LODESTAR ❥ PETER QUILL

Chapter 1

Is it possible to die from a horrible hangover? Because alcohol poisoning is NOT the way I want to go.

"This is your only t-shirt left that doesn't smell like rocking chair regrets," a tiny floral colossus informs the groaning brunette.

Heather picks up the aforementioned t-shirt and gives it a little sniff. She grimaces and throws it across the room into an overflowing laundry basket. The floral colossus sighs.

"Do you know how long that took me to find?!"

"I'm not wearing anything that might make me contract an illness. And rocking chair regrets?! I'm only thirty-three years old. I have pleeenty of time to sort my life out . . . right?"

Heather groans and collapses on to a seat massaging her temples.

"Of course you do! Besides it's not as if you are out of shape or anything. You're not even halfway through your prime time yet."

"Thanks Kleintje."

The tender moment is interrupted by a ringtone sounding through the ship.

"For fucks sake . . ." Heather gets up to ignore the call when Kleintje pipes up.

"This is the eighth time from the same caller. It may be important. It might be a job!"

Realisation and hope dawns on Heather's face.

"Shit! You're right."

Heather grabs her long, blue, leather trench coat-y thing and hurriedly pulls it on to hide her upper body, which is only covered by a black lacy bra.

"How do I look?"

"Like a cross between a struggling single mother and a trendy party animal in her twenties."

Heather rolls her eyes and accepts the call.

.•*¨*•.¸¸♪•*¨*•.¸¸☆*･ﾟ•｡.•*¨*•♬✧

Heather basks in the rays of Xandar's sun as she waits for her target to emerge from the shop he just walked into. She's cleaned up very nicely. She handwashed a graphic tee and some skinny trousers and wiped down her long jacket. She even polished her black lace-ups and conditioned her long chestnut hair. Kleintje is sitting on her left shoulder sighing in contentment.

"Man, Xandar seems like a cool place, right Kleintje?"

Planetary life just seems so peaceful . . . Maybe one day.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Kleintje tugging urgently on her earlobe.

"What is it?"

"Over there! It's one of Thanos' daughters. The green one!"

"Oh shit, really? Well, it's a good thing I came prepared!"

Heather gestures to the two guns and miniature knife tucked into her belt.

"Be careful," the small plant cautions.

"Don't worry Kleintje, I'll be fine."

Then the target is chucked out of the broker's yelling, before engaging in conversation with Thanos' daughter.

"What an idiot, does he not know who she is?" Kleintje squeals angrily. "AND NOW HE'S TOSSING THE FUH—FREAKING ORB RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER!"