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Yeah, yeah.
[ He takes up his post, sitting in the chair besides Charlie, flopped over on the edge of his bed. He rests his hand against his arm again. ]
Right here if you need me.
[ He takes up his post, sitting in the chair besides Charlie, flopped over on the edge of his bed. He rests his hand against his arm again. ]
Right here if you need me.
[ Guesssss who's pulling a face. ]
Really? You're gonna side with them?
[ Them being literally everyone ever. ]
Really? You're gonna side with them?
[ Them being literally everyone ever. ]
[ It has been a very long few weeks. Charlie has been healing, recovering from the beating delivered by a trio of Kree maniacs- and while it sure has't taken as long as it would have with Earth's brand of medicine, a few weeks without the use of his hands has felt like a lifetime.
He did a lot of thinking, mostly. Making mental notes and adjustments for projects he had going around the ship, thinking of ways to keep shit like that from happening again.
And even after that, he had to ease into things. Slowly working out the kinks in dormant muscles with little exercises and minimal casting. (Though that didn't stop he and Peter from spending quite a while making sure the other knew how grateful they were to be alive and in one piece.) It was a long, slow process, which left Charlie feeling more like dead weight than anything, but things are returning to normalcy by degrees.
Which is when Peter approaches him one day with a job- a job at a very large estate that will involve dancing and socializing and wearing a suit. (But also gathering information on the owner of said estate for a business rival, but that was hardly important.) While Charlie put on an act of being annoyed- saying it was fine, but Peter owed him a real, actual date one day for the love of God- he was actually a little thrilled. Growing up, he actually enjoyed all of the parties and galas and honest-to-God balls his parents would force him to attend. He was good at dancing and being charming, and for a few hours at least he didn't feel like such a failure.
And hey, he cleans up nice.
He wanders into the common area of the Milano just as he's finishing buttoning his jacket. He's got no idea where the hell they dug this suit up, but it fits perfectly. (He probably has Gamora to thank for that.) ]
So. Ready to go?
He did a lot of thinking, mostly. Making mental notes and adjustments for projects he had going around the ship, thinking of ways to keep shit like that from happening again.
And even after that, he had to ease into things. Slowly working out the kinks in dormant muscles with little exercises and minimal casting. (Though that didn't stop he and Peter from spending quite a while making sure the other knew how grateful they were to be alive and in one piece.) It was a long, slow process, which left Charlie feeling more like dead weight than anything, but things are returning to normalcy by degrees.
Which is when Peter approaches him one day with a job- a job at a very large estate that will involve dancing and socializing and wearing a suit. (But also gathering information on the owner of said estate for a business rival, but that was hardly important.) While Charlie put on an act of being annoyed- saying it was fine, but Peter owed him a real, actual date one day for the love of God- he was actually a little thrilled. Growing up, he actually enjoyed all of the parties and galas and honest-to-God balls his parents would force him to attend. He was good at dancing and being charming, and for a few hours at least he didn't feel like such a failure.
And hey, he cleans up nice.
He wanders into the common area of the Milano just as he's finishing buttoning his jacket. He's got no idea where the hell they dug this suit up, but it fits perfectly. (He probably has Gamora to thank for that.) ]
So. Ready to go?
[ His only reply is scooting the chair in closer and giving Charlie a pointed look, as if to say, What are you gonna do about it? Or possibly, Tough tits, Methuselah. ]
[ He gives Peter a pointed look back, but it quickly fizzles out. Maybe he doesn't have the energy.
Or maybe the fact that Peter wants to stay means more to him than he'd like to let on. ]
Okay, but don't come crying to me if you aggravate something.
Or maybe the fact that Peter wants to stay means more to him than he'd like to let on. ]
Okay, but don't come crying to me if you aggravate something.
[ He mimics Charlie's voice with surprising accuracy, ] It's touching, how much you care for me.
[ A beat, then, ] Do you want the truth, or do you want me to lie, since you're convalescing?
[ After another brief hesitation-- ]
Maxwell. Charlie Maxwell.
[ -- and he goes for Timothy Dalton as James Bond. ]
But I'll answer to Charwin.
Maxwell. Charlie Maxwell.
[ -- and he goes for Timothy Dalton as James Bond. ]
But I'll answer to Charwin.
[ For someone who's made a living out of being a liar and a social chameleon at times, one would think that Peter would be at home at a high-class party. Elegant men and women with no shortage of things to steal, plenty of drinks, dancing -- it would seem the exact sort of thing Peter would love.
As it is, he's not a huge fan. Sure, he's crashed an occasional shindig or two, scoped out mansions or acted as a bodyguard, but there's a lot of posturing that he doesn't like. A lot of politics. And Peter's used to being one of only a handful of liars at any given time. At these sorts of things? It's him and over half the guests.
But, hey, at least he can take Charlie along. If nothing else, he'll have company at this stupid thing. It's not the date they had planned that afternoon in the hospital, and that sucks, but it's close. A warm-up date, maybe?
Peter's already in the common area, dressed and ready to go -- and feeling more than a little exposed without his helmet attachment or his guns. He's trying to figure out if there's any way to sneak in a weapon without being overly obvious when Charlie enters. He turns and-- ]
Yeah, just let me--
[ --suddenly realizes, Oh fuck Charlie's fucking hot. How the hell did he forget that?
And oh, hey, one more thing: how do words work again? ]
As it is, he's not a huge fan. Sure, he's crashed an occasional shindig or two, scoped out mansions or acted as a bodyguard, but there's a lot of posturing that he doesn't like. A lot of politics. And Peter's used to being one of only a handful of liars at any given time. At these sorts of things? It's him and over half the guests.
But, hey, at least he can take Charlie along. If nothing else, he'll have company at this stupid thing. It's not the date they had planned that afternoon in the hospital, and that sucks, but it's close. A warm-up date, maybe?
Peter's already in the common area, dressed and ready to go -- and feeling more than a little exposed without his helmet attachment or his guns. He's trying to figure out if there's any way to sneak in a weapon without being overly obvious when Charlie enters. He turns and-- ]
Yeah, just let me--
[ --suddenly realizes, Oh fuck Charlie's fucking hot. How the hell did he forget that?
And oh, hey, one more thing: how do words work again? ]
[ He doesn't drop the accent. ]
I assume you don't approve, then.
I assume you don't approve, then.
What?
[ He blinks, then the words sink in, then--
Peter grabs a nearby pillow and throws it at Charlie. ]
Shut up.
[ He blinks, then the words sink in, then--
Peter grabs a nearby pillow and throws it at Charlie. ]
Shut up.
[ The pillow comes to a sudden halt, suspended in the air about a foot away from hitting Charlie in the face.
He makes a little "tsk tsk" noise ] Now, now, Peter. It takes a lot of work to look this good. A pillow fight might mess up my hair.
He makes a little "tsk tsk" noise ] Now, now, Peter. It takes a lot of work to look this good. A pillow fight might mess up my hair.
Edited 2015-01-25 22:00 (UTC)
[ Ugh. Wizards. Can't even give Peter the satisfaction of a well-chucked pillow. ]
Don't make me go over there and noogie you, Maxwell.
Don't make me go over there and noogie you, Maxwell.
[ Peter smirks and goes back to his normal speaking voice. ]
What is your full name, anyway? Do you have a girly middle name? Is it Mariah?
What is your full name, anyway? Do you have a girly middle name? Is it Mariah?
[ Normally this is when Peter would play it off, say something like, "You're not too bad yourself."
Buuuut he already basically threw his cards on the table, so, ]
Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were hot as hell in a suit?
Buuuut he already basically threw his cards on the table, so, ]
Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were hot as hell in a suit?
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