nostalgiabomb: (113)
Peter Quill ([personal profile] nostalgiabomb) wrote 2017-08-05 12:35 am (UTC)

[ Okay. Okay. Maybe no more struggling, because ow.

Ow, ow, ow.

Peter tenses as her fingers squeeze around his arm like a vise, and he sucks in a startled breath at the tone of her voice. Hell, when’s the last time she’s talked to him like that, like he was an enemy instead of her friend? Like she might actually rip his throat out?

And just as quickly as it happens, she relents. Her grip disappears from her arm, the ferocity of her expression is replaced by confusion, and when she stumbles back, so does he. He rubs at his arm, wonders if he’ll sport a hand-shaped bruise in the next several hours, and he backs away toward the intercom. ]


Just sit down, alright? [ This, at least, he manages in that same calm voice. No fear, no warning, just worry. ] Look, I’m not trying to freak you out or anything, but there’s definitely something wrong, here.

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