All he wanted was tomato bisque

December 28, 2016:

Peter Quill tries to help, manages to break things. His lot in life.

Characters

NPCs: That Damn Cursed Snowman

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

It's not that Caitlin Fairchild is oblivious. She's just not… super 'aware' of her surroundings like many heroes are. It might have something to do with the fact that she's functionally invulnerable without Kryptonian superhearing to help; or that she's too worried about stepping on toes to be really concerned with being followed.

But that means that as she returns from one of her regular jaunts to the local supermarket, she's not really paying attention to her six. She'd be head and shoulders over most of New York anyway, but in the modest heel of her wedged boots, she's close to six inches taller than almost anyone else and the flaming shock of her orange hair catches little bits of the intermittent snowfall flickering down to earth. She pauses at the crosswalk along with a small herd of humanity, humming under her breath, then starts across the street with the other pedestrians, hurrying across an oblique angle towards a tall and rather high end apartment complex. Her outfit is… surprisingly girly for a change, though at least making a nod to the cold and damp, she's wearing grey leggings and a long-sleeved polar fleece underneath what would be otherwise a flirty dress.

So. This is Christmas. So there are decorations everywhere. The Spirit of the Holidays has taken over the city, so lights and sparkly decorations and snowmen abound. None of this is unusual.

A few days ago one Peter Quill decided to help his friend Groot get…festive. He got Rocket to help him with this. Rocket found some decorations. None of them really seemed bad. Even if they were in a sealed box with some old masking tape with symbols on it. I mean it wasn't until some of them started to fly /off/ Groot that he got worried.
Then Quill realized that he might have made a mistake.

Which is when he started to collect them.

Unfortunately some of them still got away, and now the great and powerful space pirate Star-lord…is…stuck hunting down some damn cursed flying cloth snowman orniment. A really goodamn cheeky one too.

Cheeky because its decided to float over the heads of most of the people on the street and pick the BIGGEST GODDAMN ONE to stick too. The tiny little piece of cursed cloth sticks to the right shoulder of Cait's fleece. Innocuously just hanging there.

Star-lord glared at it over the heads of passerby. Of course he /could/ just be staring at the redhead. Most people might think that.

Of course she /is/…pretty hot. So its not an unnatural thing to think. Hrmmm. Maybe this can work out in the favor of one Peter Quill.

Caitlin trots across the street and heads into her apartment, the doorman smiling and greeting her. Unlike some jaded New Yorkers, she even stops to exchange more than a few pleasant words with him, before moving to the elevator. As the main doors to the complex close, Quill would see the elevator lights indicating a floor just below the roof. She must make decent money for an apartment that high up in this neighborhood.

She heads into her apartment, juggling keys and then casually disengaging a thumbprint sensor that's hidden under the doorbell. The door *beeps* and Caitlin walks in, unloading groceries onto the small kitchen table. "Kara? Kara! Hey! I got you more gelato!" Caitlin calls. "I'm really sorry!" Shedding boots and jacket and dress as she goes, leaving a trail of clothing in her wake, Caitlin knocks on Kara's bedroom door and peeks into it. "Kara? Huh."

Realizing she's alone, the redhead walks around in her comfy winter leggings and polar shirt, binding her thick orange hair back in a ponytail. She makes sure the balcony door is open a crack in case Kara lands, and moves into the kitchen to start systematically dumping about six cans of heavy, thick soup concentrate into a large pot.

MEANWHILE!!

Peter just peers slightly at the door. The doorman. "Great. It just had to get complicated…" Maybe she lives alone. Maybe this won't be really awkward. Maybe she wants to get a cup of coffee. He glances around the crowded street before moving around the building towards a alleyway. There? Well there he'll kick in those rockets of his and arc into the sky. Its just a short hop to a roof so he can peer around and try to gage just where the lady with the red hair had dissipeared to…

…considering he got a floor number and she's leaving the balcony open it doesn't take too long for him to figure it out.

He stops then, making sure the important things are in order. Like his weapons in their spot, and his hair /just/ right.

The hair is very important.

Then there is a hop, just a short rocket assisted jump to the balcony.

…this is totally normal for Terrans right?

Caitlin seems to be preparing a feast for at least six people, although she's alone (aside from an evil snowman) in the apartment. She taps a speaker attached to the underside of a cabinet nearby— J-pop starts pumping through the room, and one might quickly deduce that while Caitlin can do a standing backflip, she lacks any real rhythm for dancing. Still, she's shuffling back in forth in a way that's not too creakingly alarming for the floor, but there's definitely a bit of sway clear out to the little landing that her motions betray. A quick structural analysis would reveal the apartment's been renovated with a suspended floor— and a lot of other electronics in the walls that are non-standard.

"Hey, Kara," Caitlin says, heading the balcony door being pushed open. "Replaced your gelato— how does tomato bisque sound? There's enough here for two," she says, not quite looking over her shoulder.

"And you'll sure it will be ready in time."

"Of course, sir. To have something custom made takes time, but the stitch work, the fabric, it will be peerless."

"Thank you, I'll be by to pick it up tonight then."

"Of course, Mr. Rogers, and Happy Holidays to you."

"Merry Christmas!" Steve replies and soon he makes his way out of the dress store. Wearing a simple blue ball cap, brown leather jacket, white t-shirt, and jeans, Rogers appears to be a simple every man at this time. Just one that works out.

The war hero's hands descend into his jacket pockets to protect them from the cold as he looks about. While Caitlin is focused on not crushing someone's foot and while Quill has his eyes on the prize, Rogers tends to be much more tactical in his occasional glances. With super villains, terrorism, and people just being general jerks, the 'young' man feels that the price of America's freedom is his eternal vigilance. He is somewhat discrete about it, however, just giving a look here, a glance there.

More often than not, Captain's peak senses don't pick out anything special. A couple of times he helped kids stay out of the street, once got a woman's purse bag, and a few times reminded people that getting angry at a stranger rarely helps a situation. Today seems to be more boring than usual as he moves toward the subway. A couple talking and cuddling close, a few foreign tourists taking in the buildings, a guy in an alley peeing, a guy activating rocket boots in another alley, and a musician playing holiday music. Wait, one of them doesn't belong as a normal New York thing. Sadly for most New Yorkers, it isn't the man peeing.

Cap is now on the move, weaving through the people milling about to get to the alley. He realizes that he needs to get up there. Lacking any real tech, Steve is forced to rely on his serum-granted gifting. He does a standing leap far greater than most normal men should be able to do to grab the bottom of a fire escape, slowly pulling himself up to make his way as quietly as possible up to where Quill is situated.

"Sounds great," Comes a drawl from that balcony that is /definitely/ not Kara. "I haven't tomato bisque since I was a little. Its almost like you knew I was coming!" Peter Quill has little in the way of shame and crashing a party is right in his wheelhouse. He doesn't even seem worried that the woman looks like she could snap him in half without trying really hard.

He hasn't noticed the man below them though, but he also hasn't drawn his weapons. He doesn't seem all that threatening really, though he /is/ armed.

With a wicked smile and roguish charm.

"Ka-?"

Caitlin turns and stares at Peter, jaw dropping in surprise. It's at this point that most shrinking violets would scream bloody murder and cry shrilly for help, in the hopes that a dashing hero might swing up out of nowhere at the eleventh hour and rescue her.

Caitlin grabs one edge of the table in her fingers, takes two steps forward, and swings it like it's a two-pound sofa cushion at the man lurking just inside her apartment's periphery.

"GET OUT!" she says— screams, really.

And she's no Black Canary, but the force of her voice fills the room with all the explosive overpressure of a gunshot.

By the time that Rogers gets to the roof, Starlord is already on the move. It only takes a second for the pieces to click together, but when he understands what location this stranger is moving toward and the tech he has? "Fairchild," he exclaims under his breath with concern. He pulls out a simple box like device. While SHIELD doesn't give him every toy that he could think of, they do manage to give him the ones a person like himself would find most useful. Like a miniature grappling hook launcher. It's one use, but it's usually all he needs.

The second that Cap's on that balcony, he knows he needs to react swiftly to help Fairchild. With his eyes on the target, Rogers gives a mighty leap right for Quill. Sadly, a quarter second after said leap, the world slows as Cap realizes that Fairchild is about to hit the man he's flying toward with a table.

This will suck.

Peter. You are so going to have to work on your delivery here.

"Woah, beautiful! I'm just…table." Yeah. The table is gonna hurt and Quill bursts into action. Or at least he would. If he didn't suddenly have a supersoldier going in for a hug. Cap hits him in the side just as he was about to slide under the table…so now it just gets complicated.

He gets hit, but grabs Cap around the shoulder with one hand. Possibly pulling him down and under the table…which…clips him in the shoulder.

Between table and Cap he slides further into the apartment, tumbling in a tangle of arms and legs…

…that somehow manages to activate his boots.

"WOAH WOAH WOAH!" He calls as he goes shooting across the floor towards Fairchild's legs. "I like getting close to a set of beautiful legs but not quite like this!"

The Snowman? He's just enjoying this. He /might/ have made that rocket go off. Who knows.

Caitlin manages to bat a thousand, and it's only in one of those frantic moments of panic— when you realize the brakes are locked and you're gonna rear-end that Lexus— that tachypsychia kicks in. Caitlin gets a glimmering look at the way that the table spiderwebs. It's not Ikea, either— good, old fashioned wood, sturdy and capable of supporting a lot of weight. And she watches with fascinated interest as Peter Quill somehow, /improbably/, becomes two people, and then slides across the floor as her table swings square into Captain Beefcake himself, and swats the Star-Spangled Man With a Plan across her living room like a human fastball.

"OhmygodCapI'msorry!" Caitlin blurts out, even as Peter abruptly rockets back towards her. She tries to leap into a somersault but the shock of swatting a former teammate into the air like a living softball has her stunned, and Peter smacks squarely into the side of her ankles during his crazy pass.

Peter would learn three things. One, Caitlin weighs a lot. Like, a LOT— like 'sumo wrestler' lot. Two, her feet are firmly planted, and instead of sweeping out a high center of gravity, Peter's slammed into a pair of sturdy, if ultimately yielding, calves.

Three, Peter gets an object lesson in gravitational acceleration and air resistance as Caitlin squawks and pratfalls directly atop him.

It has been said God watches out for fools and drunks. It's known which of the two Peter are, but it seems he comes out in far better shape than Steve Rogers. As Quill's evasive actions lend to a silly slide, Rogers has no real recourse save to lift his hands over his head, which likely save him a bloody noggin. Still, the blow sends him flying head over heels, impacting hard against the wall with enough force to break some dry wall and whatever wall decoration was placed on the impact zone. After the slam, the Captain doesn't move for a second or two.

After a second or two, there is a simple "It's all good" that is spoke into the floor before he starts to get up, reaching for the cap that was knocked off during the blow. He's a little shaky, but it appears there's no lasting damage for the time being. "We okay?" he questions, still unsure exactly what is going on, but far more okay with the situation since it seems as if Caitlin is ready for this intruder, perhaps far more so than Cap himself was.

Normally being this close to someone this looking is entirely on Quill's agenda. In this case? Not so much. Not that he doesn't find her attractive. Quite the opposite. However right now he's not quite looking his best. Especially since he's just had the wind knocked out of him thanks to her fine set of gams.

He just has enough time to draw in a quick breath before she's crashing into him. His eyes widen as she comes tumbling down, and he doesn't even have time to get his armor up. He reaches for his boots…but they just kick out nothing but smoke…

THANKS MISTER SNOWMAN.

Then he gets squarely Fairchild'd.

His arms go around her waist as if an automatic reaction as he once more looses his breath.

As the dust settles he just cradles the body ontop of him and goes though the checklist to make sure that he doesn't have any serious injuries.

"So…" His voice a dry whisper. "….I take it thats a no to the tomato bisque?"

He can still move his arms and legs. So thats something at least.

Caitlin doesn't seem injured. Caitlin doesn't seem /bruised/. She does, however, seem irritated, as the ginger landslide clambers off of Peter Quill— but one hand stays firmly clamped around a rocket-propelling boot. She stands up with a grunt, leveraging a hand off the ground, and holds Peter off the ground at full extension, so his knuckles can barely scrape the floor, and scowls angrily at Peter Quill. She does in fact have an attractive scowl— no scion of the Dark Knight here— but the literal, complete lack of effort in how she suspends him at full arm's length like he's so much a strawman, is probably a good compensator for any lack of natural intimidation factor.

"I'm good, Cap. You want me to start pulling his arms off, see if he starts talking while he can still play the piano?" She sounds like she's probably putting on a good front for Cap, blustering a little.

Ironlike fingers collapse a little more around his rocket boot, and with a *crunch*, a hiss, and a sparkle, she cracks the hull of the device.

Maybe not /entirely/ bluffing.

Rogers slowly advances on the two as he rolls a slightly pained shoulder, looking over Quill to see if he's a man that he recognizes and he most definitely is not. A small frown is given toward Peter as he speaks toward Caitlin. "I think he's the sort that will talk whether we want to or not," he states in response to the question on bisque. Steve moves until he's just out of headbutt range of Peter. "But I do hope he's the sort to give good explanations." Blue eyes flicker toward Caitlin's face for a moment. "I think you're entitled to that much at least."

He dangles, but he doesn't dangle passively. He crosses his arms over his chest. Quirking an eyebrow and loooking…well…surprisingly composed for someone being held by one leg. Of course inside he is quietly loosing his mind. "What he hell are you anyway? Some kind of Kree beserker woman?" A pause. "I mean I /like/ beserker women, but man. Your strong." There is a pause. "And there isn't a need for threats here! I was trying to help dangit, do you throw tables at everyone who is trying to help?! Man. Terrans. Always overreacting."

He blows out a long sigh.

"Look, lets back up here." Still dangling. "I'm Star-lord. You…" This with a vulpine grin towards Fairchild. "…are hot when your angry." A sidelance towards Cap.. "And you….don't have much of a sense of humor?"

About then is where his boot sparks and fizzles.

"Hey hey hey! I just got Pepper to fix that! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find people to fix Xandarian rocket tech on /Terra/ of all places?" A deep breath. "I think we all need to calm down. Have a nice talk. And I can explain why I'm here." A pause. "Over some soup. Or Coffee. I'll settle for coffee."

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