[ The Siren was a force of nature, like the Order of the Impending Storm had preached for decades.
Twenty-seven years, she had been used as a threat. "Pay the tithe, or the Siren will kill you." "Stay in line, or you will face her wrath." "Obey our every word, or you will know pain unlike any other." Needless to say, the threats were terrifying enough to keep the people of Athenas in check. No one dared question Brother Sophis or the other monks. The Siren was an unknown quantity. There was no telling what powers she had, sequestered as she had been.
And finally the Siren was put to the test, faced with men and women who dared to defy the Order. Brother Sophis aimed her like a gun and pulled the trigger. When the room was in a shambles, coated in blood and viscera of the terrorists and criminals who sought to undermine or overthrow the Order, Brother Sophis praised the Siren, said to her, "You have done well, my child." The Siren turned to her mentor, said, "Don't call me 'child,'" and shot him.
At least, that's how the story goes.
Peter doesn't really care to know whether or not it's true. Sometimes that shit gets exaggerated, where three men over time became twenty men, or a head shot in cold blood had actually been a bloody fight of survival. But Peter gets the impression that this one is legit, at least from the way the monks gave the two of them a wide berth whenever they walked down the halls, or the way everyone seemed to be filled with hatred or fear whenever they set eyes on the Siren's back. And once or twice, Peter thinks he spots old, dried blood -- so old it was no longer red, but so new that it hadn't yet been chipped away -- forgotten in the cracks of the stone walls.
As for him, he doesn't have much of a horse in this race, except he's being paid for his loyalty. He's lucky to even be alive, actually, considering he had been on the wrong side of Maya's judgment once before. A mercenary come to Athenas -- a corrupting influence, most likely, or so the monks had explained to Maya. He had only been here to smuggle in some rare weapons, but his buyer sold him out. When Peter landed, he was immediately ambushed by whatever the fuck the police were called here. He hardly knew what was happening until he was suddenly in cuffs and frogmarched to what looked like an abbey. They shoved him roughly to his knees as some hot chick with killer tattoos stared down her nose at him.
And then suddenly she dismissed everyone in the room, despite the meek objection of a monk who stood beside her, and once they were cleared out, she asked Peter questions about what, exactly, his profession entailed. The outlaw wasn't in much of a position to refuse to answer -- that, and he was still reeling from the series of events that it didn't occur to him to lie -- and so he dutifully answered her every question. Then before he knew it, they were drafting up a contract, and she was calling in someone to remove the cuffs, and suddenly Peter Jason Quill was the personal guard of the most powerful woman on Athenas.
That had been several months ago, and Peter's surprised she hasn't seen fit to dismiss or fire or kill him, yet. He must be doing something right. It helps that she hasn't died, yet, too, so that's something. Maybe that's all she needs? Or maybe she's lonely, or at least that's the slightly misguided impression he gets; that she's sick of the kiss-asses and the sycophants, and that she just wants someone who doesn't give enough of a fuck about making a dry remark here and again in her presence.
Or, more likely, she just didn't trust any of the fuckers on this planet enough to have them watch her back. Familiarity breeds contempt, or whatever. And given what he's seen Maya do, the people of Athenas have more than enough reason to fear her and more than enough reason to desire her gone.
Currently they're in between judgments, and Peter almost feels sorry for the poor assholes getting plopped down in front of the Siren to face her wrath. They're preparing the next victim when Peter ducks down to speak with her in her -- throne? thing? -- under the guise of whispering to her privately. (He doesn't miss the disapproving glances one of the Brothers sends his way.) ]
How many more dudes are you gonna murder, do you think? I'm starving.
[ Every so often, one of the monks would presume to ask her just why she kept the mercenary around, and she would fix them with a glare the promised unthinkable amounts of pain if they questioned her again. They would make simpering little apologies and crawl away, their proverbial tail tucked between their legs.
It spared her from having to answer, because truthfully, she didn't know why, herself. Peter Quill grated on her, with his sarcasm and the way she could tell he didn't approve of her methods. Maybe there was a part of her that was looking to stay grounded, or perhaps she knew that a more like-minded individual would try to use her, focus her powers as a tool for their own gain, like Sophis had.
All she knows is that, despite her threats, she had no desire to kill him. He'd done what she paid him to do, and done it well. She could live with his sarcasm.
That does not stop her gaze from sliding in his direction, ice cold and razor sharp ]
Don't tempt me to add you to their number, Quill. I'll be finished when I'm finished.
[ Peter leans forward, arm resting on the back of her chair (Or-- is it actually a throne? It's kind of hard to tell if Maya buys into the whole pomp and circumstance of her position. Throne seems more thematically correct, he thinks), and while the frigid look she sends his way would send her monks scrambling away to avoid her wrath, he just shrugs. It makes him nervous, certainly, and he knows fully what she's capable of (seen it over and over, in fact), but weirdly, he gets the impression that she lets him get away with more than the others in her-- company? Court? Whatever.
Which is dangerous for him to assume, he knows. Could just all be in his head. He needs to keep his guard up, avoid becoming complacent -- otherwise she could see to it that their contract is ended permanently. ]
Just saying, Your Worship.
[ There's no sarcasm in the way he says the title, but there's a definite quirk of his eyebrow that shows he's certainly thinking of it with a touch of irony. He shrugs a shoulder, ignores the blatant gawking and outrage from the monks at his audacity to enter her personal space so freely. Then again, most of them keep at least five feet between themselves and her at any given moment. ]
Even you could do with a break. Quick nap. Maybe a sandwich. You've been slaughtering folks since this morning.
[ It's also possible that Maya keeps Peter around because it's a blatant reminder for the monks that none of them has her favor. Peter doesn't either, so she tells herself, but she lets him get away with being more familiar with her. She enjoys how the Brothers silently fume whenever the mercenary gets close, the way they try to garner her favor with petty backstabbing and favors and what they think passes for subtle politics.
It's amusing, if nothing else.
She dismisses Peter's concerns with a wave of her hand. ]
This is the last one, if you're really so concerned. Bring him in.
[ The doors to the room- once presumably a sanctuary of some kind, now long since stripped of its pews and altar and made into something of a throne room- swing open, and two warriors of the Order drag in a small boy. He's probably no more than eleven or twelve, dirty and thin, and for a moment even Maya isn't able to keep the surprise off her face. This is the first time she's had to judge a child.
Another monk steps forward to lay out the charges against the child. Apparently a group of urchins were attempting to rob some of the Brothers as they collected their Tithe in one of the larger cities- this one is their ringleader.
There's talk of rebellion among the citizens, Your Worship, says the monk. This is merely the beginning.
For his own part, the boy remains silent, his gaze locked on the Siren, determined and fierce, despite the trembling of his lower lip.
Maya leans forward in her seat. ] What you've done here is punishable by death, boy.
[ He's about to say something smart and disrespectful, but the doors are already bursting open, and he sighs, moving back to his customary position just behind her seat to one side. Peter Quill doesn't strike the most intimidating figure, but he's eagle-eyed and fast, so he has that going for him, at least.
So when they bring in the boy, Peter doesn't miss the way Maya's expression goes slack with surprise, and he tenses, himself, alarmed. He looks between the kid and the Siren, and despite himself, he's worried. Athenas is a shithole -- of course the kid was going to steal. That's how Peter survived to adulthood, until he worked his way up to stealing from bigger and badder people instead of random passers-by on the streets. And if he were in this kid’s shoes, he’d steal from these stupid monks, too.
But, hey, she wouldn't-- she won't actually kill this boy, will she? She'll put the fear of the Siren into him, or whatever, and then she'll toss him back out into the streets. And then the monk is talking about rebellion and murmurs of revolution (and Peter thinks that's only a matter of course, too), and that's a serious threat.
The child continues to stare defiantly at the Siren, but he doesn't speak. Most likely it's taking everything in the kid's power not to burst into tears. A few moments of silence pass, and it's clear enough the kid isn't going to say anything in his own defense -- which means Maya will most likely be forced to act.
Shit.
Before he can fully think on it, Peter clears his throat, stepping up beside Maya's chair. He ducks down as before. ]
Ma'am. [ The room goes deathly silent. ] May I have a word?
[ He doesn't quite flinch under the weight of her gaze, but it's a close thing. Instead his eyes flick to the boy (who's frozen in the spot, watching Peter with owlish eyes), before he returns to holding Maya's gaze. ]
--He's just some snot-nosed kid. [ He keeps his voice low to avoid the monks listening in -- which means there's no use pussy-footing around the topic. ] Make him do some community service. Wash toilets. Pick up litter. I dunno, feed cows. Whatever. Just don't kill him.
I'm suggesting you don't kill him. He's just a child. Him and his stupid friends picked the wrong douchebag to rob. That's all. What, are you gonna execute every kid who's born poor, or every kid who's gotta steal so they can have somethin' to eat for the next few days? 'Cause if that's the case, you're gonna have yourself a busy next couple'a' years.
[ He licks his lips, gestures to the monks with a sharp nod. ] They said there's a rebellion brewing. Kill the kid, and he's just gonna become a martyr. If you really wanna offer your dissenters a rallying cry, then be my guest.
[ The fact that he presumes to question her makes her furious. She allows him to get away with a lot, but he's never outright intervened in her affairs before.
What he's saying is logical, and she knows that, but she's wondering if this is where the treachery starts. Direct her now, under the guise of logic, and soon she'll be looking to him for advice, doing what he wants? Not in a million years.
Her right hand comes up, tattoos flaring bright cyan, and the boy kneeling on the floor flinches, screwing his eyes shut.
But nothing happens to him. He's not where her wrath is focused for the moment. Her ire, and her phaselock, are aimed at Peter. She holds him suspended in the air a moment, as the onlooking monks try and fail to keep smug looks of satisfaction off their faces. ]
Everyone out. Take the boy to the cells- I'll deal with him later.
[ The monks bow, murmuring things like "yes, of course" and "as you wish" as they shuffle out, taking the child with them.
Once they're gone, Maya gives a wave of her arm, sending the phaselock bubble, and consequently Peter, careening into the nearest wall. She lets him drop to the floor without ceremony. ]
[ See, Quill, this is what you get for stickin' your neck out for some punk stupid enough to get caught.
He crashes into the wall and falls to the floor in a heap, and for a while there, all he sees are flashes of light in his vision. There'd probably a halo of swirling stars around his head and a cuckoo clock going off, if this were a cartoon. But it's not, this is real life, and motherfucker, that hurt.
Peter shakes his head to clear his vision, shoves himself up, forces himself to get to his feet. He's already in deep enough -- if she's gonna kill him, then she's gonna kill him. The merc might be fast, but the Siren can stop him with a mere thought and a gesture. So he grits his teeth, sets his shoulders.
He had a good run, right? ]
Apparently I'm the only asshole around here not afraid to call you on your bullshit, Your Worship.
It's takes longer for him to get up this time, but he manages it by using the wall for support. ]
What's it fucking matter what I say? [ He grits it out-- he thinks that last time might've fucked up his shoulder. ] You're not listening to me anyway, right? That's why you're tossing me around like a fucking rag doll.
You're crazy as hell and no one will call you on it, 'cause your only reaction to problems is to fucking squash it. I mean, Jesus Christ, I thought I had a fucked up childhood, but clearly someone didn't hug you enough.
[ Not once in her twenty-seven years of life has anyone dared to talk to her like that. It makes her... god, she doesn't know, so her reaction is just to get angrier.
Peter is bigger than her, but he's hurting from his collision with the wall, and the Siren is certainly stronger than she looks. Which is why she's closing the distance between them, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, and shoving him back into the wall ]
Shut up.
[ She glares at him, eyes and wings blazing ]
I spared your life once, Peter Quill. I gave you a job- one far better than someone like you could ever hope to get- and now this is how you repay me?
[ He grunts with the impact, teeth clamping down on his lower lip to avoid crying out like he wants to. (Because fuck, that hurt. Definitely fucked his shoulder.) He doesn't want to give her the satisfaction. ]
Sorry I don't suck up to you, kiss your ass like all the other dumbfucks around here. Holy hell, man, if you wanna surround yourself with people who won't fucking talk to you like a person, then fine. If you wanna keep a bunch of sycophants and kiss-asses to just nod along with everything you say, and help you turn your planet into a giant pile of ash, then go ahead. It's your life you're runnin' into the ground, man.
[ He uses his good arm to shove against her. ]
If you wanna kill me so bad, then fucking do it. Better than trying to play your shitty-ass games and jumping through your stupid hoops. Fucking sick of it.
[ She should kill him. She should immolate him right where he stands. She's done worse for far less.
So why hasn't she?
It's a question she doesn't want to explore the answer to. As a Siren warrior, she should be infallible. Without weakness. Yet here was this man, talking to her like she's never been spoken to before, brutal and honest and angry, and she's done nothing but make empty threats and toss him around.
She's furious, at herself and at him. Her pulse is pounding, face reddening with anger. She maintains her grip on his shirt as he tries to shove her off, digging her boots in against the smooth stone of the floor and pushing back as best she can. ]
If you're looking for an end to our agreement, one way or another, it isn't going to happen. You're going to stay, and you're going to learn to be silent or I will show you a fate worse than death.
[ Peter is not a suicidal person, but neither is he stupid enough to think he'll live to see old age. Not with the life he leads or the people he knows. So when the Siren starts throwing him around the room, he thinks, This is it. Here I go. He isn't happy about the prospect of being six feet under or scooped up into a jar or whatever, depending on how she kills him, but in those short few moments, he accepts it.
-- Which is why what she says brings everything in his head to a grinding halt.
She's angry enough for the both of them, because his own fury disappears almost instantly, replaced with confusion that's written on his face. ]
[ The moment she moves back, Peter's free hand goes to his shoulder. He licks his lips, expecting some kind of trick, and regards her with an open wariness. ]
What, that's it? Not gonna shoot me in the head or blow me up with your mind powers? I gotta figure murderin' people is as easy as breathin’ to you.
[ She turns away, wings dissipating, and moves for the door. ] Now, I have a little criminal to deal with. Come along or don't. It doesn't matter to me.
[ Jesus fucking Christ, this woman is terrifying. But this all started because of this kid, and there's no way in hell Peter isn't seeing this through. After the tantrum she threw, he's expecting her to execute the boy -- someone ought to be there to mourn his passing.
So holding his shoulder, he moves after her, silent and resigned -- but they do have a deal, after all. He's getting paid to watch her back, so if he doesn't, how can he expect to get his money? The monks sure as hell won't give it to him, after all. ]
[ She sweeps down to the dungeons, practically radiating cold fury. The monks give her a wider berth than usual.
The cells beneath the Abbey stand empty, save for the one holding the boy. Maya isn't in the habit of keeping prisoners. She dismisses the single guard abruptly, and judging by the way he hurries off, he's glad to leave.
Once they're alone, Maya crouches by the bars to the boy's cell. The child in question is curled in a back corner, trying to quiet his sobs, but whatever bravery he possessed earlier seems to have left him. ]
There, there little one. There's no need to cry.
[ Her words should be reassuring, comforting, but there's a cold edge to her tone that betrays her intentions. After a moment, she seems to be bored with the act, and she waves her hand, tattoos flashing. The boy falters but doesn't quiet until Maya snaps, ] Stop crying and come here.
[ The response is immediate. The child quiets and gets up, almost mechanically, a strange look in his eyes. He moves to stand in front of where Maya is crouched. The look on her face turns wicked- not even the monks know she has this ability- and she reaches through the bars to caress the boy's cheek with her tattooed hand. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. ]
Hello my little thief. Since Mister Quill here is so intent on my sparing you, I've decided to let you go. I want you to go back to your friends, I want you to tell them I've shown you mercy, and that stealing from the Order is wrong. Tell them you shouldn't have done it in the first place.
And then I want you to throw yourself from the top of the tallest building you can find.
Can you do that for me, little one?
[ The little boy nods once, which seems to be enough for the Siren. She waves him back to his corner and he goes.
Maya rises to her feet, turning to glare at Peter, fire in her gaze. ] Don't try me again, Quill.
[ with that, she sweeps out of the dungeon, not caring if he follows ]
[ He's-- pleasantly surprised, at first, despite that weird display with her tattoos, that coldness in her voice. Maybe she can be reasoned with, after all -- well, in a manner of speaking. Apparently reasoning with her also invovles getting thrown around like a fucking baseball, but if that's what it takes for her to be a decent fucking person, then-- okay. Peter can deal with that. He's a resilient guy.
But then she gives her final command, and something ice cold plummets in his gut, and he nearly misses the way she glares at him, the way she threatens him.
She may not care if Peter follows after her, but follow he does, and at a run, even. ]
What the hell was that? That was-- that was a fucking joke, right? You didn't actually-- he's not actually going to kill himself, is he?
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a darker timeline
Twenty-seven years, she had been used as a threat. "Pay the tithe, or the Siren will kill you." "Stay in line, or you will face her wrath." "Obey our every word, or you will know pain unlike any other." Needless to say, the threats were terrifying enough to keep the people of Athenas in check. No one dared question Brother Sophis or the other monks. The Siren was an unknown quantity. There was no telling what powers she had, sequestered as she had been.
And finally the Siren was put to the test, faced with men and women who dared to defy the Order. Brother Sophis aimed her like a gun and pulled the trigger. When the room was in a shambles, coated in blood and viscera of the terrorists and criminals who sought to undermine or overthrow the Order, Brother Sophis praised the Siren, said to her, "You have done well, my child." The Siren turned to her mentor, said, "Don't call me 'child,'" and shot him.
At least, that's how the story goes.
Peter doesn't really care to know whether or not it's true. Sometimes that shit gets exaggerated, where three men over time became twenty men, or a head shot in cold blood had actually been a bloody fight of survival. But Peter gets the impression that this one is legit, at least from the way the monks gave the two of them a wide berth whenever they walked down the halls, or the way everyone seemed to be filled with hatred or fear whenever they set eyes on the Siren's back. And once or twice, Peter thinks he spots old, dried blood -- so old it was no longer red, but so new that it hadn't yet been chipped away -- forgotten in the cracks of the stone walls.
As for him, he doesn't have much of a horse in this race, except he's being paid for his loyalty. He's lucky to even be alive, actually, considering he had been on the wrong side of Maya's judgment once before. A mercenary come to Athenas -- a corrupting influence, most likely, or so the monks had explained to Maya. He had only been here to smuggle in some rare weapons, but his buyer sold him out. When Peter landed, he was immediately ambushed by whatever the fuck the police were called here. He hardly knew what was happening until he was suddenly in cuffs and frogmarched to what looked like an abbey. They shoved him roughly to his knees as some hot chick with killer tattoos stared down her nose at him.
And then suddenly she dismissed everyone in the room, despite the meek objection of a monk who stood beside her, and once they were cleared out, she asked Peter questions about what, exactly, his profession entailed. The outlaw wasn't in much of a position to refuse to answer -- that, and he was still reeling from the series of events that it didn't occur to him to lie -- and so he dutifully answered her every question. Then before he knew it, they were drafting up a contract, and she was calling in someone to remove the cuffs, and suddenly Peter Jason Quill was the personal guard of the most powerful woman on Athenas.
That had been several months ago, and Peter's surprised she hasn't seen fit to dismiss or fire or kill him, yet. He must be doing something right. It helps that she hasn't died, yet, too, so that's something. Maybe that's all she needs? Or maybe she's lonely, or at least that's the slightly misguided impression he gets; that she's sick of the kiss-asses and the sycophants, and that she just wants someone who doesn't give enough of a fuck about making a dry remark here and again in her presence.
Or, more likely, she just didn't trust any of the fuckers on this planet enough to have them watch her back. Familiarity breeds contempt, or whatever. And given what he's seen Maya do, the people of Athenas have more than enough reason to fear her and more than enough reason to desire her gone.
Currently they're in between judgments, and Peter almost feels sorry for the poor assholes getting plopped down in front of the Siren to face her wrath. They're preparing the next victim when Peter ducks down to speak with her in her -- throne? thing? -- under the guise of whispering to her privately. (He doesn't miss the disapproving glances one of the Brothers sends his way.) ]
How many more dudes are you gonna murder, do you think? I'm starving.
no subject
It spared her from having to answer, because truthfully, she didn't know why, herself. Peter Quill grated on her, with his sarcasm and the way she could tell he didn't approve of her methods. Maybe there was a part of her that was looking to stay grounded, or perhaps she knew that a more like-minded individual would try to use her, focus her powers as a tool for their own gain, like Sophis had.
All she knows is that, despite her threats, she had no desire to kill him. He'd done what she paid him to do, and done it well. She could live with his sarcasm.
That does not stop her gaze from sliding in his direction, ice cold and razor sharp ]
Don't tempt me to add you to their number, Quill. I'll be finished when I'm finished.
no subject
Which is dangerous for him to assume, he knows. Could just all be in his head. He needs to keep his guard up, avoid becoming complacent -- otherwise she could see to it that their contract is ended permanently. ]
Just saying, Your Worship.
[ There's no sarcasm in the way he says the title, but there's a definite quirk of his eyebrow that shows he's certainly thinking of it with a touch of irony. He shrugs a shoulder, ignores the blatant gawking and outrage from the monks at his audacity to enter her personal space so freely. Then again, most of them keep at least five feet between themselves and her at any given moment. ]
Even you could do with a break. Quick nap. Maybe a sandwich. You've been slaughtering folks since this morning.
no subject
It's amusing, if nothing else.
She dismisses Peter's concerns with a wave of her hand. ]
This is the last one, if you're really so concerned. Bring him in.
[ The doors to the room- once presumably a sanctuary of some kind, now long since stripped of its pews and altar and made into something of a throne room- swing open, and two warriors of the Order drag in a small boy. He's probably no more than eleven or twelve, dirty and thin, and for a moment even Maya isn't able to keep the surprise off her face. This is the first time she's had to judge a child.
Another monk steps forward to lay out the charges against the child. Apparently a group of urchins were attempting to rob some of the Brothers as they collected their Tithe in one of the larger cities- this one is their ringleader.
There's talk of rebellion among the citizens, Your Worship, says the monk. This is merely the beginning.
For his own part, the boy remains silent, his gaze locked on the Siren, determined and fierce, despite the trembling of his lower lip.
Maya leans forward in her seat. ] What you've done here is punishable by death, boy.
no subject
So when they bring in the boy, Peter doesn't miss the way Maya's expression goes slack with surprise, and he tenses, himself, alarmed. He looks between the kid and the Siren, and despite himself, he's worried. Athenas is a shithole -- of course the kid was going to steal. That's how Peter survived to adulthood, until he worked his way up to stealing from bigger and badder people instead of random passers-by on the streets. And if he were in this kid’s shoes, he’d steal from these stupid monks, too.
But, hey, she wouldn't-- she won't actually kill this boy, will she? She'll put the fear of the Siren into him, or whatever, and then she'll toss him back out into the streets. And then the monk is talking about rebellion and murmurs of revolution (and Peter thinks that's only a matter of course, too), and that's a serious threat.
The child continues to stare defiantly at the Siren, but he doesn't speak. Most likely it's taking everything in the kid's power not to burst into tears. A few moments of silence pass, and it's clear enough the kid isn't going to say anything in his own defense -- which means Maya will most likely be forced to act.
Shit.
Before he can fully think on it, Peter clears his throat, stepping up beside Maya's chair. He ducks down as before. ]
Ma'am. [ The room goes deathly silent. ] May I have a word?
no subject
She has a feeling she knows why, and she turns sharply to look at him. ]
Make it quick.
no subject
--He's just some snot-nosed kid. [ He keeps his voice low to avoid the monks listening in -- which means there's no use pussy-footing around the topic. ] Make him do some community service. Wash toilets. Pick up litter. I dunno, feed cows. Whatever. Just don't kill him.
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[ She spits the word like acid, eyes narrowing ] He needs to be made an example of.
no subject
[ He licks his lips, gestures to the monks with a sharp nod. ] They said there's a rebellion brewing. Kill the kid, and he's just gonna become a martyr. If you really wanna offer your dissenters a rallying cry, then be my guest.
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What he's saying is logical, and she knows that, but she's wondering if this is where the treachery starts. Direct her now, under the guise of logic, and soon she'll be looking to him for advice, doing what he wants? Not in a million years.
Her right hand comes up, tattoos flaring bright cyan, and the boy kneeling on the floor flinches, screwing his eyes shut.
But nothing happens to him. He's not where her wrath is focused for the moment. Her ire, and her phaselock, are aimed at Peter. She holds him suspended in the air a moment, as the onlooking monks try and fail to keep smug looks of satisfaction off their faces. ]
Everyone out. Take the boy to the cells- I'll deal with him later.
[ The monks bow, murmuring things like "yes, of course" and "as you wish" as they shuffle out, taking the child with them.
Once they're gone, Maya gives a wave of her arm, sending the phaselock bubble, and consequently Peter, careening into the nearest wall. She lets him drop to the floor without ceremony. ]
Just who the hell do you think you are?
no subject
He crashes into the wall and falls to the floor in a heap, and for a while there, all he sees are flashes of light in his vision. There'd probably a halo of swirling stars around his head and a cuckoo clock going off, if this were a cartoon. But it's not, this is real life, and motherfucker, that hurt.
Peter shakes his head to clear his vision, shoves himself up, forces himself to get to his feet. He's already in deep enough -- if she's gonna kill him, then she's gonna kill him. The merc might be fast, but the Siren can stop him with a mere thought and a gesture. So he grits his teeth, sets his shoulders.
He had a good run, right? ]
Apparently I'm the only asshole around here not afraid to call you on your bullshit, Your Worship.
no subject
Give me one good reason not to kill you.
no subject
It's takes longer for him to get up this time, but he manages it by using the wall for support. ]
What's it fucking matter what I say? [ He grits it out-- he thinks that last time might've fucked up his shoulder. ] You're not listening to me anyway, right? That's why you're tossing me around like a fucking rag doll.
You're crazy as hell and no one will call you on it, 'cause your only reaction to problems is to fucking squash it. I mean, Jesus Christ, I thought I had a fucked up childhood, but clearly someone didn't hug you enough.
no subject
Peter is bigger than her, but he's hurting from his collision with the wall, and the Siren is certainly stronger than she looks. Which is why she's closing the distance between them, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, and shoving him back into the wall ]
Shut up.
[ She glares at him, eyes and wings blazing ]
I spared your life once, Peter Quill. I gave you a job- one far better than someone like you could ever hope to get- and now this is how you repay me?
no subject
Sorry I don't suck up to you, kiss your ass like all the other dumbfucks around here. Holy hell, man, if you wanna surround yourself with people who won't fucking talk to you like a person, then fine. If you wanna keep a bunch of sycophants and kiss-asses to just nod along with everything you say, and help you turn your planet into a giant pile of ash, then go ahead. It's your life you're runnin' into the ground, man.
[ He uses his good arm to shove against her. ]
If you wanna kill me so bad, then fucking do it. Better than trying to play your shitty-ass games and jumping through your stupid hoops. Fucking sick of it.
no subject
So why hasn't she?
It's a question she doesn't want to explore the answer to. As a Siren warrior, she should be infallible. Without weakness. Yet here was this man, talking to her like she's never been spoken to before, brutal and honest and angry, and she's done nothing but make empty threats and toss him around.
She's furious, at herself and at him. Her pulse is pounding, face reddening with anger. She maintains her grip on his shirt as he tries to shove her off, digging her boots in against the smooth stone of the floor and pushing back as best she can. ]
If you're looking for an end to our agreement, one way or another, it isn't going to happen. You're going to stay, and you're going to learn to be silent or I will show you a fate worse than death.
Am I clear?
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-- Which is why what she says brings everything in his head to a grinding halt.
She's angry enough for the both of them, because his own fury disappears almost instantly, replaced with confusion that's written on his face. ]
... What?
[ Evidently she was not, in fact, clear. ]
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You should know by now I'm not in the habit of repeating myself.
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What, that's it? Not gonna shoot me in the head or blow me up with your mind powers? I gotta figure murderin' people is as easy as breathin’ to you.
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[ She turns away, wings dissipating, and moves for the door. ] Now, I have a little criminal to deal with. Come along or don't. It doesn't matter to me.
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So holding his shoulder, he moves after her, silent and resigned -- but they do have a deal, after all. He's getting paid to watch her back, so if he doesn't, how can he expect to get his money? The monks sure as hell won't give it to him, after all. ]
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The cells beneath the Abbey stand empty, save for the one holding the boy. Maya isn't in the habit of keeping prisoners. She dismisses the single guard abruptly, and judging by the way he hurries off, he's glad to leave.
Once they're alone, Maya crouches by the bars to the boy's cell. The child in question is curled in a back corner, trying to quiet his sobs, but whatever bravery he possessed earlier seems to have left him. ]
There, there little one. There's no need to cry.
[ Her words should be reassuring, comforting, but there's a cold edge to her tone that betrays her intentions. After a moment, she seems to be bored with the act, and she waves her hand, tattoos flashing. The boy falters but doesn't quiet until Maya snaps, ] Stop crying and come here.
[ The response is immediate. The child quiets and gets up, almost mechanically, a strange look in his eyes. He moves to stand in front of where Maya is crouched. The look on her face turns wicked- not even the monks know she has this ability- and she reaches through the bars to caress the boy's cheek with her tattooed hand. He doesn't flinch, doesn't even blink. ]
Hello my little thief. Since Mister Quill here is so intent on my sparing you, I've decided to let you go. I want you to go back to your friends, I want you to tell them I've shown you mercy, and that stealing from the Order is wrong. Tell them you shouldn't have done it in the first place.
And then I want you to throw yourself from the top of the tallest building you can find.
Can you do that for me, little one?
[ The little boy nods once, which seems to be enough for the Siren. She waves him back to his corner and he goes.
Maya rises to her feet, turning to glare at Peter, fire in her gaze. ] Don't try me again, Quill.
[ with that, she sweeps out of the dungeon, not caring if he follows ]
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But then she gives her final command, and something ice cold plummets in his gut, and he nearly misses the way she glares at him, the way she threatens him.
She may not care if Peter follows after her, but follow he does, and at a run, even. ]
What the hell was that? That was-- that was a fucking joke, right? You didn't actually-- he's not actually going to kill himself, is he?
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He'll do whatever I tell him to.
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You can't do this. He's just a fucking kid.
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