DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from Guardians of the Galaxy, either in its movie or comic incarnation. I own any OC I can invent, though. I am not making a £ out of this. It is just for shits and giggles.

Warnings: this chapter contains minor mentions of slavery, violence and life-altering injuries.

Now back to the investigation! This chapter contains one of my first attempts, if not the first, at writing a genderqueer/agender/xenosexual alien. Let me know what you think about them.
As a note, I am using the LGBTQ+ convention of using "they/them" as personal pronouns for people whose gender is undisclosed, neutral, or not really important. It is not a grammatical mistake, and it is not multiple characters.

In addition to that, I have managed to sneak in my head-canon about how Yondu has lost his Centaurian crest.

Enjoy!

They are led by the manager through an ensconced door and up a flight of stairs, into a private area of the club which is even more lavish and sumptuous than the lower floor.
The concierge opens another door, paneled with some dark wood and ushers them in, closing the door behind them.

"Welcome, my guests... " greets a well-groomed creature from a leather armchair.
Their scaly skin is a slightly iridescent lilac, and, in place of hair, their head is crowned by some kind of webbed spines, the thin, translucent skin delicately mottled with cream and ocher. Their suit is cream-coloured too, their cravat ocher, which makes their slanted laser-green eyes seem even brighter. Their angular face and their slender, elegant figure are very androgynous, and make it very hard to determine if We'al is old or young, male or female, or both, or something completely different. Even their voice gives almost no clue. They are beautiful, though.

Ronan is surprised by We'al appearance and surroundings. Knowing that their quarry is a middleman for an illicit activity and a voyeur, he was expecting some slimy, slightly disgusting person, not a refined gentleman, or rather gentle-person.
There are several works of art in the room, most likely stolen. They seem to have been chosen to subtly fit with the room and each other.
We'al must be a connoisseur.

"Thank you for receiving us, Mr We'al. It is a pleasure to finally meet you." Star-Lord returns the greeting.
"The pleasure is mine. Do take a seat, please. - We'al replies with a polite nod - I have to admit, your performance was... striking. So much trust, so much intimacy... It was a pleasure to watch, like a well-conducted symphony." they declare. Ronan frowns. Watching a symphony?

"But let's not dwell on this. You said you were here for business..." We'al continues, daintily crossing their legs and smiling sweetly.
"Yes, of course." Star-Lord replies, sitting down on the armchair opposite We'al. Ronan lowers himself down next to it, kneeling down instead of sitting to be ready to pounce when the time comes.

"I have been sent your way by a friend who has had occasions of working with you in the past. - Star-Lord explains - I require your assistance to solve a personal problem." he offers.
"Let's hear it. I cannot promise anything until I know what the matter is, but... when there is a will there is a way, as they say..." We'al exhorts him suavely.
"Money is not an issue." Star-Lord declares.
We'al frowns, of all things, and shakes his head. His spines bristle a bit in displeasure.
"Let's not ruin our conversation with talks of money yet. - he chides gently - Tell me, instead, what can I do for you?"
Star-Lord nods politely. "That is very handsome of you, sir. - he says, then switches off the holo-morphic resonator and jumps to his feet - You can start by telling me who is the bastard who is paying for my hide!" he exclaims, thrusting a knife at We'al. There is still a smudge of blue blood on it. He must have pocketed it in the main room downstairs, when everyone was distracted by the sight of them trying to fuck each other through their clothes.
Clever, clever Star-Lord, Ronan thinks, rising to his feet in turn.

We'al seems genuinely surprised and horrified by the situation, and recoils in their armchair. Something twitches and flicks. It's a tail. We'al has a long, sinewy, arrow-tipped tail. It's not stranger than the rest of them.
"Oh gods! - he exclaims - You are Peter! Yondu's hatchling! I... I'd never..." he protests, raising their hands in front of him.
"Your client might know me as Star-Lord. " the Terran insists.
A membrane slides sideways on We'al's eyes. Their head-spines perk up.
"You are the Star-Lord? The one who defeated...? - they ask, wide-eyed - Oh, gods! Then you must be..." he starts, turning towards Ronan.
"I am Ronan, former Supreme Accuser of the Kree Empire." he confirms.
"Oh, but this is amazing! - We'al exclaims, clapping their hands in excitement - I am so proud of you, Peter!" they add.
"Yeah, proud enough to sic some mercs after me!" Star-Lord insists.
"I did no such thing! - We'al repeats - I don't know what your father told you about me, but even if I am a thief, I do have some moral standards!" they declare proudly, rising to their feet too in spite of the knife.
"Contrary to your dear father Youndu, I would never get involved in an assassination attempt!" he adds firmly. Their head-spines quiver and their tail lashes out from side to side in irritation.
"Oh really? - Star-Lord retorts - Because some mercs did try to kidnap me and nearly killed my buddy here!" he yells stepping closer to We'al and poking them in the chest.
"And you know what? - he asks - When one of our friends beat seven different kinds of crap out of them, they told us that you had found them the job!" he concludes, poking them again.
We'al seems to deflate a bit.
"What company were they from?" they ask.
"The Companions of the Silver Hand." Ronan answers for him.

A stream of loud hisses and clicks pours from We'al's lips, while the thief stomps their foot on the floor and nearly upturns the coffee table with a violent lash of their tail.
Ronan is quite sure that their host is cursing up a storm.
"That woman! She deceived me! She played me for a fool!" We'al exclaims finally.
"What woman?" both Star-Lord and Ronan ask at the same time.

We'al flops back on the armchair with a theatrical gesture.
"I don't know her name. - they reveal - She contacted me though a friend, told me that she needed my connections for something that required discretion. It happens sometimes. I don't mind doing some favours here and there." he narrates, waving a hand in the air.
"If the price is right, you mean..." Star-Lord comments sharply.
"If I like the person who asks them." We'al corrects stiffly.

"And you liked her." Ronan says, trying to smooth out things.
Star-Lord is being very confrontational, but it doesn't always help when questioning someone. Sometimes a bit of empathy does the trick, instead.
"She was fascinating. - We'al confirms - She was noblewoman from Spartax, tall and powerful like their goddesses, skin like polished teak. I didn't see her face, she was wearing a traditional veil, but I saw her eyes. They were blue. And her voice, it was like gardenias. Perfect." they comment, almost purring. Ronan frowns at the last remark. What is that supposed to mean?

"And what did this dark goddess ask you to do?" the Kree continues, directing the flow of conversation.
Star-Lord lets him, nodding in thanks. He looks still upset, even if Ronan doesn't really understand why.
"The crux of the matter was that she had had a youthful indiscretion with an unsuitable alien partner. - We'al replies - She had become unhappy with the guardians she had appointed for their upbringing, and wanted to retrieve them from their custody. She told me that she couldn't get personally involved, with her marriage and reputation at stake, so she asked me to act as her middleman." they explain calmly.
"And you accepted." Ronan continues.
We'al nods and twitches their spines. "It seemed like the chivalrous thing to do." they acquiesce.
"So, what happened next?" he asks.
"She left me a package. - We'al replies - It contained a DNA tracer and all the info on the hatchling, at least, that's what she told me."
"Did you check what it contained?" Ronan asks.
"Of course not! - the thief exclaims, indignant - She asked for the utmost discretion, I couldn't pry like that!" they add with a huff.
Ronan rolls his eyes. "Behold the honourable thief..." he thinks.
"So you contacted the Companions of the Silver Hand." he states.
We'al acquiesces. "They have a reputation for being discrete and honest. And their Captain General owed me a favour. - they clarify - That's all I know."
Ronan nods and thanks him, but the thief seem to have worked themselves up into a frenzy again.

They ruffle their spines and make a chirping sound of anguish.
"I thought I was helping a distressed lady. I couldn't imagine I would be harming you, the hatchling of my beloved Yondu. - they declare, genuinely horrified - Had I known, nothing could have made me accept the deal, not even all the wealth of Spartax, rich in gold. You have to believe me!" they plead, chirping and trembling again.
Star-Lord sighs and shakes his head. "I do. - he replies - But seriously, if you and Yondu are still so hung up about each other, why did you break up in the first place?" he asks.

We'al's spines droop.
"We were sharing command of a Ravager ship, before he adopted you. We had reclaimed some historical artifacts from some ruins, and kept one for myself... It was an exquisite piece of art, and I intended to claim it as my lawful part of the loot, but he had promised it to a client. - they confess - It came to blows, nearly to a mutiny. And now he surely hates me, even though I... even though my feelings for him haven't changed." they add sheepishly.
Star-Lord chuckles and shakes his head.
"He came very close to begging me for your life and continued health. - Peter retorts - If he doesn't hate me after the series of stunts I pulled on him about the Orb, I doubt he'd ever be able to hate you." he adds.

"You were the one to rescue him when they chopped off his crest, weren't you? - Ronan chimes in - I've heard that it is worse than being blinded, for a Centaurian. It is likely that he owes you his ability to lead an independent, active life, and his continued sanity, such as it is." he adds with a hint of disdain. He doesn't like Star-Lord's father much.
We'al's laser-green eyes go wide in surprise.
"How do you know?! - he exclaims - Did he...?"
Ronan shakes his head. "He didn't tell me, no. - he replies - He rubbed his implants when he was speaking about the debt he owes to you. It was enough." he explains.
"How... How did that happen?" Star-Lord asks, looking vaguely nauseated.
"It was back at the time of the Badoon raids on Centauri. They took him into slavery and mutilated him so that he wouldn't escape. Yondu was fifteen, maybe, at the time. - We'al narrates gloomily - He was beautiful, and hopeless, and I... I couldn't leave him there to die. I seduced his master and killed him, and off we went, to Knowhere. I had him restored, and told him he was free. For me was enough to know that he'd be alright. He stayed... We had years of adventures together." We'al continues. His spines quiver, and his eyes fill with tears.
"And I ruined it all... for greed. - he sniffles - I was an idiot." he berates himself.

"Don't despair, my friend. Maybe it's not as bad as it seemed back then. Time and distance mend many wounds. - Peter tries to cheer him up, laying a hand on his thin shoulder - Maybe you should give him a call... Here is the number." he adds, passing a small datachip to the thief, who snatches it, and suddenly switches from tearful desolation to chirruping, beaming joy.
They hug Star-Lord, thanking him profusely and vowing to repay their debt, somehow, saying that Star-Lord would only have to ask and they'd do whatever it takes, if only Yondu would take him back...

Being in love looks like being stuck to the biggest emotional roller-coaster imaginable, Ronan muses to himself, but from what little he knows about it, it seems worth it.