with @starfares, phyla and peter. — trust me on this.
floating alongside peter and their rocket powered jet boots, phyla scopes out the battle with squinting eyes. their allies are a mess of limbs and powers, glowing beams of light, high-powered punches, all sorts of rogue attacks thrown against their current enemy. they haven't had time to discuss the matter in any way, so this brief meet-up in the sky gives them a moment to breathe, reevaluate the situation, and reassert their guardian-given dominance. as their leader, quill knows best (something phyla has begrudgingly come to accept), and when he asks for trust, she gives it. she has to. "this is your father's doing, isn't it." it's not really posed as a question. something catches her eye — a particular attack on adam warlock nearby looks rougher than most. she takes aim at the enemy, blasts them with energy, and frees the golden god of his current ambush. "you owe me," she remarks to peter, offhand. "now tell me what we're doing. i trust you," phyla adds, "but — quickly! what's the plan? i'll help." an attacker gets far too close to peter; phyla adds another favor to the list by slicing them through with her quantum sword. "then we'll talk about this father of yours."