yeah, that wasn't uncommon. peter was the kind of guy you could read like an open book. better yet, a magazine. every little tidbit that he considered fundamental information was displayed proudly on the outside : t-shirts that hugged his biceps only a little too tightly, hair that flowed and flopped in all sorts of directions ( never once allowed to enter a helmet ), and a series of accessories seemingly selected by a pre-teen boy with an overactive imagination. you could think it foolish or childish, but that's who he was - that was star-lord. the everyman's hero. someone you could equally admire and trust, not because he only looked like a sci-fi movie character, but because he did the sci-fi movie shit to back it up.
now, was any of this intentional? of course not. sometimes you curate the vibe and sometimes The Vibe curates you. ( god forbid a guy buys a nice jacket that now appears on half a million wanted posters across the galaxy ). anyway, point being, peter was used to people running their mouths around him. humans are adaptive creatures, and you don't need a sociology degree to figure that out. mirroring, imitation and the like. on the odd occasion, it's beneficial. most of the time, however, people just seem ashamed, which peter always found a little odd - because, if people expect him to listen, why do they also expect him to judge? there's a time and place for such a thing, and miss meredith quill raised him to have manners, thank you very much.
"s'alright." he shrugs, indifferent, and leans forward to pick up a mug from the coffee table. it's almost empty, probably worth about one or two more gracious gulps. he's halfway to bringing the ceramic to his lips when he remembers that sometimes people just say that. ( i.e : when they don't really mean it ). maybe he should elaborate to quell any possible doubt.
"i have that effect on people."
wow, that sounded way cooler in his head. but, it gets the job done. he smiles a little - softly, calmly, only a smidge awkward - and downs what's left of his drink. yuck. cold. the liquid is unpleasant to say the least, and it takes to his throat like metal to blood. how long had they been talking, again?
"trust me. for every one story you have, i've got thousands."
