[ Unfortunately, Narblik seems more amused than intimidated, which is why he barks out a laugh. ]
She's feisty, isn't she? You sure you can handle her, Quill? Maybe you oughta let me take care of her.
[ Peter grits out, ] Awful lot of big talk for a guy who can't even get to first base with his right hand.
[ Kraglin finally chooses that second to bark over his shoulder, ]
Cut it out. All of you.
[ Dutifully, the Ravagers – former or otherwise – fall silent. Geff and Narblik, because they're worried about further reprimand, and Peter, because he's too busy seething.
(He should have just stayed in the car. Why didn't he just stay in the car?)
The area that Yondu has claimed as his own is little more than a large booth in the corner, the seat curved around a circular table. He sits at the center, arms stretched out across the couch's back, wearing an old red leather duster, not dissimilar in style to the jacket Gamora had seen Peter in when they first met. He's old enough to be Peter's father, scars slashed over his bald scalp, and he flashes a sharp smile, silver and gold teeth catching the dim light. Beside him is younger woman, pretty in a rough sort of way, dressed in tight, revealing clothing. She's curled against his side and laughing at his jokes.
Like Peter, the woman charges by the hour.
Kraglin clears his throat. ]
Boss. You got visitors.
[ Yondu glances up, largely disinterested until he catches sight of Peter. His expression immediately shifts into anger. ]
Well, now. Mr. Quill, if I'm not mistaken about what time of night it is, you should be out whorin' on a street corner, right now. Or did you finally come to your senses and to grovel for forgiveness?
You already know I'm not gonna do that.
Then you're wastin' my time. [ Yondu waves a hand. ] Get outta my sight, 'fore I make you get outta my sight.
no subject
She's feisty, isn't she? You sure you can handle her, Quill? Maybe you oughta let me take care of her.
[ Peter grits out, ] Awful lot of big talk for a guy who can't even get to first base with his right hand.
[ Kraglin finally chooses that second to bark over his shoulder, ]
Cut it out. All of you.
[ Dutifully, the Ravagers – former or otherwise – fall silent. Geff and Narblik, because they're worried about further reprimand, and Peter, because he's too busy seething.
(He should have just stayed in the car. Why didn't he just stay in the car?)
The area that Yondu has claimed as his own is little more than a large booth in the corner, the seat curved around a circular table. He sits at the center, arms stretched out across the couch's back, wearing an old red leather duster, not dissimilar in style to the jacket Gamora had seen Peter in when they first met. He's old enough to be Peter's father, scars slashed over his bald scalp, and he flashes a sharp smile, silver and gold teeth catching the dim light. Beside him is younger woman, pretty in a rough sort of way, dressed in tight, revealing clothing. She's curled against his side and laughing at his jokes.
Like Peter, the woman charges by the hour.
Kraglin clears his throat. ]
Boss. You got visitors.
[ Yondu glances up, largely disinterested until he catches sight of Peter. His expression immediately shifts into anger. ]
Well, now. Mr. Quill, if I'm not mistaken about what time of night it is, you should be out whorin' on a street corner, right now. Or did you finally come to your senses and to grovel for forgiveness?
You already know I'm not gonna do that.
Then you're wastin' my time. [ Yondu waves a hand. ] Get outta my sight, 'fore I make you get outta my sight.