❛ A GIRLBOSS MECHANIC, A DELUSIONAL BOUNTY HUNTER AND A BIO-CHEMICALLY ALTERED RODENT WALK INTO A BAR...I'M PRETTY SURE YOU CAN FINISH THE JOKE. ❜ | Calypso Orellano had a sailor's mouth, a punch of steel, and zero tolerance for scruffy bounty hunte...
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THERE ARE THREE SPECIFIC WORDS I'D USE TO DESCRIBE "PETER QUILL", a name I'm still not convinced is really his own.
Arrogant.
Annoying.
And a complete, total, absolute asshole.
Unfortunately, however, I can't really call him a bad pilot. Because while his personality made me want to jump out of his ship that stank of smells I didn't want to imagine the source of, he did know how to fly. We were out of Vargo in no time and I was left in awe as my unwilling pilot expertly steered a ship barely holding itself together.
Well. Until we fecking crashed.
Crash, present tense, because while I write this inner monologue, we're swerving through a field of floating rock and he's shouting and I'm shouting and we're both just screaming at each other, not solving the problem but coping with the fact that we might die in the middle of deadspace with the worst possible person as a partner in the act.
"Your nav's broken, stupid!"
"I thought you said you could fix it?!"
"Yeah," I yell back, clinging tight to the wall. I try not to think about my impending doom via the meteor field we steered into. "Not that I did?! And you would know that if you listened to—"
"—I swear to Jesus, if you tell me one more time that I gotta listen to your shit, I will—"
"—you'll what? Kill me?! Newsflash, dickwad, we're already both headin' that way!"
"And that's on you for not doing your job properly!"
"No, if we're about to die, it's because you're a little cry-jelly too wussy to fly a damn ship well!"
"You — you take that back, y'asshole!"
I hold tighter to the wall as we careen to the right, and wonder what I did to deserve my fate.
"I can fly this damn ship," Peter roars, when I don't offer anything in response. "I just don't know where the hell I'm goin' and this engine's got maybe ten minutes, tops! So, all-knowing goddamn genius, a little help would be nice!"
I huff. "I told you, head for Ciilia!" What's he need, step-by-step directions? It's a moon. Pretty easy to see in the middle of absolutely nothing else.
"I — not the point I'm making here!"
"You're not makin' any points, you're just whining to me about—" another crash sends me to the floor, smacking my head clean against it. A dull roar cascades in between my ears like an ocean of brain-juice just broke loose. And it's not a classy comparison, but with the pain blooming, it's all I've got.
