If We Don’t Kill Each Other First
Continued from ( x )
Maybe he should be more concerned with how he even got into this mess, but right now that isn’t really going to help him. He’s in it. The middle of it apparently. And now he’s got to deal with it. Granted he can’t help wondering what the big and nasty thing might even be. Putting aside the fact there’s a raccoon, armed with a gun bigger than he is, that’s talking. If he hadn’t been to Asgard and seen a bit more of the universe, he might be a little more freaked out by that. But he’s not.
“Yea, yea.”
He’s just a mechanic. Not an Avenger or any of their off world pals. He doesn’t save the world, just fixes their broken toys so they can. But he’s not exactly faint of heart either. Blame his genetics for that one, he guesses. And there’s a bit of a begrudged sigh as he drops to one knee. Orange bits of light flying from his fingers. Cutting the floor around them loose in a near perfect circle, before it begins to lower like a make shift elevator.
If anyone knows HQ better than Stark it’s Bastian. And the level below them is a certifiable labyrinth if you don’t know where you’re going. So it gives him, and his furry company, an advantage against what ever big and ugly’s on the loose. Even if he’s bitch mumbling to himself all the way down.
“Nice quiet job n’t’hanger she said. Ya’ll love it she said….”