I'm High on Believing.

@ The God of Mischief.

“Rocket doesn’t seem to think we need it,” Rich replied dryly. “It’s behind us. They’re taking their time…” He shrugged. “So, did either of them manage to kill the other one?”

Groot kept hold of Rocket for a few minutes longer. He wanted to make sure Quill and his chair were locked safely behind a door with Drax before he let him go.

[I’m running out of things to type… Though, I think Drax might get Quill high while Gamora’s absent. But uh, skip? ]

@ peter quill.

"We need them a few leauges out, possibly as cover. But at most only the Milano and another should go in for close encounters." Gamora sighed a little bit, trying to go through old memories to obtain what was needed of her. "So yes, we need them. They'd make a good distraction on the front end of things as well." She rolled her eyes at Rich's question of the pair she'd left behind, couldn't this just flutter off to an end? "No, unfortunate for you isn't it?"

---

"Come on, you weren't this daft before!" Rocked chided as as he squirmed around wishing that Groot had grabbed his vest instead so he could just slip it off.

[please. to both. ]

@ The God of Mischief.

BAM THEY WERE THERE AND IT WAS GREAT. WELL NOT REALLY GIVEN THE CONTEXT.

And Quill was, much to Drax’s entertainment, completely out of it, courtesy of the totally legal… well in some parts of the quadrant… narcotics that he, Rocket, and Quill kept around on a “just in case” basis.

[bad post bc 2am i should sleeep]

@ peter quill.

Gamora kept quiet as she did a quick double take before opening the latch to Quill's room, keeping the promise to herself that she'd at least see him off before she left, to only be disappointed when she found him entertaining Drax with his lack of cohesion. How many narcotics had he pumped himself full of? She gave a nod to Drax as she approached the bedding that Peter and his chair were somewhat reclined on. With a sigh and a small shake of her head she leaned in to pick the ancient locks that held him to it, smiling smugly to herself when she'd succeeded: locks that old and their mechanics were something she'd only read about before.

"I'm sorry about all this." She muttered and hooked the cuffs onto her belt loop for future endeavors.

---

"Can't we just go?" Rocket bitched to no one in particular as he fiddled about in the main area.

He was more than ready to go, suited up for a momentary space-flight and loaded with as many explosives as he could think to grab on a just-in-case-basis, and the wait was only driving him closer and closer to the edge of insanity. Feeling almost twitchy he jumped up onto the table, excusing it as a way to stretch out his legs, and aimed out at nothing with his gun to check the sights for the literal billionth time since he'd picked the damn thing up. Surly this would be an interesting chain of events about to unfold: between an adolescent tree and a goody-two-shoes Richard he was sure that they'd end up kinking everything up at least once. But what fun would it be if they didn't?

@ The God of Mischief.

Quill was, in spite of being well and truly out of it, still annoyed with Gamora. He could feel his current disdain for her beneath the buzz - which was well, more than residual – of the stuff Drax had slipped him. He waited for her to uncuff him, ignored her apology, and tried to roll over. Drax stopped him though, pulling him back with ease as though Quill were a ragdoll so he had to face her then, with a nod to Gamora, the Destroyer left.

“She’s going to kill you,” he mumbled, being unusually pessimistic about it all.

---

Groot was sitting in the corner, hunkered down and watching Rocket as he pitched his little fit about them not leaving. “I am Groot,” he told him calmly. By which he meant: soon.

Rich, however, gave him a slightly better answer. Not that it was one Rocket would like. “They’re just making Quill comfortable so he doesn’t fuck this up for you or Lylla or any of the other hostages Nebula has.”

@ peter quill.

"Are you ever not going to be a child?" Gamora couldn't help but to snap at him, annoyed with his previous actions as well as his current state, with the look on his face and his bitter words, with the way he was insistent upon her death as his hair lay on the top of his head completely ruined from any style and his eyes fluttered with the depth of translucency that came with drugged over, dilated pupils. There wasn't a single thing about him that wasn't getting on her nerves.

She sat on the edge of his bed though and softened her facial expression into a tiny frown. There was a heavy taste of bittersweet rising in the back of her throat, almost a lump of tears, as she made an observation of his broken body below the chair that still shared the bed with him. It was pitiful to see a leader down on his knees all but bleeding out, especially one that she shared a clear emotional relationship with. She placed a hand on his waist and refused the urge to kiss him where his skin was scuffed over.

"You'll be alright, right?" She whispered with a wry smile and told herself not to worry.

Worry would only get in her way.

---

"Fuck him." Rocket growled quietly as he contemplated testing out the sight-lines on Quill, perhaps accidentally tripping and pulling the trigger back. Watching him writhe.

He snapped himself out of the sickly pleasing fantasy with a small shake of his head and quickly the weight of Lylla's name fell on him. Running out in a blaze of glory to save the damsel sounded like the perfect way to spend the evening, even if they had to wait in Quill.

"Can we just go?" He already knew the answer though, but it was less of a question as he hopped off to the table to make his way to the hatch out of the Milano.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter kept his answer brief. It was, for a change, somewhat coherent and related to the mission in hand. “Patch me in on the com before you go,” he told her. It was an order; not a request.

Rich went to the cockpit, taking the Milano off auto he set about lining the airlock up with the hatch Gamora had indicated, he almost forgot to cloak the ship, but remembered in the nick of time.

“Rocket, you got something that will disable the sensors so I can get you closer?”

@ peter quill.

"Right." Gamora was curt as she stood to leave, her fingers curling around the mattress' beat edge as she stood in a desperate subconscious attempt to glue her to it's surface next to him.

Leaving angry and annoyed wasn't her best plan of action though it was clearly the easiest as she stalked out of the room, the soles of her boots loud and distinct against the floor with the purposeful clomp of frustration, without so much as a glance over her shoulder at his crumbled state. Quickly she tried to clear her thoughts of Quill's lingering scowl that weighed down her shoulders before she entered the main area of the ship to regroup with the rest of the crew.

It was Groot she first took notice of, even sitting he was of an almost intimidating height now, and then Rocket from where he disappeared down the stairs to assist Richard who must have been having some issue. What she missed was the overly obnoxious, teenage eye roll that the Quadruped managed before he started the climb down: having an unusual and oblivious guest was no fun. He only made it halfway down the flight before stopping himself as his patience finally ran out like an ancient round, black bomb running out of fuse. He ducked his head down to obtain the sight-line that lead to Rich's back to check that he'd actually been able to take care of the ship before he chose his words with a rapid-fire carelessness.

"It ain't needed." And then he scampered back up the stairs and rushed the latch, dodging around Gamora's legs and shouting above her protest, "We're fine, there isn't time!"

Ignoring the rest of the crew behind him he undid the locks and descended, simultaneously securing a helment around his ears, shutting it behind him with the know-how that Groot would soon follow him if only in fear for the raccoon's life.

@ The God of Mischief.

[I STILL CANNOT THINK OF A REPLY]

[ MAKE SOMETHING UP, SOFT RESTART]

@ peter quill.
fml, i'm dealing with a superbowl loss, very emotional right now.