[ hey, her knowledge of tentacled aliens is pretty limited here — and not exactly the most pleasant of associations, given general human pop culture. it's not like she knows tentacled aliens out in reality are actually pretty okay.
the continued turbulence on the ship isn't reassuring by any means, and she grabs onto a crate again to keep herself vertical (because all this shaking around is not helping her headache).
...it's the other voices in the very weird tones that really throw her for a loop, though, because she absolutely did not pick up a single word of whatever those squeaks were.
(oh god, maybe there actually are aliens here. great.)
she focuses on peter when he drops onto the deck again, frowning right back at him. she stares silently for a moment, and then, without a word, reaches over for one of the heavy crates that she'd managed to topple. with one hand (and obviously zero effort, she lifts the crate, and sets it back with the others like it weighs just as much as a bag of feathers. ]
There's a few things.
[ —is about the best answer she has for him.
(she also likes to hope it doubles as a "don't try anything funny" demonstration.) ]
Also, why the hell are you speaking English, and all of— that up there was definitely not?
Edited (lily read the tag better before u reply mmk) 2017-01-10 06:07 (UTC)
[ As she lifts up the crate, Peter silently upgrades the state of affairs from "annoyance" to "predicament." ]
O...kay.
[ He drags the word out over at least a couple of seconds, and also resolves to keep his distance, in case she decides to get hands-on in resolving their disagreements.
His gaze is still flicking between her and the crate when she asks her question, and absently, he taps on his neck, just beneath his ear. Distantly, ]
Translator implant.
[ Courtesy of the Ravagers, his first few minutes in space – once they had managed to get a hold of him, anyway. He had spent a lot of those first few moments screaming and thrashing and trying to run. Routine upgrades means he doesn't have to learn anymore languages than he needs or wants to – though he makes a habit of picking up the really rude shit – and also means that everything comes out in a language he understands.
He pauses, runs through her question again in his head as an afterthought, then, ]
[ He should probably correct her, tell her that he’s actually only half human, the other half being a gigantic question mark, but that’s probably just splitting hairs, really. And considering how badly she took his tentacle joke, being told that he’s half alien probably wouldn’t go over too well right now. ]
... Can’t say that I can, no. [ But if he could, that’d be awesome. But he’s also pretty sure the last time he was on Earth, no one could lift a car.
Except, maybe, Captain America, but that guy was, you know. Long dead.
He bristles a little at her continued questioning, but not because of the question itself – mostly, he feels like he’s suddenly on the defensive, and he doesn’t really like it. ]
You know, you’re asking a lot of personal questions for someone who just cropped up on my ship.
[ it doesn't help that it's literally her job to dig things up, so asking questions is kind of the natural progression for her here — she's just also pretty pushy about finding shit out sometimes, unfortunately. ]
Sorry I wanna know about the random dude whose ship I'm suddenly on. In space. Definitely not on earth.
My bad.
[ sarcasm drips from every word, with just a hint of aggravation.
her head decides to give a particularly nasty throb at that moment, and she braces herself again, pressing a hand over her eyes. she grimaces, biting the response back and looking out at peter. ]
[ Still sharply and defensively – more out of a desire to be willfully unhelpful than any resistance to the question itself. He really doesn’t see how where he’s from has any bearing on the bullshit that just dropped in his lap, though, and his lips part to say as much.
But then she grimaces, and Peter frowns at her and unconsciously takes a half-step forward. Not that he’s, like, concerned or anything, but he definitely doesn’t want to deal with her if she keels over here and now in his cargo bay. ]
[ He parrots back in a mocking voice, ] "I'm not gonna puke," she said, right before she tossed her cookies all over the deck.
[ He should probably let her up onto the main deck to the bathroom just in case she really does puke. That would be the smart thing to do. Except bringing her up there might garner attention, and Peter isn't exactly sure how to explain this whole fucking thing to the others yet.
"Hey, guys. Don't panic, but this random ass lady who can deadlift twice her body weight kind of just appeared on our ship, but she's cool, because she's from my neck of the woods and hasn't snapped me in half yet."
That will go over well.
His eyes flick up to the hatchway, then back to the woman, his jaw clenching. Then, ]
[ she gives him a skeptical look, like she's not entirely sure if he's going to try something or not, but the nausea is making decisions for her right now.
she takes a tentative seat on one of the nearby boxes, forcing herself to breathe out slowly before letting her head rest between her knees. ]
Fuck.
[ get it together, jones. jesus christ. this is not the time for this crap.
she takes a few deep breaths, then looks up at peter again. ]
[ Traveling to and from Earth was difficult – something Peter discovered when he was younger and still entertained thoughts of returning home. Now, it's just as difficult, made no easier by Peter's heartfelt desire to avoid returning home.
A pause, and he adds, ]
And before you even ask, we are not a taxi service.
the apparent distance from home, the fact that she's obviously not going to be able to understand anyone other than this dude (and maybe someone else who speaks english?), and the splitting headache is all combining to be a whole lot of awful.
what a fantastic day. ]
Then I'm really open to suggestions for how the fuck I get home.
[ because staying out in space? that's not at the top of her current bucketlist. ]
You really have no idea how you got here? [ And even though he asks it, his tone is a little resigned – like he already knows the answer. ] You didn't jump into any strange light beams or teleportation devices? Like, a scientist in a bar didn't break a guy's wrist in an arm wrestling contest and invite you to try his telepod or anything?
[ no crazy scientists, no beams of light or teleporters. ]
All I know is that I was on earth, and then I woke up here. That's it.
[ which makes it even more frustrating and confusing. if she'd at least had some sort of weird run-in with a bad guy, maybe more of those aliens that nearly destroyed new york, then at least that would make sense. she'd have something to go off of and not just, "i passed out and suddenly was in space."
unhelpful.
and now she's lightyears away from home with no feasible way of getting back. ]
Fuck.
[ with a frustrated groan, her head falls back between her knees so she can just stare at the floor, her fingers pressed against her temple. ]
[ He echoes it back with a lot less vehemence, but just as much frustration. He scrubs at his brow, staring at the bulkhead as if the dent there might yield some inspiration. (Briefly, he wonders where the hell that dent even came from, then he figures it probably came from one of the sparring sessions Drax and Gamora hold down here from time to time.)
After a while, he lets out an explosive sigh, his body sagging with it. He shakes his head. ]
If I bring you up to the main deck, do you promise not to flip your shit?
[ this is definitely one of those times that jess's general straight-faced, give-no-fucks attitude will come in handy. (even if being up close and personal with aliens is going to be weird as hell; at least these ones aren't trying to take over earth?)
she braces her hands on her knees, then pushes herself up to stand. she needs a second to banish all the dizziness, but she feels fine enough (plus the headache), so she likes to think she's past the "probably gonna puke" phase. ]
[ He still doesn't encroach on her personal space – her demonstration with the crate, at least, was effective enough to convince him she could snap his neck with a sneeze. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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the continued turbulence on the ship isn't reassuring by any means, and she grabs onto a crate again to keep herself vertical (because all this shaking around is not helping her headache).
...it's the other voices in the very weird tones that really throw her for a loop, though, because she absolutely did not pick up a single word of whatever those squeaks were.
(oh god, maybe there actually are aliens here. great.)
she focuses on peter when he drops onto the deck again, frowning right back at him. she stares silently for a moment, and then, without a word, reaches over for one of the heavy crates that she'd managed to topple. with one hand (and obviously zero effort, she lifts the crate, and sets it back with the others like it weighs just as much as a bag of feathers. ]
There's a few things.
[ —is about the best answer she has for him.
(she also likes to hope it doubles as a "don't try anything funny" demonstration.) ]
Also, why the hell are you speaking English, and all of— that up there was definitely not?
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O...kay.
[ He drags the word out over at least a couple of seconds, and also resolves to keep his distance, in case she decides to get hands-on in resolving their disagreements.
His gaze is still flicking between her and the crate when she asks her question, and absently, he taps on his neck, just beneath his ear. Distantly, ]
Translator implant.
[ Courtesy of the Ravagers, his first few minutes in space – once they had managed to get a hold of him, anyway. He had spent a lot of those first few moments screaming and thrashing and trying to run. Routine upgrades means he doesn't have to learn anymore languages than he needs or wants to – though he makes a habit of picking up the really rude shit – and also means that everything comes out in a language he understands.
He pauses, runs through her question again in his head as an afterthought, then, ]
... You know English?
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but also a little inconvenient for her. ]
Yeah? You were expecting French or...?
[ because she's got a little of that from high school. spoiler: it's terrible. ]
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You want me to keep going, or—?
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[ gramo-whatsian?
space is weird. ]
Either way, I can understand you, so maybe you wanna explain why you're speaking English. Are you human?
[ that's the real question here.
and if yes, how the hell did he get here? ]
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[ Grumbled out. There are rules, you know. Like, this being his ship and all. That probably entitles him to first dibs on questions, right?
(That's not how captaining works, Quill.) ]
But I am. Human, I mean. [ A pause, then, warily, ] You?
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Just as human as you.
[ she gives a dismissive shrug. ]
Unless you can lift a car, but you know.
[ can you lift a car, quill. can you. ]
Are you from Earth originally?
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... Can’t say that I can, no. [ But if he could, that’d be awesome. But he’s also pretty sure the last time he was on Earth, no one could lift a car.
Except, maybe, Captain America, but that guy was, you know. Long dead.
He bristles a little at her continued questioning, but not because of the question itself – mostly, he feels like he’s suddenly on the defensive, and he doesn’t really like it. ]
You know, you’re asking a lot of personal questions for someone who just cropped up on my ship.
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Sorry I wanna know about the random dude whose ship I'm suddenly on. In space. Definitely not on earth.
My bad.
[ sarcasm drips from every word, with just a hint of aggravation.
her head decides to give a particularly nasty throb at that moment, and she braces herself again, pressing a hand over her eyes. she grimaces, biting the response back and looking out at peter. ]
You gonna answer or not?
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[ Still sharply and defensively – more out of a desire to be willfully unhelpful than any resistance to the question itself. He really doesn’t see how where he’s from has any bearing on the bullshit that just dropped in his lap, though, and his lips part to say as much.
But then she grimaces, and Peter frowns at her and unconsciously takes a half-step forward. Not that he’s, like, concerned or anything, but he definitely doesn’t want to deal with her if she keels over here and now in his cargo bay. ]
—You alright?
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I'm fine.
[ except it still feels like the worst hangover of her life, and she's also vaguely nauseated.
excellent. ]
Is space sickness a thing?
[ or maybe however she'd gotten there had just seriously set her body off-kilter. probably that one. ]
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[ For a second he assumes she means, like, the space flu, or a space cold, or space rabies, or something, before it clicks. ]
Pretty sure that’s just plain old motion sickness, dude.
[ A pause, as he looks her over. ]
... Or just, you know. Sickness. In general.
[ His expression pinches. ]
Please don’t puke right now.
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[ except she really might.
it's taking a whole lot of concentrated effort not to right now, and she's surreptitiously looking around for a trashcan of some kind.
...better than the floor, right? ]
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[ He should probably let her up onto the main deck to the bathroom just in case she really does puke. That would be the smart thing to do. Except bringing her up there might garner attention, and Peter isn't exactly sure how to explain this whole fucking thing to the others yet.
"Hey, guys. Don't panic, but this random ass lady who can deadlift twice her body weight kind of just appeared on our ship, but she's cool, because she's from my neck of the woods and hasn't snapped me in half yet."
That will go over well.
His eyes flick up to the hatchway, then back to the woman, his jaw clenching. Then, ]
Just— sit down, okay? Take a sec.
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she takes a tentative seat on one of the nearby boxes, forcing herself to breathe out slowly before letting her head rest between her knees. ]
Fuck.
[ get it together, jones. jesus christ. this is not the time for this crap.
she takes a few deep breaths, then looks up at peter again. ]
Exactly— mmf. Exactly how far are we from earth?
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At her question, he frowns, gaze flitting off to examine something on the bulkhead. How can he answer this delicately?
After a few seconds of deliberation, he decides there is no putting this delicately, and he comes right out with it. ]
Really, really fucking far. Like. Light years. A lot of them.
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Great.
[ she pushes her hair up away from her face, forcing another slow breath. ]
Okay, then how long would it take to get there?
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Then, resolutely, ]
A while.
[ Traveling to and from Earth was difficult – something Peter discovered when he was younger and still entertained thoughts of returning home. Now, it's just as difficult, made no easier by Peter's heartfelt desire to avoid returning home.
A pause, and he adds, ]
And before you even ask, we are not a taxi service.
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the apparent distance from home, the fact that she's obviously not going to be able to understand anyone other than this dude (and maybe someone else who speaks english?), and the splitting headache is all combining to be a whole lot of awful.
what a fantastic day. ]
Then I'm really open to suggestions for how the fuck I get home.
[ because staying out in space? that's not at the top of her current bucketlist. ]
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You really have no idea how you got here? [ And even though he asks it, his tone is a little resigned – like he already knows the answer. ] You didn't jump into any strange light beams or teleportation devices? Like, a scientist in a bar didn't break a guy's wrist in an arm wrestling contest and invite you to try his telepod or anything?
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[ no crazy scientists, no beams of light or teleporters. ]
All I know is that I was on earth, and then I woke up here. That's it.
[ which makes it even more frustrating and confusing. if she'd at least had some sort of weird run-in with a bad guy, maybe more of those aliens that nearly destroyed new york, then at least that would make sense. she'd have something to go off of and not just, "i passed out and suddenly was in space."
unhelpful.
and now she's lightyears away from home with no feasible way of getting back. ]
Fuck.
[ with a frustrated groan, her head falls back between her knees so she can just stare at the floor, her fingers pressed against her temple. ]
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[ He echoes it back with a lot less vehemence, but just as much frustration. He scrubs at his brow, staring at the bulkhead as if the dent there might yield some inspiration. (Briefly, he wonders where the hell that dent even came from, then he figures it probably came from one of the sparring sessions Drax and Gamora hold down here from time to time.)
After a while, he lets out an explosive sigh, his body sagging with it. He shakes his head. ]
If I bring you up to the main deck, do you promise not to flip your shit?
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I think I can hold it together.
[ this is definitely one of those times that jess's general straight-faced, give-no-fucks attitude will come in handy. (even if being up close and personal with aliens is going to be weird as hell; at least these ones aren't trying to take over earth?)
she braces her hands on her knees, then pushes herself up to stand. she needs a second to banish all the dizziness, but she feels fine enough (plus the headache), so she likes to think she's past the "probably gonna puke" phase. ]
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Still feeling pukey?
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she glances up again when she's steadier, just shaking her head. ]
Mostly feels like someone's been trying to bash my skull in.
But no puking.
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