The Liberation of the Guardians of the Galaxy

July 29, 2018:

Drax the Destroyer liberates the Guardians of the Galaxy from their Assguardian captor.

The Central Park Zoo


NPCs: None.



Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…



Of all the places Thor might find himself, at the very least it is peaceful one. Well, after closing time anyway. Not that the park attendants mine if a great hero from Asgard takes some time for himself after normal hours. After all, hero-ing can be a frustrating business, and at the very least the goats could get along with some of the other animals or simply flop down in the middle of the petting area as if they owned the place.

This is the current disposition of one of the goatlords, tongue out, goatly eyes turned to the sky, legs stretched as if it were finally, blissfully at home. Somewhere beyond, a few animals are being moved in covered cages to new paddocks, work to be done before night fully falls and the city comes alive outside of this slice of nature at the center of a civilization of metal. Several of the animals, sensing night's approach, call to the heavens.

But even as the sun streaks for the horizon, there is yet another dangerous creature who stalks, but uncaged, drawing twin daggers from his boots as he steps from the shade and lets light back over the glory of his physique.


Uh-oh, someone's been watching Thor sleep.

“Your era of bondage is over! No longer will Rocket be forced to live next to other creepy lesser beings like himself!! No longer shall Groot be forced to provide you with endless shade when he could be providing it to me!! No longer shall Peter Quill be pathetic under your heeled boot, when he can BE FREE AND BE PATHETIC WITH NO HELP FROM YOU!!”

The last few words peak the rage of the man, but soon he continues.


The shout comes from somewhere behind Thor, and the primal cry that follows is one that has cowed many a seasoned warrior across the skyways. Drax leaps, sailing over two bewildered zookeepers who were moving a pair of snow leopards towards a new enclosure, daggers gleaming in the faltering sunlight as he flies unerringly towards the God of Thunder.

Thor is having a good day.


The click of a small latch being thrown. The whump of a false ceiling.

The Emerald Tree Boa begins to uncoil itself. The creature’s forked scent tongue flickers outward twice as its rounded head lifts to sample the air above in anticipation.

A voice from the heavens, “Verily, but might I stroke its head but once before it feeds?” A rich baritone voice echoes within the glass enclosure from above.

“Okay,” assents a female voice, “but /carefully/.”



Thor, God of Thunder; Overtop his torso he wears a gift from one of his many admirers - an undersized black t-shirt whose sleeves have been torn off. The front displays the word ‘Therion’ and then a number of ancient-looking runes. The runes are Asgardian sigils for each of the nine realms which is why he favors this gift, ill fitting as it is. The shirt itself is three inches too short revealing the area of his rigidly muscled stomach from the navel down. A pair of blue board shorts hang from his hips. His feet are adorned in cheap red and white flip flops which herald every step the Prince of Asgard takes with a mighty *THWACK* as foam hits heel.

Very much in his own head over his recent experience with the Boa he wanders the paths of the zoo searching for the Toothgnasher and Toothgrinder whom will often times lie with the goats of the petting zoo but whom have also twice facilitated the escape of the Snow Monkeys that will oftentimes come down from their perches to groom the Goatlords and then ride them to freedom.

As the Odinson *THWACKS* by the Snow Leopards he gives the keepers a friendly smile and a wave.


Thor stops. His brow slowly creases as he looks towards the keepers again momentarily thinking that these women have been spying on him.

‘Your era of bondage …’

Thor’s heavy brow draws further inward casting a shadow across his features. His languid dreaming of snakes evaporating as he looks over his other shoulder and then steps backward out of his flip flops. Toes flex upon the concrete path and he raises his arms slightly while searching the area around him for the source of the words, “Nay,” Thor replies yelling in explanation as the voice talks over him, “The Guardians have been entrusted to me so that they will /not be caged/,” and after a beat he adds, “besides, I have /not seen them in months/.”

Later he will realize he is not a very good guardian of the guardians.


The fingers of Thor’s right-hand flex outward as he reaches from his side.


With a metallic hum, an umbrella springs from its place outside the reptile house and sails through the air perpendicular to the ground.


The shout comes from behind Thor.

No longer incredibly still, Drax’s invisibility is dispelled. Thor pivots without lifting his bare feet from the ground. The movement twists divots in the concrete as he braces himself. The destroyer and his knives are upon him.

The Odinson’s right hand becomes a fist and he swings his arm to block the other’s momentum. This is successful but the slashing blade rakes down the length of his forearm flaying skin from midway down his ulna to just above his elbow. Were he a lesser creature his arm would surely have been severed. Left arm fully deflects the momentum of Drax’s other arm blocking the path of the knife that had sought to bury itself between his ribs. Then he tries to grab, pivot, and hurl Drax away from him with this same arm.

Whatever the result..

Metal screams as an umbrella hurtles through the area but, without a hand waiting to grab, it loses momentum and begins to hurtle end-over-end into a closed snack booth. Which is utterly obliterated in a spray of nacho cheese, soda, and plywood.

Asgardian blood streams down Thor’s arm dripping from the tip of his elbow onto his discarded flip-flops.

Suddenly, night is upon them. The setting sun obscured by broiling thunder clouds which coalesce on a stout gust of enchanted wind. The animals in the zoo begin to go nuts at the preternatural weather. Low rolling thunder causing them to shriek and run in frightened circles.



This cry fills the air, a scream from the depths of Hel itself until Drax is caught, swung, and sent flying with a tumble that sends his daggers scattering across the zoo grounds. The few zookeepers run for cover, and as the darkness of the thunderheads crowd in, Drax pulls himself to his feet in a stagger, having landed firmly on his head. There is even an imprint of it, in the sidewalk, which he stares at. A concrete face in an open mouthed grimace.


If nothing else, Drax is consistent in his application of tactics, running without weapons and gearing to leap at Thor again, in a tackle. That's about when a concession stand explodes, and an umbrella comes tumbling by to clip his face sidelong, turning his head suddenly and sending him into a rolling tumble that ends with a slide… right at Thor's feet. Clearly a little more than dazed, he lifts the back of his bald head from Thor's bare foot, one hand reaching up through the haze of near unconsciousness.

The wind is clearly knocked out of him, and much of the previous thunder stolen from his voice as he adjusts his mission and demand ever so slightly, having tasted Mjolnir's mettle.

"You may keep Quill and use his pudgy midsection as a man-pillow if you must but please give me back my tiny creepy creature and beautiful tree."


Thor’s left hand crosses his body with fingers that flex open.

The umbrella bursts from the ruined stand into his grasp.

*KRAK-A-THOOM* A deafening peal of thunder and stroke of lightning.

Drax’s bald head is shifted from Thor’s foot and as he looks upward he now sees..

Thor, God of Thunder; He wears a leather hauberk and scale sleeves with knee-high boots. A crimson cloak flutters to the right in the sudden storm while powerful hand grips the legendary Mjolnir which arcs electricity that coils across the Asgardian’s mighty frame.

The Odinson’s features grimace ruefully as the destroyer reaches upward. Without comment he positions the hammer above Drax’s chest and releases …

Metal sings. *THONK* The force of the impact from such a short fall not nearly as disconcerting as the fact that it now seems locked in one place as if anchoring the whole of reality upon Drax. Pinning him upon the concrete.

“You make me repeat myself,” Thor says in firm reprimand, “The guardians are not my prisoners.” Nostrils flare then as he considers the green-hued figure. With silent appraisal Thor weighs the would-be assassin whose concern seems to be placed upon his allies. The Asgardian gives a low sound of annoyance — has he not also single handedly assailed those who entrapped the Warrior’s Three? With greater success, certainly, but he is less concerned with the outcome than he is the worthiness of the motivation.

“I know of Rocket, Groot, and Quill,” Thor affirms, “I thought of them as companions..” he states although they are companions in the loosest possible sense, “..but never once have they mentioned that a green man might leap from the brush to slay me on their behalf.”

“Who are you, green man? How do you know of the Guardians and who told you that I was their jailer?” Thor demands to know, “And why should I aid you in your quest to liberate your them from …,” beatpause, “why should I aid you?” He asks.

‘MEEEEEEH’, above the goatlords circle above their legs moving as if slowly running which generates some magical force that allows them to circle lazily overhead. Intrigued by the thunder the war goats have come to investigate what has brought Thor’s ire.

Now they land. Toothgrinder lingering back its demonic eyes curious. Toothgnasher, bolder, clops forward and leans downward. Sniffing Drax. Then licking at the sweat upon his bicep.

There is a flash of light, and suddenly Thor looks as Drax might have expected. It almost threw him off, seeing someone so very well dressed, with such a perfectly tailored shirt, considering Assguardians are usually so poorly equipped from a fashion perspective. Thankfully it does not bother him too much because he has seen how Quill dresses.


The hammer lands with a sound that's quite disconcerting, as if Drax were made of something denser and better than mere flesh. Which is true, he's made of Drax. Shaking his head from the cobwebs of Mjolnir's unsavory kiss, he reaches up to the haft of the weapon, and with a growling grimace he begins the epic struggle, corded muscle twisting this way and that, his face screwed up in an angry exertion that, combined with his bit of flailing, rather makes him look like an angry, grey, red, and green baby.

This goes on for almost ten minutes.

Finally, perhaps exhausted, Drax's arms fall to the side, forced to once again look upon the armored form of his captor with a crestfallen expression. "A fat Ass-Guardian with a beard who wanted me to stop hitting him in the face finally told me the secret of Thor the Probator, who tended my friends probation on a place called Midgard. After we drank and ate an entire table's worth of food and he admitted to me he was worried he would not live up to his title of Senator, I left him to cry alone and stole a ship. I searched far and wide, both for my friends and for a definition to this word probation. Failing to find it, I was told by a trader that Peter Quill had earned himself another bounty over some sort of gem, and that The Agency attempted to collect on Terra."

The recounting of the story seems to work him back up to a near frenzy, at least until one of the goats, bold and brave comes to lick his arm. His brow furrows, his face screwing up as he once again looks up and towards the God of Thunder.

"I will not sit idly by and be devoured by your demon-creatures while you look on with your angel-like countenance, for I am Drax the Destroyer, Guardian of the Galaxy!!!"

And so the flailing resumes, and though Drax did not directly answer why Thor should aid him, and seems to have given Volstagg a bloody nose that they no doubt bonded over later, he seems still driven only by a desire to help his friends, for he too is a Guardian like them. Which at least explains that part. In the end, Drax resorts to leaning forward with his head and wrenching his shoulders left and right in an attempt to move the hammer, which of course does not budge, his battle cry muffled through clenched teeth.

The struggle against Mjolnir is certainly not something unfamiliar to the God of Thunder. However, the length of time Drax commits to the impossible is … impressive. Thor watches for the first minute but, feeling a drop of rain, looks to the sky and seems to realize the storm clouds. Observing them for a moment the brewing storm suddenly goes flat and a refreshing breeze dissipates them.

That barely took a minute. Then he’s watching Drax flail like a babe once more and seems about to speak but a Drax gives a mighty groan of effort and interrupting him so the Odinson raising a finger in the universal sign for ‘back in a minute’. Turning then he walks the area caressing Toothgrinder’s bearded chin as he passes and then stoops to retrieve one of the daggers.

Stopping here he looks back to Drax, barely three minutes into his labor. Thor gives a sigh, now certainly a bit bored, but thrusts the first knife in his belt before retrieving the second. He inspects the blade to admire its craftsmanship.

‘Bleeeeh’, says Toothgnasher stirring Thor from his inspection and he looks towards the Snow Leopards and waves to the keeper again. The keeper who has crept out of her hiding spot and is now watching Drax from afar but when she notes she has the God of Thunder’s attention her face contorts with an unspoken question.

“Yes,” Thor replies, “it is safe enough. I am sorry for the vendor’s booth.”

She creeps out and then walk-runs away from the area. Cutting a wide circle around Drax. Then sprinting away.

Seven minutes. Thor sticks the other knife in his belt then rolling his shoulders and walking towards the wrecked snack stand, scowling. How many gold is such a stand? Thor wonders and stoops to collect a pair of the bottled Mountain Dews from the many sodas that litter the ground. He opens the first while still clutching the second and takes a long drink of the very refreshing beverage.

‘A fat Ass-Guardian …,’ after almost ten minutes.

Thor drops the now empty bottle and walks back over. The encounter with Volstagg and the theft of his senatorial vessel gets a scowl. However, he cannot hold the look for long though as immediately his mind goes to the near-future where he returns the vessel to Volstagg after giving him a very hard time about the whole incident.

“Then,” Thor says his amused look trading to a perplexed one, “You do not know what it means to be on probation?”

‘..Drax the Destroyer, Guardian of the Galaxy!!!’

Toothgnasher rears backward at the warcry. Suddenly spooked by his salt-lick’s fury. Thor grabs the goat by the horn and turns him away. With a flick of its ears the beast sees that Toothgrinder, having seen Thor drink from one of the containers and needing little other convincing, is getting a head start on using his stomach to clean up the mess. So they both begin to feast. Soda spraying about the area as they split plastic bottles and chew boards covered in nacho cheese.

As Drax begins to fight Mjolnir again Thor’s admiration for his stamina becomes supplanted by the dread realization that he could be here a very long time while Drax pits his irresistible rage against the immovable hammer. So he kneels aside Drax now and places a hand upon his shoulder. Squeezing. In strong fraternal massage.

“Peace, Drax.” Thor commands, “It is an admirable quest to search for lost friends. Your allies are safe. Their space vessel has been returned to them.” The Asgardian explains, “Quill has begun to spread his seed amongst the women of this world, which is likely why they are still here. So Rocket and Groot, I think, would very much want your company.” Releasing Drax’s shoulder he then reaches for Mjolnir, “I am not their jailer, Drax the Destroyer, I much prefer to think that it is my job to help them stay out of trouble while upon this world for I have lived here for many hundreds of years, off-and-on, which makes me something of an expert.” He muses.

“For you know, trouble is ever at the heels of Peter Quill; He may well need your aid soon for I have witnessed him panic when faced with jilted lovers and I should think that you should all sit down and think of a plan that does not end with hurling them into space.”

“Come,” hand closes about Mjolnir’s haft and instantly the weight is removed, “Quench your thirst with the dew of the mountains,” he holds the second bottle out, “and let’s go find your friends.”

Then Thor adds, “It is a rather long walk. Have you ever ridden a goat?”

A single drop of rain hits Drax's head, which seems to incense him further, and it might even be likely he somehow damages the ground enough to tilt his body in a way that might let him escape. The concrete does spiderweb, adding more to the gold tab, should Thor decide to make recompence. But eventually, when Thor speaks in that manner befit of a God of Wisdom, and not just a God of Thunder, the rage begins to ebb from this man consumed with his mission.

It may be that Thor has finally begun to speak the language of the oddly bumpy man, and his fury fully relents at last when Thor mentions what Quill has been up to. It is as if someone has given him a cypher to the greatest mystery of the galaxy, his arms going slack at that touch to his shoulder, and a great exhale given as the hammer seems to sink into his chest with all of his rage sapped away. It is not until Thor reclaims Mjolnir that Drax slowly turns over, woozy after his baby rage beneath the weight of Thor's weapon.

It is a true test to see just what shall happen when he finds his footing, for murder never seems to be far from the eyes of Drax the Destroyer, and yet when he rises he does not have some makeshift weapon, but a bag of Fritos, which seems to pop open with a bit of a squeeze, almost startling the Guardian. After a long stare at the bag he reaches out to take a few Fritos and eat them, crunching through them to chew away the last bit of his rage. Tension hangs thick in the air, but it seems at last they have reached some sort of truce, one defined not by Thor's earnest manner, but how very salty these Fritos are.

Drax really needs that Mountain Dew.

"If your job is to keep my friends out of trouble you have a terrible job. Really your employer must hate you, I am truely sorry. Rocket especially must make your life unbearable." Drax actually looks sorry for Thor in that moment, and then takes the Dew of the Mountain and tilts this drink back with all the fury of a many exhausted. Because he is. Halfway through he stops, startled by the explosion of flavor, reminding him indeed of the cool moisture clinging to mountainside leaves, hanging heavy in the air. But how have these Terrans bottled such power?!

"God of Thunder, I have never tasted anything so wonderful in my life. If I had not tried to brutally stab you to death, I never have found anything to offset the awful smell of this planet. This means my mission was not a failure after all. Thank you."

Then Drax upends the rest of the Fritos into his mouth, offers the bag to one of the goats and immediately moves to straddle it.

"And yes, I have ridden many goats. I am the best goat rider." This said with a quiet bravado, for he thinks 'goat' is simply the Ass-Guardian word for 'animal'. Surely this beast cannot be much different than many others he has ridden in his lifetime.

And so Drax immediately straddles a goat, reaching down to take it by the horns as if it were some sort of hoverbike to be steered, and Toothgnasher does protest by kicking into the air, zipping back and forth and up and down while the Guardian of the Galaxy laughs the entire way.

No matter what, it's going to be a long trip to wherever the Guardians are staying.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License