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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"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?"

Okay, fine. You can use his name, whatever. It doesn't matter. It's not weird.

Peter frowns, and shrugs. "Maybe I have some natural resistance. And yeah, I've been hit by poison darts before. They use them a lot in tombs, guess it's kind of a thing."

There's a pause.

"Maybe you should try not to get hit by them all the time?"

Just a suggestion.

"Especially if they're so deadly to everyone else."

"It's not like I go out of my way to get hit by them? I'm just really unlucky!"

An even longer pause than that.

"I didn't think they were that deadly to begin with?"

"Very deadly. I once wrote a dissertation on the various toxins? Trust me, a drop of that and your nervous system is fried, then your heart stops and your respiratory system fails. Luckily in that order, otherwise it would be quite painful."

He laughs nervously because he just remembered that that is what he is headed towards – but it also makes Peter's case even more mysterious and now Flynn is getting curious.

"Do you have any magic protection?" They're literally in a Library full of magic things, it's his first conclusion, really.

"Oh."

It's like he's truly first realizing what danger he's been in this whole time, and it's a very surprised, small oh. As if someone dying in front of him wasn't clue enough how bad it was.

"That...sounds pretty bad."

He shakes his head. "Nothing in particular. We don't really use the artifacts so much."

"Uh, yeah, I'd say." There's a pause on Flynn's end. "You... never considered that? What did you think poison does?"

It's more genuinely confused than accusatory.

"... Well, there's gotta be something. Maybe I can try and look into it when we get back?"

"...poison people. Look, I didn't think it was that big of a thing..." He sounds genuinely sheepish now, and he's starting to feel really bad about it...

He nods, maybe there was something weird going on. "Sure. I guess...I guess that'd be a good idea. Y'know, I wonder if it's connected to like, some other stuff...not that it's really that weird, but now that you mention it...like I don't really get sick. Ever. Or when I get hurt, it's takes a lot to knock me out? And broken bones man, those suckers heal way faster than other people's, but I thought it was just cause I drink a lotta milk..."

"That's definitely not a thing that happens." Another pause and Flynn figures he should probably elaborate. "Uh, any of that, really. Not that milk is bad for you, but it doesn't magically regrow your bones. Unless it's magic milk. Are you drinking magic milk?"

That might be an explanation? Not a very good one, but Flynn has a feeling that a lot of things in this place work on a rather handwavy base. Because magic.

"...no magic milk, unless something magical happened to the convenience store next to my apartment?" Which would be probably be something to worry about?

Peter frowns, it's kind of like he should be worried about a lot of this? Especially if they're not things that happen?

"Huh. Weird."

"Yeah, we should probably look into this."

He shifts the bag on his shoulder, glancing down at its contents. "You know, once we're back from this insane mission where apparently I am going on a quest to uncover a mythical artifact because I guess that is a thing, that's happening."

If he gets back from this insane mission.

"Just... don't let me get poisoned, okay?"

"...well, okay! Sounds like fun." You know, a little bit worrying, but fun. He reaches over to slap Flynn on the back amiably.

"Don't worry! I'm gonna protect you!" If only so he can find out about the weird magic-y things going on, so you're gonna be in better shape than the other Librarians he's had to 'take care of', right?

Well, at least he isn't making fun of him anymore. That's progress? He thinks. He hopes.

"Okay. Uh, that sounds great. You do that."

Please do that.

"Don't worry, bro, this is gonna be fun. Trust me."

Definitely progress!

Peter even holds the door open for him when they get over to the main lobby, sweeping his arm out a bit too dramatically and probably alarming a few of the actual-normal-library-goers coming in through the other side of the doors.

Please accept all his enthusiasm.

"Thank you..."

Flynn isn't exactly sure what happened in the last five minutes to get from 'make the new guy as uncomfortable as possible' to this energetic enthusiasm but honestly? He'll take it. It beats getting laughed at.

"I've never been on an airplane before, this is kind of exciting..."

"You've never been on an airplane before? Dude, you're in for a treat. Hope you like little bags of peanuts, though."

Don't worry, bro, this is just his life. Peter whistles loudly and sticks his arm out halfway into traffic (maybe a little too far into traffic? Maybe he's not concerned with getting hit by a car either?).

"Yo! Taxi!"

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cahooted - 2018-08-21 10:24 (UTC) - Expand

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