There are many places Yondu would rather be than this dive of a bar, but seeing as he promised to wait he doesn't have much in the way of choice.
Peter's been gone almost two hours now, having swanned off with the promise to bring back ten times the units Yondu expects of him. There's little to do upon waiting for his return besides gulp down cheap ale while sitting at a table stained by the ghosts of spilled drinks, or watch as drunken inhabitants fight over trivial matters. Yondu shares a smirk with a bartender who doesn't look like he earns nearly enough, before returning his attention to the door and the neon lights shining through grimy windows.
He's not overly worried about the boy. Throughout the years he's spent with the Ravagers, Peter's proven himself perfectly capable of getting out of tight spots and returning with a backpack full of riches. Such actions have always been carried out under Yondu's guidance, however, with a plan fully laid out and drilled into him before he enacts it, and he can't rely on others for guidance forever.
Peter's fifteen now - almost a man grown - and Yondu has deemed him worthy of the test that the majority of recruits have to complete before they can truly become a Ravager.
More difficult trials will face him yet, but for now the boy has the simple task of wandering into the grimy streets of a trading planet and returning with at least one thousand units. Yondu could care less how he earns it – most Ravagers return with bruises or black eyes having literally wrestled the cash from their targets – so long as he figures out a way to acquire the money on his own. Kraglin will be lingering nearby to step in should the boy need help, or to report back to Yondu if he gets himself caught like an idiot; in which case Peter knows to simply suck it up and endure his sentence in the Kyln or wherever he ends up with his mouth shut.
Yondu doubts it'll come to that. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but the boy has enough brains in him to get himself out of a difficult situation should one arise.
Gods know he didn't get those from spending seven years with a Ravager crew.
It's approaching the third hour when a full backpack lands on the table before him with a satisfying clunk. Yondu grins, before looking up and seeing an annoying smugness crossing over Peter's unmarked face as he swallows down a sickeningly sweet-looking red drink. The kid doesn't seem to have so much as a bruise on him; hell, there's not even a blond curl out of place.
Yondu unzips the backpack, gives off a low whistle as what must be thousands of golden units stare back at him, and leans back in his chair to capture the boy with a mocking sneer.
"Ya steal all this off some ol' woman, boy?" he asks as Peter takes a seat before him, and he has to suppress a laugh as mock-outrage flashes across the boy's face. Curiosity is starting to set in, though. Peter's reasonably good in combat, but not good enough that he can escape a bitter fight for tens of thousands of units unscathed, which means he must have acquired it through other means.
"What do you take me for?" Peter asks, trying to appear offended though a proud smile ruins any chance of that. Yondu notices a pair of silver keys trapped in his grasp, though he doesn't recognise them from the Eclector. "I won it. Fair and square."
"So gamblin' then," Yondu says, almost disappointed, before swallowing the last dregs of his ale and setting his glass to the side. "Yer big plan for passing the test was luck?"
"Well," Peter shrugs, before fixing Yondu with that look that suggests he's feeling very pleased with himself. On any other day Yondu would threaten to have his crew eat him now that there's actually meat on his bones and be done with it, but he supposes Peter's earned the right to be prideful just this once. "It wasn't all luck."
There's a story he's itching to tell, Yondu knows. He can practically see the words thrumming beneath the boy's skin and the manner in which he'll explain every detail being mapped out in his brain. Indulging him means hanging around in this dive far longer than he intends though, and Yondu's half-tempted to just take his share of Peter's earnings and wander off to their shuttle, leaving him disappointed.
Despite his wish to go home, however, he's not quite cruel enough to deny Peter the right to brag. If he can sit through Taserface's boasts without skewering the man with his arrow, he supposes he has the patience to listen to the boy.
"Alright, spill," Yondu says eventually, trying not to smile as pure delight flashes across Peter's face. "How'd ya win it?"
"Well, you know that species that's, like, religiously honourable and obsessed with luck?"
When Yondu does little more than shrug, Peter carries on. "Y'know, those grey-skinned, tattooed guys. Feel compelled to honour every deal they make and always have tattoos of the things that are meant to bring them good fortune?"
"Yeah, I know 'em," Yondu admits, the description helping a little, though in his alcohol-addled mind he couldn't possibly name the race. He likes dealing with their kind though. It's nice to be certain that you won't be stabbed in the back after a trade.
"I saw one in the bay when we got here," Peter continues, looking back in the direction where their shuttle is awaiting them. "And you should see his ship, Yondu. She's a beauty."
Judging by the way Peter starts throwing the silver keys in the air and catching them, Yondu imagines he's not going to get much choice in that. "Anyway, figured I'd follow him once you headed off. You only really come to a planet like this if you're looking for a trade or someplace to gamble, and he didn't appear to have anything to trade."
"Sure enough, ended up finding him in some gambling joint. I'm pretty sure he was onto his second ale by the time I caught up with him. I offered to buy him a third, then a fourth, and we got talking. Nice guy. Says he's travelled to over a hundred planets in the last six months."
"Is that relevant?" Yondu asks, not intending to let Peter bore him with mundane details of what's starting to sound more like a date than a heist.
"Not really," Peter shrugs, having the grace to look sheepish. "But he also had a tattoo on his neck, like three black lines crossed with two red ones. It's their version of the number twenty-two."
"Lucky number?"
"That's what I was thinking," Peter replies with a short nod. "So I figured I'd introduce him to a Terran game. Using these-"
He holds out two small, white cubes - each of their six sides showing a different number of tiny black dots. He shakes them in his hand before unleashing them onto the table, and Yondu checks to see a two and a one facing upwards.
"Got these from a Terran dealer a few years back. You can throw them and try to guess the total they'll land on," Peter explains, throwing them again to bring up a three and a six. "I said this to the guy, and after some negotiation he was happy to bet fifty-thousand units on him being the first to guess correctly five times, then I buttered him up a little more and he was willing to throw his ship into the mix so long as I did the same. Then we shook hands and I brought Kraglin over to roll the die so neither of us could cheat."
Peter leans back in his chair, picking up the die and placing them in the pocket of his jacket. "The deal was struck, and he was honour-bound to fulfil the terms of that deal whatever happened. All I had to do was win."
Yondu scoffs, not sure whether to be amused or outraged at the gall of the boy. He'd been an idiot to bet money he didn't have against a race that valued the honour of a deal above all else, regardless of how confident he might have been.
"That's still luck," he notes with a sneer, although he doesn't miss the way Peter's lips quirk upwards in amusement at his words. "Yer gonna lose more money than you earn if that's how ya intend to go about things."
"Like I said; it wasn't all luck," Peter points out, before flashing that wide smile that's already starting to turn the heads of whichever girl/boy/other he aims it at. Yondu's starting to think he preferred him when he was a baby-faced runt. "I added a detail when I explained the rules. A little reminder to my friend that he could guess any number up to thirty. Turns out he was too drunk to notice that twelve was the highest possible option."
The words take a moment to sink in, before Yondu lets out a hearty laugh and slams his hand down on the table. It doesn't take long for Peter to join in, albeit more quietly. "His lucky number came up a lot, I take it?"
"Yep," Peter says, trying to contain his own laughter. "Occasionally he'd stretch to twenty-one or twenty-three, but that didn't work out too well for him either."
The boy gives a small shrug before calming, and something that might be sincerity crosses his face.
"Just because he's honourable, doesn't mean I had to be."
Yondu shakes his head, impressed despite himself, and feels the temptation to order another drink for them both. It's late though, and he's likely already had enough. They can wait.
"Yer too smart for yer own good, boy. Anyone e'er told ya that?" he asks, though he's not sure he means it as a compliment. Being smart will likely save Peter's life at some point, but in the wrong situation it's just as likely to end it.
If the boy's smile is any indication however, he's content with blindly taking it as a compliment.
"You have," Peter says, grinning. "More than once."
Yondu hums under his breath, before zipping up the backpack and handing it back to Peter. They can negotiate their shares once they're back on the ship; for now, he's happy to let the boy deal with its weight as they walk to the shuttle.
"We should head before yer friend realises he's been ripped off," he explains. Peter obediently rises to his feet, resting the strap of his backpack across his shoulder before joining Yondu in heading towards the door. "Where's Kraglin?"
"Oh, I told him he could just take the shuttle back to the ship."
Peter's left tensing sharply when Yondu grabs him by the lapels and lowers his voice to a hiss. "Ya did what?!"
The boy struggles before fighting his way out of Yondu's grip and dangling the silver keys in front of his face. "Chill, old man. I won us a ride, remember?"
"Ya really think I'm lettin' ya keep yer own ship?" Yondu asks, incredulous, though he knows Peter well enough to know what the answer is.
Gods help him, but the boy's probably going to be able to persuade him to do just that.
"You'll change your mind when you see her," Peter promises, and Yondu studies him for a long moment before shrugging and leading the way towards the bay.
The route is one lined with flashing neon lights advertising bars just as seedy as the one from which they've emerged, while pickpockets and thugs guard the alleyways and scout their next victims among the drunken crowds. One man stumbles on a ledge in front of them before staggering into what must be his tenth bar, while another sits in the middle of the pathway, singing at the top of his lungs. As they head further out, however, the rabble is replaced with blissful quiet.
Yondu lets Peter take the lead as they reach the bay, where hundreds of ships ranging from one-man shuttles to massive cargo traders are parked side-by-side. Their own small shuttle is gone – Kraglin's probably minutes away from the Eclector by now – so he resorts to following Peter as he makes his way towards his prize with excitement quickening his steps.
To be fair, the ship they approach truly is a beauty. She's a small thing - large enough to house Peter maybe, but not many others - with faded blue paint surrounding a bright orange. Her shape reminds Yondu of a bird or winged insect and compared to the box-like shuttles surrounding her, she almost seems like a living being.
"What do you think?" Peter asks, already close enough to lay a gentle hand on her hull before turning to Yondu with a bright smile crinkling his eyes. Gods help him, the boy's in love. "Impressive, isn't she?"
"I think she needs a paint-job," Yondu shrugs, drawing closer himself so he can assess her properly. There doesn't seem to be much in the way of wear and tear, which means it was probably the drink that convinced the owner to relinquish her rather than a desire to get the ship off his hands. "Ya go flyin' around in this an' yer enemies'll spot ya from miles away. An' I certainly ain't lettin' ya fly her yet."
Peter's mouth gapes in protest, but he's smart enough not to voice any complaints. He's not the worst flier in the galaxy – if anything, he's proven himself to be a natural when Yondu takes him out on lessons – but that doesn't mean Yondu's itching to give him the satisfaction of calling the ship his own just yet. She might be worth a fair amount if they clean her up a little.
Any plans for that can wait for now though. He lets Peter insert the key into a panel at the ship's side and waits for the ramp to crawl open and allow them onboard. On the inside, the ship is sparsely furnished, with only the odd item of clothing strewn about suggesting the past owner's existence. The man must have taken her on a short-trip, unable to foresee that he wouldn't be using her to get home.
Yondu would feel sorry for him if he hadn't been stupid enough to accept a bet off a sly fifteen-year-old clad in Ravager leathers.
He finds Peter already settled in the main pilot's seat by the time he approaches the deck; his eyes intensely scanning the controls and hand ghosting over the accelerator; his desperation to take her out for a spin thrumming through the air. Yondu takes the co-pilot's seat, looking out at the flashing lights of the town ahead surrounded by the fierce blackness of the night. The stars are out in full force and the planet's three moons are shining brightly enough to guide their way, but though they both must be itching to head back, neither makes a move for several long moments.
"You never did tell me," Peter says, his confidence dampened somewhat to make way for the uncertainty he rarely shows these days. Or at least, the uncertainty he refuses to show the other Ravagers. He's always been slightly more transparent with Yondu, ever since he was a child. "Did I pass the test?"
Yondu had almost forgotten that was their purpose for being here. He's so used to his men returning with bloody fists or black eyes in an attempt to prove themselves that Peter's non-violent method seems novel. He'll have to take the boy aside before they report back and tell him to make up a few details - perhaps involving threatening his target at knifepoint - to avoid accusations of softness.
In the end, though, the kid returned with the money Yondu asked him to obtain and then some, and used smart tactics to do it. He can't say that for much of his crew, and though he internally scolds himself for it, he can't deny the pride that's starting to well up in his chest.
The kid will make a fine Ravager. Whether that's a good thing or not remains to be seen.
"Yeah, I guess ya passed," Yondu says with a shrug, deliberately ignoring the small smile that appears on Peter's face. "An' if yer so desperate then I suppose it won' hurt to let ya fly us back."
He doesn't miss the way Peter's eyes light up before he takes in the console in front of him, enamoured, and it takes more effort than it should to make his next words sound gruff seeing as the boy's smile seems to brighten the entire flight-deck.
"Just this once, mind. After tha' ya can wait 'til yer eighteen like the others. And if ya crash, I will personally follow yer ass all the way through hell, ya hear me boy?"
Peter nods, the threat doing nothing to sour his mood, before flicking on the controls and starting up the ship. She comes to life with a soft whirr before gently lifting off the ground under Peter's command, and Yondu leans back in his chair conflicted over whether to simply rest his tired eyes or hold on for dear life.
In the end, he needn't have worried. Peter takes to flying the new ship as easily as though she were an extension of himself; her movements smooth as honey as they breach the atmosphere and zoom through the darkness of space in near-silence. It's almost a shame when the Eclector comes into view and Peter's test-run of his new love has to come to an end, but though the boy doesn't know it, he's at least succeeded in changing Yondu's mind.
He decides Peter can keep her after all.
A/N - I may be taking some liberties with this chapter (judging by the Milano's wikia page) but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I stuck with it :P
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Any feedback is appreciated and I'll aim to have the rest up soon.