[ Peter knew a misdirect when he saw one – misdirection was like a fine art, as far as Peter was concerned — and while he was momentarily distracted by Rocket's gesticulating, his eyes were drawn to the vaguest movement of Rocket's left hand. Peter stepped forward, dropped his voice, and while he didn't direct any further attention to the explosive Rocket was trying to prep, he did hiss out, ] Stop that.
[ He glanced up at Gideon, who was watching Rocket with undisguised concern — which was weird, considering Gideon was the one who only moments ago was going toe-to-toe with Dieguez — but at least a brief look was enough to tell Peter the guy wasn't going to jump back into the fray. He turned instead to look between Dieguez and Rocket, and felt a pang of deja vu. It wasn't too long ago that he was playing mediator for Dieguez and Galena, after all. ]
Everyone just— calm down, okay? We can talk this through.
I want to save the Rocket backstory for later. Now doesn't seem opportune for him to bring it up.
[Rocket didn't appear too pleased--neither by that order nor by this placation. Nonetheless, that left hand of his was brought away from his weapon and, instead, raised in conjunction with his right in an Alfred E. Neuman "What Me Worry?"-kind of motion. "I got nothin' to say; I'm just a kid from Brooklyn, so I don't talk too good. Not unless the big guy's got more words to mangle at me--"]
¡Chingate! [Yes, there was a little spittle with the delivery of that last cuss. A little spittle and a sudden feint forward, which, oddly enough, did not inspire Rocket to perform a quick-draw.
Even with strength that belied her size, Galenia was finding herself pulled forward with that last motion of his; grumpy and fumbling to regain a proper foothold, the woman began scolding him in a hushed Spanish. Not in the Mexican dialect he'd learned, but its gist wasn't completely lost on him. "Vainoso. Deja esa vaina."
And, just like that, the gravity of it all came down on him.
This was too much. All of this. Dieguez ceased his struggling, gently removing the woman's arms from his shoulders.] I need to clear my head.
[ The dismissive nature of Rocket's words earned him a glare from Peter, and quiet, warning, "Rocket..."
But as Dieguez cursed at him, Peter saw the way Rocket's hand twitched, and despite the situation, Peter positioned himself more squarely between the two of them. Unnecessary, apparently, since Rocket didn't actually pull his gun, for which Peter thanked every star in the sky.
Whatever exchange Galenia and Dieguez shared, the words were lost on Peter; his command of Spanish was elementary at best (and limited to the swear words at worst), but when he glanced back and saw Dieguez finally approaching some semblance of calm, Peter huffed out a breath. He glanced around at the curious assembly around them, put on his best, disarming smile, and said aloud, ]
[ The lame attempt at a joke was met with a few lackluster chuckles, but that was enough for Peter. He turned to Galenia, nodding over at her to speak with Rocket, and took her spot at Dieguez's side.
[This was sufficient enough to cause a few, groaning bystanders to withdraw. Others turned away, but, still curious, glanced over so as to maintain the scene in their peripheral vision. Galenia briefly glanced up at Peter, incredulous; in due time, she made her way over to Rocket.
Dieguez placed his hands in his pockets. His eyes were trained on Peter, blinking as he simultaneously analyzed this situation and attempted to process...whatever the hell overwhelmed him about all of this.
Peter was a friend. There was no need to bring him into...whatever was going on in his head.
[ He hummed, an acknowledging little noise, as he similarly put his hands in his pockets. ]
Alright. Fine.
[ Peter took a step or two past Dieguez, pausing to turn back toward him. People often accused Peter of treating everything as a joke, but at this very moment, there was something hard in his gaze, a sort of rigidity in his posture – an authoritative side of him that rarely saw the light of day.
In spite of it all, his voice stayed light. ] I'll keep you company, then. Let's go.
[In the ten-plus weeks he'd consorted with the man, Dieguez most definitely had never seen this part of Peter. It most assuredly caught him off-guard and, reflexively, made him roll his shoulders forward. Even after the training, there was still a part of him that despised authority and taking orders from most people. If Peter was not the one issuing this order, Dieguez would have ignored the command with a sneer and went his own way; as it was, well, he was compelled to listen.] Alright.
[Dieguez walked a little faster until he stopped right by the tent's entrance, in order to allow Peter time to catch-up and to scope out the area. It was evening in "the middle of nowhere". The wedding occured close to the tents, beachside. Teran's private shore was certainly nice to look at in the daytime, but, at night, it was something else.
The night sky was nigh indistinguishable from the inky, loud ocean, which near perfectly reflected the stars burning in the heavens like thousands upon thousands of angered eyes. The shoreline was pale, almost having the appearance of a ghost's veil underneath the full moon. There was something both repulsive and welcoming in the sinister play of shadow and light that lay just beyond this tent, almost as if taking one more step would bring them into another world.]
[ He let Dieguez take the lead, thankful that the other man didn't use this as an excuse to start another argument. Galenia caught Peter's eye, and despite having held a knife to his throat only minutes before, cast him a look that seemed to say, Be careful.
Peter offered a tight-lipped smile and a shrug of his shoulder, as if to say, Aren't I always?
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Gideon and Rocket.
After that, Peter took a bit of time in following Dieguez to the tent's mouth, giving the Destroyer some time to gather his thoughts, and he paused beside him. He took in a deep breath, pulling in a lungful of the cool night air, tasting the salt on the back of his tongue. Peter nodded to one side, spotting a secluded area outside of the tent beneath the cover of a couple of trees, before leading the two of them toward it.
For a few moments, the crashing of the waves and the muffled murmur of conversation from the party behind them filled in the tense beats of silence between them. Peter cast another look around, ensuring they weren't followed, before asking quietly, ] You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?
[Dieguez walked slowly to Quill's chosen destination, thinking on many things. Where could he possibly begin? Calmly, he began to remove the very large, grey tuxedo jacket that had been given to him for this mission. Never had he owned something so nice, but he didn't seem to regret removing such a heavy outer-garment.
With ease, the very nice shirt-sleeve over his right arm was rolled a little near his shoulder. Even in this dark, the vivid red hues of his tattoos were not quieted.] We talked about my tattoos. I said some things. They'd said some things. I was not pleased with what they said.
[ Admittedly, Peter had been curious about Dieguez's tattoos ever since he first saw them, but he decided it was better not to ask. Those stories tended to get personal quick, and while Peter had no qualms in learning about his teammates, some of them – Dieguez certainly included – seemed to have a short fuse and were liable to shut down at the wrong comment.
... Or to throw fists, as tonight's events showed.
In any case, Peter's gaze flicked down to Dieguez's bared arm, glancing over the red markings licking up his skin. ]
I--[Dieguez had broken eye-contact, lost in the world contained on his right arm. How long ago it had felt, when such a thing was inscribed.
The young man who'd had this done to him. What had happened to that young idiot, who endured the procedure and the three, painful weeks after the process? What became of the fool, who did all this to impress the woman who became his wife? Was that man still in these tattoos, or was it only his ghost haunting these images?
Dieguez spoke slowly, as he rolled that sleeve back over the jagged red marks.] Many of my tattoos are for my family, I'd said. One is for my wife, one for my father, and one for my daughter's birth. I told them that I'd only cried once, when my beautiful daughter was born. They'd asked why I did not cry when my wife and daughter perished. I told them they did not understand grief. Rocket misunderstood what I'd meant, and he began to tell me about his mother.
[With his arm covered once again, Dieguez looked up to gauge a reaction.] I still don't think he knows.
[ Part of him understood why Rocket and Gideon would ask a question like that, but Peter also knew that grief was a funny thing, made people react in ways that were surprising. Dieguez reacted by compartmentalizing and seeking revenge, slaughtering his way up to the top. Others reacted by slamming down a door and running and running and running, until they could pretend their problems were impossibly far behind them.
Peter drew his lips into a thin, solemn line, gaze drifting away from Dieguez's tattoos to the shoreline, where the ocean churned and crashed against the sands. ]
So they asked a shitty question, and you tried to cave in Gideon's face? [ Despite his words, his voice was level, surprisingly neutral. ] What did you think that would prove, exactly?
[Peter had a point, and Dieguez knew it. That didn't stop his brow from furrowing or his features from stiffening up and setting. Violence had become something too natural to him, much as one breathes. It had seemed evident to him why he did such a thing, yet, now, he faced difficulty in explaining this reaction.
El Durante blinked once, and then,] Do you know what it is, to take your family on a trip? You work hard to save up for it all year, you pack and you plan, and you think of what you can do, as a family, to have fun and create the nicest memories.
And do you know what it is, to drive back from all of that in a bullet-ridden car? To force yourself to drive on, even after your little girl in the back seat has stopped crying and your wife has stopped moving? Even after the night has fallen, your radio only picks up static, and your engine has died, you still move because you know you must.
Do you know how any of that feels? To build your life around one weekend, and to spend so long building something you believe is unbreakable, only to have all of it undone in a day?
Do you know what it is, to feel like nothing, to become something, and, then, become nothing again? [As Dieguez spoke, his eyes did not water or look away. There was no sadness in his tone. Grief was weak, and he would not be weak.
He could never allow himself to be weak again.] That was what I wished to prove. They refused to listen, so I tried to show them in another way. [This wasn't a nice tactic. He knew it, but Dieguez saw this as a way of confronting the issue perhaps, it really was no different than slamming a door and running, but nobody with two brain cells would even attempt to let him hear that.]
The story surprised the hell out of him. Peter had heard, of course, that Dieguez had lost his wife and daughter, knew that the loss had been the catalyst for his violent spree, but he never asked for the particulars of it. Maybe he should have, but— too late now.
He fell silent as Dieguez spoke, watching him as if seeing him for the first time, and when Dieguez finished saying his piece, Peter stayed silent for a moment. Then a second moment. Then a third. At a complete loss for words.
Then, softly, ]
I'm sorry. About your family.
[ A rare bit of sincerity from Peter, who made his life on lying through his teeth.
He took another second to gather his thoughts, and when he spoke again, he spoke slowly, as if picking his words with care. ]
You're right, though. I don't know how any of that feels. [ Peter had experienced loss of his own, sure, but he would never pretend that his experience was the same as Dieguez's, nor would he presume that Dieguez would understand how Peter felt. ] Gideon and Rocket don't know how that feels, either. What you went through isn't the kinda shit that's gonna be all that relatable, you know?
But breaking a guy's nose isn't gonna make him understand whatever it is you feel – it's just gonna piss people off. And we're all supposed to be on the same side, here. We're a team. You guys don't have to hold hands and make friendship bracelets, but we've gotta trust each other.
[It was right when Peter offered his condolences that Dieguez broke eye-contact and turned away. How were apologies for things like this meant to be taken again? He could no longer recall.
The spiel Quill delivered afterwards certainly did nothing to help. All of it he knew to be true. Too damned true. But hearing it didn't make such a thing pleasant to hear. With a shake of his head and a few steps forward,] I don't believe any of them trust me, so why should I trust them?
[ ... mostly true. Peter at least trusted that Dieguez was looking to kill Ronan, and that subterfuge wasn't the guy's style. He trusted that Dieguez had no interest in currying the favor of any of the new assholes they met today, and that Peter didn't have to worry about Dieguez being swayed away from their mission, such as it was, by promises of fortune or favor.
But Peter never trusted completely. Bad habit of his, borne from his days with York and York's mercenary band, but it had served him well till now. ]
Maybe they don't trust you 'cause so far, you've been trying really hard to knock everyone's teeth out.
[Dieguez said nothing for some time. Instead, his eyes were turned skywards. Almost mechanically, those large hands of his reopened that jacket and, one arm at a time, the suit went back on. Even though it was a half-hearted trust that was presented before him, this had been more than he'd been given in too long a time.
Very abruptly,] Given my actions and my unpredictability, I wouldn't have trusted me either. If you hadn't followed me, I honestly don't know what I would have done.
[These next two words come out staggering, undignified and inelegant; these words are a little care-worn and simple, but, perhaps, they still meant something. For what would any world be, where these next two words meant nothing between two people that trusted each other, even to a rather limited degree?] Thank you.
[ The sincerity in his voice took him aback; probably for the best that Dieguez wasn't looking at him in that moment, because for a little while there, all Peter could manage was to blink at him owlishly, unsure of how to respond.
He could say the normal thing, offer a glib, "Any time," and let the matter drop – because genuine discourse gave Peter hives and was so far out of his realm of expertise as to be in another universe entirely – but Peter got the feeling Dieguez's thanks was hard-earned and not freely offered. It'd be a dick move to brush it off, he figured.
So after a moment, he stepped up beside Dieguez, hands still in his pockets, and cast him a careful, sidelong glance. ]
[Dieguez returned that glance with one of his own. Before the taller man could give so much more than an affirmative grunt, the stillness of this world outside of the tents was broken by an animalish beckoning. He turned behind, re-setting his sights on the wedding they'd left some minutes ago.
Well. It appeared that a little, barking dog was leading the wedding guests in a mass-exodus. Where were they headed? It appeared that they were moving toward the east side of the mansion. Why were they headed there? Dieguez knew not, yet, with each bay from the little animal, he felt more and more compelled to rejoin the other guests; without a second thought, the ex-con bent forward, lifted up a pant leg, and drew a concealed knife.
Hushed, moving cautiously in the direction of the mansion,] Remain on guard, Companion.
[ Peter turned when Dieguez did, startled by the sudden influx of noise. A sigh escaped his lips and the first thought to rise to the surface was, What the hell did we do now?
(It likely said a whole damn lot about Peter's relationship with this ragtag group that his first assumption was that one of his teammates were at fault. Whoops.)
His pistols sat in shoulder holsters tucked beneath his jacket, but he didn't reach for them just yet. Looking unarmed and vulnerable was the best way to catch anyone off-guard, in Peter's experience. When Dieguez moved, Peter followed after him, taking the other man's caution as a cue to move carefully himself, keeping a wary eye out and remaining alert. ]
Where the hell did that dog come from?
[ Because that was the important question to ask, here. ]
[TBF, Peter just narrowly prevented one of his team-members from metaphorically blowing their covers. Just sayin'.The canine licked its jowls, yipping as it approached a somewhat tall man in a very flamboyant outfit.
Ah. Right. Teran. The father of the bride. El Recaudador.] It looks like the dog is his. [The frown on Dieguez's face deepened, as he witnessed Teran's manners. This dog was incredibly affectionate, licking the man's fingertips and nuzzling its forehead against his master's palm. In return for its gestures, the dog did not even receive a glance.] What do you make of a man, who cannot return affection for someone that loves him terribly?
[ As a rule, Peter loved canines. Which was why he said, ]
Anyone who's a dick to their dogs deserves a punch to the mouth.
[ But Teran hadn't performed a punchable offense just yet, aside from not showering his pet with scritches, and only earned a slight narrowing of Peter's eyes. Looking around, back at the tent, Peter frowned. ]
The sociopath is speaking and making grandiose gestures. [Because in Arturo's book, only sociopaths treated such loving dogs so callously. Anyway, Teran was lifting his arms, in the grand manner of a Roman emperor, and directing everyone's attention to the side of his mansion. It appeared that a movie was being projected on this wall for all to see. Dieguez squinted, in disbelief at the film being shown.] This does not look like an appropriate film to show during a wedding.
[Instead of a slide-show of the couple, the images blown up and over the wall featured brightly colored rocks and people being eviscerated by larger, people-shaped blobs. It might have been the paint-job on the mansion, but the people appeared to have a very unusual coloration.
Some feet away from the mansion, a little past the shore and deeper in the ocean, a very large rectangle was rising. As the water sloshed, more and more of the box was revealed to be a large glass tank.
Contained within the cage, there appeared to be a live, sickly-looking whale. With a point of his knife, directed squarely in the middle of Teran's forehead,] He should not be allowed to make such terrible speeches at his own daughter's wedding. [Let alone, you know, anywhere.]
[ Peter watched Teran's presentation, growing more and more confused as the man spoke. He couldn't tell if this was just some weird, poorly planned and even more poorly timed screening of some amateur sci-fi film or what, but whatever the case, Peter nodded his agreement with Dieguez's assessment of the movie.
And he would have voiced his agreement, as well, except his gaze caught on the tank rising from the ocean's surface. His face went slack with surprise, and for a few seconds, he could only stare.
Then, when he finally found his voice, ]
What. The fuck.
[ If Dieguez's fight with Rocket and Gideon had forced this wedding reception off the rails, this presentation was most definitely driving it off a cliff. ]
I'm pretty sure a bad speech is the least of our worries, right now.
[With all of the visual stimuli running simultaneously, it had become too easy to lose track of the little dog. Not a moment after Teran pointed to the whale and proceeded to pontificate in the grandest manner, his dog returned to the scene with a wagging tail and something in his mouth. Eagerly, his master removed the object from his pet's mouth.
A ball?
Dieguez's eyes narrowed, curious.
The events in the next minute happened far too quickly in succession. The little doggy barked at the crowd, compelling them to step away. With a flourish, Teran tore the sphere's top off and aimed it in the direction of the whale.
The creature was consumed in a bright, purple flash, lasting only a few seconds. Only bits of glass and debris confirmed its existence.
Teran restored the orb's lid and began pointing to the crowd. Terrifyingly, they began to raise their hands and call out increasingly higher numbers.] He is auctioning that thing off to those murderers and terrorists! [Dieguez was uncertain why, but every instinct in him told him to run toward this group. Run and protect Peter. Run and find Galenia, Rocket, and Gideon. Run, before this sordid happening found a way to become even more incomprehensibly terrifying.]
[ The color drained from Peter's face after the demonstration, and an incredulous part of him still thought this might be a trick, thought it could be some sort of special effect. A magic trick, maybe.
But, no, Teran's audience seemed to believe him well enough, which was scary in itself, and Peter pulled himself together long enough to turn to Dieguez. ]
We find the others. We figure out what to do from there. [ Which might involve swiping the thing out from Teran's nose, but that was a risk they had to take. Peter might be a selfish person, but he wasn't selfish enough that he could ignore the disaster unfolding before his eyes.
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[ He glanced up at Gideon, who was watching Rocket with undisguised concern — which was weird, considering Gideon was the one who only moments ago was going toe-to-toe with Dieguez — but at least a brief look was enough to tell Peter the guy wasn't going to jump back into the fray. He turned instead to look between Dieguez and Rocket, and felt a pang of deja vu. It wasn't too long ago that he was playing mediator for Dieguez and Galena, after all. ]
Everyone just— calm down, okay? We can talk this through.
I want to save the Rocket backstory for later. Now doesn't seem opportune for him to bring it up.
¡Chingate! [Yes, there was a little spittle with the delivery of that last cuss. A little spittle and a sudden feint forward, which, oddly enough, did not inspire Rocket to perform a quick-draw.
Even with strength that belied her size, Galenia was finding herself pulled forward with that last motion of his; grumpy and fumbling to regain a proper foothold, the woman began scolding him in a hushed Spanish. Not in the Mexican dialect he'd learned, but its gist wasn't completely lost on him. "Vainoso. Deja esa vaina."
And, just like that, the gravity of it all came down on him.
This was too much. All of this. Dieguez ceased his struggling, gently removing the woman's arms from his shoulders.] I need to clear my head.
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But as Dieguez cursed at him, Peter saw the way Rocket's hand twitched, and despite the situation, Peter positioned himself more squarely between the two of them. Unnecessary, apparently, since Rocket didn't actually pull his gun, for which Peter thanked every star in the sky.
Whatever exchange Galenia and Dieguez shared, the words were lost on Peter; his command of Spanish was elementary at best (and limited to the swear words at worst), but when he glanced back and saw Dieguez finally approaching some semblance of calm, Peter huffed out a breath. He glanced around at the curious assembly around them, put on his best, disarming smile, and said aloud, ]
Alright, disaster over. Everyone drink responsibly tonight, okay?
[ The lame attempt at a joke was met with a few lackluster chuckles, but that was enough for Peter. He turned to Galenia, nodding over at her to speak with Rocket, and took her spot at Dieguez's side.
Quietly, ] C'mon. Let's take a walk.
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Dieguez placed his hands in his pockets. His eyes were trained on Peter, blinking as he simultaneously analyzed this situation and attempted to process...whatever the hell overwhelmed him about all of this.
Peter was a friend. There was no need to bring him into...whatever was going on in his head.
Sternly,] I walk alone.
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Alright. Fine.
[ Peter took a step or two past Dieguez, pausing to turn back toward him. People often accused Peter of treating everything as a joke, but at this very moment, there was something hard in his gaze, a sort of rigidity in his posture – an authoritative side of him that rarely saw the light of day.
In spite of it all, his voice stayed light. ] I'll keep you company, then. Let's go.
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[Dieguez walked a little faster until he stopped right by the tent's entrance, in order to allow Peter time to catch-up and to scope out the area. It was evening in "the middle of nowhere". The wedding occured close to the tents, beachside. Teran's private shore was certainly nice to look at in the daytime, but, at night, it was something else.
The night sky was nigh indistinguishable from the inky, loud ocean, which near perfectly reflected the stars burning in the heavens like thousands upon thousands of angered eyes. The shoreline was pale, almost having the appearance of a ghost's veil underneath the full moon. There was something both repulsive and welcoming in the sinister play of shadow and light that lay just beyond this tent, almost as if taking one more step would bring them into another world.]
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Peter offered a tight-lipped smile and a shrug of his shoulder, as if to say, Aren't I always?
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Gideon and Rocket.
After that, Peter took a bit of time in following Dieguez to the tent's mouth, giving the Destroyer some time to gather his thoughts, and he paused beside him. He took in a deep breath, pulling in a lungful of the cool night air, tasting the salt on the back of his tongue. Peter nodded to one side, spotting a secluded area outside of the tent beneath the cover of a couple of trees, before leading the two of them toward it.
For a few moments, the crashing of the waves and the muffled murmur of conversation from the party behind them filled in the tense beats of silence between them. Peter cast another look around, ensuring they weren't followed, before asking quietly, ] You wanna tell me what the hell that was about?
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With ease, the very nice shirt-sleeve over his right arm was rolled a little near his shoulder. Even in this dark, the vivid red hues of his tattoos were not quieted.] We talked about my tattoos. I said some things. They'd said some things. I was not pleased with what they said.
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... Or to throw fists, as tonight's events showed.
In any case, Peter's gaze flicked down to Dieguez's bared arm, glancing over the red markings licking up his skin. ]
What, exactly, did you guys say?
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The young man who'd had this done to him. What had happened to that young idiot, who endured the procedure and the three, painful weeks after the process? What became of the fool, who did all this to impress the woman who became his wife? Was that man still in these tattoos, or was it only his ghost haunting these images?
Dieguez spoke slowly, as he rolled that sleeve back over the jagged red marks.] Many of my tattoos are for my family, I'd said. One is for my wife, one for my father, and one for my daughter's birth. I told them that I'd only cried once, when my beautiful daughter was born. They'd asked why I did not cry when my wife and daughter perished. I told them they did not understand grief. Rocket misunderstood what I'd meant, and he began to tell me about his mother.
[With his arm covered once again, Dieguez looked up to gauge a reaction.] I still don't think he knows.
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Peter drew his lips into a thin, solemn line, gaze drifting away from Dieguez's tattoos to the shoreline, where the ocean churned and crashed against the sands. ]
So they asked a shitty question, and you tried to cave in Gideon's face? [ Despite his words, his voice was level, surprisingly neutral. ] What did you think that would prove, exactly?
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El Durante blinked once, and then,] Do you know what it is, to take your family on a trip? You work hard to save up for it all year, you pack and you plan, and you think of what you can do, as a family, to have fun and create the nicest memories.
And do you know what it is, to drive back from all of that in a bullet-ridden car? To force yourself to drive on, even after your little girl in the back seat has stopped crying and your wife has stopped moving? Even after the night has fallen, your radio only picks up static, and your engine has died, you still move because you know you must.
Do you know how any of that feels? To build your life around one weekend, and to spend so long building something you believe is unbreakable, only to have all of it undone in a day?
Do you know what it is, to feel like nothing, to become something, and, then, become nothing again? [As Dieguez spoke, his eyes did not water or look away. There was no sadness in his tone. Grief was weak, and he would not be weak.
He could never allow himself to be weak again.] That was what I wished to prove. They refused to listen, so I tried to show them in another way. [This wasn't a nice tactic. He knew it, but Dieguez saw this as a way of confronting the issue
perhaps, it really was no different than slamming a door and running, but nobody with two brain cells would even attempt to let him hear that.]no subject
The story surprised the hell out of him. Peter had heard, of course, that Dieguez had lost his wife and daughter, knew that the loss had been the catalyst for his violent spree, but he never asked for the particulars of it. Maybe he should have, but— too late now.
He fell silent as Dieguez spoke, watching him as if seeing him for the first time, and when Dieguez finished saying his piece, Peter stayed silent for a moment. Then a second moment. Then a third. At a complete loss for words.
Then, softly, ]
I'm sorry. About your family.
[ A rare bit of sincerity from Peter, who made his life on lying through his teeth.
He took another second to gather his thoughts, and when he spoke again, he spoke slowly, as if picking his words with care. ]
You're right, though. I don't know how any of that feels. [ Peter had experienced loss of his own, sure, but he would never pretend that his experience was the same as Dieguez's, nor would he presume that Dieguez would understand how Peter felt. ] Gideon and Rocket don't know how that feels, either. What you went through isn't the kinda shit that's gonna be all that relatable, you know?
But breaking a guy's nose isn't gonna make him understand whatever it is you feel – it's just gonna piss people off. And we're all supposed to be on the same side, here. We're a team. You guys don't have to hold hands and make friendship bracelets, but we've gotta trust each other.
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The spiel Quill delivered afterwards certainly did nothing to help. All of it he knew to be true. Too damned true. But hearing it didn't make such a thing pleasant to hear. With a shake of his head and a few steps forward,] I don't believe any of them trust me, so why should I trust them?
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[ ... mostly true. Peter at least trusted that Dieguez was looking to kill Ronan, and that subterfuge wasn't the guy's style. He trusted that Dieguez had no interest in currying the favor of any of the new assholes they met today, and that Peter didn't have to worry about Dieguez being swayed away from their mission, such as it was, by promises of fortune or favor.
But Peter never trusted completely. Bad habit of his, borne from his days with York and York's mercenary band, but it had served him well till now. ]
Maybe they don't trust you 'cause so far, you've been trying really hard to knock everyone's teeth out.
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Very abruptly,] Given my actions and my unpredictability, I wouldn't have trusted me either. If you hadn't followed me, I honestly don't know what I would have done.
[These next two words come out staggering, undignified and inelegant; these words are a little care-worn and simple, but, perhaps, they still meant something. For what would any world be, where these next two words meant nothing between two people that trusted each other, even to a rather limited degree?] Thank you.
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He could say the normal thing, offer a glib, "Any time," and let the matter drop – because genuine discourse gave Peter hives and was so far out of his realm of expertise as to be in another universe entirely – but Peter got the feeling Dieguez's thanks was hard-earned and not freely offered. It'd be a dick move to brush it off, he figured.
So after a moment, he stepped up beside Dieguez, hands still in his pockets, and cast him a careful, sidelong glance. ]
I've got your back as long as you've got mine.
[ "You're welcome." ]
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Well. It appeared that a little, barking dog was leading the wedding guests in a mass-exodus. Where were they headed? It appeared that they were moving toward the east side of the mansion. Why were they headed there? Dieguez knew not, yet, with each bay from the little animal, he felt more and more compelled to rejoin the other guests; without a second thought, the ex-con bent forward, lifted up a pant leg, and drew a concealed knife.
Hushed, moving cautiously in the direction of the mansion,] Remain on guard, Companion.
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(It likely said a whole damn lot about Peter's relationship with this ragtag group that his first assumption was that one of his teammates were at fault. Whoops.)
His pistols sat in shoulder holsters tucked beneath his jacket, but he didn't reach for them just yet. Looking unarmed and vulnerable was the best way to catch anyone off-guard, in Peter's experience. When Dieguez moved, Peter followed after him, taking the other man's caution as a cue to move carefully himself, keeping a wary eye out and remaining alert. ]
Where the hell did that dog come from?
[ Because that was the important question to ask, here. ]
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TBF, Peter just narrowly prevented one of his team-members from metaphorically blowing their covers. Just sayin'.The canine licked its jowls, yipping as it approached a somewhat tall man in a very flamboyant outfit.Ah. Right. Teran. The father of the bride. El Recaudador.] It looks like the dog is his. [The frown on Dieguez's face deepened, as he witnessed Teran's manners. This dog was incredibly affectionate, licking the man's fingertips and nuzzling its forehead against his master's palm. In return for its gestures, the dog did not even receive a glance.] What do you make of a man, who cannot return affection for someone that loves him terribly?
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Anyone who's a dick to their dogs deserves a punch to the mouth.
[ But Teran hadn't performed a punchable offense just yet, aside from not showering his pet with scritches, and only earned a slight narrowing of Peter's eyes. Looking around, back at the tent, Peter frowned. ]
You see what's going on?
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[Instead of a slide-show of the couple, the images blown up and over the wall featured brightly colored rocks and people being eviscerated by larger, people-shaped blobs. It might have been the paint-job on the mansion, but the people appeared to have a very unusual coloration.
Some feet away from the mansion, a little past the shore and deeper in the ocean, a very large rectangle was rising. As the water sloshed, more and more of the box was revealed to be a large glass tank.
Contained within the cage, there appeared to be a live, sickly-looking whale. With a point of his knife, directed squarely in the middle of Teran's forehead,] He should not be allowed to make such terrible speeches at his own daughter's wedding. [Let alone, you know, anywhere.]
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And he would have voiced his agreement, as well, except his gaze caught on the tank rising from the ocean's surface. His face went slack with surprise, and for a few seconds, he could only stare.
Then, when he finally found his voice, ]
What. The fuck.
[ If Dieguez's fight with Rocket and Gideon had forced this wedding reception off the rails, this presentation was most definitely driving it off a cliff. ]
I'm pretty sure a bad speech is the least of our worries, right now.
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A ball?
Dieguez's eyes narrowed, curious.
The events in the next minute happened far too quickly in succession. The little doggy barked at the crowd, compelling them to step away. With a flourish, Teran tore the sphere's top off and aimed it in the direction of the whale.
The creature was consumed in a bright, purple flash, lasting only a few seconds. Only bits of glass and debris confirmed its existence.
Teran restored the orb's lid and began pointing to the crowd. Terrifyingly, they began to raise their hands and call out increasingly higher numbers.] He is auctioning that thing off to those murderers and terrorists! [Dieguez was uncertain why, but every instinct in him told him to run toward this group. Run and protect Peter. Run and find Galenia, Rocket, and Gideon. Run, before this sordid happening found a way to become even more incomprehensibly terrifying.]
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But, no, Teran's audience seemed to believe him well enough, which was scary in itself, and Peter pulled himself together long enough to turn to Dieguez. ]
We find the others. We figure out what to do from there. [ Which might involve swiping the thing out from Teran's nose, but that was a risk they had to take. Peter might be a selfish person, but he wasn't selfish enough that he could ignore the disaster unfolding before his eyes.
Besides, stealing was kind of Peter's thing. ]
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