Damn it. As he sits down near her, he actually /lays/ down, hands behind his head as he crosses his ankles. /Try/ him.

And sure enough, her glancing over is all it takes for him to open his mouth, eyes turning towards her with a small smile. Unfortunately for her. "Y'know, there's more fun ways t'entertain yourself." He's been almost-killed for far less, she shouldn't worry.

"I mean, there's goin' to a bar, I've heard TV's a decent thing t'do. Do you like shoppin'?" Raising a brow, he turns his gaze back to the wall. "I hear girls like shoppin'." Yeah, that's something they can agree on.

Staring at her for a moment, he finally moves, propping himself up on his elbows. " . . . D'ya need some stuff? I don't got a lot, but if y'/need/ anythin' . . . " That's--that's oddly satisfying and comforting to him, believe it or not. Mostly comforting.

“Fifteen years with—“ Blinking, Peter tilted his head slightly, curiosity filling his voice. “Just how old /are/ ya?” He’s hurt enough people for a lifetime, so unless she’s suddenly one of the bad guys, neither of them have to worry.

A pause followed as he mentally did the math, disbelief in his tone. “You’ve been traveling with a /backpack/ since you were 8 years old? Where did y’grow up??” Sometimes the hurt ain’t exactly on purpose.

Sitting up, he tucks one leg under the other, bending the second at the knee while resting his elbow on his knee. "I was on a team with a talkin' raccoon and a walkin' tree. Try me." That--that wasn't /meant/ to be.

And at that, he just . . . . . . stared at her for a moment before finally responding, a shoulder shrugging. "I was abducted from Earth when I was 8 years old, an' grew up in space. Comin' back from the future don't sound that complicated t'follow."

Space . . . isn't /all/ it's made out to be, but it /can/ be fun. "Yeah, that's one way t'put it. What's your story? Other than the whole 'future' thing?" /Name/, Peter. "An' your name. 'Cause I don't mind callin' y'sweetheart, but y'don't seem like the type t'like that."

Uma. That’s a unique name. But he’s too busy being distracted by the /second/ part of what she said, face wrinkling up in distaste. “Why would they try t’exterminate an entire population like that??”

And cue his, uh, cue to back away from a fight, hands held in the air. “Hey, it ain’t my place t’say. I don’t know any mutants, but I grew up with aliens who were probably 10 times worse. This ain’t my fight.”

“Oh!” Great going, Peter. Clearing his throat, he held his hand out, smile pulling back on his lips. “Peter Quill, but you can call me Star-Lord. Everyone does.”

"and brandy does her best to ｕｎｄｅｒｓｔａｎｄ..." .* · . ✦ · 　 　　 　　　　 · . 　　　 ˚ ✵ 　 　 . 　 　 . 　　 　　 　　　　 . 　 ✫ ✦ ✧· . 　 　 . . 　 * ⊹ ∫ backstory/solo: tl.gd/n_1sqppl1. ∫

|| I just saw that someone in — BRANDY M. QUILL.’s CC suggested or hinted at her sleeping with Peter Quill, and honestly? I’m LIVID. That shit is FAR from okay, and if that was you, do us all a favor and get the mental help you need. Leave my baby girl alone.

|| I will physically fight them if they come into your anon again. They’re sick and need mental help, and shouldn’t be on this website—or the internet at all.

|| How weird would it be to randomly message — BRANDY M. QUILL.’s shipping partner a song that fits Peter and August even thought they’ve never met and we’ve never spoken??

|| IT JUST CAME ON IN THE CAR ON MY WAY TO WORK OKAY

|| .......she really is her father’s daughter— ThERE IS NO DENYING THIS ONE

|| -EXTERNAL SCREAMING-