pullmeoutalive | Ramey

[ The corner of his mouth twitches up, though soon after he plasters on a bland sort of look. ]

Maybe it's a little of both.

[ Peter shifts in his seat, slouching down to stretch his legs out. He tips his head against the backrest of the chair. ]

Rocket still going through the info?

[ He finds himself echoing that little smirk, just for a second ]

Yeah. I figured I'd let him have at it. I'm too tired to care right now.

[ Too tired to keep standing, in fact. The events of the evening must be catching up to him, since he just feels kind of pleasantly warm and lethargic. He plops into the chair near Peter, the one with his ruined clothes hanging over the back of it. ]

They did a number on your suit.

[ He barely restrains his urge to roll his eyes. It would figure that someone of Emily's standing wouldn't understand what's important to a person of Leona's. ]

You don't, but she does. I'm not out to ruin her life, here.

[ He huffs out a laugh.

(He doesn't realize it, but he tips his head toward Brennan slightly when he sits down beside him. Just the barest little shift closer. ]

Yeah. That was the real injustice of this fucking mess.

[ The seam of one of the shoulders of his jacket is torn apart; the tie is a wrinkled mess. He plucks absently at the crease of his trouser leg with a bandaged hand, where there's a rip at the knee. His shoes are scuffed, and the cuffs and collar of his white shirt are stained with dried blood.

A mournful little sigh, as he lets his hand drop back into his lap. ]

Guess I won't be trottin' this suit out again any time soon.

[She would argue against that pretty adamantly if that thought had been said aloud.]

Neither am I. [She crosses her arms, eyes sweeping across all the photographs once more.] Don't worry about her. I won't do anything that'll make you regret working with me tonight.

[ He leans a little as well, as he settles back in the chair. Though he does lean forward when Peter picks at his pantleg, etching out a quick rune in the air over the torn fabric.

The mark vanishes, and the tear knits itself back together as though it were never there in the first place. ]

I'm afraid that's all I've got in terms of fix-it spells.

[ That flash of purple again, and it— doesn't grate as much as it used to. Doesn't send that flare of disgust through him like it would have done a day ago.

He's just tired, he tells himself. It's been a long fucking night, and getting his insides tenderized certainly didn't help. The annoyance will be back once he's in better form, probably.

(He doesn't really care whether it does or not.)

The magic does make him tense – not quite nervousness or fear, but more a wariness of the unknown. He stares hard at the fabric as the two sides of the tear weave themselves back together, tries to spot evidence of the rip.

When he spots nothing, he huffs out a breath, something approaching derisive but not quite meeting the bar. ]

Show-off.

Yeah, basically.

[ He turns to regard Peter with a grin. ] I won't be fixing your entire suit, though. Sorry.

It's fine, I guess.

[ He doesn't think on it as he reaches over, pats Alec on the arm as if in consolation. ]

We can't all be perfect, buddy.

[ That slight contact is enough to make something pleasant and warm drift through him. Something in the back of his mind distantly tells him to get away, but he doesn't care to listen to it right now. He's too tired, too content.

Whatever this is, he finds he wants more. ]

I didn't know I'd have to brush up on my Mending to hang out with you.

[ His head tips back against the bulkhead, eyes slipping shut. ]

If I knew what that meant, I'd have an answer for you.

[ He makes a vague motion with his hand ]

The fix-it magic. That's Mending.

Wizards have a lot of bullshit names for types of magic.

[ He huffs out a breath. ]

I mean, can't be that bullshitty. It does what it says on the tin, I guess? It mends. [ And he enunciates the word a bit more than necessary. ]

Unless you guys call, like that electricity thing you do something seriously stupid, like, the dance if Zeus.

[ He laughs a little. He wouldn't put it past some wizards to get that pretentious. ]

I probably never would have picked it up if that's the case. It's called Elementalism. The chameleon thing is Illusion. The throw people into walls thing is Destruction. The shield thing is Defense. And on and on. There's like ten schools of magic.

Edited 2016-11-03 04:07 (UTC)

Is it something anyone can learn? Or do you just gotta be lucky? [ asked mildly, but he's interested in the answer, all the same.

although no one should ever let peter quill have access to magic. that's just irresponsible. ]

I can teach you the marks, but the magic's genetic. Unless your old man was a wizard, you'll just be waving your hands in the air for no reason.

[ He raises his hands. ] Just making sure we’re on the same page.

Since it seems we are, let’s get out of here for real this time. [ He assumes Emily still has all the relevant documents in hand, but he casts around one more time to make sure that he hasn’t overlooked anything. There’s nothing in the little room that seems relevant, so they exit and he carefully shuts the bookcase, locking it and concealing the keyhole once again.

The key goes back in the desk drawer (and while he’s there, he quietly pockets a few notes and a small address book for himself- knowing who this man’s friends are helps him do his job, after all). He finds a moment where Emily’s attention is diverted to wave the lock back into place with a small motion of his hand- he always locks everything behind him, to better cover his tracks.

He meets her back at the rope, still dangling from the skylight into the middle of the room. ]

So, if I say “ladies first” this time, are you gonna shoot me down?

[Emily does have the documents in hand, creasing them in half just enough for her to place them in a pocket, lined on the inside of her coat.

She watches best she can as Alec locks everything back in place (though she misses his subtle use of his special skills); when everything is said and done, and the rope dangles in front of them, she lifts a brow in his direction.]

I wouldn't shoot you. That would make too much noise.

[She can allow herself a sliver of sarcasm this one time, and she doesn't give him time to respond, either. This time, she does clamber up the rope first -- quietly, swiftly as she can, up through the skylight and back onto the roof.]

[ He puffs out a quiet sigh from between his lips. ]

Figures.

[ He tosses the ice pack onto the table, swapping it for the foul-smelling tea. He takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs before forcing himself to take another mouthful. It helps to dull the taste a little, but not by much, and he goes right back to making that disgusted face.

Once he’s convinced he’s kept the drink down, he flicks a glance over to Alec. ]

… Look, about earlier. [ An awkward beat, then he clarifies, ] The whole, uh. Accusin’ you of going Benedict Arnold on me…

[ He trails off. Clearly he’s working up to an apology of sorts, here. Give it a second. ]

[ He watches Peter brave through another drink, and Jesus that does not look pleasant. For a second he feels like he might be sick on the guy’s behalf.

Once the apparent nastiness has passed and Peter turns to offer what he assumes is going to be an apology, he holds up a hand. ]

Don’t. I get it. It’s not like I gave you any reason to trust me, so it’s fine.

Was that a joke?

[ He sounds unimpressed, though he’s privately amused. Maybe the idea of justice or whatever gets her to loosen up a little? There’s something out there for everybody, he supposes.

Once she’s on the roof, he hauls himself up the rope, flipping on his Enhancements with a thought to help ease his passage and he makes it up top rather quickly. (Maybe a little too quickly? Eh.) He leaves the skylight to her as he gathers up the rope, looping it back up. ]

Well my lady, this has been a wonderful and enlightening experience, but I believe this is where we part ways.

You sure as hell haven’t.

[ Despite the words, he says it mildly. He agrees, certainly, but not with the spite he might have utilized a handful of hours earlier. ]

Still. Should’ve known better.

[ He falls quiet after that, contemplating the contents of his mug. The gears in his head are still audibly turning, still juddering with false starts and resets, until he lets out a slow breath. ]

Thanks for. [ A beat. ] You know. [ A vague gesture made small by his injuries. ]

I mean, I know it was just, like. A practical thing. [ Because leaving Peter behind risked the whole operation. ] But still, I, uh. Appreciate it.

Don’t mention it.

[ It was a practical thing, he knows it was. Leaving Peter in enemy hands was just plain stupid, regardless of how they felt about one another. But in the moment? It felt like life or death, with the sharp teeth of dread digging into him at the mere thought that something might have happened to Peter.

It seems weird to think back on now. The terror, the urgency, seem distant and alien in the face of lazy contentment. He settles back in his chair a little more, listing slightly towards Peter without thinking much of it. ]

Like I said, your friends would kill me if I ditched you.

[ He breathes out a laugh, a little dark and self-deprecating. ]

Yeah, yeah. The galaxy’s most insane guard dogs. I heard you the first time.

Still. Good timing. [ A pause, then he corrects, ] Kind of okay timing. Could’ve saved me a broken rib if you were just a few minutes earlier, but…

[ A shrug. ]

We can’t all be perfect, like I mentioned.

Uh-huh. I heard that the first time too.

I was kind of working at the time, then somebody- [ he gives Peter a gentle nudge with his elbow ] -didn't answer their comm.

Ramey > open rp

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i see how it is

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not my fault they're v. tasty

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