VOICE || Terran calendars 101

[kicksomegrass]

Okay. [ There's no preamble, no introduction. Just Rocket's unmistakable voice, sounding as irritated as ever. ] I thought I had a pretty good handle on the way you Terrans did your calendar. Earth rotates around its axis: day. Earth rotates around the sun: year. Pretty standard. All the stuff in between is chopped up inta arbitrary "months" that don't make much sense, but hey, ya stick on every wall and on the communicators so at least I can kinda keep track.

It ain't perfect. Kind of annoying, but I don't expect a whole lot from you Terrans anyway.

That said, how the hell did I end up missin' a month and a half?

Last I looked it was all trees and snow and... "kris-mas". [ The air quotes are practically audible. ] Now it's all red and pink and... and kinda an assault on the senses, honestly. What is with you people? Somebody fill me in here.

[ There's a bit of a pause, and he seems to be ending it there. Until, as an afterthought, he adds: ]

Quill, you better still have my stuff or I'm gonna kick your ass.

Comments

[kicksomegrass]

[ He just. Stares at the boxes. ] What the heck are these?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Simply, ] Christmas presents.

[ He shrugs, moving to sit at the table -- in one of the chairs, mind you, seeing as how the chairs are, you know, people-sized. ]

You kinda skipped out and missed the whole gift exchange part of Christmas.

[kicksomegrass]

Not my fault.

[ He sets aside his papers, and pulls one of the boxes towards him ] I'm guessin' you found yours.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He nods once. ]

Yeah. [ Granted, he hasn't used it, the record player. It was largely as Rocket left it, hidden with the note still attached and everything.

Maybe he'll be more comfortable with using it now that this asshole's back. ]

Thanks, by the way. You didn't have to get me anything.

[kicksomegrass]

[ He shrugs ] I don't know how you Terrans do things. I figured it was mandatory.

I still gotta finish up some things, so I hope you didn't totally screw it up. [ as he speaks, he begins tearing the paper from the box, and lifts the lid.

Mabel's sweater. ] I dunno what it is, but it's the ugliest one of those I've ever seen.

[nostalgiabomb]

Excuse you, it's a masterpiece.

[ Still, he's suppressing a smile as he says it, and lifts a shoulder in a shrug. ]

Gag gifts. Kind of a Terran thing, too.

[kicksomegrass]

Gag is right. [ He makes a retching nose, setting the sweater aside to pull the next box close. ]

I almost don't wanna open this one.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He lifts his eyebrows, reaching out a hand to drag the remaining gift toward himself. ]

I mean, if you don't want it...

[kicksomegrass]

[ He swats at Peter's hand. ]

I said almost.

[ He tears into the paper with renewed gusto, almost like he doesn't want Quill to snatch it from him. When he opens the box he just... falls quiet for a second. He was expecting something else terrible ad stupid, not something genuinely thoughtful.

Gingerly, Rocket lifts a small screwdriver from the box. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ uh.

uHHH.

Rocket's being awful quiet. That's-- good? Bad? Really bad? It's not as though gift-giving was a normal thing for Peter, either.

He shifts in his seat. ]

I, uh. I figured you could do with a set. I mean, if you don't like 'em, it's cool. Just, you know.

[ A beat, and his gaze wanders off to one side. ]

... Yeah.

[kicksomegrass]

[ Rocket was used to taking what he needed. He didn't even know what getting a gift like this would be like.

He breathes out a little laugh ] Stop freaking out, asshole.

[ When he glances up at Peter, there's something like a smile on his face ] Thanks.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ On reflex, ] I'm not "freaking out."

[ A pause, though, and he offers a small smile back. ]

Yeah. Any time.

[ he leans forward on the table, and because he's a moment ruiner, he flicks Rocket on the arm. ]

Still pissed that you ditched me.

[kicksomegrass]

Hey! [ He swats at Quill's hand again, ears folding back in annoyance ] I told you it wasn't my fault.

You think I just walked right up and said, "Excuse me, Mr. Government? I'd like to go home now. But screw Quill, he can stay here."

[nostalgiabomb]

Well kinda, now.

[ He settles back, arms crossed, looking like a moody teenager. ]

Everything-- good? Back home, I mean.

[kicksomegrass]

As good as it ever is, by which I mean more crap jobs that never seem to go right and more crap pay, but hey- it's a living.

[ Rocket looks him over for a second, then, ] You bring your stuff, too?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ um???

He squints at him, puzzled. ]

Which stuff? [ like, Peter has a lot of stuff -- a symptom of being a tinkerer -- so u gotta be specific bruh. ]

[kicksomegrass]

You know, your stuff. Unless you wanna stay in Heropa.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Squinting intensifies before he holds up a hand, as if to interrupt him. ]

Hang on, are you-- asking me to move in here?

[kicksomegrass]

Yeah? [ like, duh ]

What the hell am I supposed to do with the whole freakin' house?

[nostalgiabomb]

I dunno, fill it with bombs and making sneezing an extremely dangerous bodily function?

[kicksomegrass]

Hm. Now that you mention it, that's awfully tempting...

[nostalgiabomb]

[ he wrinkles his nose. ]

Your funeral, man. That's gonna be one hell of a mess to clean up, when you're all gooified.

[kicksomegrass]

C'mon, who do you take me for? If you use the right kinda explosives, there won't even be any goo left.

[nostalgiabomb]

Was-- that meant to be reassuring, or--?

[kicksomegrass]

It was meant to remind you how good I am at my damn job.