[ For Maya, the whole thing happens in slow motion. She's fast- wicked fast- when she wants to be, and if she focuses her power, the whole world slows. Still, she wasn't expecting Peter to shove her out of the way and take the bolt himself. She has no time to react- no time to pull him out of the way, and god, the way he screams terrifies her.
For a brief, panicked moment, she wonders if she's lost him, but she still feels the tug of the binding they share because of the contract, she sees him look at her, something like relief on his face, before he collapses. She reaches out to catch him, pumping some healing magic into him as she lowers him to the ground. She'll have to fully heal him later- they don't have the luxury of time- but this should help the pain and eliminate any life-threatening damage.
When she looks up at Mordo, there is fire in her pale eyes. ]
You have signed your death warrant, wizard.
[ Her wings unfurl and she launches herself at him. He maybe a magical powerhouse, and he may have spells to counter her own magic, but he's no match for her speed and strength. Honestly, as much as she'd love to set him on fire, she'd take much more satisfaction out of killing him with her bare hands.
She doesn't give him enough time to call up another wind- the dance they do is quick and brutal, as she flits around him like a hummingbird, and he fires errant lightning bolt after lightning bolt, hitting storefronts and lampposts, and anything but the demon and her charge. His hood falls off at one point, revealing a greying man with a severe, joyless expression.
She feints one way, and he takes the bait. She comes up hard and fast on his other side, planting a hand on his face, and digging her fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks. He screams. He screams as the acid of her magic begins to eat away at his face. He flails a hand at her, but she clamps her free hand down on his arm, his robes beginning to smoke as they're eaten away as well, and her magic bites into the flesh of his arm. He tries to cast a spell, something, anything, but he can't gather his mental faculties enough to even summon a breeze.
She kills him slowly by degrees, wings and tattoos bright and eyes wild. He screams as long as he can, until his face is eaten away, and all that escapes him is a sad, desperate gurgle, before he goes limp. With a bright flash of flame, she reduces the body to ash.
The town has gone dead quiet- no one dares peek out of their doors or windows, no one dares to breathe. The Siren walks over to where Peter lay, crouching and brushing a hand through his hair. ]
You are a damn fool, Peter Quill. [ She doesn't sound angry- in fact, there's genuine affection in her voice. Carefully as she can, she picks him up and dashes away, out of town and into the nearby forest. She takes him as far away as she can, finding an abandoned bear's den. She builds a fire for light and warmth, and begins the process of healing him. Stripping off his coat and shirt, she places her hand on his chest- the lightning left quite a mark, an ugly red burn left over by the electricity that had coursed through his veins, shaped rather like a lightning bolt itself. Blue light rolls through her tattoos like waves, flowing into his body and mending the damage. ]
[ Waking, Peter will soon realize, might have been a terrible mistake.
The first thing he's aware of is a deep ache all over his body -- so, he's not dead. And hey, isn't that something? He thinks there might just be a vice constricting his skull though, and while breathing isn't difficult, neither is it particularly easy, as it should be. It sort of feels like something heavy is weighing down his chest -- but at least he's breathing, so small victories, there.
The next thing he's aware of is warmth and the sound of crackling -- campfire, maybe? Seems like a safe enough bet, considering he's lying on his back, not uncomfortably. Probably not imprisoned somewhere, but he won't know for sure until he opens his eyes.
Which he really doesn't want to do.
But he does it anyway, because he's an idiot, and the light from the fire assaults his vision (fuck, too bright, too bright) and he's forced to screw his eyes shut again while he waits for the throbbing in his head to die down. He tries again with more success, sees that he's in some sort of-- cave? A den? Whatever, it's not a jail, at least. Getting better and better.
He doesn't know how he got here, though, and he tries to remember back to-- before. Whatever before was. His eyes slip shut again and he thinks-- getting supplies-- town-- being followed-- attacked-- screaming-- wind and lightning-- Maya--
Maya.
He bolts upright, her name on his lips, but the sound of it is choked off with a gasp and a curse. Every muscle in his body, it seemed, chose that exact second to scream at him, protesting the sudden movement, and he falls back, curling up against the pain and taking quick, labored breaths.
Check off another mistake, then. It's a damn shame that he still probably hasn't hit quota yet, though. ]
[ When she was sure he wasn't going to die on her, she'd slipped back to town for their things, and to see if there was much around by way of food. A risk to leave him unattended, but she had faith in her speed, and she honestly expected him to be out for the next while.
She's just outside the den when he wakes, and it's hard to miss the sound of him struggling to breathe. She rushes in, knapsack and bow slung over her shoulder, a dead rabbit dangling by the ears in one hand. ]
Peter?
[ she sets their things aside, and crouches next to him. Her tattoos are already glowing, and she rests her hand on his chest again, letting her magic heal and soothe. ]
[ Her magic is oddly cool and warm as it courses through his system, flows just beneath his skin, and the weight on his chest lifts slowly. The pain ebbs, his body relaxes, and he has the distinct impression that his bones have become liquid.
He does as directed, though: he just breathes, trying to ignore the pervasive ache. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.
The funny thing is, he doesn't remember screwing his eyes shut until he's opening them, looking up at her through a half-lidded gaze. ]
Maya? [ His throat feels raw, like it's been coated with gravel, and his voice certainly matches that sensation. The memory of the attack floats its way back to the surface and he frowns at her, suddenly concerned. ] You're okay?
[ She smiles at him in an attempt to be reassuring, but it's so hard to watch him be in this much pain. If she'd been more aware, if she'd been faster, then none of this would have happened. ]
I'm fine, I promise.
Please don't strain yourself. That lightning strike was nasty.
What, from that guy? [ His voice is still hoarse, only just above a whisper, but he tries for a cooky smirk, because she looks-- he thinks she looks upset, almost. But she's trying to hide it. Maybe she's pissed at him for being a liability? For being weak? He had been pretty useless, after all. ]
[ He ventures a glance up at her, brows furrowed in thought and the corners of his mouth turned down a little. His eyes wander, trying to dredge up the memory. He had a reason, he remembers. What was it again? ]
... You were in trouble. [ He says it slowly, but after a beat of silence, it's clear that it's the only answer he has to offer. ]
[ He follows her gaze and seems to notice the scars for the first time, tentatively feels along them with the tips of his fingers. He laughs a little, then lets his head fall back. ]
Nice story, at least. "Got stupid, tried protectin' a Siren."
[ she goes to where she left his things and retrieves a skein of water, her rabbit and a knife. The water she offers to him, one he takes it, she sits down and begins prepping the rabbit to cook. ]
If there's anything else you need, please let me know.
You have only ever treated me as a person, as a partner, and I wouldn't trade that for anything- in your world or mine. Don't think that I regret having met you when hours ago I was terrified of losing you.
[ He stares at her for a long while (breathe in, breathe out, just breathe, just breathe) but eventually he turns his head to stare at the ceiling of the little cave.
He doesn't believe her, and he feels a twinge of bitterness at the realization -- because for a second, he wanted to. He likes Maya, really likes her, considers her a friend when he hasn't had a real one since he was a child. He was stupid enough to take a blow meant for her, and something in his gut sinks when he thinks that if he had to repeat the day, he'd do it again. He doesn't want to see her hurt.
But why should she feel the same about him? The closest thing he has to a family anymore is the Ravagers, and none of them would shed a tear if he was lost, would in fact divvy out what paltry belongings he had left behind, if they hadn't done so already. And Maya is under an obligation to him; she has to protect him because of their contract, and she's a Siren, leads men to their doom--
-- No, no, that's the Ravager voice, and Peter needs to stop listening to it.
He doesn't know if it's the way his head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat or if it's the all-encompassing ache of his body that has scrambled his thoughts, but obviously he's not thinking clearly right now. ]
... Tired. [ He digs the heels of his palms into his temples. It's a ridiculous cop-out, and he knows it, but he can't deal with this right now, and he shifts slightly away from her. ] Sorry, just-- tired.
[ Something about the way he avoids acknowledging what she just said- which was no small confession on her part- and the way he scoots away from her, well, it hurts.
No one wants the friendship of a demon, a Siren least of all, and maybe she was foolish enough to interpret his kindness as friendship. She'd forgotten that deep down, he fears her and what she can do. Even now, he doesn't trust her. And why should he, when she'd made it clear that their contract was the only thing keeping her from turning her magic on him?
And as much as she hates herself for even comparing Peter to him at all, at least Sophis had made it abundantly clear that he had never wanted to be her friend in the first place.
For the first time since she'd been freed from the relic, she suddenly feels very alone. Her eyes flick down to her work, fingers flexing around the hilt of the knife. ]
I understand. [ she keeps her tone neutral, uninterested. ] Get some rest.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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For a brief, panicked moment, she wonders if she's lost him, but she still feels the tug of the binding they share because of the contract, she sees him look at her, something like relief on his face, before he collapses. She reaches out to catch him, pumping some healing magic into him as she lowers him to the ground. She'll have to fully heal him later- they don't have the luxury of time- but this should help the pain and eliminate any life-threatening damage.
When she looks up at Mordo, there is fire in her pale eyes. ]
You have signed your death warrant, wizard.
[ Her wings unfurl and she launches herself at him. He maybe a magical powerhouse, and he may have spells to counter her own magic, but he's no match for her speed and strength. Honestly, as much as she'd love to set him on fire, she'd take much more satisfaction out of killing him with her bare hands.
She doesn't give him enough time to call up another wind- the dance they do is quick and brutal, as she flits around him like a hummingbird, and he fires errant lightning bolt after lightning bolt, hitting storefronts and lampposts, and anything but the demon and her charge. His hood falls off at one point, revealing a greying man with a severe, joyless expression.
She feints one way, and he takes the bait. She comes up hard and fast on his other side, planting a hand on his face, and digging her fingers into the soft flesh of his cheeks. He screams. He screams as the acid of her magic begins to eat away at his face. He flails a hand at her, but she clamps her free hand down on his arm, his robes beginning to smoke as they're eaten away as well, and her magic bites into the flesh of his arm. He tries to cast a spell, something, anything, but he can't gather his mental faculties enough to even summon a breeze.
She kills him slowly by degrees, wings and tattoos bright and eyes wild. He screams as long as he can, until his face is eaten away, and all that escapes him is a sad, desperate gurgle, before he goes limp. With a bright flash of flame, she reduces the body to ash.
The town has gone dead quiet- no one dares peek out of their doors or windows, no one dares to breathe. The Siren walks over to where Peter lay, crouching and brushing a hand through his hair. ]
You are a damn fool, Peter Quill. [ She doesn't sound angry- in fact, there's genuine affection in her voice. Carefully as she can, she picks him up and dashes away, out of town and into the nearby forest. She takes him as far away as she can, finding an abandoned bear's den. She builds a fire for light and warmth, and begins the process of healing him. Stripping off his coat and shirt, she places her hand on his chest- the lightning left quite a mark, an ugly red burn left over by the electricity that had coursed through his veins, shaped rather like a lightning bolt itself. Blue light rolls through her tattoos like waves, flowing into his body and mending the damage. ]
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The first thing he's aware of is a deep ache all over his body -- so, he's not dead. And hey, isn't that something? He thinks there might just be a vice constricting his skull though, and while breathing isn't difficult, neither is it particularly easy, as it should be. It sort of feels like something heavy is weighing down his chest -- but at least he's breathing, so small victories, there.
The next thing he's aware of is warmth and the sound of crackling -- campfire, maybe? Seems like a safe enough bet, considering he's lying on his back, not uncomfortably. Probably not imprisoned somewhere, but he won't know for sure until he opens his eyes.
Which he really doesn't want to do.
But he does it anyway, because he's an idiot, and the light from the fire assaults his vision (fuck, too bright, too bright) and he's forced to screw his eyes shut again while he waits for the throbbing in his head to die down. He tries again with more success, sees that he's in some sort of-- cave? A den? Whatever, it's not a jail, at least. Getting better and better.
He doesn't know how he got here, though, and he tries to remember back to-- before. Whatever before was. His eyes slip shut again and he thinks-- getting supplies-- town-- being followed-- attacked-- screaming-- wind and lightning-- Maya--
Maya.
He bolts upright, her name on his lips, but the sound of it is choked off with a gasp and a curse. Every muscle in his body, it seemed, chose that exact second to scream at him, protesting the sudden movement, and he falls back, curling up against the pain and taking quick, labored breaths.
Check off another mistake, then. It's a damn shame that he still probably hasn't hit quota yet, though. ]
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She's just outside the den when he wakes, and it's hard to miss the sound of him struggling to breathe. She rushes in, knapsack and bow slung over her shoulder, a dead rabbit dangling by the ears in one hand. ]
Peter?
[ she sets their things aside, and crouches next to him. Her tattoos are already glowing, and she rests her hand on his chest again, letting her magic heal and soothe. ]
Easy. You're okay. Just breathe.
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He does as directed, though: he just breathes, trying to ignore the pervasive ache. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.
The funny thing is, he doesn't remember screwing his eyes shut until he's opening them, looking up at her through a half-lidded gaze. ]
Maya? [ His throat feels raw, like it's been coated with gravel, and his voice certainly matches that sensation. The memory of the attack floats its way back to the surface and he frowns at her, suddenly concerned. ] You're okay?
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I'm fine, I promise.
Please don't strain yourself. That lightning strike was nasty.
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Nah, it's nothin'. Had worse.
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You're lucky to be alive.
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He turns his head away a little, chagrined, and swallows thickly. ]
... Sorry. I-- [ He exhales slowly. ] ... sorry.
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Why did you push me out of the way?
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... You were in trouble. [ He says it slowly, but after a beat of silence, it's clear that it's the only answer he has to offer. ]
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[ again, she falls quiet, eyes searching his face. She doesn't look angry, just contemplative. Maybe a little hesitant. ]
... No one has ever done that for me before.
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[ He can't help it -- he smirks a little. ]
Well. Never been struck by lightning 'fore.
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[ she glances down at his chest, at the angry red marks that her magic did nothing to diminish. ] You're going to carry that for a while.
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Nice story, at least. "Got stupid, tried protectin' a Siren."
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It was stupid and ill-advised, but I appreciate the gesture.
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Stupid's what I do.
[ He shifts, trying to get more comfortable, but a thought occurs to him. ]
Guy taken care of?
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... I caught a rabbit earlier. Are you hungry?
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He thinks he should probably eat something, so he just nods. Then after a second, ] We have any water?
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If there's anything else you need, please let me know.
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... 'M sorry. Not much help, am I?
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What makes you say that?
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Must be really regrettin' this contract, huh? Glorified nursemaid.
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You have only ever treated me as a person, as a partner, and I wouldn't trade that for anything- in your world or mine. Don't think that I regret having met you when hours ago I was terrified of losing you.
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He doesn't believe her, and he feels a twinge of bitterness at the realization -- because for a second, he wanted to. He likes Maya, really likes her, considers her a friend when he hasn't had a real one since he was a child. He was stupid enough to take a blow meant for her, and something in his gut sinks when he thinks that if he had to repeat the day, he'd do it again. He doesn't want to see her hurt.
But why should she feel the same about him? The closest thing he has to a family anymore is the Ravagers, and none of them would shed a tear if he was lost, would in fact divvy out what paltry belongings he had left behind, if they hadn't done so already. And Maya is under an obligation to him; she has to protect him because of their contract, and she's a Siren, leads men to their doom--
-- No, no, that's the Ravager voice, and Peter needs to stop listening to it.
He doesn't know if it's the way his head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat or if it's the all-encompassing ache of his body that has scrambled his thoughts, but obviously he's not thinking clearly right now. ]
... Tired. [ He digs the heels of his palms into his temples. It's a ridiculous cop-out, and he knows it, but he can't deal with this right now, and he shifts slightly away from her. ] Sorry, just-- tired.
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No one wants the friendship of a demon, a Siren least of all, and maybe she was foolish enough to interpret his kindness as friendship. She'd forgotten that deep down, he fears her and what she can do. Even now, he doesn't trust her. And why should he, when she'd made it clear that their contract was the only thing keeping her from turning her magic on him?
And as much as she hates herself for even comparing Peter to him at all, at least Sophis had made it abundantly clear that he had never wanted to be her friend in the first place.
For the first time since she'd been freed from the relic, she suddenly feels very alone. Her eyes flick down to her work, fingers flexing around the hilt of the knife. ]
I understand. [ she keeps her tone neutral, uninterested. ] Get some rest.
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