makingthisupasigo | And the Sword of Damocles

And the Sword of Damocles - for Peter Quill

Flynn Carsen is not an adventurous man. But when the Library recruits him he is wide-eyed and overwhelmed with awe and love for the place and the first day he just spends wandering, exploring.

Charlene tells him there's a task waiting for him already (though she is very dramatic and calls it a "mission" for some reason which is, of course, ridiculous) and she tells him there's someone else he needs to meet. She looks at him strangely at that, Flynn can't quite read that look, it's like she's trying not to roll her eyes – and tells him to wait here while she goes and gets him.

But Flynn gets distracted, forgets all about it, wanders off while he waits, just the first shelf right there, he can see the main entrance from here, or maybe the second one? What is that big tome back there, and oh, are these First Editions of Greek Philosophers – and he wanders on, collecting, reading, taking everything in and suddenly he is completely lost in the big hallway and the endless rows of shelves but he doesn't even mind.

This place is amazing. He can even feel tears of awe springing to his eyes by how absolutely beautiful it is. Eventually he stops, surrounded by the books he has collected, gently flipping pages and tracing the ancient writing with his fingers.

He smiles; he's never been happier.

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That distracts Flynn momentarily and he looks over at Peter. "What, really? But in the movie he didn't get the Grail, how did that end up here then?"

Judson waits patiently, nodding at the two. "I am sure Peter will tell you all about it on the road. Flynn, are you familiar with the Sword of Damocles?"

Flynn blinks. "Uh." He nods. "Yes. A story by Cicero. Tusculanae disputationes, Book Five. Damocles was courtier in the court of Dionysius II, a 4th-century BC tyrant of Syracuse, Sicily. According to the story, Damocles told his master how fortunate he was to be such a great man of wealth and power. Dionysius offered to switch places with Damocles for one day so that Damocles could taste that very fortune firsthand."

Lost in his train of thought he starts pacing, his hand drawing small circles in the air as he recites. "But when Damocles sat down in the king's throne, Dionysius arranged that a huge sword should hang above the throne, held by a single hair. Damocles finally begged the king that he be allowed to depart because he could no longer stand the danger all that power and authority brought."

"Well--" Fortunately, at least Judson manages to stop him from his 'story', and Flynn starts doing the whole 'Librarian' thing. Huh. Well, okay, maybe he was an...okay candidate for being a Librarian, but still. Why can't he get someone like Bereet?

Peter fights off the instinct to zone out, because he'd learned--much to the disappointment and inevitable painful injuries of his earlier Librarians--that information from these stories could mean the difference between life and death. But he's still salty over this whole thing, so--

"...blah blah blah, sword, history, danger, got it. Where's it at and do we get Economy Plus seats?"

Flynn is amazed how unperturbed Judson is by Peter's attitude. Is there anything that can break through that serene calm? "You're going to Sicily," he explains matter-of-fact.

"Sicily?" Flynn's eyes widen. "Oh wow."

"As for the seats, I think Charlene has already booked your tickets but maybe you can take it up with her?" A smile, and if Flynn didn't know better he'd swear there's a twinkle of mischief in it.

"Aw man, that's a long flight." His whole life was long, Economy Class flights. "Ha ha, very funny, Judson. Like that's ever gonna happen."

Please accept his sulking, Judson.

Peter sighs and motions a hand. "Let's go get our tickets from her. We probably don't have time to pack so you can borrow some of my stuff. Hey, if you survive this mission you should keep a bag ready to go cause this is pretty normal?"

Edited 2018-05-14 12:37 (UTC)

"If?" Flynn glances back and forth between Peter and Judson with an expression of deep unease. "Why do you people keep using the conditional, I don't... want to die? The job never said anything about dying!"

"Don't worry, Flynn." Judson pats his shoulder amiably. "You're going to be fine. Peter, he's, he is an excellent Guardian. He will protect you."

Another finger pointing at Peter. "He said he's had six already!"

Peter just grins. It's a very roguish grin.

"Yeah! Isn't that like a record? It's gotta be a record."

He shrugs a shoulder. "And that just means I have a lot of experience so you'll be fine. And besides, there's probably no Basilisks involved in this one so that's great news for you!"

"I'm not exactly sure that's how a record is supposed to work in this case--" Flynn starts but Judson's disarming smile and mild-mannered stutter interrupts him.

"A-as I said, lots of experience. Charlene will have your tickets and the manuscripts you'll need, Flynn."

"Listen to Judson, he's always right!" Peter gives Judson a grin and a half-salute, as he starts to walk off. "Come on, Number Seven!"

Because he's totally calling him Number Seven until he lasts long enough for him to actually use his name and not just be a number.

"That's not my..."

Flynn looks after him, back at Judson just to find the old man magically gone, then back at Quill's departing figure. With a long-suffering sigh he follows suit.

"Yo, Charlene!?" Peter bellows as he walks at top speed through the bookshelves, heading towards the exit. "We need our stuff and tickets!"

It doesn't occur to him that he should probably wait for the Librarian in the first place, and he's practically sprinting on his way out. Maybe this was why he's lost so many...?

Charlene greets him with a cool, entirely unamused expression. Really, there's no way she could convey more than 'oh, you' in a glance. It seems like the First Guardian is not a fan of his predecessor at all. "I have your stuff right here. Where is your protege?"

You know, that living breathing thing you are actually supposed to take care of?

"Hey," he's all bright smiles, you can't scare him, Charlene! Except when you can, which was most of the time. "Thanks, you're the actual best!"

There's a pause, as he looks around, genuinely surprised that Flynn's not right next to him.

"He was right here, I swear."

There is a sourness to Charlene that entails all the frustration with the Library's decision because frankly, in several millennia Peter is easily the worst Guardian she has ever seen. Talking about records here. "Well, he's not now. Give him that when you find him."

She shoves a messenger bag with several books and plane tickets into Peter's hands. But then she pauses, her stern face leaning in close for a moment. "Word of advice? Get your head out of your ass. Judson likes this one."

She'll leave it at that.

Peter grabs the messenger bag with the books and tickets, clutching it against his chest and feeling like he was in mortal danger when Charlene leans in close. He's not afraid of a lot of things, but Charlene took up most of the list of the top ten things that frightened him.

He tries to manage a charming smile, but it just makes him look that much more terrified.

"Hey, come on. I got this. He's in good hands."

And...he's just gonna scurry away before anything worse happens.

Edited 2018-06-12 05:08 (UTC)

"He better!" she calls after him.

In the meantime, Flynn slowly catches up to Peter, getting perpetually distracted by what he finds in the showcases and shelves. Do they really have to go? Can't he stay here for like, five, ten, fifty more years and prepare for the job? Get some light reading in? Explore these hallways?

"Come on," Peter's dealt with enough Librarians to know how easily they can get lost in their own Library, and this one's a newbie.

He hands over Flynn's plane tickets, and offers him the messenger bag as he leads him back to the exit. "There's some books and stuff in here you might wanna take a look at on the way. Or on the plane or whatever. Do your Librarian thing."

"I just got the job five minutes ago, I have literally no idea what that means. I just hope it doesn't mean dying because I don't want to die."

He really feels the need to emphasize that point. "Don't let me die, okay?"

That doesn't seem to phase Peter, he's seen this so many times before. He waves a hand.

"Decipher stuff, research stuff, come up with clever solutions. Y'know, the usual?"

He pauses in his quick strides long enough to grin at him. "Don't worry, it'd be kind of bad manners to let you die this quick? I'd be more worried if it was your second or third time out."

He shakes his head. "Poor number five."

Flynn just watches him for a moment. Not just watches him but watches him, taking in all the details, all the bits and pieces of information Peter is giving him right now. There's a lot of that, most of it quite disconcerting when it comes to Flynn's own general state of health and he studies his 'Guardian', the information slowly trickling into his mind as clearly as the color of his shirt or the sound of his voice.

There's a pause.

"Tell me about number five."

"Umm...okay. Number five was..." he seems to be genuinely having a hard time recalling them. He scratches his head--he cares enough about his hair for it to be somewhat styled but there's an air of scruffiness to him that's evident even in his facial hair, which seemed more like it belonged in the 80's than now.

"Number five was really really eager. Super into it, was only like, barely shocked by the existence of the Library cause they were into conspiracy theories. Genuis. I mean, like insanely smart. I think the smartest Librarian I've ever seen. It's a shame they died so quick." A shrug.

His fingers tap near his hip, where there's a blue walkman attached to his belt. His motorcycle jacket and maroon, padded motorcycle pants were well-worn, with scrapes on the elbows and knees from combat and sliding across stone surfaces, a few spots of several-weeks old blood near his jacket zipper, and a distinctive kind of dust that told he'd been to Egypt recently. There was crusty old mud on his boots from the Amazon, and a crushed bit of plant material in the tread of his boots from the same region.

"Anyway, we were in a tomb in...Mexico, I think? Aztec tomb? Or maybe it was Mayan and we were in Central America somewhere? Anyway. I went on ahead first, because, I'm the Guardian, and accidentally stepped on a panel that sent poison darts out. I got hit with like, three of them, and I told him to stay back--I get hit by these things all the time, no big deal, sometimes they make you numb, or a little sleepy--guess he must have been allergic or something, cause he ran ahead, thinking I needed medical attention or whatever, and zip--" he mimicks getting shot in the neck with a dart. "Dead before he hits the ground."

"You're a jerk."

It's not unfriendly but it's not very warm either, said more like a piece of information, a fact.

"You built up this armor of confidence and nonchalance because it makes it easier to deal with the fact that you lose people left and right. You like to give them numbers because you like to pretend it's not a big deal. And you think I'm another one of them. Names have a personality, but numbers, numbers are easy. You pretend you don't remember where it happened but you actually remember every detail. You don't even give them respect in death because you don't want to deal with the pain."

He looks into the messenger back, starting to inspect the books inside and pulling one out to leaf through it.

"You do realize people aren't allergic to poisonous darts? He died because that's what poison does. Poison kills people."

Peter stares at him, dead silent for no less than thirty straight seconds, all the while his face is getting redder, and his eyes wider, his breathing coming in faster.

He did not just...

"Who the hell do you think you are!?"

Because all of that, all of that was just--

--unfortunately way too true.

Three, calling out his name in anguish.

Five, he could still see his scared, frightened face.

Berit...he's so sorry, Berit, he's so sorry and so horribly guilty--

No. He can't think about it now. He can't think about it, ever.

"Uh, okay--one, you're completely and utterly wrong." He's completely and utterly right.

"Two, you don't know me, so don't even try, bro. And three--they clearly weren't that poisonous, because I ain't dead."

Edited 2018-06-23 23:53 (UTC)

"I guess I'm Number Seven. That's what you're gonna call me, isn't it?"

Flynn doesn't look up from the book, studying some drawings in the tome. He doesn't need to see Peter to know that he's right about his reading. He knows he is. Information like that just comes to him easily even if he doesn't usually use it on people. Well, unless they ask him too, like Charlene did in the interview.

Or if someone is being a complete and utter jerk to him.

"And clearly they were, if Number Five is. Maybe they didn't pierce your jacket. Or you have a better physique than most people."

"Yeah. I'm gonna call you Number Seven." It's sneered, but there's something raw in his wide, angry eyes.

God, he just wants to toss this guy on the floor and kick him right out the door, tell Charlene and Judson that clearly, somehow, the Library was wrong, somebody was wrong because he didn't think he could put up with this jerk. Cause he wasn't the jerk, Number Seven was!

"One hit my face!" So your theory sucks. Even if that last part was probably right. Maybe just because he was bigger, it affected him less.

"Alright, Peter."

You're just gonna have to deal with Number Seven using your name.

But the little skirmish is soon forgotten in wake of this new information and Flynn looks up at that, frowning.

"It did? That shouldn't be possible. Unless you have some natural resistance that your partner didn't have? Has this happened before?"

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