine as... can be expected, his shock and relief have given way to just sardonically killing his friend's ego bit by bit.]
I saw you almost died. Can you hold on for a tic? [Heh. Dangling humor.] I think I got something that'll help.
[Ermes may have gone back to sleep, but her gifts remain. He still has an extra aerorig in his pocket for such occasions. Now it's just a matter of slapping his own on and hovering above the danger zone to get to the precariously dangling Star-Dork.]
In hindsight, maybe I should've started with this, but, eh. I gotta conserve the frickin' power these days.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[He reaches up to scratch his head and his hand swipes across the little metal cuff on his ear as if he only just realized he put it on when he entered the colder area just on impulse. Realization floods him and he tugs it off and slams it on the ground with enough force to break it. He'll regret that later when his ears are cold, but at least it'll save him this embarrassment. If he could turn red, he'd be doing it right now.
But as it stands, he still looks like a cat that fell off a table while everyone was watching and is a little huffy about it.]
That stupid- [he makes angry noises] Who builds something that keeps you warm but also projects your frickin' thoughts, huh? What is the technological advantage of that? Those two things don't even correlate!
no subject
Rocket’s throwing a tantrum.
Peter just sort of watches, eyes wide behind his mask and lips pressed together in a thin line – that awkward sort of face one makes when witnessing something at least a little wild. Like being a kid at your friend’s house while their parents start lecturing them about the unwashed dishes still sitting in the sink.
It takes a second or two for Peter to mentally catch up, but at length, a slow smile spreads across his face. ]
Dude.
That’s hilarious.
[ sorry about your dignity tho rocket. F to pay respects. ]
no subject
Oh, shut up, Quill. You ain't hot shit 'cause you got a nice toasty helmet to wear all the d'ast time. [That wasn't even remotely a good comeback, but... but SHUT UP.
Much like the kid who got scolded while his friends were around, he has nothing to say in defense of himself.]
no subject
But, no, Rocket has a point. His helmet is awesome.
And with that little ego-boost, Peter moves further into the bay. His grin is hidden behind his mask, but it’s obvious enough in his voice. ]
If it makes you feel any better, at least all you were doing was bitching about the cold. Which, you know. Is obviously fair. But it could’ve been way worse.
[ Like, can you imagine hearing Peter’s thoughts? Snippets of songs and random clips from 80s TV shows and the occasional, I wonder what Gamora’s doing right now? and all the unbidden daydreams that come with it?
It'd be like watching a YouTube poop video. ]
no subject
[He's yelling that over his shoulder as he crosses his arms over his chest and gives his head a good hard shake. That cold takes no time to set in around the ear area and the wrist cuffs only do so much.
Well, it's either this display of pathetic or making this trek useful, so after letting Quill get a significant headstart, he scowls, and takes off at a brisk pace to catch up.] Aw hell. Wait up!
no subject
Trust me, man. Nobody in the world wants to see the weird shit you think about.
[ He’s picking his way through, just sort of getting a lay of the land. The funny thing is, distracted as he was by the bullshit with the earpieces, Peter has totally and completely forgotten that this crashed station is fucked up and old and held together by shoestring and prayers. It slips his mind that exposed to the elements as this area has been, he should probably keep an eye out for falling debris from overhead or—
Weak deck supports.
It’s kind of like walking out onto a frozen lake, feeling and hearing the ice crack underfoot. Because Peter takes one step, then another, and there’s a sudden worrying groan, a worrying lurch, and Peter freezes.
And when Rocket approaches, Peter frantically holds up a hand. ]
Sssstoooop!
[ And in case he didn’t hear him the first time: ]
Stopstopstop! Stop!
no subject
[He steps down beside Quill's foot without consideration, figuring that Quill may have said stop, but he didn't say where to stop, and the groan and lurch of metal gets that much louder and that much more foreboding, tipped further towards its breaking point by a scant twenty-five pounds of extra weight.
And then he realizes why maybe he should have listened closer, because sometimes Quill has a point and sometimes not listening to him is a bad idea. That acknowledgment is not what he says. Instead, he sums up the situation a little more succinctly.]
...Oh crap.
no subject
Today, as has been the case with many others, is not that day, and as Rocket moves closer, Peter just keeps telling him to stop to an absolutely predictable amount of success.
And as the ground groans, Peter rocks back to keep his balance.
In a half-octave higher than usual: ] What part of "stop" did you not understand?!
[ No. Okay. Bitching later. ]
Back up. Really, really slow.
no subject
He has nothing to say for himself except teeth-gritted frustration, but he does very cautiously, take a step back. There's another crack and another groan as he removes his weight from the portion of the ground he was standing on and he stops short, not even daring to breathe- just in case.
When nothing shifts again, he takes another step back and then another, but his weight is a lot less, so he was always going to be better at this. Quill... on the other hand.]
Dude, you're gonna need to channel some Kevin Bacon-ish moves to get your ass off that.
no subject
Once Rocket’s clear, Peter takes a quick, rallying breath before rocking his weight back. There’s an accompanying creak and judder, but hey so far, so good. One step, then another, then, with an almost disappointed frown, ]
Maybe this isn’t as big a deal as—
[ why would you tempt fate like that
Because the whole thing groans and lurches and, with a thunderous crack of metal grating against metal, the support beams beneath give way. The section of the floor gives way beneath him and Peter reels around, running up the collapsing section. He leaps, chest slamming against the raw edges of the still solid floor, knocking the breath out of him. His coat protects him from slicing his gut open, thankfully – wouldn’t that just be the cherry on top of a shit sundae? – but his gloves keep him from getting a good grip on the floor. He slides a bit, scrambling for purchase, before he finally halts his backslide by catching his fingers on some warped metal panel.
He's still hanging from the edge, but he’s— good, he thinks. Not dead. Or, at least, not really, really hurt. He risks a glance down to see the section of the flooring in the darkened room beneath.
Jesus.
He turns to catch Rocket’s gaze, breathing heavily, eyes wide behind his mask.
Then, ]
Did you see that?!
[ was it cool?????? ]
no subject
Well, you have now.
He was panicked while Peter wasn't paying attention and almost lunged to see if he could do something even if he can't lift Quill worth a shit. But now that Quill is as fine as... can be expected, his shock and relief have given way to just sardonically killing his friend's ego bit by bit.]
I saw you almost died. Can you hold on for a tic? [Heh. Dangling humor.] I think I got something that'll help.
[Ermes may have gone back to sleep, but her gifts remain. He still has an extra aerorig in his pocket for such occasions. Now it's just a matter of slapping his own on and hovering above the danger zone to get to the precariously dangling Star-Dork.]
In hindsight, maybe I should've started with this, but, eh. I gotta conserve the frickin' power these days.