Entry tags:

001 🎧 on a magic carpet ride

WHO: Peter Quill
WHERE: fountain; inn
WHEN: 6 June
OPEN TO: all
WARNINGS: spoilers for Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 2 but otherwise, none

FOUNTAIN

Peter's never had a fight one on one with a Celestial, considering he didn't even know they existed until a few days ago, but he doesn't think the sign of winning is waking up soaking wet. That sounds more like crushing defeat in his playbook (and probably death, come on), honestly, and he really, really hopes that the others figured out some way to blow Ego sky-high if he's going to go out like this.

It's been a long time since he's been swimming and he hadn't been expecting it so Peter makes the mistake of drawing in a big, nice lungful of fountain water before struggling up and over the edge of the damn thing. His vision is red and hazy, his head is screaming and he's not sure if he just threw up or coughed.

What an impression, right?

After laying on his back for a few long moments and not seeing any angels with guitars, his mom or anything else that would indicate that this is the hereafter, Peter decides to risk movement. He starts with wiggling his left foot, annoyed that water is everywhere, and when that works, he tries the right. Okay. Not paralyzed. He tries to push himself up to sit but he's so wiped out that he just lays there, looking up at a cloudless sky and wishing that he could just sleep this off and wake up in a bar on Nova Corps.

When a shadow crosses over his plane of vision, Peter manages to croak out a response.

"You mind not blocking my sun? I'm trying to dry out over here."

INN

When he finally gets up the energy to get off his ass and onto his feet, Peter drifts his way over to the Inn. It's easy enough to find; people are coming in and out of it in a steady stream and if there's anywhere to find information, it's going to be where the majority of people are. Information is good. Information will be helpful.

Information can't possibly be infuriating and better than knowing nothing at all, right? Wrong. After talking to a few people and realizing he's stuck in a place that has no system ID, no government and nobody in charge, Peter's a little more discouraged than he was earlier. He briefly revisits the idea of the afterlife before realizing that his version of the afterlife would have a much better soundtrack than people talking about badgers and making tea on a stove and he groans, putting his head down on the table in front of him. He clunks it a few times for good measure, thinking a concussion might be better than his current headache, and when he realizes this isn't doing him any good, he decides just to address everyone around him.

"So, what government did all of you guys piss off? Because, really, I've gone to prison more than once and I have basically, oh, an entire planet of gold Amazons after me right now but I have never been stuck somewhere that has no idea where where is. Come on. Aren't there any ships? (No, Peter, you already got told that, the nagging voice in his head reminds him. Funny. It sounds like Gamora.) Taxi? Magic carpet?"

He doesn't expect the answers to be forthcoming. He's pretty much resigned himself to that.

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It's far nicer monitoring the fountain in the warmer weather than the icy, though obviously the people coming out of the fountain aren't of the same opinion. When Peggy steps back to avoid getting her good heels wet from the man who's just crawled out, hands go to her hips in something that feels quite habitual, but that might be because the first thing out of his mouth is quite annoyingly rude.

"You look more like you're trying to fall asleep," she counters, cocking her head to one side to regard the man critically in his red scrubs. "You won't dry out like that," she says, with steady certainty. "Come along," she insists. "We'll take you to the inn, at least you'll have a chance there of getting dry."

Peter looks at her a little more closely now, letting his eyes focus so that he can see the woman standing above him is gorgeous, even if it's in more of a prim and proper way than the gunslinger type he's been going for lately, and she's just enough annoyed with him to pique his interest rather than steer him away. Well.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're like a hot version of Mary Poppins? Because you are. And, because you asked nicely, I'm definitely going to take you up on this offer to go to the Inn."

Peter levers himself up, only slightly unsteady, and gives her a grin when he's upright. "I'm Peter, by the way."

"I have no idea what a Mary Poppins is," Peggy replies, but it's with the casual weariness that she has given her familiarity with annoying things she doesn't understand from Howard. Barnes and Sam here, but those had been less on purpose.

"Peggy," she introduces herself in turn, stepping behind him just slightly to make sure he doesn't end up toppling himself to the ground. It's curious to meet another Peter so close to the last one, but maybe the world just ran out of clever names in the future. "Where are you from?" She wants to ask when, but that does strike most people as a strange question to start with.

“Earth,” Peter says quickly and then decides, since this Peggy looks human (in spite of not knowing who Mary Poppins is which is just crazy), that maybe he ought to be more specific. It’s been a while since he’s even had to be, to be honest, and it’s kind of nice.

“Missouri, specifically,” he clarifies. “England for you, right? Or Scotland?”

This morning, Peter woke up to two big boxes in the middle of his room with his name on them. In his first days here, he'd learned about the boxes and how sometimes what's inside is awesome and sometimes what's inside is just, like, salt. It's one of those details that seems weird and doesn't quite fit with some of his strongest theories about this place, so he'd shoved it to the back of his mind to think about later.

Until now, obviously.

Thanos has given him a bunch of lab equipment, and Peter really doesn't get it, but he never really got Thanos to begin with and he knows enough to not look a gift horse in its creepy purple Mouth of Sauron mouth.

One thing that's missing, though, is safety goggles. He thought maybe he could find some in the storeroom hidden under the Snuggies, but there wasn't even a pair of glasses. He thinks he can probably make a pair easily enough, though, and he's just bounded down the inn stairs on his way to raid the kitchen cupboards when he sees that guy from Titan and draws up short.

"Whoa, Footloose Guy," he says, pointing. "You're like really late."

"Do I sound Scottish to you?" Peggy instantly reacts, surprised at the vehemence of that reply. It's not that she's offended by it, but it's a bit much. She sounds English, properly English, and if you were to put her and Mr. Jarvis together, they might break the colonies.

That's how English she is.

"London, England," she says, whens he's not quite so huffy about defending herself. "I'm not sure where Missouri is precisely, but I could probably gesture to it on a map." Though, wait. "Sorry, you said Earth, first. Is the answer not Earth sometimes?"

Peter's never been referred to as "Footloose Guy" before but as far as nicknames go, it could be a lot worse. It's still not Star-Lord, which he is trying to get to go universe-wide, and clearly this kid hasn't been in the sectors of the galaxy where he's infamous.

"Late? I didn't realize there was a call time for creepy village from horror movie," Peter says, shrugging a bit. "Do I know you?"

"The answer is usually not Earth," Peter confirms. "I haven't been to Earth since I was a kid and there's not anyone with English or Scottish accents out in space." Maybe some approximation of it, here and there, but Earth terms don't really apply on other planets.

"I'm guessing for you, though, the answer is always Earth?" If it is, she's definitely from a different universe than he is; from what he understands, most of Earth knows about space travel if not every planet out there.

"Oh, sorry," Peter replies, stepping quickly over. "I'm Peter Parker. I was on Titan with Iron Man and the wizard. I was the one in the red and blue armor." His suit qualifies as armor, right? Calling it a costume would not only sound lame, but not really be accurate.

"I've been here like a month, but I have this theory that the big guy didn't really know how to control the stones and kinda messed with time. This lady I sorta know from back home only got here like last week."

"Not always," is the surprised answer that she has, given that while she hasn't met other aliens before here, she has been met with alien objects and she can't be obtuse enough to imagine that they exist without an actual world and people to come from.

Gesturing to the inside of the inn once she opens the door, she figures that at least this time, it's no alien that she's dealing with. "How did you get off Earth? I don't think we have that sort of technology." Though, perhaps they're not from the same reality, another thing that she's learned about.

Ah, so he was one of the new arrivals that would spout a great deal of gibberish that she wouldn't recognize or understand. Ship she knew, but after having been around so many others from more advanced worlds, she understood that the term "ship" didn't mean "boat." He rambled, possibly from nervous energy or perhaps he enjoyed hearing himself talk. Though, given how little information they had, it wasn't any wonder that he would express all of the frustration building inside him. How could she judge?

"It's the Observers that brought us here." Margaery could at least offer that much from her place by the fire. Nursing a cup of tea, she is still worn and tired from the difficult work of wrangling her animals and harvesting her garden. Whatever amusement she might usually have is weathered by loss and anger of her own. It was difficult to raise that pleasant mask to her face and smile through her dark thoughts.

"After nearly two years in this place, I still have not found any means to escape, though for some of us, there is nothing to return to."

Peter blinks for a few long moments. Other than, well, his name, he hasn't understand anything that has come out of this kid's mouth and it takes more time to try and make sense of any of it. Yeah. Nothing's coming to him. Not a bit.

"So the only thing I understand from any of that is your name and stones," Peter admits. "But none of the rest of that means a damn thing to me."

"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you the absolute truth," Peter says, flashing her a sly smile. He's used to having to talk around his past with women but he's never done it with a woman from Earth. This is entirely new.

"Got kidnapped as a kid by a ship full of pirates. Didn't need the technology to get off Earth if it wasn't Earth technology, right?"

That's a hell of a bleak assessment from someone who would be very nice looking under other circumstances. It's also not the kind of assessment Peter likes, so he goes over to where she's sitting by the fire and decides to poke at it a little more and see what happens.

"Two years of just, this?" he asks, vaguely waving a hand. "No wonder you look like you could sleep for the next two. How do you figure that you don't have anything to return to, though? There's always something worth going back for. Always."

"I don't like being lied to," she counters, but it seems like he's going to give up the goods, so to speak, so she doesn't have to be disappointed for very long. The explanation is a bit odd, but not for the ship or the kidnapping.

It's the pirates part.

"Are you telling me there's actually pirates in space?" she asks dubiously, because while she can wrap her head around aliens, that seems a bit...well, like a boy's childhood fantasies come to life. Or hers, if she's honest.

"Thanos," Peter prompts, as if the name alone can conjure recognition when clearly nothing else he'd said has. "I crash-landed on Titan in like this donut ship with Iron Man and a wizard guy, and you were there with this big shirtless dude and a bug lady and and a robot. At least, I think she was a robot? Sorry if she isn't. She was blue?"

"Of course there's pirates in space," Peter says, incredulous that out of all the things he'd just said, that's the one she's hung up on. "People fly ships, people steal things, people become pirates. It's the way of the universe."

He paused for a moment. "I guess bounty hunters and thieves sound a little more correct to you?"

"Nebula," Peter breathes. The other two sound like Drax and Mantis and Peter's tempted to ask more questions, to spoil his own future. Still - he stops. He doesn't want to screw around with anything that leads with Thanos.

"Yeah, Thanos, he's a piece of work. We kicked his ass once already, though. Not surprised he's coming for a second helping."

She would argue that she is nice looking under any circumstance, but the subject of the Observers and leaving always seemed to leave a darkness in her heart. All of the disappearances and games had exhausted her and left her spent. She would be in a better humor if she hadn't heard the news that Lord Stark and Lady Sansa had been taken from the village.

"How flattering. A woman enjoys hearing how tired she looks." She smiles at least, amused by his bluntness. She was far from the woman she was in Westeros. "Because I was killed shortly before I was brought here. If I go home, I go home to death."

Oh man. Footloose Guy really does not sound like he knows what happened, because Peter is pretty sure if he did, he wouldn't be sounding so cocky about it. There's no degree of Kevin Bacon that can make up for the way things went terribly, horribly wrong.

Because of this guy.

But should he tell him? Peter debates a moment, then clears his throat. "So like, let me just make sure I'm clear on what you're saying: You don't remember being on Titan with me and Mr. Stark and the wizard?"

Killed.

Well.

That's a mood killer, even if the lady is smiling, and Peter tries to tone down his natural tendency to be flippant instead of serious and he wonders if most people here come here after they've died. He hasn't ever thought much about the afterlife but if this is it...it's kind of a let down.

"Damn. I'm sorry," he says, sincere in this. "You're way too young for that."

"Absolutely not," Peter says emphatically. He doesn't know who any of those people are other than the kid, who is right here introducing himself, so Peter doesn't think that counts exactly.

"I'm thinking a hell of a lot of things happened that haven't happened yet for me. Does that make sense?"

"Far more correct and less fantastical," she agrees quickly, as she gestures to the little framework of the inn once they arrive, leading him to where she knows they keep several pieces of clothing. Eyeing him and trying to be slightly subtle about it, Peggy stifles the frisson of appreciation as she bows her head, focused on the task at hand.

"I think this could fit," she says, as innocently as possible, holding up a snuggie. "If you're so inclined for some dry clothes?"

It's a ridiculous piece of fabric but Peter isn't above it. He's cold, he's wet and this thing is made of fleece and looks really comfortable. Besides, it's red, and he's always liked red (his new prison duds aside).

"Yeah, I'll take it. Do you promise not to ogle me too much in my new wizard's robe?"

Somehow the idea of it hurt less than before. It always came rearing back sharply when the ground quaked, but in these quieter moments, she could feel as if she had come to terms with her past life. It was why she could simply tell Peter without embarrassment. It didn't need to be secret anymore, not if it could provide some answers about those brought here.

Though apparently she and Robb were the only ones who had died before coming here.

"Age has little to do with death in my world. It's only a matter of being intelligent enough to navigate through life. I was outwitted by someone who preferred more ruthless methods than I was willing to play."

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001 🎧 on a magic carpet ride

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