The Quiet Room was anything but, and it was all because of Peter Quill. Well, not all because. The Quiet Room was really never very quiet. But it was at least a little tiny bit partially because of him.
And Peter relished that. Even if he was undercover, even if he was "Steve Rogers" now, he was still him. The same Peter from Earth (or outside of Earth). He used to be in a band; he loved performing.
But his song came to an abrupt halt. Lorna and Guido played on, unaware of his mic clattering over onto the ground, and Peter tripping over the wire to jump off stage. Only Rahne stopped, her ears flattening to her skull at the sharp sound of the discarded microphone, and her eyes tracking Peter as he disappeared into the crowd.
This wasn't completely normal, not even for Peter, but something that he'd been searching for...he thought he found it. Found her.
A soft whisp of brown hair, followed by her unmistakable profile: the upward perk of her nose, the slight under bite that made her bottom lip jut out just enough to give her a permanent pout, maybe even the starry spray of freckles could be hidden from him, with her back turned to face him.
Peter skidded to a stop at the table, a tight booth in a dark corner, one of many the Quiet Room had, and had to restrain himself from shouting.
"Kitty!" He breathed loud enough for her, and her companion (who he didn't notice previously), to hear. Her shoulders tensed slightly, and she turned around slowly, eyes narrowed in anger. Even slit, they were definitely Kitty's sweet brown eyes.
"Do I know you?" Her voice dripped with cool disinterest, and Peter's wide smile turned to a small frown.
She didn't know him. For some reason, she didn't know who he was. Or maybe, maybe she was playing a game. Maybe she was undercover, too. That must be it!
He straightened slightly, adjusting his narrow black tie, and smoothed his pompadoured hair back. "Steve. Rogers...Steve Rogers."
Kitty's eyes bored holes through him, while her companion's eyebrows quirked up, amused.
"Mon chere," the man next to her spoke up suddenly, causing her shoulders to tense once again, more noticeably. "You didn't say you had such charmant acquaintances in the Quiet Room. I thought this is where you did your work."
Kitty scowled the same time as Peter whispered "mon chere?"
"Remy." Kitty glared between the two men, utterly displeased. "Didn't you ever learn that sometimes collecting words is just as important as collecting items? As in, maybe you should hold on to the words that are whispered within listening walls."
"Remy?" Peter whispered, musing that the name seemed vaguely familiar; something about throwing flaming cards and the X-Men?
One side of Gambit's mouth curled up into a pleased smirk. "But of course, chere. Though, often, those secrets must be left in the open to obtain...to discover other secrets." He set his empty, red-eyed stare on Peter, who stilled himself. "Pleasure to meet you, Steve. I was unaware Kitty made such," his eyebrow twitched up, bemused, "patriotic friends." He stood and shook Peter's hand with an air of warmth that all but hid the power of his grip on Peter's hand. Peter squeezed firmly back, but he was only (mostly) human. It's not like he had super strength.
Kitty stood, sparkling blue dress unfolding in front of Peter's eyes. His mouth fell open quietly, and continued to widen as Kitty pushed him back from the table by his shoulder. A firm, confident, scarily strong grasp hidden by her petite frame.
"Steven." She smiled with an icy coolness Peter had never experienced from Kitty before. "A moment?" She gave him a sharp shove. "A word?" She narrowed her eyes, "outside?"
Peter's face lit up. Of course, she WAS undercover! He answered over-eagerly: "Yeah, of course. Absolutely." He tried to cool himself in front of the bemused looking Remy, who leaned back in his seat, sipping from his Champaign flute. "I mean, sure."
Kitty escorted him to the quiet balcony off to the side of the stage, a hard hand on his back, clawing into his suit jacket, rumpling the pristine white fabric.
When they reached the balcony, she whipped around, her starry dress swirling around her. Peter grinned at her, gleefully, until she spoke.
"Look, Rogers-which, by the way, is clearly not your real name-I don't know who you are or what you want, but," she raised her fist up to his face, "step down." Three glimmering claws snkt'ed out of the back of her close hand.
Peter took a step back. "K-Kitty?"
"Whatever Kitty you think I am; I'm not." She pronounced the words harshly. "So drop it."
Kitty spun away from him, sheathing her claws painlessly.
"K-kitty?" Peter was frozen, flabbergasted.
She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes studying him, her face becoming slightly softer, regarding him with a vaguely sad look. "You should leave before someone finds you."
With that, she turned completely and disappeared back into the crowded Quiet Room. Peter stood stock still, stunned and shaken. His eyes traveled out over the dark, starless sky of Battleworld until his mind's blankness was interrupted by the appearance of the jovial green man that was otherwise the spitting image of Peter's friend.
"Friend Steven!" Drax smacked his back with a hearty happiness. Then, Drax noticed his face. "Ah, my friend, it looks as if you've seen a ghost!"
"Maybe I have..." was Peter's only response.