[ His eyes narrow slightly as she offers that bit of information; he vaguely remembers Ego telling him about hiring the Ravagers to transport Peter from Missouri to Ego's planet, only they had arrived too late.
The sudden noise has him similarly springing to his feet, his hand instinctively going to his sword.
It takes him a blink to register it as music.
It takes the same amount of time to register it as achingly familiar.
He falters briefly, expression going slack. His voice is little more than a croak when he finally speaks. ]
[ Gamora exhales a frustrated breath through her nose, her hackles finally settling as Rocket turns down the music (with some token muttering and griping she can hear a whole deck below). She looks back over at Peter, and it's only then that the reality – the true weight of another stark loss – becomes clearer for Gamora. The sheer volume of memories and keepsakes that her Peter has kept all these years feels as precious as gold when she realizes how much has been stolen from this man.
She rests her fingertips on the table (away from her sword), nodding once. ]
Clones of Meredith's music. [ And a rigged up Zune, but she imagines Peter would care a lot more about his mother's own favorites. ]
[ For a split second, he feels a strange twist behind his sternum. It's childish, he knows, but he immediately recognizes the bitter sensation as envy.
The universe was much kinder to this Peter Quill, it seems. He forces himself to quash the incipient resentment before it can fully take root.
He swallows around the dryness of his throat, and his gaze darts to the overhead, in the general direction of the flight deck, but he's focusing on something far, far away. ]
My mother made me tapes of the songs she loved growing up. I had the tape player on me the day Thanos' forces arrived.
[ Unconsciously, his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword – old anger, old fear. Once he notices what he's doing, he shakes himself and immediately makes an effort to loosen his grip, to let his hand drop to his side. ]
no subject
The sudden noise has him similarly springing to his feet, his hand instinctively going to his sword.
It takes him a blink to register it as music.
It takes the same amount of time to register it as achingly familiar.
He falters briefly, expression going slack. His voice is little more than a croak when he finally speaks. ]
... You have music from Earth.
no subject
She rests her fingertips on the table (away from her sword), nodding once. ]
Clones of Meredith's music. [ And a rigged up Zune, but she imagines Peter would care a lot more about his mother's own favorites. ]
no subject
The universe was much kinder to this Peter Quill, it seems. He forces himself to quash the incipient resentment before it can fully take root.
He swallows around the dryness of his throat, and his gaze darts to the overhead, in the general direction of the flight deck, but he's focusing on something far, far away. ]
My mother made me tapes of the songs she loved growing up. I had the tape player on me the day Thanos' forces arrived.
[ Unconsciously, his hand tightens around the hilt of his sword – old anger, old fear. Once he notices what he's doing, he shakes himself and immediately makes an effort to loosen his grip, to let his hand drop to his side. ]
A Chitauri foot soldier destroyed it.