Its About The Jacket

January 04, 2017:

Peter Quill goes looking for his jacket, and finds other things the world may not be prepared to know about.

Jane's Apartment

Jane's apartment!


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Jane Foster, Winter Soldier, Zatanna Zatara


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

It had been over a week.

He had just meant the jacket as a loaner. He didn’t mean to /give/ it to Jane Foster of all people. Jane was not worthy of his beloved red-leather garment that had been with him though so much. He had called, gotten no answer. He had left messages. No reply. He had sent email. Had been marked as spam.

That hurt man. That hurt.

So Peter Quill did what any red-blooded terran guy would do in this case.

He totally broke into her apartment.

…alright. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

The lock posed little trouble to a man raised by Ravagers. He didn’t even break it as he crept into the little apartment. “Just remember Peter,” He murmured. “You’re just doing this to get the jacket back. It’s not like you’re worried about the Princess for being missing for a goddamn week.” His voice soft as he slipped into the room. Slowly calloused fingers slid one of his beloved blasters into his hand as he eased open the door. The portal cleared on silent hinges, swinging wide as he slid through the entrance.

No gunman.

No threats.

No screeching harpy.

The last one was actually fairly nice, but it did nothing to ease his peace of mind about the situation. Sharp eyes took in the ruin of the room. The little brownstone was a mess. It seemed as if a small whirlwind went through it. Furniture overturned, papers strewn about. Evidence of haste but not violence. Still this was a bad place to be. Quill knew it his senses, honed through a thousand bad situations like this, screamed at him. He ignored them as he pressed further into the little home. His gun swayed left and right as he sought targets in the empty apartment. There wasn’t any to speak of.

The bedroom was an even worse mess, clothes thrown about the room. A small carry on bag, overturned. Its contents spilled across one corner. Everything done in haste, scattered in a frenzy of movement to get out of the apartment.

He moved on, steps coming more quickly. Her office was a mass of unplugged cables and scattered papers. The research, the computers, her life’s work was missing. In the wind along with its owner. Angrily he jammed his pistol back in its holster as he stalked back towards the living room. “Goddamnt Princess, where did you run too.” He growled softly as his eyes slashed from one side of the room to another. Every bit of evidence pointed towards her running from something. What could have scared her enough to run. Did she leave beer in the fridge? DID SHE TAKE HIS JACKET WITH HER?! These were important questions.

One he answered when he checked her fridge. She at least had milk. That was something since looking for clues was thirsty business. She wasn’t there anyway so he could totally drink out of the carton.

A shattered picture lay on the floor, glass fragments thrown from its place on the wall. The only thing that seemed to have violence done to it. Moving towards it he noted the neet hole in the wall, just about head level. A frown as he pulled out a knife and dug into that wound in the wood.

“This is a really /dumb/ idea,” He grumbled to himself as he worked the bullet free of where it was lodged. “If anyone comes in, the hell are they going to think? ‘Oh no officer, I was just looking for my coat so I broke in a dug evidence out of the wall.’” His voice mocking to his ears even as he popped the lead piece free and glowered down at it. Like its the bullet’s fault.

He shifted his gaze across the way to the opposite window, spying the neet hole made in the glass.

A shake of his head as he pocketed the evidence and stalked back towards the bedroom. Annoyance warred with worry as he crouched down to search through the overturned luggage. “Boring,” One article of clothing flying over his shoulder as he rooted though the mass for clues. “Boring. Boring. Boringboringboring! Oh hey! My jacket!”

Tucked in the corner under the fallen bag his beloved jacket lay forgotten and wadded in one corner, half covered by the contents of the bag. Pulling it out from under the articles he shook out once before blinking in some surprise at what was caught on one sleeve.

A red lacy thong.

“Not boring! I didn’t know you had it in you, Princess.” A pause. “You are a lucky man, Vader.” He adds with a solemn nod as he plucked the underthing from off his jacket. A sudden noise from the hallway caused him to turn in surprise. Of course with whatever happened someone might have been watching the damn place. “Stupid Peter, damn stupid.” He growled as he moved swiftly for the back window. Out, and down. Climbing came naturally for him, not even pausing as he moved away from the brownstone.

Great. He bet he picked up a tail.

And Jane was missing.

And Vader was gone.

And he needed a damn drink.

Well there was only one thing to do, and he pulled out his cell. One button press and speeddial took care of the rest. A few rings before the pickup clicked on.

“Hey, Zee. Its Peter…I think we might have a problem…”

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