Chapter 2: a Quiet Drink (part one, Aperitif)
When you live with people, you get to know them. When you live with people, particularly in a home that is not quite big enough for them, you really get to know them. Particularly, you get to know in exactly which way they are dicks.
Quill was moderately untidy. Gamora's tidying drove him up the wall. But that was nothing to Drax, who kept everything so painfully tidy Gamora was afraid to move or touch his possessions lest she upset things. And no-one, no one wanted to touch Rocket's things. He kept his guns so obsessively cleaned that you couldn't eat without suddenly finding a gun being striped on the table next to you, but everything else was a mess so awful and so tangled that no-one dared touch the mix of half eaten food, part built bombs, random shiny objects and gods knows what else that was rapidly accumulating wired to his wall. There was a pattern to it, if you looked: bomb parts radiating out in lines from the Hadron enforcer, computer parts from the computer core, gun parts from his guns, and a big circular void between the three of them. There was a logic to it, but no-one really wanted to know what it meant (Quill sometimes swore the bits moved on their own when no one was looking).
Gamora talked in her sleep, Drax talked to his knives, Rocket talked too loudly, Quill too much. Drax physically couldn't fit in the particle shower without someone to slam the door from the outside for him, something he always apologised for, because it embarrassed him. Rocket couldn't reach the controls of the shower and had to get someone to lean in though the part open door eyes-closed and switch it on for him, something he never once thanked people for, because it embarrassed him. Drax showered twice daily. Rocket only if he got engine oil or something else sticky on his fur, which given he didn't sweat wasn't as bad as it sounded.
Quill was a lazy cook, strictly junk food and MRE fuelled, with the occasional protein shake to mix it up. Gamora could identify a dozen different wild foods and prepare them safely in any environment due to her survival training, but everything she cooked tasted exactly the same. Drax was a surprisingly excellent cook (Both Rocket and Gamora suggested independently to Quill it was because he must have cooked for his dead family, and whilst Quill agreed it was possible, no-one dared ask) but was soon handicapped by the lack of non MRE ingredients. Rocket would eat anything and didn't seem to even notice how it was cooked, although he still complained, always, and had a very annoying habit of taking any food that could survive immersion in water and taking it and running it under the faucet and running his paws over it to check for imperfections before he would eat it. Gamora washed her own dishes, but refused to wash others on principle, although she talked about washing dishes a lot and why other people should stop living in their own filth, Quill. Drax usually ended up doing the washing, although they we rapidly running out of plates and were likely to remain in that state until anyone summoned the courage to confront Rocket's wall o' junk and reclaim the crockery he was curating there.
Drax, for all his talents had no skills whatsoever that were of any use when he was stuck on a spaceship. So he fretted. Constantly and about anything. There were after all only so many times you could sharpen your knives and bench-press weights, fuel cells, heavy objects, and shipmates. Gamora knew a dozen ways to sabotage a ship of this class but few ways to fix or maintain one, and as much as it pained him to say it, Quill had to admit that within seconds of stepping aboard for the first time Rocket had probably known more about the Milano than he ever would. There was no job on-ship that Rocket couldn't do, and no job that he would do for free: within two days, Quill owed him, by his own hazy estimate, about twice the Milano's unit value, a kidney, and a strict no-laughing policy for an hour a day when Rocket sung to Groot, convinced it was helping him to grow. If the secondary water filter broke as well, then Quill would owe an hour's singing too.
Quill got to bed late and got up late, Drax rose and went to bed painfully early, Gamora went to bed late and got up early. Rocket didn't seem to have any circadian rhythm that anyone could work out, knapping and working, sleeping all day or working a good 36 hours on some gadget without food or sleep if he felt he needed to, and Groot didn't sleep as such, more rested. Drax snored. Gamora snored worse ("It's like a buzz saw!" Quill told Rocket. "Speak for yourself." Muttered Rocket) Rocket made a high birdlike twittering if you woke him suddenly, everyone had nightmares, some worse than others, and no-one on ship functioned without at least two mugs of caffeine in the morning: Quill couldn't focus, Drax wouldn't talk, Rocket was surly, Gamora murderous. And to top it off, after about a day without the pleasant distraction of Ronan trying to murder them all, Quill's continual music, no matter how good it was, got very, very annoying.
"Hey happy campers, we've made our outer marker, and we'll be hitting the atmosphere and entering Fairport's' airspace within the hour." Said Quill. Everyone bar Groot glared. They were behind schedule and no-one wanted to say it, but they would be lucky if their contact was still there. Nova had been jumpy about unexpected ship movements following the attack on Xandar, and random patrols, pickets and checkpoints had stretched a 48 hour flight into an 89 hour one. Apparently the news that they were heroes of the hour hadn't spread beyond Xandar yet, and the Milano's Ravengers colors, Gamora's know association with Thanos, Drax's arguing with patrols and Rocket hailing nova patrols and telling that they were the one who failed to stop Ronan's ship entering the atmosphere and to quit blocking the frickin' way, had got them pulled over by every single nova vessel, all of whom had called Nova Prime to confirm that yes really, these guys were pardoned. Some had called Nova more than once, just to check it wasn't a trick. "So grab your stuff and be ready for some shore leave." Quill added ignoring the bad vibe, and Gamora and Drax went to get their blades.
"About frickin' time." Muttered Rocket, glaring intently at Groot as he leaned in with a water spray. "Any longer in this can and I'd be chewing my own tail off out of boredom. Quit it." He said to mini-Groot, as he tried to hug Rocket's snout for the third time in forty seconds. "Hey I'm trying to work here. You want your breakfast or not? I made your favourite: two-percent solution ammonium nitrate with trace elements. Ya gonna play around at meal times and I'll go back to that nasty urea-based fertilizer you hated so much. Hey, hey, eat your phosphorus and manganese! 'caus if you don't your leaves will go all yellow, idiot." Rocket sighed. "Remind me to by some bone-meal while we're out Quill. Oh, and we could do with a new osmotic membrane for the water-reclamation system."
"Why, is the old one broken?"
"No, dummy, I just had this crazy idea that we needed a back-up because it's how the ship makes all our fresh water and removes CO2 from the air we breathe, and because the slot in the engine bay for the back-up unit is filled with empty beer cans and pornography."
"Is it expensive? Can we afford it?" asked Quill quickly.
"It's expensive. Very. As to affording it…" Rocket made a sort of see-saw gesture with his paws. "That kinda implies you planed on paying for it. Open market, 20k, but I can get you one for three."
"Uh-huh? And would this then result in us getting chased out of town by the cops?"
"Don't worry, they couldn't chase us far. Not without an osmotic membrane."
"I'll pass Rocket. How's it coming along with Groot? We could do with the muscle sooner rather than later." Said Quill. While Rocket was distracted talking to Quill, Mini-Groot seized the opportunity and started burrowing his face into the fur of Rocket's cheek and hugging furiously.
"Yeah. He's a terrifying walking death machine right now." Said Rocket in a completely flat tone as mini-Groot made happy little sighing noises into his face "Oh help. I'm a goner. The humanity."
"That bad?" asked Quill. Rocket patted mini-Groot affectionately and then pulled away. He went over to the faucet to re-fill the spray. "He seems to be coming along okay, growing quickly. But don't expect to see him backing you up in a fight anytime soon."
Quill nodded. "Yeah, but he's regenerating really well. It's amazing to see him grow back from a twig like that." Quill paused, uncertain. He was straying into getting-disintegrated-by-a-deranged-furball territory here but he pressed on anyway. "You, yanno, you seemed pretty messed up when he… when he…"
"Died?" asked Rocket, calmly. Quill nodded and continued quickly, getting it out there whilst Rocket was holding a weapon no deadlier than a water-spray. "Yeah, I mean you were a wreck for a while there, and then you planted him in that little pot and suddenly he's growing again. It just seemed so strange that you'd get so upset if you knew he could grow back."
Rocket muttered something Quill didn't hear. "Huh?" Quill inquired.
"I didn't know he could grow back."
"What?" Asked Quill, convinced he hadn't heard that right.
"I said I didn't know he would grow back! Ya happy now?" yelled Rocket. "Sheash, you want me to spell it out for you? I had no idea. None. This is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me and to be honest, it's kinda freaking me out."
"What, what? Then, then how did you know to plant him? To try and grow him back?"
"I didn't. I was desperate! I'd just lost the only person I'd ever really been close too! I was going crazy and I had nothing to lose. I just couldn't bear to be without him so I tired the sort of stupid, desperate oh please wake up mommy, I know your fickin' head's fallen off but please get up I'm scared mommy crap that you see idiot kids doing when they have no idea how death works and can't cope! I did it because I'm weak, ya happy? I had no idea it could work, and no expectation of this panning out, and you know what, he started to grow back again just in the nick of time: I was pretty fucking close to planting myself in the dirt as well; from the balcony of our hotel suite." He put the water spray down, but still didn't look at Quill. "and now, I've got a pot-bound toddler on my paws, and I've never been good at gardening, and I'm scared, and I have no idea what I'm doing, and I don't even know if this is my Groot, or if this is just how they reproduce and this is a new Groot and the one I knew is dead, or if he' remembers me or not, or if the not-talking and sitting in the pot are like a baby stage or if this is just it now and he'll never walk or speak and he's the equivalent of paralyzed for his species and he'll just be a frickin' vegetable for the rest of his life." Rocket wiped a tear away, and then appeared to realize what he'd just said.
"More of a vegetable. Whatever, you know that I meant. Anyway just a friendly head's up, if he doesn't remember me, I'm gonna kill you all in your sleep. I like you guys, you guys have been good to me, but he did this to save you guys, and he's worth ten of you so, Yanno, nothing personal."
"Uh-huh?" said Quill, arms folded and looking at Rocket. Rocket stared back for a moment and then grunted and stalked out "Okay! He wouldn't want that and you know it. He did this to save us all and I've gotta respect his sacrifice, stupid frickin' guilt. But if he's a retard now I swear I'm gonna shoot you in the dick Quill! In the Diiiiick!" yelled Rocket in an echoing voice as he stalked off to get his guns. Drax and Gamora passed him in the corridor, and looked to Quill questioningly.
"It's nothing. I think Rocket's suffering from first time parenting nerves or something."
Drax nodded. "For Groot. I was much the same when my daughter was in her first year."
"What? A misanthropic furry little Prima-Dona? I hope not." Said Quill. "Anyway, Touchdown time in T-minus one hour. Get to it team."
"If it's touchdown in one hour you don't need to say time before the t-minus bit. The t stands for time" said Gamora. "Touchdown-minus one hour the first time you say it, and then t-minus from that point onwards once you've established what you're referring to."
"Oh. Really? Wow. Now I feel stupid. Oh wait, no I don't, you must have had me mistaken for someone who caaaaaaaares." Said Quill, theatrically storming off after Rocket to get his blasters. Gamora facepalmed. "Idiots."
Drax looked confused. "In your hand? Does your palm need to be that close for you to see them?"
Mini-Groot waved. This was the best morning ever.
Quill stood in the common area of the ship, as his crew tooled up. He'd fought with them during the incident with Ronan, travelled with then to Knowhere and back again, escaped from the galaxy's highest security prison with them, and brawled with them in the streets of Xanda's capitol, but this would be the first time he lead them out of the ship on a mission as their captain. He felt strangely proud as he surveyed his crew. Right up until he actually got a good look at them.
"Oh come on guys! We're going to a bar to look for someone and talk to them! Do you really need that many weapons? What is that? And that, I don't even know what that is, but seriously, you look like you're expecting World War three!"
"Your world has only had two wars?" asked Drax "You Terrans must be a very peaceable people."
"Yeah, that actually kind of admirable." Said Gamora, looking both shocked and strangely guilty as she looked at her swords.
"Especially as we've established that it's a planet of outlaws." said Drax. "Clearly people were too busy trying to maintain internal law and order to attack other polities." Sometimes, just sometimes, Quill wasn't sure if Drax was entirely literal, or just the most sarcastic creature that breathed.
"Yeah, we're a real swell folk. You should see the holy land." Said Quill, reclaiming that title. "It sickens me to even be with you." He said, strapping on his blasters.
"You have an entire land that holy? People there must be incredibly tolerant to others." Said Drax "and you must be a spectacularly mentally disturbed individual by the standards of such a pacifistic race."
"I blame TV."
"Pussies." Said Rocket. "I've been in more wars than that." Said Rocket, wrapping his tail in Velcro. The others stopped and stared.
"Rocket, what are you doing?" asked Quill, in the slightly afraid tones of someone really doesn't want to know the answer but has to check anyway.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" muttered Rocket through a full mouth as he struggled to bite off the end of the roll.
"You appear to be using the self-adhesive splint-tape to bandage the base of your tail." Said Drax, helpfully. "Are you injured?
"Nope. But with luck others might end up that way: 'side from prison screws, bouncers at bars are the laziest security personnel in the galaxy, and even good security don't always check the tail in a pat-down." Said Rocket cheerfully opening up a kit-roll filled with knives, knuckle-dusters and miniature firearms and gazing over it longingly. "You'll be amazed what you can openly carry through security if you're willing to Velcro it to your ass. Ah." Rocket picked up a six-inch rod of matt anodized metal that drank the light evilly and weighted it appraisingly. "That'll do."
"What manner of weapon is that?" asked Drax, and Gamora and Quill leaned in close for a good look. Rocket grinned, and flicked his wrist towards Quill.
snick.
Quill flinched back. The rod had telescoped out to four foot and nearly taken his eye out in the process. He flinched back again when the end snapped into a two pronged fork, and spat crackling white lightening arcing between the two points. Tzzzzzzzzzt!
"Shit me!" he exclaimed. Rocket's grin got wider.
"Yeah, it has that effect on people. Shock-prod. 15,000 volts. Smart-chip in the handle, bio-scanner in the tip. Tailors the amps to the current target, ninety-nine point six per cent non-lethal, or your money back. Saurus-Farmers use them to move stubborn bulls along and stay out of trampling range. I have it for the same reasons; don't have to get up close and personal with some big S.O.B. with a longer reach and more muscles than me who wants to introduce my teeth to the curb. Plus I can get tall people in the face. That's always nice." He said, snapping it shut with another practiced flick and tucking it neatly away into the folds of the Velcro.
"And you Velcro that to your tail?" asked, Quill, incredulously. After the Kyln, he'd seen enough shock-prods to last him a lifetime.
"Well we can't all pull off a purse, loverboy."
"It's a satchel!" yelled Quill. No one cared.
" Most unusual. Where did you acquire such a weapon?" asked Drax. Rocket shrugged. "Had it as long as I can remember." He said.
"Well, if Fairport's anything like I remember it from when the Ravagers were here, chances are you'll not have much trouble even with your main gun. Not much law: I remember this being a rough town." Said Quill.
"That should not present undue difficulty" said Drax. Gamora Nodded.
"Rough? Aww shoot." Said Rocket, lifting his main gun off the wall and cocking it dramatically. "And I went and got all dressed up fancy."
"What a hole." Exclaimed Rocket, for the fifth time in an hour.
"Yes, the road maintenance here is terrible. That pot hole could endanger groundcar users."
Rocket looked sidewise at Drax, but didn't comment. He looked around the city with his gun crooked in his arm like a solder at a check-point: lazy, but ready. If he felt nervous without Groot to back him up, Drax couldn't detect it. If anything, Rocket was more worried about leaving Groot alone in the ship than he was for himself searching the city's neon underbelly.
("Why have we got to leave the holo-cine on for him?" complained Quill, standing on the exit ramp and checking his watch for the ninth time. "Because" said Rocket. "I don't want him to feel lonely. And I hate for him to miss 'Galactically Challenged.' Does this dirt feel too damp to you?")
Drax looked around. "This city does not worry you?" he asked. A scantily clad female Xandarian appeared to enter into an altercation with a drunkard, until a very elaborately dressed male emerged from the shadows on an alleyway to intervene on her behalf. Drax felt happy to know that even in this deprived area people would look out for each other: Rocket watched the woman's eyes and saw just how much more afraid of her pimp she was than of the drunk.
"Here? Nah. I like it fine. When I first started making my way in the world, I lived someplace like this." Rocket said, noting a derelict in a doorway. "Latter I fell on hard times."Rocket paused, and sniffed the air. "Quill and Gamora." He said, turning his head, and moving sideways along the edge of the scent-column. "A block over, heading this way."
"Alone?" asked Drax. Rocket nodded. "But he's excited and trying to hide it and she's getting herself cold, focused. They must have found the place." Rocket said.
On cue, Quill and Gamora appeared from an alleyway. Rocket hissed and muttered "Idiot" under his breath. Drax could see why: Gamora hung back and hugged the walls, but Quill let himself get silhouetted clearly in the mouth of the alleyway, and then stepped out without even the most cursory look around.
"Find it?" Rocket asked.
"Yeah! I found the bar, three blocks over, edge of a slaughterhouse district I don't recall being there. Don't know if our contact is there, though, let's head over and check it out."
"Don't recall being there? This is a city only you have been to before, to find a contact you recommended, in a bar you said you were sure you could find, and you didn't notice a slaughterhouse district I've been smelling for the past fifteen blocks?" asked Rocket. He turned to Drax. "Can you believe this guy?"
"Yes." Said, Drax, confused. "That all seems consistent with previously given information."
Rocket gave Drax an open-mouthed stare that many seemed to give him, and then rapidly changed the subject. Drax wondered if the open-mouthed stare was some sort of affectionate gesture. It was generally given to him after he pointed out something obvious that others seemed not to grasp. He suspected such behavior would endear him to others.
"Can't even smell a frickin' stockyard." Muttered Rocket, under his breath. "Nothing else to smell over here." Rocket eyed an alleyway darkly. "With some exceptions." Drax looked at him quizzically as Rocket fell into step behind Quill and Gamora. Rocket caught his gaze. "Never you mind. Too late anyhow." He said.
Halfway to the bar a derelict from a doorway confronted them. "Please, I'm sick, just a few units…" Quill looked away, but very slyly (Drax barely noticed, and he was watching) dropped the man a few coins. Gamora frowned and walked past. To Drax's surprise, Rocket stopped and sniffed the man, something Drax was trying hard not to do, before declaring. "Sick? More than you know Buddy" and reaching into his pockets. The man begun to thank Rocket profusely, "Can you afford to see a doctor?" asked Rocket.
"Cash, I need cash, I'm sick."
"I'll take that as a no. And if I give you cash, you just spend in on Zydrate: the amount you're sweating out's practically saleable. Ah, here ya go, bub." Said Rocket, dropping something into the man's lap. He started to thank Rocket, thinking it was money, and then his eyes widened and his jaw slackened, turning his face into a perfect bowling ball of surprise and he picked up the evil-little push-dagger Rocket had given him.
"Missing evidence in the Johansson case. Space station called hard times over on the Kree border. You were trying to steal fuel from his transport and he came at you with that knife. There was a struggle and you stabbed him twice in the chest. You then panicked and tried to bandage him with a tablecloth, but he bled out. That last bit was never in the police report, so if you add that they'll take you in." Rocket looked the man over. "Prisons in this sector ain't too bad." He said, not unkindly. "Warm, less violence than on the streets, if you keep your head down, all the de-lousing gel you can eat, and doctors. You've live longer than you will out here." He sniffed the man again "A lot longer." He added, turning away. Drax loitered a moment, and then followed. He wasn't sure what else to do.
Quill pulled up short in front of the bar, oblivious to the incident behind him. He frowned for a second as he considered it. A two-story building with big place-glass windows, a bar downstairs, a closed-off restaurant/night club above. Rocket Pulled out his glass, booted it up, and scanned the faces visible thought the window. "No J. Star'l'in. could be he's in one of the booths out of sight, could be he's not here. A few minor bounties, but no hard-cases. Nothing we can't handle. If the guy's not here we could even nab a few of them."
"That's not why we're here." Said Quill, frowning. Rocket shrugged. "You're the boss, boss. But we've gotta eat somehow. Way I figure it is if you're that captain, you've got to take personal responsibility for the welfare of your crew." He said, squinting at Quill through his Glass. "otherwise they'll start to fend for themselves." The glass blooped. "well waddaya know. Looks like Yondu opened that orb."
"How much more than before?" asked Quill, scanning the crown at the bar's door.
"Only around 20 g's. Either he's broke or he musta liked whatever he found in there." Quill snorted and smiled at that. "Is that extra twenty-thousand enough that I have to worry about you? Start sleeping with my eyes open?" Quill asked.
"Now I'm offended, Quill. Hurt I am: you always need to worry about me, money or no." said Rocket, putting away the glass. "But an extra twenty? Prrrfff." Rocket waved his paws dismissively. "Compared to what you owe me on ship repairs that's nothing. Your organs are worth more than his bounty."
"Only slightly." said Gamora. "The junk food and the amount he drinks probably knock of around five per cent." Drax nodded his agreement.
"You know, I don't even want to know how all three of you know that. My loyal crew: thank god we don't have room on-ship for a bath-tub and an ice-maker." He said, not taking his eyes of the bar, he stroked his chin thoughtfully and rested a hand on the butt of his favourite blaster. "Me and Gamora will go in, get a seat. Check the place out. Drax, Rocket, circle the place and make sure no-one's loitering around the back, then come in. Drax, join us at our table, Rocket, you attract way too much attention, so sit at the bar and keep an eye out for trouble while we look for the guy.
"Wait, what? Just sit around? I could have done that back at the ship!"
"Keep an eye on who comes and goes, okay? And everyone, just… just act natural. We're just some regular spacers here to meet a guy in a bar, nothing more. Act exactly like you would in any other bar."
"Are you sure this is wise?" added Drax. "The place does not seem secure."
"It's a fishbowl." Agreed Rocket. " Look at the windows, it's a frickin' shooting gallery." He muttered Gamora also looked uneasy. Quill sighed.
"It's just a bar. We're going in for a quiet drink. What's the worst that could happen?" he asked.
Awesome Mix Tape Part 2 track: Sweet- Ballroom blitz.
