[ Eventually when Peter plays back the recording that absolutely does not and will never exist, the video will end with the camera jerking to one side as Peter breathes out, “Oh, shit—” and stuffs the comm back into his pocket.
He isn’t as deep into the drinks as Rocket is – or, in fact, half of the party-goers by this point – which means Peter manages to avoid the worst of the chaos. He gets jostled a bit, but he does, at least, manage to catch one lady by the elbow before she twists her ankle on those unreasonably high heels. She casts him a grateful look, but a glance at Peter’s Wyver pin has her storming off in a huff.
(Later in the night, he will definitely steal her Olympia pin as a petty sort of revenge.
... And maybe her bracelet.)
So there’s Rocket at the eye of the storm. By Peter’s memory, the two of them have known each other for, like, a couple months, but even that is enough to know that Rocket’s probably two blinks away from sinking his teeth into someone’s calf. Which is why Peter quickly wades into the mess, hip-checking some clumsy lady who nearly steps on Rocket’s tail, catching another dude as he’s about to fall face first to the floor.
Aaand the third guy, whose trip and consequent fall onto his back is about to land him on top of Rocket, is too far away for Peter to catch. So instead, Peter grabs Rocket by the back of his shirt and yanks him out of the guy’s path.
[Rocket isn't quite aware of what's going on beyond he is drunk, no amount of happy dance glitter can make a crowd of barely polite people trying to catch their balance and having an excuse to start shoving one another tolerable by his standards, and he feels like his fun has just been ruined.
Not a great combination, all things considered.
Most of his focus is on avoiding getting stepped on, rather than outright lashing out, but it's not gonna take long before the smoke clears or someone steps on his tail (he even misses Peter saving him from that indignity). He does not miss the guy about to fall onto him and he braces himself for impact, knowing that while he won't be crushed, he'll be trapped and bruised and that guy will be fucked up bad once he wriggles free, but he's suddenly swept out of the way.
The sudden shift in scenery causes his head to spin dizzily, and he becomes keenly aware of the amount of little shrimps he's been pulling out of cocktails tonight. Mercifully, he does not reward Peter's assistance with vomit, but that's about all that can be said about it.]
I don't think that happened to who's-his-face. [He can't master the moonwalk. Like hell if he's gonna remember the guy who invented it or whatever. He also sounds positively sulky, which would be a nice change, except:] Now put me down before I puke and bite your fingers off. Maybe not even in that order.
[ And the correction comes automatically, as Peter surveys the damage done. Most of the folk who fell on their asses or faces are scooping themselves up, cheeks red and eyes downcast. Those who are too drunk to help themselves are being helped by others, which is less for Peter to deal with. Anyone who catches his eye and glares at him accusingly, though, earns a helpless shrug and a sheepish smile in return.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to put on a bashful act and go around making apologies for his super drunk friends. Hell, it was a near weekly occurrence with the Ravagers.
(“I’m so sorry, sir, my buddy here drank way too many Krylorian wine spritzers. You know how it is. Anyway, your nose is totally normal-sized and not bulbous at all, and Oblo really didn’t mean to imply anything about the virtue of your mother. I’m sure she’s a fine, upstanding woman.
“Anyway! Have a great evening.”)
But no one’s storming up to them and demanding explanations or apologies, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He releases Rocket, reflexively holding up his hand as a show of good faith. ]
Do not puke on me.
[ If Rocket’s making demands, then so can Peter. Obviously. He turns, nodding toward the refreshments table. ]
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no subject
He isn’t as deep into the drinks as Rocket is – or, in fact, half of the party-goers by this point – which means Peter manages to avoid the worst of the chaos. He gets jostled a bit, but he does, at least, manage to catch one lady by the elbow before she twists her ankle on those unreasonably high heels. She casts him a grateful look, but a glance at Peter’s Wyver pin has her storming off in a huff.
(Later in the night, he will definitely steal her Olympia pin as a petty sort of revenge.
... And maybe her bracelet.)
So there’s Rocket at the eye of the storm. By Peter’s memory, the two of them have known each other for, like, a couple months, but even that is enough to know that Rocket’s probably two blinks away from sinking his teeth into someone’s calf. Which is why Peter quickly wades into the mess, hip-checking some clumsy lady who nearly steps on Rocket’s tail, catching another dude as he’s about to fall face first to the floor.
Aaand the third guy, whose trip and consequent fall onto his back is about to land him on top of Rocket, is too far away for Peter to catch. So instead, Peter grabs Rocket by the back of his shirt and yanks him out of the guy’s path.
Sorry, Rocket. ]
no subject
Not a great combination, all things considered.
Most of his focus is on avoiding getting stepped on, rather than outright lashing out, but it's not gonna take long before the smoke clears or someone steps on his tail (he even misses Peter saving him from that indignity). He does not miss the guy about to fall onto him and he braces himself for impact, knowing that while he won't be crushed, he'll be trapped and bruised and that guy will be fucked up bad once he wriggles free, but he's suddenly swept out of the way.
The sudden shift in scenery causes his head to spin dizzily, and he becomes keenly aware of the amount of little shrimps he's been pulling out of cocktails tonight. Mercifully, he does not reward Peter's assistance with vomit, but that's about all that can be said about it.]
I don't think that happened to who's-his-face. [He can't master the moonwalk. Like hell if he's gonna remember the guy who invented it or whatever. He also sounds positively sulky, which would be a nice change, except:] Now put me down before I puke and bite your fingers off. Maybe not even in that order.
no subject
[ And the correction comes automatically, as Peter surveys the damage done. Most of the folk who fell on their asses or faces are scooping themselves up, cheeks red and eyes downcast. Those who are too drunk to help themselves are being helped by others, which is less for Peter to deal with. Anyone who catches his eye and glares at him accusingly, though, earns a helpless shrug and a sheepish smile in return.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to put on a bashful act and go around making apologies for his super drunk friends. Hell, it was a near weekly occurrence with the Ravagers.
(“I’m so sorry, sir, my buddy here drank way too many Krylorian wine spritzers. You know how it is. Anyway, your nose is totally normal-sized and not bulbous at all, and Oblo really didn’t mean to imply anything about the virtue of your mother. I’m sure she’s a fine, upstanding woman.
“Anyway! Have a great evening.”)
But no one’s storming up to them and demanding explanations or apologies, and Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He releases Rocket, reflexively holding up his hand as a show of good faith. ]
Do not puke on me.
[ If Rocket’s making demands, then so can Peter. Obviously. He turns, nodding toward the refreshments table. ]
C’mon, Twinkle-Toes. Let’s get you some water.