"Are you saying you want to get out of this wonderful hellhole of a planet? Can't imagine why."
Peter quipped, taking a sip of his drink. It was as terrible as he expected it. To his credit, and thanks to growing up tasting far worse things in the past, he didn't even flinch. Peter rolled his shoulders and made himself more comfortable on the seat he was occupying. He was wearing casual clothes, the red jacket left on the Benathar so it was easier to blend in. The last thing he needed was to blow up the operation because someone recognized him as Guardian of the Galaxy.
The other man being dismissive was an issue but not really unexpected. None of the other bartenders he talked to in the previous 4 bars were particularly chatty before Units were exchanged but maybe they could reach a different kind of agreement here. Besides, humans were such a rare thing in the galaxy that the situation didn't sit well with Peter. How the hell did the other guy end here?
"Could be doable, though." He dropped the playful act, nursing his drink and still smiling but looking like he meant business this time. "With my ship, it would take only two or three solar days to go back."
Having grown so accustomed to dealing with people who genuinely were talking about stuff Crawford couldn't care less about, it was impossible to hide it when Peter hit on something so very close to home. Literally. He was in the process of returning the bottle to where it belonged and he just stopped dead. It lasted several heartbeats, as he struggled to compose himself.
This could be a lie. Someone who knew too much. Crawford hadn't exactly been quiet about his search for a way off the planet. It was something that came up any time he encountered someone with a ship, or knew someone with a ship, or had a tip on how to get on to one. But it never worked out. No one went to that region of space, or anywhere near it. Especially when he wasn't willing to join the grunts of a crew somewhere. He wasn't going to risk it being a trap that dragged him further away from home. He was going to pay his way for a legitimate way home.
But three days, tops? That was impossible. The fastest time anyone had given him was weeks. This guy had no idea what he was talking about.
"Anyone knows it's a month at least to get out that way," he said finally when the bottle was returned to the shelf. "So you're either an idiot, a con man, or just full of shit. So which is it?"
He had no idea who the man was, Peter has never set foot on this planet before, but that pause. Oh, that pause was like a red light. They could work something out, maybe.
"No, with a decent M-class ship is not that long. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to scam you. Beside mine's modified, that beauty moves fast. It even has a wonderful sound system. You don't know what great music's like until you have played Starman it the Benathar."
If Peter sounded like he was in love with his ship, well it was because he was very fond of it. It was their home, not just a ship, and it was awesome. That, and Rocket had modified the engine so many times it looked like no other and moved twice as fast as the average one.
"Do you think I'll come here just to boast about my ship to a random stranger I never met? I already told you what I need. It's not even that difficult, I just need you to let me know if certain individuals have been in this bar before, or if they will be. That simple. You do that for me and I'll take anywhere you want." It wouldn't be the first time they pick up strays, in fact, the Guardian seems to have made an habit out of that.
Crawford had never tried learning the types of ships out there, because everyone made different claims about theirs. Which he was sure this guy was doing, as well. Everyone's ship was the best there was. Their precious baby that could out run any other ship in the galaxy. It was like people with their cars back home, just bigger.
The comment about coming there to boast about it to a random stranger earned a sharp look. That's exactly what he thought. Because that's what people like Quill liked to do.
"What the hell do you think I am? A damn psychic? I don't know shit about anyone in here." For the most part, it was completely true. So he wasn't going to risk a maybe, and get his hopes up over a trip off this rock. It was a price he couldn't afford.
"You don't need to know them, or even talk to them. Blue people stand out on their own, besides they're the sort that never leaves tips." That with the more religious of the Kree not drinking alcohol or eating anything they considered impure. That's why meeting on random bars was the best strategy. No one would expect them there.
Peter took another sip of the drink out of habit and regretted it immediately. He had the feeling that bringing up how all this was for the good of the Galaxy would get him nowhere, so he went for a more personal argument.
"If I am bluffing, you don't lose anything, only a few minutes of your time. But if I am telling you the truth then you get a free ticket back to Earth, or any place you fancy. Which option sounds better? If I wanted to scam someone, I'd make more money going to a bar where the alcohol could be told apart from motor oil, and where the patrons were waiting for the first pretty face ready to listen to their problems."
Peter made a vague gesture with his wrist, swinging his drink around but not spilling anything. God knows it the liquid could eat through metal. "No offense to your bar, I'm sure that after a good scrubbing and an exterminator to get rid of the orloni running around, it would look lovely."
Ok, insulting the guys' workplace maybe wasn't the best strategy but the place really was as pretty as a Bantha's butthole. Who in their right mind would like to stay here if they had the chance to leave?
It was all false hope, as he knew it would be. He wasn't being belligerent on purpose. Well, not entirely. He made it a point to not remember people all that well. It was better for business in a place like this. That, and with some of the species roaming around, the tended to blend together, but that tended to happen when he couldn't tell exactly where their face was supposed to be in the first place.
"This look like the sort of place people leave a lot of tips?" He gestured at the bar in general. Again, not entirely lying. Half the time no one tipped. Half of what was left barely tipped. The rest didn't know how to numbers worked when they got drunk enough and tipped well enough to compensate for the other three quarters. It evened out in the end. The rest of what Quill said didn't matter to him one bit. It wasn't his bar, he just worked here.
"Even if I was willing to put up with you long enough for a trip outta here, I can't tell you a damn thing." He was going to leave it there, but he had a feeling that Quill was a little too thick to take the hint. He leaned closer, his voice getting quieter but more insistent. "People who start runnin' their mouth around here, wind up with their guts strung up like Christmas lights. So why don't you finish that piss water in silence and find someone else to bother before someone decides to rip you in half."
"Fair enough." The bar looked like the sort of place where people died of alcohol poisoning, rather. Peter listened to Crawford rant, almost making a joke about how it made the other man sound as if he cared. It clearly wasn't the case and he didn't have more time to waste.
"Do I look worried about that?" He quipped, an almost bored look in his eyes as he finished his drink. "Aliens had tried to eat or kill me since it was 8 years old, it becomes almost routine after a while."
Peter smiled, fingers clicking against the empty glass before he turned it upside down on the counter. Once Crawford grabbed it, he would find a small device under the glass, like a pager of sorts, made to send a signal. But now, Peter merely paid for the drink, leaving far more credits than what it was worth, and slid the glass towards the other man. The Guardian had made his offer, if the other wasn't going to listen then so be it. His team and he still had a lot of bars to check and work to do.
"See you around, buddy." After winking at him, Peter walked out of the bar swaying his hips. Out by the door, he brushed a finger against the comm device behind his ear to check if the rest of the Guardians had had any luck. It was going to be a long night.
At first, Crawford's only thought was "good riddance." People who asked questions were only ever trouble, and Quill had been offer some serious temptation to start giving answers. He doubted the man had any idea how hard he'd been hitting Crawford's main weakness. It had taken all of his resolve, every reminder of every set back, to not jump at even the chance to get home. Yet it all had been noise in his head. A pressure he didn't even properly recognize until Quill was actually gone.
It took several minutes before Crawford found the device. He had mind enough to act like it was just trash as he cleared off the bar. He could feel eyes on him still, in the wake of that asshole. Even when he took everything into the back to be sorted and washed, he palmed the thing and hid it in his pocket when no one was looking.
But it was like having a hot cinder in there. He was aware of its weight at every moment. The promise it held. The opportunity to finally leave. That pressure finally pushed through his resolve about an hour later. He just yelled out to someone that he was going on break and headed outside. Around the back of the bar, where there was barely any light, he had the closest thing this shit hold had to a cigarette and burned through the entire thing. Partially trying to talk himself out of doing stupid, but also to make sure that anyone who might still be watching him would think he was on an actual break.
Then, after stubbing out the "cigarette", he wandered off. To a poorly lit spot well away from the bar. No one had followed. As he fished out another "cigarette", he fumbled with the device, activating it. Well, assumed he activated it. All this space technology tended to be a little weird.
Technology was even weirder when it had been put together by a raccoon far too fonds of bombs but the pager wasn't going to explode. A green light when off and the panel at the front expanded to show a small keyboard. The screen displayed a brief text a minute later.
Ey. Changed your mind?
Peter left to check a few different bars, with some more success getting the bartenders to share what they knew but useful information was still scarce. When his comm came to light signaling that certain pager had been activated he had smiled to himself.
The trip home offer's still up.
There was a picture of a ship attached, the Benatar, on the planet's docking area.
The device was in no way what Crawford had expected. So when it started to move in his pocket he may have freaked out a little and nearly thrown it to the ground. So much for his casual act and hiding what he had. He pulled it out and looked over the messages.
A strange feeling washed over him. A mix of panic and sheer thrill, with a dash of something he tried to deny himself at all times: hope. But worst of all, indecision. He was at a deciding point with no way to go back once he made his choice. The safe route was to ignore it all and go back to work. Let this wild chance go. There would be others, eventually. Or he could take the risk. He'd be seen talking to the loud asshole outside the bar, so there would be no going back to work if things went sour.
He never actually made the decision. At least not consciously. But all at once things were happening. First he returned to the bar. Not to work, but up the back stairs to the closet of a room that he'd been sleeping in. There he gathered up what scant belongings he had into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. Before he even left the room, he was sending a message back with all he knew--the people the guy had been looking for would be at the bar in about 20 minutes.
Then he was out. Heading for the ship to ensure he was out of there before all hell broke loose. At least, that's what he assumed would happen. Those blue guys were serious trouble.
Deceiving people and being more than it seemed at first sight was very in line with the Guardians. If Crawford ended around them and didn't immediately try to punch them, he will figure it out quickly enough.
Peter was a bit disappointed when he didn't get an immediate response but decided to be patient, this couldn't be an easy decision for the guy if he really had been looking for a way out of the planet. And if Peter were in his shoes, he wouldn't trust a random stranger either, which is why he sent the picture of the ship.
As he waited, he meet with Rocket, Groot and Thor in the docks. None of them had any information but somehow they all had new weapons and the air of someone who got into a bar fight and won. Peter decided not to ask questions. Rocket snatched the device from his hands as soon as the new message came forward and demanded to know who was the informant and it if was trustworthy. Did it really matter? It was the only clue they had so far. Pleased with the new information and with no time to waste, Peter contacted Nebula to let her know. Rocket didn't look happy but he was obviously still itching for more action so he and Thor left to join the other at the bar and handle their Kree problem.
"I guess it's just you and me until the other guys shows up, uh?" As expected, Groot answered saying his name. "Yeah, okay, you can go inside and play videogames. I'll handle the rest."
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no subject
Peter quipped, taking a sip of his drink. It was as terrible as he expected it. To his credit, and thanks to growing up tasting far worse things in the past, he didn't even flinch. Peter rolled his shoulders and made himself more comfortable on the seat he was occupying. He was wearing casual clothes, the red jacket left on the Benathar so it was easier to blend in. The last thing he needed was to blow up the operation because someone recognized him as Guardian of the Galaxy.
The other man being dismissive was an issue but not really unexpected. None of the other bartenders he talked to in the previous 4 bars were particularly chatty before Units were exchanged but maybe they could reach a different kind of agreement here. Besides, humans were such a rare thing in the galaxy that the situation didn't sit well with Peter. How the hell did the other guy end here?
"Could be doable, though." He dropped the playful act, nursing his drink and still smiling but looking like he meant business this time. "With my ship, it would take only two or three solar days to go back."
no subject
This could be a lie. Someone who knew too much. Crawford hadn't exactly been quiet about his search for a way off the planet. It was something that came up any time he encountered someone with a ship, or knew someone with a ship, or had a tip on how to get on to one. But it never worked out. No one went to that region of space, or anywhere near it. Especially when he wasn't willing to join the grunts of a crew somewhere. He wasn't going to risk it being a trap that dragged him further away from home. He was going to pay his way for a legitimate way home.
But three days, tops? That was impossible. The fastest time anyone had given him was weeks. This guy had no idea what he was talking about.
"Anyone knows it's a month at least to get out that way," he said finally when the bottle was returned to the shelf. "So you're either an idiot, a con man, or just full of shit. So which is it?"
no subject
"No, with a decent M-class ship is not that long. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to scam you. Beside mine's modified, that beauty moves fast. It even has a wonderful sound system. You don't know what great music's like until you have played Starman it the Benathar."
If Peter sounded like he was in love with his ship, well it was because he was very fond of it. It was their home, not just a ship, and it was awesome. That, and Rocket had modified the engine so many times it looked like no other and moved twice as fast as the average one.
"Do you think I'll come here just to boast about my ship to a random stranger I never met? I already told you what I need. It's not even that difficult, I just need you to let me know if certain individuals have been in this bar before, or if they will be. That simple. You do that for me and I'll take anywhere you want." It wouldn't be the first time they pick up strays, in fact, the Guardian seems to have made an habit out of that.
no subject
The comment about coming there to boast about it to a random stranger earned a sharp look. That's exactly what he thought. Because that's what people like Quill liked to do.
"What the hell do you think I am? A damn psychic? I don't know shit about anyone in here." For the most part, it was completely true. So he wasn't going to risk a maybe, and get his hopes up over a trip off this rock. It was a price he couldn't afford.
no subject
Peter took another sip of the drink out of habit and regretted it immediately. He had the feeling that bringing up how all this was for the good of the Galaxy would get him nowhere, so he went for a more personal argument.
"If I am bluffing, you don't lose anything, only a few minutes of your time. But if I am telling you the truth then you get a free ticket back to Earth, or any place you fancy. Which option sounds better? If I wanted to scam someone, I'd make more money going to a bar where the alcohol could be told apart from motor oil, and where the patrons were waiting for the first pretty face ready to listen to their problems."
Peter made a vague gesture with his wrist, swinging his drink around but not spilling anything. God knows it the liquid could eat through metal. "No offense to your bar, I'm sure that after a good scrubbing and an exterminator to get rid of the orloni running around, it would look lovely."
Ok, insulting the guys' workplace maybe wasn't the best strategy but the place really was as pretty as a Bantha's butthole. Who in their right mind would like to stay here if they had the chance to leave?
no subject
"This look like the sort of place people leave a lot of tips?" He gestured at the bar in general. Again, not entirely lying. Half the time no one tipped. Half of what was left barely tipped. The rest didn't know how to numbers worked when they got drunk enough and tipped well enough to compensate for the other three quarters. It evened out in the end. The rest of what Quill said didn't matter to him one bit. It wasn't his bar, he just worked here.
"Even if I was willing to put up with you long enough for a trip outta here, I can't tell you a damn thing." He was going to leave it there, but he had a feeling that Quill was a little too thick to take the hint. He leaned closer, his voice getting quieter but more insistent. "People who start runnin' their mouth around here, wind up with their guts strung up like Christmas lights. So why don't you finish that piss water in silence and find someone else to bother before someone decides to rip you in half."
no subject
"Do I look worried about that?" He quipped, an almost bored look in his eyes as he finished his drink. "Aliens had tried to eat or kill me since it was 8 years old, it becomes almost routine after a while."
Peter smiled, fingers clicking against the empty glass before he turned it upside down on the counter. Once Crawford grabbed it, he would find a small device under the glass, like a pager of sorts, made to send a signal. But now, Peter merely paid for the drink, leaving far more credits than what it was worth, and slid the glass towards the other man. The Guardian had made his offer, if the other wasn't going to listen then so be it. His team and he still had a lot of bars to check and work to do.
"See you around, buddy." After winking at him, Peter walked out of the bar swaying his hips. Out by the door, he brushed a finger against the comm device behind his ear to check if the rest of the Guardians had had any luck. It was going to be a long night.
no subject
It took several minutes before Crawford found the device. He had mind enough to act like it was just trash as he cleared off the bar. He could feel eyes on him still, in the wake of that asshole. Even when he took everything into the back to be sorted and washed, he palmed the thing and hid it in his pocket when no one was looking.
But it was like having a hot cinder in there. He was aware of its weight at every moment. The promise it held. The opportunity to finally leave. That pressure finally pushed through his resolve about an hour later. He just yelled out to someone that he was going on break and headed outside. Around the back of the bar, where there was barely any light, he had the closest thing this shit hold had to a cigarette and burned through the entire thing. Partially trying to talk himself out of doing stupid, but also to make sure that anyone who might still be watching him would think he was on an actual break.
Then, after stubbing out the "cigarette", he wandered off. To a poorly lit spot well away from the bar. No one had followed. As he fished out another "cigarette", he fumbled with the device, activating it. Well, assumed he activated it. All this space technology tended to be a little weird.
no subject
Ey. Changed your mind?
Peter left to check a few different bars, with some more success getting the bartenders to share what they knew but useful information was still scarce. When his comm came to light signaling that certain pager had been activated he had smiled to himself.
The trip home offer's still up.
There was a picture of a ship attached, the Benatar, on the planet's docking area.
no subject
A strange feeling washed over him. A mix of panic and sheer thrill, with a dash of something he tried to deny himself at all times: hope. But worst of all, indecision. He was at a deciding point with no way to go back once he made his choice. The safe route was to ignore it all and go back to work. Let this wild chance go. There would be others, eventually. Or he could take the risk. He'd be seen talking to the loud asshole outside the bar, so there would be no going back to work if things went sour.
He never actually made the decision. At least not consciously. But all at once things were happening. First he returned to the bar. Not to work, but up the back stairs to the closet of a room that he'd been sleeping in. There he gathered up what scant belongings he had into a bag that he slung over his shoulder. Before he even left the room, he was sending a message back with all he knew--the people the guy had been looking for would be at the bar in about 20 minutes.
Then he was out. Heading for the ship to ensure he was out of there before all hell broke loose. At least, that's what he assumed would happen. Those blue guys were serious trouble.
no subject
Peter was a bit disappointed when he didn't get an immediate response but decided to be patient, this couldn't be an easy decision for the guy if he really had been looking for a way out of the planet. And if Peter were in his shoes, he wouldn't trust a random stranger either, which is why he sent the picture of the ship.
As he waited, he meet with Rocket, Groot and Thor in the docks. None of them had any information but somehow they all had new weapons and the air of someone who got into a bar fight and won. Peter decided not to ask questions. Rocket snatched the device from his hands as soon as the new message came forward and demanded to know who was the informant and it if was trustworthy. Did it really matter? It was the only clue they had so far. Pleased with the new information and with no time to waste, Peter contacted Nebula to let her know. Rocket didn't look happy but he was obviously still itching for more action so he and Thor left to join the other at the bar and handle their Kree problem.
"I guess it's just you and me until the other guys shows up, uh?" As expected, Groot answered saying his name. "Yeah, okay, you can go inside and play videogames. I'll handle the rest."