IC INTRO #1

[cursedmods]

IC INTRO #1

A Blood Offering

---

You wake up cozy in bed at the Saturn Motel. As you observe the room you may realize that it looks a little dated. Or, perhaps from your point of view the lamp and TV are wildly futuristic. Or, like Goldilocks, it may seem just right: close to the world you just left behind. Either way, you just had a very strange dream (see the arrival scenario) and now you're here. And you're not alone: there's a bed next to yours and someone else is waking up just like you are.

You can chat for a while if you like, but if you try to leave you'll find the door is firmly locked and no amount of kicking, punching, or hitting it with an object will do you any good. Instead, there's a letter on the nightstand which reads:

"Good morning and welcome to your new home!

You may be wondering why you're trapped in this room. Fear not, the door will open easily if you offer a bit of blood. More than a few drops but not enough to be a serious wound. A handprint's worth will do, let's say, and it only needs to come from one of you.

I'll let you sort that out yourselves. See you on the other side.

Sincerely,
The Mayor"

And indeed, a handprint's worth of blood pressed against the door will unlock it and let you out into the world. Do you volunteer your own blood? Do you take it from the other person by force? It's up to you! But there's no food in here, so you better figure it out eventually.

Roller Rink

---

As a celebration of your new lives here (and an apology for the whole blood offering thing - they were just testing something out, really) the Mayor has invited everyone to the Crazy Eight Roller Rink for a private, after-hours party.

Attendance isn't mandatory, but it is heavily encouraged so that you can meet your fellow Cursed and know who's in on the whole secret. It'll help you down the line at some point if your Curse gets out of control and you need someone to wrangle you.

As a reward, everyone who shows up and completes at least one lap around the roller rink (you must be wearing skates, but you can crawl the lap if you can't get the hang of them) will receive a free walkman with a mystery tape inside. The color, style, and mystery tape your character gets are up to you.

Mallrats

---

Everyone loves the mall! Right? Right! And this group of newcomers is lucky enough to be here for the White Pines Mall Grand Opening celebration! Feel free to walk around the mall and partake in sales galore, check out the attractions, or just get to know the layout of the place.

The Mayor has given everyone a gift card for $100 that can be used anywhere in the mall as long as they attend the Grand Opening.

They also strongly suggest that you familiarize yourself with the mall and its layout, just in case you ever get stuck there for a while and have to compete with others for food and resources. But that probably won't happen.

Extra Info

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All the same guidelines from the TDM still apply. You can continue your TDM threads here or start new ones! And of course, you can start making your own prompts in the log or network communities at your leisure.

Our first event will be going up in about a week!

Please do not add character tags to any posts just yet, we'll add them to this post manually.

Comments

Alec Lightwood | Shadowhunters

[flatly]

SATURN CAFE

To say Alec is going stir-crazy in the small town with no chaos so far (other than the weirdness of existence several years before his birth, and the fact that they somehow made him human without even taking off his runes) is an understatement. He's never been so bored in his life. He's deeply regretting every single time he felt overwhelmed running the Institute and secretly wished for a simpler life, where he didn't have to worry about politics and monsters and whatever absolute mountain of paperwork that week's apocalypse was going to drop onto his desk.

Right now, all he's got to fret about is the slightly burnt coffee that the Saturn Cafe tends to pump out. It's free so he shouldn't really complain, but he can't help the prissy look of disgust that steals across his face every time he takes a sip. Not that it stops him from downing a whole cup, and then accepting the fresh pot from the bored waitress at his table when it becomes clear that he's just going to keep sitting there and downing mug after mug of the stuff.

If anyone else comes in for the free food on offer and looks interested in conversation, Alec will beat down his natural urge to avoid socialization with the masses in order to offer up the coffee pot, because all the cafe's employees seem to have wandered off into the back for the moment. "It's terrible," he says, deadpan: clearly, a glowing endorsement.

AROUND TOWN

Lacking any better outlets (and the training facilities he's accustomed to), Alec goes running a lot during the first few weeks they're all in town to blow off steam stay in shape. He keeps his bow and arrows on him out of years and years of habit, and they make for a fairly easy identifier of being someone who probably wasn't born and raised in White Pines, despite the fact that he's been forced by lack of choice or resources to break down and wear typical 1980s workout clothes (HELP). Though he didn't go for an iconic crop top because he's a Coward, he can still be found basically anywhere in town in the eye-searing neon palette of the decade, looking intensely washed out by his loose tank top and athletic short shorts, with a smattering of strange black symbols tattooed on his arms, shoulders and neck.

He occasionally stops to cool down and stretch, or maybe drink from a water fountain, wherever those happen to be.

WILDCARD

[Want to tag but neither of those work for you? Hit me up in PM, on discord at Cris#4369, or on the ooc intro meme with ideas and I'll write a different starter for you! Of write one of your own, I'm down for anything.]

For bodyoftheseus!

[flatly]

Alec wakes up slowly and comfortably, which probably should have been a warning sign in itself. The bed isn't particularly luxurious, but for some reason he feels like he just spent a solid 10 hours in the most deep sleep he's gotten without being knocked out in years and years.

Even with the strange dream lingering in the back of his mind like a fog it's... nice. At least until he stretches and peels his eyes open, and finds that not only is it a room he doesn't recognize, but there's a man he's never seen before sleeping in the other bed. He jerks from under the covers, feels around his pockets for his stele the second he's upright, and when he turns up empty there he tries to summon his bow and an arrow. Nothing. Cool. Instinct tells him to freak out, but training makes him cast around the room instead, looking for the telltale oddities of glamours he's not quite seeing through, or dangers lurking in the corner.

But the only other thing around is the guy in the bed, and context clues say that he's in about the same position as Alec, so after a moment of deliberation Alec kicks at one of the bed's legs to jostle its occupant awake. You know, so he's not just standing around flabbergasted on his own. "Hey. Get up." Bossy!

popcat emoji

[bodyoftheseus]

Just like his counterpart, the first sign of trouble should have been that V slept well. He'd take a bed to his car any day, and the world wasn't slightly shifting in the tell-tale signs of liquor or drugs wearing off. The fact that he was fully dressed and he could feel his guns pressing into him didn't bother him in the slightest, used to it as he was.

The sound of someone stirring and shuffling about probably should have bothered him given the fact he was fully dressed but V hardly had the thinking capacity to piece it all together right now. He just wanted to keep his eyes closed and lay here as long as he could. Whatever the clock said, it was too early, and, well, the other person could let themself out. He'd pay whatever bill the room had accrued. The dream, he'd sleepily decided, wasn't something real. Just something in his neuralware he'd have to perform a system diagnostic on once he decided to actually stir.

"Fuck off," he groaned in response to the bed being jostled. "Just go, I'll pay the bill," he said. After a moment he rolled over in an attempt to get comfortable again, ignoring the stranger. It was bound to fail and even V knew it at this point but he hoped the stranger would just leave so V could face his own poor decisions alone.

[flatly]

Alec, who is only used to being flagrantly disobeyed by people he loves and lets get away with it, lets out an immediate and indignant scoff. "Seriously?" He hasn't actually put two and two together on what V is implying yet, but he still contemplates just leaving, if only because he's tetchy in the best of circumstances and this is not a best of anything. He gets as far as striding irritably over to the door, which does not budge even after a moment of prolonged doorknob rattling and an insistent tug or two. "Seriously?" he repeats, rounding back on the beds. He should be able to yank a cheap door off its hinges, but for some reason he can't get any of his runes to work.

He thinks about the weird dream again, but even with mounting evidence he isn't sure what to make of it.

"Alright, up. Now." he demands, more sharply than last time, stressed and trying to avoid freaking out by somehow taking control of the situation. Historically, that has not been a great tactic when he's not surrounded by people he already has command over, but that's a minor detail. "I have no idea where I am, and if you do know, then I want answers."

[bodyoftheseus]

V makes it a point to ignore the indignation of the other, snuggling deeper into his coat as if it would somehow help him get back to sleep. He was growing more aware as he heard Alec move toward the door and then struggle with it. That was irritating - how hard was opening a fucking door and leaving? The demand cut through V's still half-asleep stupor and he groaned. It didn't matter how well he'd slept, he still was someone who hated leaving bed.

"Fuck, how hard's opening a fucking door," he mumbled as he sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to the stranger and the door. He rubbed his eyes, then dragged his hands down his face (something about his hands and his face didn't feel right), and then spoke up. "Imagine we're in the No-Tell--"

He stopped short as he finally looked at the room he was in. He stood and turned to look at the stranger and the entrance to the room, visibly confused. This place was definitely not the No-Tell Motel. Wherever he was now was clean and tidy. A bit dated, maybe, but it wasn't skeevy. V had no clue where the fuck he was and that made his hackles rise. He also had never seen the stranger he was stuck in here with. In an unconscious movement, his hand came to rest on one of his guns. He was looking Alec over, trying to assess danger.

"No clue where we are. Who the fuck are you?"

[flatly]

Alec's clear I told you so expression only deepens as he gives V a rather un-subtle once-over, and he opens his mouth to say something snide... except, then one of V's hands lands on his weapon.

Alec has never been shot. Bitten, stabbed, burned, chucked through walls? Sure. Magicked at, poisoned on one fun occasion, and possessed? It happens, that's the kind of fun you get up to when you do the ridiculous job that Alec does. But no one brings guns to monster fights, so after a second of wrestling mightily with his pride—if he wasn't halfway across the room he might be more likely to gamble on his ability to grapple for the gun without getting a brand new orifice somewhere for his troubles—Alec raises his open hands slightly in the universal sign of surrender.

"Not your enemy," he says like he'd rather be telling V where he can shove it, but he gets better control over his face after a second, breathes out a huff, and tries again: it's not like he didn't reach for his bow first and ask questions later as well, after all. "I'm Alec. I just woke up here, too."

[bodyoftheseus]

V noticed the way that Alec hesitated as his iron fit into his hand even though he didn't draw. That, at least, gave V some level of comfort. Not so much that he was willing to turn his back to Alec yet, but enough that he (grudgingly) let go of his gun. He didn't particularly trust that Alec was telling the truth but he wasn't going for a weapon so V would show the same courtesy. For now.

"So, what, door's stuck?" He wasn't going to be as snarky as Alec deserved but his tone definitely suggested a level of annoyance that Alec couldn't open a fucking door. V's attention turned toward the locks on the door and he tried to use his scanner to zoom in to see them better but found he couldn't. That was... Not right.

Then it hit him: he was supposed to be assimilated into an AI. He wasn't supposed to be here, he wasn't supposed to be alive. He was supposed to be floating in the digital sea, free of all of this. Perhaps whatever this place was, this person was, was the last dredges of his consciousness flaring up before finally snuffing out. He could only play along and hope it'd be over soon.

V moved past Alec so that he could get a better look at the locks on the door. It was as he'd expected: the locks weren't backward, the room definitely locked from the inside, so there was no lock for V to pick. He tried the door (it didn't work), flipped the lock and tried the door (it didn't work), flipped the lock again, and tried the door with more force (it still didn't work). He gave up with a frustrated sigh, looking back to Alec.

"There anything else in here or you just been more concerned with wakin' me up?"

[flatly]

"Oh? Do you think maybe it's stuck?" Alec parrots back, with all the undue boldness of a man who isn't currently trapped in a tiny room with someone grouchy and armed, after he watches V try and fail to rattle the door open himself. Listen. Sometimes the only thing that can spark any joy is being petty, regardless of the risks.

He rolls his eyes up towards the ceiling at the follow-up question though, because rude!! It was totally the most normal thing to do to kick V awake first!

"Get your beauty sleep on your own time," he mutters instead of confirming or or denying (or, you know, apologizing), and stalks over to the bathroom area at the opposite side of the room. He opens the door to the left, which is just the toilet and shower, and the right, which is just the empty closet. Nothing illuminating in either area, and no other apparent ways out. Aside from the terribly outdated wood paneling, carpet, tile and wall color choices, there appears to be absolutely nothing special about this unpleasant little hotel room at all. Other than the fact that they're trapped inside of it, of course. "Do you have any brilliant ideas?" Never say Alec isn't a team player!

For janescayre!

[flatly]

[Continued from here!]

"You're not?" he asks, skeptically. Even most werewolves he's met are particular about changing out of their ripped up clothes as soon as they can, though that might be part sampling bias and part their general need to blend in with human society. Clearly, she has no such compulsion (says the kettle to the pot.)

After a moment of internal debate, he decides it can't exactly hurt and shrugs. In any other situation he'd probably hand her off to someone else and bail, but it's not like he has an institute full of underlings to boss around here. It's also not like he has a single other, better thing to do. "I'm not that hungry," he settles on saying. It is true (he ate breakfast at the Saturn Cafe just a few hours ago), but she's right and he also just doesn't want to be seen with her looking so torn up. Sorry, Fukawa. "I've seen some stores with pleated skirts like that," he adds, which might actually be the only helpful thing he's said so far. Either way, gotta love 80's corporate fashion! (He's not really aware that she's got on a school uniform.)

[janescayre]

"Well, uh..." Okay she is, she's been desperate to get into some new clothes for ages, but she can't exactly say that the very sight of him waylaid all her plans. That's coming on too strong, even for her. Perhaps later she'll be able to tell him how the deep set of his eyes lured her in, how his fine-formed frame lent him a rare gravitas, the shine of his hair a beacon across a sea of degenerates.

Later, yes. Once they've become acquainted. Luckily for her he agrees, even took the effort to make note of the style of her skirt. That's so kind of him! Incredible! That he could bear looking at her loathesome body long enough to notice, she's never offered that level of consideration.

"Oh! Th-that's so — well it doesn't have to be this style exactly," she laughs, somewhat breathless. "I mean I'm not in school anymore. It w-would be nice to get s-something that isn't a uniform. Heheh..."

They quit the food court as one (she's assuming he'll lead the way) and Fukawa isn't quite at his side. She takes care to stay at least one step behind in deference. He's obviously superior to her, his own clothes may be out of touch but they look expensive, and she's got to take a chance to admire the weapon strapped to his back. No wonder he was so well muscled, you'd have to be to wield such a thing with accuracy.

"I trust your j-judgment though! I'm not exactly up to d-date on the fashions here."

[flatly]

Alec shoots a look of pure disbelief at her over his shoulder as they walk, perfectly content to take the lead even though he should probably stop and ask himself why she's back there. He's just kinda used to people who aren't his siblings (and, ugh, Clary) falling in line for him, honestly. Speaking of siblings, if only Izzy were around to bear witness to someone actively putting their trust in his fashion sense.

She would absolutely bust something laughing, probably.

"Right," he hedges, realizing that it probably wouldn't be right to lead her so far astray: "I don't know about that. I haven't even been born yet, if this actually is the 80's." So up to date is definitely the wrong way to conceptualize it. This place is so weird, and as much as he's trying to make sense of it he's also largely just trying not to think about it. Either way, it doesn't take long to get back to Ruby's, which had seemed like the least offensive clothes store in the mall when he'd wandered through it earlier. (He is very much not over Paradiso's terrible aesthetic.)

"How long have you been in those clothes?" It's got to be more than a quick crash in a helicopter during a riot and then waking up here, right? Surely.

[janescayre]

"Oh! You weren't?" her excitement is immediate and breathless. "M-me neither! I guess we've got that in common!"

Already they're finding parallels! Perfect! Perhaps they read some of the same books, too. She knows by now that it's less likely, alternate universes and such, but she likes to think the most notable works ripple across all realities. Imagine a world without Abe Kobe, Charlotte Bronte, Victor Hugo. Perish the thought.

Then he strikes her unawares. Once again she flounders, scuttles back, glances left and right. The wind isn't fully gone from her sails, but it's still humiliating to admit:

"T-two years..." Barely whispered. As if that would soften the blow. Worse that it's not even her high school uniform, but her middle school one. Humiliation of all humiliations. "But it's not my fault! All right?! There's just been a few d-difficult situations, and I'm...I was..."

Oh boy. Fukawa snaps to the nearest rack, rifling through the offerings of the best discounts Ruby has to offer.

"Well, we're getting new clothes now! So it doesn't matter! How about this?"

She pulls loose another long skirt, no pleats, high waist. Please have mercy on her, sweet prince.

[flatly]

"Two—" If they hadn't already, Alec probably would have tripped with how fast his head snaps around so he can stare at her. Jesus. What, was she stuck in some hell dimension? Imprisoned?? Maybe that explains why she's so skittish.

He can't even imagine.

"It's, um, nice," he murmurs without actually glancing over at it, clearly a bit shell-shocked by her answer. Then his brain finally kicks back on and he does look at what she's holding out, and— never mind, actually. "No, not that one." The shade would clash with her hair, which is long enough that it's actually a problem. He wonders half a second how she fights with it, before reminding himself that some people don't fight, necessarily. This isn't the Institute, mundanes exist, and while he's only had about half a conversation with her he's already pretty sure that Fukawa is not the fighting type.

Some day he'll learn not to make snap judgments. Not today, obvious.

He points to the one still on the rack, behind the skirt she pulled out. It's a similar style, if slightly shorter—maybe knee-length—but black. Black goes with everything, Fukawa!! "That one."

[janescayre]

Okay obviously she wasn't going to get away with that one. He boggles at her and she suddenly finds the scuffs on her mary janes a thrilling study.

Which has her realizing how much her feet have been killing her. They're not the most practical shoe to be left running for your life in, especially with a heel. If she has money left over, maybe she'll slink into the shoe store and quietly purchase something more forgiving.

Or, in light of meeting this boy and being thrust into a functional society again, something a bit dressier? She'll never be beautiful, but perhaps she can aim higher than a ghoul who skulks in the shadows.

He rejects her skirt (why?) and offers something a bit more svelte, a few inches shorter on the hem. How bold of him. Does he prefer a slender pair of legs? Something to show them off in? Fukawa flushes anew. "Um, if you th-think so...I can try it..."

She takes the skirt demurely and clutches it close. "So! I don't have your name yet. Sh-shouldn't we be properly introduced?" Is it her fault if her lashes are prone to fluttering? "I'm F-Fukawa. Fukawa Toko."

For shrikesback!

[flatly]

[Continued from here!]

It's not that Alec never explores... it's just that it isn't his instinct until he's got a mission he's preparing for (and then he, you know, looks for reports first and does the field work himself second.) Instead, his paranoia just mostly manifests in being constantly armed, even when going out for a snack.

Still, he can appreciate the tactical usefulness in their actions, and he folds his arms across his chest, appetite already forgotten. He eyes Wren with more interest than before, very much not the kind of man who would have thought of recon as a weird thing to do. "How far have you been outside of town?" That might have been a really weird question for a local, but Alec isn't thinking about that right now either. His first instinct after not being able to reach the institute of Magnus or even Idris by phone (or whatever weird beige thing his smartphone had been transformed into upon arrival) had been to try to walk out of town. Perhaps whatever spell brought him here and kept these people trapped, thinking it was still the 1980s, had a limit.

Only he'd gotten quite a hike out, and then found himself inexplicably walking back into town instead. Weird and unnerving, to say the least.

[shrikesback]

"Not far," Wren answered first, which was the truth. They'd gone only as far as the first forested area they could find to test if their powers worked and found the answer was a resounding 'no'. Past that, not being caught alone and unprepared seemed a better bet than seeing how far their shoes could take them - especially since for Wren, home was about two thousand miles away. So, sticking to populated areas, learning the town, and coming up with a plan.

Looking again at Alec's bow, still very obvious and very much there, out in the open, Wren risks being a little more explicit with their own potential paranoia.

"...I was thinking of getting a map and doing a more thorough search of the area. There's no way we're just allowed to run wild in a world with a supposed curse attached to us - even full access to the pacific coast wouldn't be smart."

[flatly]

"I think we're being contained," he starts, and then stops as the table they're standing nearby suddenly fills up with a chattering family laden with food. Right. They're supposed to be keeping a low profile, and Alec's stealth runes aren't working here. Just anybody can simply look over and see him looming there.

He's not a fan, even if hadn't necessarily been intending to follow the direction of the strange voice in his dreams...

Better safe than sorry, right? Casting a glance at the exit, then back at Wren, he jerks his head towards it. "Actually, I could use some fresh air," he blurts suddenly, like it's not a complete non-sequitur, figuring that they'll probably get the hint if they're as willing to be cautious as they sound. Alec likes having a game plan after all, and he has been totally without one since waking up here. If that could change? He's all about it—even if it means, horror of horrors, socializing.

[shrikesback]

Wren raises an eyebrow but doesn't complain or comment on the non-sequitur, just gives a nod and an agreement about "Yeah, same - guess we hit the lunch rush, it's filling up in here."

That said fresh air is a good excuse - smoking was still fully legal on airplanes, nobody thought twice about doing it indoors and in the mall food court. So they do a little idle chatter on the way to the doors outside, not anything that needs paying attention to, just enough so that they look mildly less suspicious walking along with purpose like they are.

Outside and a few steps away from the doors there's far less foot traffic.

"Contained?" Wren asked, keeping their voice low. They were in agreement with that, but wanted Alec's thoughts about it further.

saturn cafe

[astrologics]

It's not what Peter's used to either — it's quieter in every meaning of the word and, after the motel-door fiasco, a whole lot less eventful. There are no (space)cops chasing after him, no arguments with his team (no team at all, not that that's a particularly new deal), no galaxy-threatening ... threats knocking at his proverbial door.

On top of that, it's been a while since he's been stuck in one place — it's something that Peter always thinks he'd like to do: call it a day, settle day, maybe, like, have a family or something, but whenever he gets the opportunity, something happens; or it's off the back of something else happening and he hates it.

The last time was Earth — temporally relative to his own time, thankfully — and he'd still found himself climbing the walls. Earth has been a planet he's grown to have very mixed feelings on, a sentimentality that means he's never sure if he loves the planet or loathes it.

And though this — all of it — does a pretty grand impression of Earth, there's a not small part of Peter that thinks that this isn't actually Earth. Sure, he's enjoying it about as much as he'd enjoyed New York; and time-travel aside, rose-tinted glasses featuring childhood and nostalgia mean that Peter remembers the eighties as being way less shit than the motel is proving to be, but he's not sure how much of that is him hating the situation because of the situation, or if it's because of everything else.

Still, he's not about to turn down free food and free coffee.

Alec stands out courtesy of the black — tattoos? — covering his body, and though they don't feature anywhere near the top ten of 'strangest things Quill has ever seen', in the context of here, they're unusual. There's a moment where Peter considers sitting down at an empty table and enjoying his really flarking crap coffee by himself until he's in a ready state to formulate words and communicate with other humans, but apparently Alec is the only person in the cafe.

Peter's attention flickers momentarily towards the door that leads to the kitchen, to the presumable where of the wait-staff, but then Alec speaks and Peter looks back towards him. It's terrible, he says, and Peter makes a noise that's part-agreement and part-scoff: the coffee is awful but it is coffee and compared to the alternative, Peter'll take it.

"Yep," is his answer to Alec's statement, and he pulls out a chair to join him. There's a breath of a pause and Peter lifts a shoulder in a loose, dismissive shrug, gaze searching over the other tables for an empty, clean mug, then—

"I've drank worse."

[flatly]

"I hope it was free then too," Alec says like he halfway doesn't believe it could get much worse than this only mildly unpleasant coffee (because he's definitely been spoiled by access to the finer things in life), after shrugging to indicate Peter's got the correct idea when he looks in askance at the door to the kitchens. He could probably take it upon himself to improve the flavor by adding sugar or cream, but obviously he has to take it black, as was intended by whatever foul demon invented diner drip coffee. For all that the Institute cafeterias that Alec grew up eating at never had expensive offerings, there probably would have been full scale rioting amongst the perpetually rotating shifts of Shadowhunters if anyone had tried to serve anything but well-made and decently sourced coffee that actually tasted good plain.

Some day, Alec will have to get a dose of reality from outside his little bubble. Today is clearly not going to be that day.

For now, Alec just indicates the stack of clean, empty mugs on the counter that's not being manned with a jerk of his head as soon as he sets his own cup down. They're conveniently within arms reach of the chair that Peter just pulled up. Maybe they've become accustomed to listless loiterers here at the cafe, or something. "You new here?" One glance at Peter and he doesn't really fit in, either. He may not have weird tattoos, but he's got a way of carrying himself that screams that he ought to exist somewhere far outside tiny town America.

Maybe it's just the palpable boredom of someone as accustomed to chaos as Alec is (or much more-so, in all likelihood), maybe it's Maybelline. Either way, Alec scoots the carafe over towards him once he's got his mug.

[astrologics]

Peter's very pointedly unfussy — it's not that he doesn't care as such, it's more that he tends to have other, bigger things to care about and one learns very quickly that it's difficult to be fussy in space, especially when aboard a small ship with a ragtag crew that doesn't command a whole lot of power in the galactic scheme of things.

Sure, there have been a few instances here and there where being Peter Quill comma Star-Lord has entitled him to something better than the space equivalent of diner coffee, but it's also swung vastly in the opposite direction more often than not.

"Free at point of service," he answers wryly, noting Alec's tone but deliberately skipping past it and refraining from commenting, though the corners of his lips do quirk upwards in a quick smile. It doesn't last long — he soon shifts his attention to the mug he'd picked off the thankfully nearby shelf, eyeing the bottom for a second and deciding that the dark stains of coffee past aren't that offensive, and pours himself a cup. The coffee's dark, dark brown and definitely burnt, but it's coffee and it'll do some degree of work in helping him feel more awake.

"—Mmm," is the vague affirmative noise Peter offers mid-sip in response to Alec's question. He doesn't need to return the question: it being asked is answer enough. "Not my first choice of vacation."

[flatly]

"I'm not a 'vacation' kind of guy," Alec admits. That's probably part of the reason why, even though he's finally got time to himself and some space in which he's not feeling almost solely responsible for keeping all of New York City's supernatural population from killing each other and/or ending the world, he has not managed to relax even a little bit. The steady coffee intake isn't really helping in that area, either, of course, but still.

"I feel like I'm supposed to catch up on a bunch of movies or whatever," if only so he can stop staring blankly at Magnus every time he tries to drop a name or make a reference. He's always had the convenient excuse of being too busy to really give any mundane hobbies a chance, but he hasn't filled out a single piece of paperwork in days and he thinks he might actually lose his mind if he doesn't figure out a decent way to occupy the time aside from exercising in the worst clothes he's ever seen. But he doesn't even know where to start. Well, he knows where to start, he just likes complaining sometimes. "And now, they're not even out yet."

Is that ironic? It certainly feels ironic. Or maybe that's the caffeine jitters. Alec's fingers tap out an impatient rhythm against the side of his mug (mostly empty again, but not quite.) "So if you've got any good recommendations from this decade," the last two words are absolutely thrown out there like he thinks the 1980s are the stone ages, actually, "lay them on me."

[astrologics]

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.

[flatly]

Alec is halfway to saying something vaguely diplomatic—he'd grunted out an affirmation about being new here, but that doesn't necessarily mean (unlike Alec) he hasn't seen any movies since arriving—except then Peter moves on. Alright then. He's just going to let the implied accusation of oldness hang out there unchallenged, sorry Peter.

And he wasn't sure what sorts of movie titles he was expecting, mostly because he has approximately zero exposure to any pop culture (let alone the pop culture of the decade before he was born), but Star Wars and Alien (and Aliens? Alec does not yet know the difference) and especially Beetlejuice all sound very strange. He squints for a moment, trying to decipher if Peter is messing with him or actually trying to answer the question.

He eventually settles on hoping that the guy is too exhausted to try pranking a stranger, at least until after he's finished that first cup. (And honestly, after Alec sees 1980's Harrison Ford for the first time, their reasons might not be so different after all.)

"Are they all... space related?" Live a little, Alec. It's good to think outside the urban fantasy box every now and again.

[astrologics]

"Beetlejuice is a—." A what? Weird isn't entirely a genre of movie. "—comedy?" A lingering pause punctuated by the briefest of explanations—

"Look, I haven't lived on Earth for, like, twenty years. I barely know how to use the internet, let alone what movies are good."

For the moment, he doesn't elaborate on what he means by that — sure, he's spoken to enough people here from enough places that he knows that not everyone's from somewhere and somewhen that cosmic life is the norm, but he's not inclined to over-explain in case Alec is. Besides, he thinks, there's not really that much else to it.

So he moves on quickly, a flicker of movement in the corner of his eyes catching his attention. It's just ("just") the waitress re-emerging from the mysterious 'out back', apparently remembering that part of her job description is to be present for customers. Her appearance prompts Peter to ignore the concept of personal space and lean across the table to grab the laminated menu stood somewhat forlornly between red salt and pepper shakers.

"The others are set in space." He adds belatedly, his attention firmly fixed on the monumentally uninspiring menu. Lots of beige, Peter notes, but food is food and much like the coffee, he imagines it'll come with the distinction of being edible and little else.

He leans back in his chair and waves at the waitress, shoots her a smile and asks for toast, please, and then returns his focus to Alec. "But is that really what you feel like you should be doing after a multiversal kidnapping?" Either this manages to be a total non-event for Alec, which — fair, or else he's exceptionally good at compartmentalising.