[ the porthole is admittedly a whole lot more interesting to jess than the weird doodads lying all over the place. she leans between the bunks, staring out at the vast expanse of blackness, stars, and— yeah. that's definitely space. her mind is reeling, trying to pick out a real answer, but she unfortunately doesn't have much time before peter's crew comes barreling down the ladder. she spins quickly (which, ow, her fucking head), to see some...very not human people all glaring at her, and— is that a fucking raccoon?
jess is at first too stunned to start answering the questions thrown her way (helpfully translated by peter), and she just looks from each face to the next, taking them in one by one. okay, so she's seen the goddamn hulk and those weird damn aliens that had nearly destroyed new york, but— this is up close and personal, and it takes some adjusting.
she responds in her usual short, flat tone, meeting glare for glare, because despite coming up against something completely new, jess isn't one to be intimidated.
(she just kind of hopes her sarcasm bleeds through in translation.)
but hey, by the end of it, she isn't missing a limb and she isn't beating anyone's skull in, so that's pretty successful, all things considered. when they finally all go their own way, she leans against the bulkhead, looking over at peter. ]
Nice friends you got there.
[ not that she can blame them for being hostile, given the circumstances. ]
Thanks for not shoving me out of an airlock or something.
[ Dryly, ] They’re a cuddly bunch, once you get to know them. Really.
[ He flops back in his seat, sinking low enough to rest the back of his head against the chair’s backrest. At her thanks, he waves a hand vaguely, dismissively. ]
We weren’t gonna space you.
[ A pause. ]
Maybe chain you up in the cargo bay, but not space you.
[ But the sing-song way he says it betrays the suggestion as a joke. He glances up, gives her another once-over. ]
[ she's pretty sure it's the worst one she's ever had, and that's saying something. her head still feels like it might just explode, and though the nausea has eased off, her stomach isn't happy with her. ]
Got any aspirin?
[ because she'll take what she can get right now. ]
[ He shoves himself to his feet, nodding toward one end of the ship. ]
C'mon.
[ The sickbay is little more than a couple of chairs and a few compartments stuffed with supplies, but they make do. He pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it over to her, before picking through the jars and bottles in the shelves. ]
Completely human, right? [ Absently, as he frowns at one bottle before replacing it. ] Any weird allergies or anything? Like, you don't puff up like that girl in Willy Wonka when you touch tofu or something?
[ she catches the water, not hesitating to crack it open and take a long sip. ]
100% human.
[ she looks a little skeptically at the bottles peter pulls out, eyeing them like she doesn't necessarily trust whatever is floating around on a spaceship. ]
No Violet Beauregarde crap here. But I can't speak for anything, you know, not from Earth.
[ If he noticed, he wouldn’t blame her obvious distrust. As it stands, he finally fishes out some mild painkiller – almost lost behind the heavy duty stuff, considering how often they have to use it when someone (namely, Peter) gets his ass handed to him.
It rattles as he checks it over, and he tosses it over as he did the water. ]
Take two for now. More than that and you might grow a third arm.
[ It’s just as well that for the most part, Peter’s been raised by wolves, so he doesn’t immediately notice the lack of gratitude. It helps, too, that this whole mess has been an inconvenience for everyone involved, which makes niceties one of the most distant things in his mind.
He leans back against a counter, arms crossing over his chest, and he huffs out a laugh at her question. ]
Kind of?
Rocket is, uh. [ ... how best to put this? ] He’s a unique snowflake.
[ she takes another drink from her water, still watching peter closely. ]
A unique snowflake that looks like a raccoon?
[ she just wants to get that part straight. it's weird enough running into another human out here (along with the whole, you know, being here in the first place), but a walking, talking raccoon is...extra weird. ]
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jess is at first too stunned to start answering the questions thrown her way (helpfully translated by peter), and she just looks from each face to the next, taking them in one by one. okay, so she's seen the goddamn hulk and those weird damn aliens that had nearly destroyed new york, but— this is up close and personal, and it takes some adjusting.
she responds in her usual short, flat tone, meeting glare for glare, because despite coming up against something completely new, jess isn't one to be intimidated.
(she just kind of hopes her sarcasm bleeds through in translation.)
but hey, by the end of it, she isn't missing a limb and she isn't beating anyone's skull in, so that's pretty successful, all things considered. when they finally all go their own way, she leans against the bulkhead, looking over at peter. ]
Nice friends you got there.
[ not that she can blame them for being hostile, given the circumstances. ]
Thanks for not shoving me out of an airlock or something.
no subject
[ He flops back in his seat, sinking low enough to rest the back of his head against the chair’s backrest. At her thanks, he waves a hand vaguely, dismissively. ]
We weren’t gonna space you.
[ A pause. ]
Maybe chain you up in the cargo bay, but not space you.
[ But the sing-song way he says it betrays the suggestion as a joke. He glances up, gives her another once-over. ]
How’s the hangover?
no subject
[ she's pretty sure it's the worst one she's ever had, and that's saying something. her head still feels like it might just explode, and though the nausea has eased off, her stomach isn't happy with her. ]
Got any aspirin?
[ because she'll take what she can get right now. ]
Or water?
no subject
C'mon.
[ The sickbay is little more than a couple of chairs and a few compartments stuffed with supplies, but they make do. He pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it over to her, before picking through the jars and bottles in the shelves. ]
Completely human, right? [ Absently, as he frowns at one bottle before replacing it. ] Any weird allergies or anything? Like, you don't puff up like that girl in Willy Wonka when you touch tofu or something?
no subject
100% human.
[ she looks a little skeptically at the bottles peter pulls out, eyeing them like she doesn't necessarily trust whatever is floating around on a spaceship. ]
No Violet Beauregarde crap here. But I can't speak for anything, you know, not from Earth.
no subject
It rattles as he checks it over, and he tosses it over as he did the water. ]
Take two for now. More than that and you might grow a third arm.
[ A lilt in his voice to signal he’s joking. ]
no subject
Oh, goody.
[ she's pretty sure he's joking (but there's also that small part of her that's not sure about trusting anything space-y yet).
she takes a couple of the pills, scrutinizes them for a second, and then chucks them in her mouth to wash them down with a swig of water.
...jess should probably thank him, but she's not so great at that part.
but instead: ]
So it's not just my hangover, but that was a raccoon, right?
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He leans back against a counter, arms crossing over his chest, and he huffs out a laugh at her question. ]
Kind of?
Rocket is, uh. [ ... how best to put this? ] He’s a unique snowflake.
[ #nailedit. ]
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A unique snowflake that looks like a raccoon?
[ she just wants to get that part straight. it's weird enough running into another human out here (along with the whole, you know, being here in the first place), but a walking, talking raccoon is...extra weird. ]
no subject
A unique snowflake that looks like a raccoon.
[ He repeats it back flatly, deciding that, yeah, that’s basically the best way to put it. ]
He’s not actually, though. A raccoon. Just— kinda looks like it.
[ A beat. ]
Probably.
[ Another beat, then a little more uncertainly, ]
Pretty sure, anyway. But, yeah. Pretty close.