[ Wisely, he keeps the very real possibility of them ganging up on the two of them to himself.
(It seems like he would absolutely jinx them if he spoke the words aloud.)
The mezzanine isn't exactly impressive, but it does afford a decent view of the entrance and the modest dance floor below. The folks hanging out up here are looking for more privacy, and more than a few couples have found their ways into the various dark corners to make-out or fuck. It stinks of tobacco and weed (and cotton candy, thanks to one shameless vaper) up here.
But they're stopped once again, this time by a man about Peter's age. Scrawny, once again, with silvered teeth and criss-crossing scars over his left temple. On either side of him are two other guys, just as rough-looking, though maybe not quite as sober. ]
Long time, no see, Pete. You're lookin' real fancy.
Kraglin. You're looking extra shitty.
[ Kraglin, at least, seems to have a sense of humor, and the corner of his mouth curls upward. His amusement fades not long after. ]
What the hell're you doin' here?
I'm here to see Yondu.
Good. You finally here to beg the boss for forgiveness?
Pretty sure hell will freeze over, first.
[ Kraglin sighs, annoyed more than anything. ] Then you don't got no business bein' here, do you?
[ The three men straighten, shifting forward like they've spent days rehearsing this, but Peter holds his ground. ]
Just let me through, guys. I've got a proposition for him.
[ Behind Kraglin, a slightly overweight man with coke-bottle glasses laughs. ] You're doin' a whole lotta propositionin' these days, ain't ya, Pete?
Fuck you, Geff—
Why? You offerin' discounts? You'd have to be. I seen you out there. Business ain't exactly boomin', is it?
[ Peter feels heat rising to his face, his fists clenching at his sides. Generally, he's a pretty shameless person, and generally, while he's quick to annoy, he usually has a pretty long fuse. Apparently that goes right out the window when his old team is involved.
And it's even worse that Geff – Geff, of all fucking people – has a point. ]
[ Tension keeps Gamora on edge, and she knows that as soon as they leave, her healing wound is going to make itself known; she can ignore it now, but that won’t last. She isn’t leaning on Peter nearly as much, standing up straight, but maintaining an air of ease.
She stops short with Peter, immediately sizing up the larger men standing at the scraggly man’s sides. She can’t help the way she analyzes them for imminent openings (the one on the left has a small hitch in his shoulder, an easy dislocation; the one on the right is favoring his left knee, an effortless blowout with a well-aimed kick).
The scrawny man looks like he would crumple the second she breaks his nose.
Her eyes flick between Peter and Kraglin, aggravation boiling behind her intense gaze. The posturing is obnoxious, and the longer they stall, the longer Gamora has to stay in this gross club. It’s getting harder to resist the urge to physically shove through them, though she knows that won’t go over well.
Until Geff pipes up.
And now Gamora wants to feed him the broken shards of his stupid glasses.
Gamora steps forward, her fingers briefly brushing over the back of Peter’s hand before she crosses her arms over her chest, leveling Kraglin with that unflappable, intense stare. ]
He’s only here because of me. I need to see Yondu.
[ Gamora's interjection seems to slice through the tension, and while the other men don't completely back off, they're not quite as ready to throw down. Peter glances at her, grateful, though embarrassment still colors his face.
The men at Kraglin's side eye her with undisguised interest, though the taller bald man with a scar along the line of his jaw flashes her a smile that might pass as flirty, if it weren't for the feral edge to it (and the many missing teeth).
Kraglin, at least, seems to maintain an air of professionalism. ]
And who are you supposed to be that Pete, here, is sharin' privileged information about our whereabouts?
"Privileged information"? Seriously? Is that what you call "where you guys hang out every single night"? I mean, come on, a blind five-year-old could find you guys—
[ Kraglin looks her over again, his jaw working to one side as he chews this information over. It takes him a few moments, but at last, he offers a curt nod. ]
All right. But no funny business. If you're with Quill, here, you're already on thin ice.
[ He nods for Peter and Gamora to follow before heading off to a back corner – what might pass for a VIP area, if this place were large and important enough to warrant one.
The other two men fall into step behind them, though Geff hovers at Peter's back. ]
Is this your pimp, Petey? Is that why you're all dolled up?
[ The other man, who Peter knows as Narblik, pipes up with, ]
Or are you payin' this little shit for the night? 'Cause, baby, I'd let you in my bed for free.
[ Gamora falls into step behind Kraglin, but having the other thugs at her back makes her tense with immediate unease (which just reminds her about the tugging soreness sparking down her side). She doesn't lean on Peter now or let her step falter; she doesn't even adjust her weight to accommodate the injury.
She's going to regret that later.
Aggravation and a cool anger flares as those taunting words float after them, and Gamora finally throws over her shoulder to Narblik, ]
I'm going to feed you his— [ She nods to Geff. ] —remaining teeth, if you don't shut your mouth.
[ 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.
[ The sight of Yondu is almost exactly what Gamora might have expected: a collection of rough edges, stitched together with scars and a neon sign promising danger. Gamora's dealt with enough men like this to know the sort of power inherent in the charisma Yondu exudes, but it takes more than a fierce presence to cow Gamora. The only thing that gets to her—
—is how he talks to Peter. How these cretins have talked to him since they walked through the door. She clearly doesn't see any shame in the way Peter decides to earn his living – not when she's hired him for exactly those services – but the Ravagers treat him like gum scraped off the bottom of their boots. Maybe they'd have equally unpleasant choice words to offer if Peter was doing anything else, but this has a side to it that makes something fierce and protective sweep through Gamora. Peter's a grown man, and he doesn't need her to protect him, but Gamora can't help the instinct.
Unfortunately, it's not a helpful instinct right now.
Again, Gamora steps forward, standing just slightly in front of Peter – not a guarding stance, but close. ]
Peter didn't come here for himself; he was only pointing me in the right direction.
I need connections, and he said you might be the man for the job.
[ Yondu's head tilts as his gaze focuses on Gamora, that disinterest returning to his face as he studies her from head to toe.
After a few seconds of sizing her up, he looks to the woman beside him, jerking his chin toward Kraglin. The woman takes her cue, shuffling out of the booth. Kraglin frees a wad of cash from his pocket, paying her, and she scurries off, out of sight. ]
Well, now, ain't this interesting. Got yourself a a little girlfriend, Quill? And you brought her to our secret hideout?
Oh my god, you guys have to stop calling this your hideout. You're here literally all the time.
[ Yondu dutifully ignores him, still focused on Gamora. ]
[ She doesn't bristle; she barely even glances over at Kraglin as he pays Yondu's companion.
Hypocritical, she has to think, that they're going to be so disparaging of Peter like this – but, then again, it's probably more for the sake of humiliating Peter than making some value judgement of his profession. ]
Gamora's expression doesn't budge, and she doesn't relax, even with the hint of an advantage her reputation has given her – mostly, because what she intends to ask for is damning. ]
I need a forger and a fence. Good ones, who know how to be discreet.
[ Yondu lets out a low whistle, shifting his weight to rest an ankle on his knee. ]
Well, now. I can see why my boy, here, is with you. [ This, with a nod toward Peter. ] Seems like he's attracted to disloyalty. Little wonder, considerin' he's a faithless little bastard.
[ Peter lets out an exasperated huff, but beyond that, he holds his tongue. ]
These "connections" don't come cheap, sweetheart. And the way I understand it, you get by on your father's money. If you don't want this gettin' back to daddy, I dunno how you intend on payin' me.
I'm not seein' how this is worth my while, so far.
[ Peter, at least, doesn't look intimidated, holding Yondu's gaze until the guy finally turns back to Gamora. ]
Now, I dunno how you think we operate, Ms. Gamora, but we don't deal in blood.
Yeah. You deal in drugs and stolen cars. You guys are practically saints.
[ Yondu glares at Peter who responds with a shrug that somehow manages to be sarcastic. ]
We don't deal in blood. 'Least, not unless we're forced to defend ourselves. So I'm hopin' you're not suggestin' you'll go out and slit someone's throat on my behalf.
[ The way Yondu studies her is unnerving, those questions unsettling her, because telling him more shows too much of her hand, when she makes a habit of playing everything close to the chest.
But—
Right now, he's her best option. ]
Work for my father – someone he wanted terminated.
[ The usual job – aside from the general intimidation. ]
Until the end of the week – or until my father deploys me elsewhere, if I decide to stay longer. He has nothing lined up that will bring me back to New York immediately.
'Bout five months back, member of my team didn't like how things were bein' run.
[ Yondu's gaze flits to Peter, daring him to respond. For his part, Peter only offers a bland look that seems to say, What a surprise. ]
Thought we could stand to do things a little more ruthlessly, not unlike how your father likes to run things. So Taserface broke off, decided to start his own little gang. He and his new friends call themselves Overkill, and they've been encroachin' on my territory.
[ Peter snorts out a laugh. ] Seriously? You couldn't keep a grip on Taserface?
[ Once again, Yondu ignores Peter. ]
I'd like for them to be knocked down a few pegs. Steal their goods or destroy it all, I ain't picky on which. Good as my guys are, I'd rather send in someone unaffiliated, on the off-chance of them gettin' caught.
[ Yondu leans back again, one elbow resting on the back of the couch. ]
Seein' as how Mr. Quill has been so helpful so far, once I get more details, I can send it along to him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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(It seems like he would absolutely jinx them if he spoke the words aloud.)
The mezzanine isn't exactly impressive, but it does afford a decent view of the entrance and the modest dance floor below. The folks hanging out up here are looking for more privacy, and more than a few couples have found their ways into the various dark corners to make-out or fuck. It stinks of tobacco and weed (and cotton candy, thanks to one shameless vaper) up here.
But they're stopped once again, this time by a man about Peter's age. Scrawny, once again, with silvered teeth and criss-crossing scars over his left temple. On either side of him are two other guys, just as rough-looking, though maybe not quite as sober. ]
Long time, no see, Pete. You're lookin' real fancy.
Kraglin. You're looking extra shitty.
[ Kraglin, at least, seems to have a sense of humor, and the corner of his mouth curls upward. His amusement fades not long after. ]
What the hell're you doin' here?
I'm here to see Yondu.
Good. You finally here to beg the boss for forgiveness?
Pretty sure hell will freeze over, first.
[ Kraglin sighs, annoyed more than anything. ] Then you don't got no business bein' here, do you?
[ The three men straighten, shifting forward like they've spent days rehearsing this, but Peter holds his ground. ]
Just let me through, guys. I've got a proposition for him.
[ Behind Kraglin, a slightly overweight man with coke-bottle glasses laughs. ] You're doin' a whole lotta propositionin' these days, ain't ya, Pete?
Fuck you, Geff—
Why? You offerin' discounts? You'd have to be. I seen you out there. Business ain't exactly boomin', is it?
[ Peter feels heat rising to his face, his fists clenching at his sides. Generally, he's a pretty shameless person, and generally, while he's quick to annoy, he usually has a pretty long fuse. Apparently that goes right out the window when his old team is involved.
And it's even worse that Geff – Geff, of all fucking people – has a point. ]
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She stops short with Peter, immediately sizing up the larger men standing at the scraggly man’s sides. She can’t help the way she analyzes them for imminent openings (the one on the left has a small hitch in his shoulder, an easy dislocation; the one on the right is favoring his left knee, an effortless blowout with a well-aimed kick).
The scrawny man looks like he would crumple the second she breaks his nose.
Her eyes flick between Peter and Kraglin, aggravation boiling behind her intense gaze. The posturing is obnoxious, and the longer they stall, the longer Gamora has to stay in this gross club. It’s getting harder to resist the urge to physically shove through them, though she knows that won’t go over well.
Until Geff pipes up.
And now Gamora wants to feed him the broken shards of his stupid glasses.
Gamora steps forward, her fingers briefly brushing over the back of Peter’s hand before she crosses her arms over her chest, leveling Kraglin with that unflappable, intense stare. ]
He’s only here because of me. I need to see Yondu.
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The men at Kraglin's side eye her with undisguised interest, though the taller bald man with a scar along the line of his jaw flashes her a smile that might pass as flirty, if it weren't for the feral edge to it (and the many missing teeth).
Kraglin, at least, seems to maintain an air of professionalism. ]
And who are you supposed to be that Pete, here, is sharin' privileged information about our whereabouts?
"Privileged information"? Seriously? Is that what you call "where you guys hang out every single night"? I mean, come on, a blind five-year-old could find you guys—
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I'm the person who could ensure Yondu won't need to work for months, if he's willing to do business with me.
[ Money, she's sure, is a language the Ravagers will understand. ]
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All right. But no funny business. If you're with Quill, here, you're already on thin ice.
[ He nods for Peter and Gamora to follow before heading off to a back corner – what might pass for a VIP area, if this place were large and important enough to warrant one.
The other two men fall into step behind them, though Geff hovers at Peter's back. ]
Is this your pimp, Petey? Is that why you're all dolled up?
[ The other man, who Peter knows as Narblik, pipes up with, ]
Or are you payin' this little shit for the night? 'Cause, baby, I'd let you in my bed for free.
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She's going to regret that later.
Aggravation and a cool anger flares as those taunting words float after them, and Gamora finally throws over her shoulder to Narblik, ]
I'm going to feed you his— [ She nods to Geff. ] —remaining teeth, if you don't shut your mouth.
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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.
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—is how he talks to Peter. How these cretins have talked to him since they walked through the door. She clearly doesn't see any shame in the way Peter decides to earn his living – not when she's hired him for exactly those services – but the Ravagers treat him like gum scraped off the bottom of their boots. Maybe they'd have equally unpleasant choice words to offer if Peter was doing anything else, but this has a side to it that makes something fierce and protective sweep through Gamora. Peter's a grown man, and he doesn't need her to protect him, but Gamora can't help the instinct.
Unfortunately, it's not a helpful instinct right now.
Again, Gamora steps forward, standing just slightly in front of Peter – not a guarding stance, but close. ]
Peter didn't come here for himself; he was only pointing me in the right direction.
I need connections, and he said you might be the man for the job.
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After a few seconds of sizing her up, he looks to the woman beside him, jerking his chin toward Kraglin. The woman takes her cue, shuffling out of the booth. Kraglin frees a wad of cash from his pocket, paying her, and she scurries off, out of sight. ]
Well, now, ain't this interesting. Got yourself a a little girlfriend, Quill? And you brought her to our secret hideout?
Oh my god, you guys have to stop calling this your hideout. You're here literally all the time.
[ Yondu dutifully ignores him, still focused on Gamora. ]
Who the hell are you?
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Hypocritical, she has to think, that they're going to be so disparaging of Peter like this – but, then again, it's probably more for the sake of humiliating Peter than making some value judgement of his profession. ]
My name is Gamora.
[ Just Gamora. ]
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The Titan's girl.
[ And that wariness makes its way into his voice, though it's edged with a grudging respect, too.
He doesn't straighten, exactly, but there's tension in his posture, and his easy slouch is more purposeful than accidental, now. ]
You need "connections," you said?
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Gamora's expression doesn't budge, and she doesn't relax, even with the hint of an advantage her reputation has given her – mostly, because what she intends to ask for is damning. ]
I need a forger and a fence. Good ones, who know how to be discreet.
[ Who won't tell her father. ]
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Well, you may be in luck, seein' as how I happen to have both of those things on the payroll.
But you've got a reputation, girl, and so does your father. So this just begs the question: your father's usual men won't do, because...?
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[ And the ones she knows, that she's made contact with, all lead back to Thanos, one way or another. ]
And I want to get as far away from him as possible.
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Well, now. I can see why my boy, here, is with you. [ This, with a nod toward Peter. ] Seems like he's attracted to disloyalty. Little wonder, considerin' he's a faithless little bastard.
[ Peter lets out an exasperated huff, but beyond that, he holds his tongue. ]
These "connections" don't come cheap, sweetheart. And the way I understand it, you get by on your father's money. If you don't want this gettin' back to daddy, I dunno how you intend on payin' me.
I'm not seein' how this is worth my while, so far.
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Disloyal. Faithless.
Words she's turned over in her own mind for years. ]
I have money that I've kept unconnected to his funds.
But Peter said you expect favors, and you know the skills I possess – so whatever you want, I can see to it that it happens.
[ An infinitely flexible IOU from Gamora. ]
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He told you that, did he?
[ Peter, at least, doesn't look intimidated, holding Yondu's gaze until the guy finally turns back to Gamora. ]
Now, I dunno how you think we operate, Ms. Gamora, but we don't deal in blood.
Yeah. You deal in drugs and stolen cars. You guys are practically saints.
[ Yondu glares at Peter who responds with a shrug that somehow manages to be sarcastic. ]
We don't deal in blood. 'Least, not unless we're forced to defend ourselves. So I'm hopin' you're not suggestin' you'll go out and slit someone's throat on my behalf.
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[ And Gamora isn't heartbroken over it. ]
But I'm good at what I do because I'm capable of more than slitting throats.
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Then, he leans forward, elbows resting on the table and hands clasping together. ]
What brought you to LA?
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But—
Right now, he's her best option. ]
Work for my father – someone he wanted terminated.
[ The usual job – aside from the general intimidation. ]
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'Cause you promisin' this favor don't do me much good if you're back in New York before I can call it in.
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I suppose we may be able to work out a deal, so long as you've got no qualms about robbin' someone blind.
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None at all.
[ She assumes she won’t be stealing from someone who can’t afford to lose a chunk of change, as opposed to some down-on-their-luck family. ]
What did you have in mind?
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[ Yondu's gaze flits to Peter, daring him to respond. For his part, Peter only offers a bland look that seems to say, What a surprise. ]
Thought we could stand to do things a little more ruthlessly, not unlike how your father likes to run things. So Taserface broke off, decided to start his own little gang. He and his new friends call themselves Overkill, and they've been encroachin' on my territory.
[ Peter snorts out a laugh. ] Seriously? You couldn't keep a grip on Taserface?
[ Once again, Yondu ignores Peter. ]
I'd like for them to be knocked down a few pegs. Steal their goods or destroy it all, I ain't picky on which. Good as my guys are, I'd rather send in someone unaffiliated, on the off-chance of them gettin' caught.
[ Yondu leans back again, one elbow resting on the back of the couch. ]
Seein' as how Mr. Quill has been so helpful so far, once I get more details, I can send it along to him.
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