[ It's a rarity, but every once in a while, the Guardians have downtime.
That is, some breathing space between assignments, ones they don't call for themselves. Sometimes they have to travel long distances for their jobs -- and in some cases, the time frame they're provided in conjunction with the distance they're traveling makes it impossible to pick up assignments in between. Currently, they're grinning and bearing it, flying out to pick up some researcher or other who had retreated to some fringe planet in some fringe system in the fringiest of fringe space.
On day one of three, Peter had done some much needed maintenance on his blasters. Given his penchant for punching people in the face with both the muzzle and the butt of the gun, it's little wonder how the alignment had been thrown out of whack. It takes most of the day, but he manages to get it to almost factory conditions, and he's rather proud of the accomplishment. He figures, with the next couple of days free, he can keep working on all the productive things that he's been putting off.
... Then he decides, no, screw that noise.
It's day two of three, and Peter is lying back on the bed, legs and feet up in the air and resting against the wall. For the past few minutes, he's been bouncing a ball against the bulkhead above his feet and catching it. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch--
Then, he suddenly flops his arms out to either side of him on the bedspread and announces, ] Maya. I'm bored.
no subject
That is, some breathing space between assignments, ones they don't call for themselves. Sometimes they have to travel long distances for their jobs -- and in some cases, the time frame they're provided in conjunction with the distance they're traveling makes it impossible to pick up assignments in between. Currently, they're grinning and bearing it, flying out to pick up some researcher or other who had retreated to some fringe planet in some fringe system in the fringiest of fringe space.
On day one of three, Peter had done some much needed maintenance on his blasters. Given his penchant for punching people in the face with both the muzzle and the butt of the gun, it's little wonder how the alignment had been thrown out of whack. It takes most of the day, but he manages to get it to almost factory conditions, and he's rather proud of the accomplishment. He figures, with the next couple of days free, he can keep working on all the productive things that he's been putting off.
... Then he decides, no, screw that noise.
It's day two of three, and Peter is lying back on the bed, legs and feet up in the air and resting against the wall. For the past few minutes, he's been bouncing a ball against the bulkhead above his feet and catching it. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch. Bounce, catch--
Then, he suddenly flops his arms out to either side of him on the bedspread and announces, ] Maya. I'm bored.