A Whole Twenty Percent
Roleplaying Log: A Whole Twenty Percent
Participants
IC Details
Synopsis:

The Guardians reflect on the attack on the Triskelion, the could have's, the what next's.

Other Characters Referenced: Atli, Gamora, Kitty Pryde, Phil "Deadeye" Coulson, Quicksilver, Zatanna Zatara
IC Date: March 25, 2019
IC Location: The Milano, Gotham City
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 30 Mar 2019 04:11
Rating & Warnings: PG
NPC & GM Credits:
Associated Plots

"Well," The man known across the cosmos as the rogue, pirate, outlaw and general awesome pilot Star-Lord mutters as he squints at a screen. "I guess its reassuring to know that wherever you go in the galaxy there are idiots."

He's annoyed. Quite annoyed as he sits in the pilot seat on the bridge of the Milano. The ship that is its home parked in the magically cloaked parking spot near the manor of one Zatanna, his feet up on the back of the chair in front of him as he watches part of the Brotherhood of Mutant's announcement of the terrigen crystals once again.

"What the hell is that stuff anyway? Between all of us we've stolen, built, or sold basically most of the things of worth in the Galaxy. You two heard of anything like that anywhere?"

He's annoyed.

And it totally isn't because he's worried about just what that could do to Kitty. Nope. Totally not it.

Not at all.

Ever.

He just doesn't like Quicksilver's stupid face.

* * *

In his usual workspace, the table that occasionally doubles as a meal area or impromptu medical space (yeah, so unsanitary, right?), Rocket has paused from fiddling with the scattered pieces of random techery and tools to watch one of the nearby monitors playing the same broadcast that's come up in interruption of the unsettling images from the smoldering lot where the Triskelion had stood. Peter's voice snaps him out of whatever unease had settled in his gut, and he turns his head towards the steps leading up to the bridge.

"Yeah, there's no escape from their kind," he comments belatedly, his heart not completely into it, but hopefully Peter doesn't notice. He sets his tools down and turns to head on up to the bridge. No point in yelling for this conversation, after all.

"I got no clue. I mean, if it's Terran then I for sure wouldn't know what kinda weird funk you got on your planet. An' I sure can't tell from just a picture like that," he says, even as he reaches over on another monitor and taps a clawed finger here and there to screen-grab the image of the sample Quicksilver had displayed.

* * *

Groot…isn't paying attention.

He's present. He's been present in the Milano with Quill and Rocket, playing with the same handheld video game he always has on hand. Which is practically the norm of late, considering most of the words coming from people's flapping lips nowadays has been on the serious side of things, laws this, politics that.

Yet at the same time, he's not. Even if his eyes are on the miniature screen, all of the newer reports flooding in manage to occupy his thoughts. It makes him worry, and he doesn't like worrying. Quill, however, expresses a similar annoyance aloud, echoing his own moodiness as he takes a moment to look up.

"…I am Groot." It's a low reply, one that comes long after the question is asked. Like Rocket, he's not sure what to make of the terrigen. He's never seen anything like that before.

* * *

Peter doesn't want to look at that flaming wreck where the former Trisket once stood. At least not there. They all deal with worry in different ways, Peter's is usually to ignore it and get mad at something else. At least for a bit.

"Great," He nods before he sits forward. "I'm pretty sure it isn't native Terran but yeah, can't be for sure. Damn registration BS makes things kinda difficult to figure out too."

He pauses though, letting his eyes sweep round to the other two in the cockpit before he pauses a moment. "You tried to get hold of Deadeye yet?" He asks of one of the SHIELD agents they know at least well enough to give a nickname too. "I mean I'm sure he's busy…but if anyone could tell us what the hell happened…" A glance back towards Rocket and Groot a moment.

There is that unspoken thought that if they had stayed, if things turned out just slightly different, they could have been under that pile of rubble.

* * *

"Yeah…" Rocket mutters, flicking the image capture over to the other screen before he makes his way over to his usual seat, hauling himself up onto it. "It's like they don't want help or somethin'. And then this crap happens, 'cept I doubt it's gonna the ones who're already sold on this registration stuff to change their minds."

He pulls up the picture of the terrigen sample, tapping on the screen beside it to see if he could find any matches. "Be better if I could get readings from an actual sample than a grainy picture. I'm already chasing after one mystery material around here and I know that one ain't from Terra."

The small Guardian falls silent when Peter mentions Coulson by their special petname, and he shakes his head after a moment. "No, not yet. He's probably got his hands full with all this, but I'll see if I can get a hold'a him." If the guy's gone and died again…

Rocket lifts his head and looks over at Peter, brow furrowing, and while he doesn't say anything further it seems he's tuned into the same thought as he offers a slow, single nod.

The sentiment's broken off almost immediately after as Rocket looks back at the screens, watching text scroll by but no matches thus far.

"…so what do we do now?"

* * *

A longer pause takes hold before a soft, breathy snort fills in as wordless commentary on the news. Groot's gaze averts from the screens, falling nowhere near the handheld device as he leans his scrawny arms over his bark-covered thighs.

He hates hearing the reports. Or being forced to watch the repeated reels of footage no matter station they've tuned into. The hard shell of adolescent apathy can only hide most of the actual concern he's feeling for those who were caught up in the mess at the Triskelion.

He hates feeling helpless.

They could'ved been there. That's the reality they could have had. Just waiting on the numbers and names is hard enough; the feeling is mutual — he really doesn't want to hear that Coulson died again.

* * *

"It didn't take the first time, it isn't gonna take the second one." Peter smirks slightly at the mention of Coulson. "He'll come out of this smiling that 'I'm so going to kill someone' smile of his. Then laugh at you for worrying about him."

He sounds confident about it too, because that is what Peter Quill does at times like this. Especially when both Rocket and Groot look like that. Confidence is something he has an abundance of and he never is afraid to share.

"Alright, what we are going to do…" He squints at the screen. "…we talk to Deadeye. Because he is totally still alive. Find out if he knows anything about the stuff. Then we go find out more about this stuff, why they had it, and what idiots might use it. I mean come on guys. We're the Guardians of the Galaxy. We got resources that SHIELD can't even dream of right?"

Slowly a smile grows across his face. A slash of a smirk.

"Then? Then we find someone's ass to kick for this. And we kick it so goddamn hard their ancestors feel it. Or their decedents. Maybe both. Time paradoxes are weird." A smirk again. "And see. Look at that. Now? Now we have a plan. Right?"

A pause. "It's at least fifteen percent of a plan."

* * *

It was stupid, really. Rocket didn't even know why he was getting so worked up about the whole thing. The place was basically a fancy Terran Nova Corps.

…but even Nova Corps had some good people, and you didn't live in their headquarters for almost a year.

"Heh." He wonders if it sounds too forced, but the quirk of a half-smile doesn't take too much effort as he can just picture Phil Coulson smiling in just such a manner. Maybe that's why the guy's so likeable. In some ways, he's not terribly different from their own ragtag family.

"Right. Got that much down," Rocket says, nodding with a dismissive wave as Peter begins to lay out their plan of action. "Very true though." He'll admit, S.H.I.E.L.D. did have some interesting toys, and he'll certainly miss rummaging through their randomly confiscated tech to put together new and glorious weapons of varying explosive and shooty types. And tools. That might have been where he'd gotten parts for his energy scanner.

"As usual your plans suck but hey, in this case I think we've got plenty of room for functional improvisation so we can work with fifteen percent. Maybe it's even twenty. What the hell, I'm feelin' generous."

* * *

He hates to admit it, but Peter Quill is right. Being an agent, Coulson is full of surprises. It's very possible he's not dead. That actually helps lift his spirits the more he thinks on it, lifting his gaze back toward the supposed leader of the Guardians as he makes his claims.

Groot then chuckles for two reasons: Quill said 'ass,' and he looks forward to the amount of potential violence fifteen percent of a plan brings to the table.

Okay, so maybe he laughs a little harder at Rocket's additional comment, leaning back to roll his shoulders out in the meantime. "I am Groot!"

* * *

"A whole twenty percent? Are you feeling ok, Rocket? You need to see a vet or something?" There is a flash of a grin on Quill's face as the pair of Guardians in the cockpit start to come around once again.

"And you know thanks to everyone else screwing up my amazing plans, all plans are all functional improvisation." He adds after a smirk towards them both. "See. Trust me. This is why I'm the leader."

Which he will tell everyone. Until they believe it.

"We might be able to help with the clean up, if we can get some of those fancy holoimager or some magic'd disguises." And by help with the clean up he might mean poke around for salvage. Or he might mean help with the clean up. I mean really…isn't salvaging just recycling?

…it is just logic after all.

"…now we just got to figure out where Atli and Gamora got to."

* * *

A french fry how-many-day's-old goes flying at Peter's head. If you dig far enough there's a plethora of ancient and recent snacks wedged between the crevices of the seats and panels of this ship. "Vet that," Rocket snorts.

"Hah! You hearin' this guy, Groot? Us screwin' up your 'amazing' plans. If yer plans were half as amazing as you claim 'em to be, then they wouldn't get screwed up so bad that we needa improvise." He forces a laugh, sneering. "Leader."

Shifting in his seat, he shakes his head at the readouts, still finding nothing, but they didn't have much to go by in the first place. Insufficient data. Again the raccoonoid snorts. Tell me about it.

"Oh, clean up. Gotcha…" He does the wink thing. "Would need some components for a proper holoimager. And we'd need separate ones for all of us, 'specially to customize to your sandwich gut. Magic though… Huh. Ask Zee about that. She's the expert, but I think she can do anything she can say backwards."

He shrugs, closing off screens. "I got no clue where Atli and Gams are. Should we be concerned that they're bonding?"

* * *

A bag of chips sails through the air after the old french fry. Just because it feels right to have more food flying in Quill's general direction. Since it's open, some cheetos fall out on its wayward course.

Groot clicks his tongue, smirking a bit. "I am Groot," he exhales, shaking his head.

Still, the planning is pretty sound. Disguises aren't great, but they can't just traipse around like they do. At least it won't be pants?

The treenager does have to pause at that last part, though, cocking his head at the mention of Atli and Gamora. For some reason, he feels like they should be doing something to find them. And quickly.

…That fleeting moment of responsibility then goes, leaving Groot to shrug as he looks back down at his game. "I am Groot."

* * *

"Yeah," Quill replies as he thinks about it. "It's fine. I bet it's fine. We'll catch up to them soon I'm sure."

A pause.

"Or Gamora will you know. Blow up a police station when they try to arrest her for Registration and we'll have to do a jail break. We'll just play it by ear!"

…it's what they always do.

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