He's not sure of what happened between the luggage car and his room. Just that he somehow made it from point A to point B. He'd thank whoever did it but he has no idea when he wakes.
He clings to dreams of standing behind a bar, smiling at leather-clad friends with their own versions of the flames. A mix of the Captains from the old days and people he'd met in Jinnjar and is doomed to likely never see again. He dreams of looking over Centaurian forests from a porch, of cupping his hands around a flower and watching it change from one hue to another. He dreams of a sky streaked in colors, pink bubbles interrupting the beauty in a way only he'd find threatening and damnably familiar. And sometimes, sometimes he dreams of floating bodies, watching and waiting for him.
He wakes after one of those, and eventually shambles his way to the kitchen after a half-assed effort to freshen up. He's too tired to do any real cooking, so he just grabs an ice cream cone, fills it with cold chicken curry leftovers because he doesn't want to fucking do a dish, grabs a package of sandwich meat, and sludges his way to the dining car to eat his monstrous snacks.
He's worn out, he's hungry, his head is full of fuck and he can barely think. Questions and other important things will have to wait until later.
Cinema Car - Circle of life
There's a movie about a woman archeologist looking for a mysterious artifact. She's wearing a fedora, a leather jacket, has a whip, a long braid, short shorts, and hiking boots. And something about that seems a little ill-advised but, you know? At this point, what's logic? She's already ran across the backs of a bunch of crocodiles to escape the bad guys.
He doesn't know Terran animals enough to say whether or not that's a viable solution.
She finds the a relic that a cult is also hunting for, but a member of said cult, elaborately robed, sets off the traps around her hoping she'll die so he can steal it. She's immediately caught in a complex situation of sliding stones trying to make an escape.
Yondu's dully watching, blinking slowly with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him, chewing popcorn at the speed a cow chews cud. Once he swallows, he mutters, "Had someone do that to me." And flips off the screen lazily. Peter Quill taught him a few things, too.
It's at least doing a little bit to take his mind off some important losses. Sometimes shit is temporary. Sometimes it widens that hole in your aching chest. But he can't be sure yet, not until the platform.
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He clings to dreams of standing behind a bar, smiling at leather-clad friends with their own versions of the flames. A mix of the Captains from the old days and people he'd met in Jinnjar and is doomed to likely never see again. He dreams of looking over Centaurian forests from a porch, of cupping his hands around a flower and watching it change from one hue to another. He dreams of a sky streaked in colors, pink bubbles interrupting the beauty in a way only he'd find threatening and damnably familiar. And sometimes, sometimes he dreams of floating bodies, watching and waiting for him.
He wakes after one of those, and eventually shambles his way to the kitchen after a half-assed effort to freshen up. He's too tired to do any real cooking, so he just grabs an ice cream cone, fills it with cold chicken curry leftovers because he doesn't want to fucking do a dish, grabs a package of sandwich meat, and sludges his way to the dining car to eat his monstrous snacks.
He's worn out, he's hungry, his head is full of fuck and he can barely think. Questions and other important things will have to wait until later.
He doesn't know Terran animals enough to say whether or not that's a viable solution.
She finds the a relic that a cult is also hunting for, but a member of said cult, elaborately robed, sets off the traps around her hoping she'll die so he can steal it. She's immediately caught in a complex situation of sliding stones trying to make an escape.
Yondu's dully watching, blinking slowly with his feet propped up on the seat in front of him, chewing popcorn at the speed a cow chews cud. Once he swallows, he mutters, "Had someone do that to me." And flips off the screen lazily. Peter Quill taught him a few things, too.
It's at least doing a little bit to take his mind off some important losses. Sometimes shit is temporary. Sometimes it widens that hole in your aching chest. But he can't be sure yet, not until the platform.