Peter hasn't exactly managed to relax either, though he's very good at pretending he is relaxing — or at least, he is most of the time. He edges more towards neurotic than not, but in a world-weary kind of sense moreso than the world is ending kind of sense.
—And space and the Guardians and just life in general tends to prove enough of a distraction that it rarely matters anyway.
He's not sure how much he really cares that Alec isn't really a vacation kind of guy, at least not this side of finishing his coffee, but he listens whilst Alec continues and talks about what he feels like he ought to be doing, and then—
The question takes him by surprise, but not as much as the emphasis that Alec places on those two words and Peter's expression shifts — eyes widening, eyebrows darting up towards his hairline (or more accurately, disappearing somewhere beneath the fringe that desperately either needs cutting, styling, or both). It's not surprise, per se, but it is a kind of shocked resignation that (re)occurs every time the decade is brought up and Peter remembers that the eighties weren't, like, twenty years, they were — almost, thank you very much — forty.
"Why, because you think I grew up in this era?" He asks, unsure if it's a general question or if the implication is: hey, Quill, you old. There's a breath of a pause that Peter holds before exhaling audibly and waving a hand dismissively. "I was born in '85." A beat. "I don't remember much of the eighties."
He doesn't and he didn't really watch much from the time — he'd been more interested in books and space and music, then his mother had been killed and the rest, as they say, is history. Still—
"Star Wars?" He suggests. "Alien. Aliens." Another momentary pause — there were tv shows and movies that he'd enjoyed watching because he had been a Young Boy with Crushes, but he's not sure how much tall, dark and deadpan here would enjoy them in the same capacity. "—Beetlejuice."
That's it, that's his list of suggestions: Who's The Boss? probably hasn't stood the test of time.
no subject
—And space and the Guardians and just life in general tends to prove enough of a distraction that it rarely matters anyway.
He's not sure how much he really cares that Alec isn't really a vacation kind of guy, at least not this side of finishing his coffee, but he listens whilst Alec continues and talks about what he feels like he ought to be doing, and then—
The question takes him by surprise, but not as much as the emphasis that Alec places on those two words and Peter's expression shifts — eyes widening, eyebrows darting up towards his hairline (or more accurately, disappearing somewhere beneath the fringe that desperately either needs cutting, styling, or both). It's not surprise, per se, but it is a kind of shocked resignation that (re)occurs every time the decade is brought up and Peter remembers that the eighties weren't, like, twenty years, they were — almost, thank you very much — forty.
"Why, because you think I grew up in this era?" He asks, unsure if it's a general question or if the implication is: hey, Quill, you old. There's a breath of a pause that Peter holds before exhaling audibly and waving a hand dismissively. "I was born in '85." A beat. "I don't remember much of the eighties."
He doesn't and he didn't really watch much from the time — he'd been more interested in books and space and music, then his mother had been killed and the rest, as they say, is history. Still—
"Star Wars?" He suggests. "Alien. Aliens." Another momentary pause — there were tv shows and movies that he'd enjoyed watching because he had been a Young Boy with Crushes, but he's not sure how much tall, dark and deadpan here would enjoy them in the same capacity. "—Beetlejuice."
That's it, that's his list of suggestions: Who's The Boss? probably hasn't stood the test of time.