15099/One Man's Treasure...

One Man's Treasure...
Date of Scene:	17 May 2023
Location:	Kyln (Sector 2167)
Synopsis:	The Guardians of the Galaxy show up to do a dangerous job on a dangerous planetoid. Thor has already done this job, without even demanding units. Star-Lord and Drax make the unanimous call that the God of Thunder is welcome aboard the Milano after this glorious, debt inducing show.
Cast of Characters:	Thor, Star-Lord, Drax

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Thor has posed:
The Kyln doesn't see many escapees. The Guardians might know a thing or two about why. When an intergalactic criminal DOES breach the facility, however, they tend to be remarkably capable indeed. Or stupid amounts of lucky. In recent weeks a decidedly malicious rogue AI managed to integrate itself with a number of the prison's nanite replicators and eject a copy off into space.

With little to indicate the 'escape'-- given the inmate was still, technically, in custody-- the problem went unnoticed until a (relatively speaking) nearby planetoid, a barren rock previously only flagged with a multi-lingual alphanumeric by various galactic powers who had scanned it, had been all but completely strip mined for its mineral resources and fuel sources. These had been transmuted into a literal robotic army with their own burgeoning orbital shipyards-- and expanding mining operations stretching into said orbit.

Several regional governments and private enterprises are now offering a bounty on the AI cores and alloys being used to manufacture this new, and growing threat. It's not exactly a cake run-- but 'collecting' some robot wardrone samples is all in a day's work for SOME galactic citizens, isn't it?

The planetoid in question is several stars over from the Kyln, its 11-planet system nearly uninhabited and, aside from a few gas-mining orbitals and smugglers' dens, almost entirely undeveloped. A massive, red star casts the nearby earth-toned nebulae in dark-etched hues of crimson, brown, and black, the striated currents thereof embracing at least 75% of the solar system.

Star-Lord has posed:
Now Playing: https://youtu.be/DGDyAb6pePo

The Milano, in all of it's souped up, tricked out and freshly cleaned (at least on the outside) glory, is in incredible mid-flight as it soars through the galactic reaches of deep space. Just zooming along as if there's nothing in the entire cosmos that could stop it. Cruising at a speed that could make it seem like it's on its way somewhere but also not fast enough to be drawing any attention to itself. It's just going.

Inside, just behind the Flight Deck, the Common Area has one recognizable dancing fool by the name of Peter Quill aka STAR-LORD. He's bopping around to the music, the navi-screen behind his head showing that the ship is in Autopilot right now. But this is no ordinary dancing around moment. Oh no, Quill is dancing around and gearing himself up at the same time.

Propulsion rockets are strapped to his boots. His Element Guns are twirled and holstered one after another since the last time he tried to do both at the same time he put a hole in the floor of the ship. His satchel is slung across his body as he slides over to one of the weapons chests and kicks it open with his boot. Various grenades, scanners and other equipment are tossed into the satchel and pockets as he gets himself ready to rock and roll.

Quill's lip-syncing into a gravity mine with the navi-screen pings to let him know that the ship is near the bounty-filled planetoid of what Quill believes to be Free Units. "Jackpot."

Quill kicks the weapons chest closed, pockets the gravity mine and heads towards the Flight Deck, bumping off the autopilot with his elbow as he slides into Captain's seat to make a more manual approach. "Nice and easy, girl." Time to do what ace pilots do.

Thor has posed:
One might expect to deal with interceptors, or to out-maneuver a larger vessel on approach, barring the use of high-end cloaking technology for their own starship. One might expect to have to duck in on the dark side of an orbital body or burn dark on vectored trajectories for some measure of the final jaunt. The first sign all is not as might be expected comes with the warning lights and klaxons that greet Quill almost as soon as he takes the Milano's reins.

This alarm, alarmingly enough, foretells of an uncharted debris field. In the next handful of seconds, the hurtling cloud of shrapnel will surround the craft's approach vector. In space travel, having a multitude of holes, small or large, punched in one's hull is considered fundamentally undesirable. Worse: One debris field is not the end of it.

As the Milano's scanners yield more and more information about its cosmic surrounds, it's clear that each of the capital-scale shipyards previously in orbit has been not only destroyed, but /blasted/ out of its position. Not demolished and falling into decaying orbit to the planetoid below-- but erupting outwards into space. Those unique, newly forged alloys that the irrepressible Star-Lord agreed to retrieve as part of this contract? Well, some of them are coming to kill him now. At least it's not warbots?

Star-Lord has posed:
"Uhhhhhhhhhh! /What/?"

That's how Quill is dealing with the alarms and klaxons doing the informing of him that there is En Masse Debris coming at him from way too many directions. This is going to take some slick flying and luckily Peter Quill is up to the task. Or, well, he's going to have to be lest the Milano gets shown Who's The Boss.

Ahem.

So, while Star-Lord keeps one eye on screens to let him know when things are getting too close, one hand flips the shields on and then he's focused on bobbing and weaving the Milano through this debris field that's decided to be where he was headed in the first place.

"I know I said I was awesome at Asteroid but come on!" Quill's just talking to whatever's listening at this point and trying to make sure that he doesn't smash into anything that's going to ruin his ship. "If Rocket has to patch you up again so soon, I'll never hear the end of it." Which may be the worst option on the list.

The look on Quill's face, when not focused on bobbing and weaving the Milano, looks absolutely annoyed and frustrated as he seems to recognize some of the debris pieces as the things he came to collect. Which he can't even go out there and collect right now without putting the Milano in danger and eventually having to hear Rocket complain for three years about what Quill did to the ship. That's just too much of a risk.

"Welp, there goes the easy units." Mutter. Grumble. "Scut!" Less muttering about the loss of units and focus on flying, Quill. That was a close one.

Thor has posed:
It was serendipitous timing-- the autopilot is impressive, but it never could have handled this. Not without turning several of the Milano's chambers, at a minimum, into inopportune open-air accommodations. Instead, the edges of the cloud skitter across shields, scatter along angled armor. The ride is bumpy-- to say the least-- but eminently survivable. Around and through several shrapnelstorms of increasing size and intensity brings the starcraft within easy visual and scanner range of the planet's surface. 'Survivable' was a stretch there before, but now...

... now plumes of smoke and lingering explosions with their short-lived fires are subtly visible from /space/. It's impossible to say for sure without completing a full orbit and deep scan, but by the looks of things a planetary campaign has been conducted against the war machines gathering their might here; a ceaseless, relentless, merciless progression of total war.

There remains a single cluster of power signatures below, with many of the smaller ones winking out even as Star-Lord watches them blip onto his scanners. Despite the planetoid's near total lack of atmosphere, an absolutely tremendous storm system swirls over those power signatures, a wild, dark, lightning-lit eye whose shadow and illumination alike are more than /subtly/ visible from space.

An increasing power signature from a single, large contact that might be a reactor grows more and more intense over the long minutes that follow-- as the smaller contacts become fewer, and fewer, and then the Milano's sensors would /overload/ as a massive column of blue-white lightning, wide as a city block all around, consumes everything at that storm center; conveniently aligned with the prior contacts Quill may have pinged.

The impossible lightning strike is one, the reverberating, ground-shaking rumble of thunder another, and the secondary explosions that dig tremendous craters and gulches in the landscape along lines that used to be a massive, futuristic robo-citadel a third thing that might ring as awe-inspiring or terrifying; as glorious or frustrating, depending on one's point of view. A maelstrom of half-molten, shredded metal and circuitry whips outward below, the forward wall of a remarkable, preternatural dust-storm.

Star-Lord has posed:
Getting through the debris field was bad enough but coming out the other side is something that Quill is quite happy about. He even gives himself a high-five. Then he realizes he just gave himself a high-five and shakes it off. Nobody saw that, right? Good. Moving on.

There are a collection of pings coming from the planetoid below and that has Peter's attention. He makes sure the Milano is clear of the debris and starts angling, in a very slow descent, in the direction of those pinged power signatures. It's not much to go on but if he can score a few units off this place then maybe the trip would've been worth it. Maybe.

Then his screens start lighting up with all kinds of craziness and warnings when one of those power signatures goes through the roof. There are way too many dang warning lights on is screen and that's just the icing on the cake. "Welp. That's not good." And with that Quill decides it might actually be time to land this thing. Especially considering that the way that signature just kind of ended the others? Maybe somebody else is here for the Free Units. And that's not exactly kosher. At least, not in Star-Lord's book.

The Milano's landing sequence gets initiated and Quill's up, spinning from the Captain's chair to take a focused and powerful walk through the ship and off in the direction of the airlock and landing ramp. He taps behind his ear and his helmet materializes on as The Milano gets ready to touch down. Y'know, if the timing is right and he yanks the landing ramp lever at the right time, this entrance is going to look really, really cool.

He's very likely smiling under it thinking about that exact thing...

Thor has posed:
The winds make descent a bit more haphazard than the sleek craft might otherwise manage, and then there's the bits of rock and metal that ping off the lower hull in a wave of aftershock that spreads intensely outward along a planetary crust that should have -no- wind; much less -high- winds. Blessedly, for Quill and the Milano's crew at least, this maelstrom swiftly abates, cloud-cover scattering and dissipating, a recurrent rumble retreating ever more into the distance; as if taking to the extrasolar cosmos itself.

The Milano's descent does not go unnoticed, despite the apparent planetwide devastation, and as Quill preps his dramatic entrance, there arrives but a single, solitary figure to witness it. He strides from the smoking rubble across the broken landscape, resplendent in a full suit of chain-linked plates of red-accented silver and blue. A warhammer hangs from his belt, and a mane of wayward blonde falls free as the man pulls an archaic winged helm from his sturdy skull, tucking it in the crook of one thickly corded arm. The other hand extends, and a singular finger is pointed from that singular figure to Star-Lord. "Be you ally or adversary to the mechanical monstrosity unleashed upon this wayward rock?!?" The God of Thunder demands of Quill.

"Be thee forewarned that they and their ilk have been crushed; their advance stopped through invocation for the intervention of THOR-- King of Asgard and God of the Storm!" Despite the vanishing stormfront, lingering lightning crackles along Thor's mighty frame, its blue-white intensity surging subtly within his brilliant eyes; at least one of which is definitely actually his.

Star-Lord has posed:
The slowness of which Star-Lord walks down the ramp of the Milano is what happens when the man thinks he's being as cool and dramatic as possible. His hands are empty, even though his guns are strapped to him, and it looks like he's just making his way down the ramp and nowhere near looking for any kind of actual trouble. After that light show, even Star-Lord's keeping his hands where they can be seen.

Star-Lord's Helmet is also doing its thing during this slow walk down the ramp. It's scanning the area, mostly for anything salvageable but also locks onto Thor and does some scanning of that individual as well. There's also some scanning going on of the surface of the planetoid and checking to see if it's breathable for his Terran self. There's a lot going on with that helmet of his that Star-Lord's strutting arrival may be stalling for.

"Hey! Uh, don't shoot. Don't... shock?" Star-Lord even raises his hands up a bit when he finally reaches the recently fried asunder ground of the location in which he was destined to become rich from. "Just a junker, man. Just passin' through. Thought maybe I could salvage a few things. Nothing crazy." Star-Lord lies or explains depending on one's perspective. To him, it's all the same perspective because that's exactly what he considers himself in these kinds of situations.

"Not exactly sure what ass you're guarding but I mean you no harm. So uh... no zappy zappy, alright?"

Thor has posed:
As Captain Quill disembarks with his hands raised and his lack of hostility expressed in nervous quips, tension visibly leaves Thor's frame, and neither mythical hammer nor impossible storm strike out at the Guardian of the Galaxy.

"No zappy." Thor confirms, with the patient clarity that one might use to express their understanding to any strange alien species. Of course, Peter speaks in familiar Midgardian tongues, and after a moment's consideration the god of the storms finds himself /squinting/ intently at the newcomer. Even as Quill's snazzy sensors likely reveal their familiarity with the King of Asgard-- and the remarkable connection the fellow seems to have to the cosmic forces displayed all around them, a lingering breeze fluttering through the god-king's golden mane.

"This would be a dangerous demesne to delve for detritus, until moments ago." Thor observes, quite likely, voting sus on Quill's story. Or at least the finer details thereof. "You... you are from Midgard-- Terra-- Earth are you not. Ah yes! Galaxy Jarl." Thor seems very confident of this rememberance. Too confident. "It is fortuitous you and your starcraft are here! After such a battle its lounge and a journey touched with revelry surely beckon."

Drax has posed:
Throughout the majority of the harrowing landing and daring entry, Drax had been sleeping. Seated in the lounge with his booted ankles extended and crossed, sitting on the edge of the table before a rounded cushioned couch. His fingers laced together in his lap, his head craned back with mouth open wide enough to draw in flies. Every couple of minutes, he snort when his tongue is jostled by Quill's flying. The ships slipping in and out of asteroids has the big green warrior sliding side to side, snoring here... snorting and smacking his lips there.

Until the ship lands.

Rather, until Quill is halfway down the loading ramp talking to the God of Thunder and being accused of being MIDGARDIAN. He blinks and looks around, pops up from the couch and makes his way towards the loading ramp with his thumbs tucked into the rings of his armored pants. After wiping drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Where are we, Peter Quill?" As he approaches the ramp.. he stops upon seeing Thor, hair blowing about with the kick of a breeze. With his jaw working beneath green flesh with red markings.. His eyes narrow as he looks from Peter, to Thor, then down to himself. "A planet blackened with battle, which we have clearly missed... A pretty gloden haired man wielding a hammer of lightning... and no more breakfast cereal with the small marshmellows in the shape of charms. I am still asleep and this is a nightmare."

Star-Lord has posed:
Okay, the combination of both Drax and Thor in this exact moment is enough to have Quill giving up the heroic facade. Also, once he's sure that he'll be able to breathe. It all happens pretty quickly as Quill just reaches up and taps his ear and the mask dematerializes back to where it is always stored.

And the look on Quill's face is annoyed.

"No no. That's not happening." Quill holds up a finger to Thor. "Just because I'm from Terra doesn't mean I'm going back /to/ Terra. Especially, not right now. I gotta' uh... see if you left me anything I can scrap..." Peter starts looking around even though he's pretty sure he won't find anything. "So much pointless destruction. Why?" Quill is just watching units not go into his account.

Drax's arrival is met with a quick glance from the Captain. "Did you nap through all of that?" Peter sounds more impressed than confused, actually.

"Drax this is uh... somebody who destroyed everything on this planet and is very much NOT getting on my ship for any reason." Quill's back has turned towards both Thor and Drax as he's picking through a bit of debris for the hope of something worth yoinking. No dice.

Thor has posed:
"This is no nightmare-- though it surely might have become one." It's the hardest part of godhood, really-- being expected to justify one's charnel-etched journey. (It's not). "No, I fear this was the most pointED destruction. A malicious construct further dehumanized by the inhumane and inhuman aboard that death-trap Xandar calls 'justice'." Color Thor unimpressed. The Nova Corps are pretty neat, though.

"Here it was producing an army, intent on revisiting that trauma on its galactic neighbors threefold-- or worse." Of course, Quill already knows that. That's why there was a bounty on materials and information leading to, well-- a solution. Sadly it's a solution Thor seems to have already provided. For fucking free. Like some kind of //communist//. Nonetheless, Thor winces at Quill's declaration, turning that sorrowrful grimace from Peter to Drax.

"Am I mistaken to identify you as dashing rogues who might appreciate both glorious and necessary battle AND the camaraderie of revels!?" He may not be the genius of the Avengers, but the King of Asgard sometimes does have a knack for identifying weak points in armor; or perhaps just for bravely bellowing with utter frankness what's on his mind at the time. "Your Jarl's harshness to 'the buzz' saddens me." Wrong target for your Earther lingo, Asgard.

Drax has posed:
"I can sleep through anything." Drax claims with no small amount of pride about this fact, which perhaps might not be something for which he should have such reverence. With his hands on his hips, the Destroyer is muscular, but lean. Dark eyes moving between Peter's annoyance and Thor's amusement. Back and forth several times, "Look around us, Peter Quill." Extending a hand to motion at the destruction Thor's left of the planet where they've landed. Whatever they had come here to do, is done, and by the sole hand of the Hammer Wielding Blonde Haired God Man.

His hand goes from motioning about them, to motioning at Thor properly.

"If the Beautiful Blonde Man wishes to join us, I doubt there is very much you could do to stop him. He has destroyed an entire facility, alone." The hand, once mothioning, pats Peter in the abdomen with the back of his knuckles. It's not hard, at least by Drax standards, but it's still hard by most everyone elses.

Then the hand returns to Drax's hips.

"My appreciation for combat is well known. Peter Quill, since my cereal has been eaten, I demand that we bring this pretty man aboard so that he can lead us into battle. Glorious, necessary, and violent. There will be much destruction and death." His grin widens dramatically, "Do not deny me this, as someone has denied me my delicious breakfast meal."

Star-Lord has posed:
Quill is focused on making mocking faces of both the commentary of Thor and Drax. He's not having a good day and this is just making it worse. Of course, Drax would like this man. It makes perfect sense. Perfect. Annoying. Sense. Quill tosses a charred rock back to the ground and turns around to prepare to find another reason to stop this from happening.

And then he's gutted by Drax. Now, while he may be able to take more punishment than a normal Terran due to his weird heritage that he does not understand for one bit, that's still Drax the Drestroyer. And the searing pain from such a slap makes quite possibly Quill's guts destroyed. Thus the slight doubling over.

There's a cough that turns into a hearty laugh as Quill attempts to make it seem like he was not hurt by such a easy slapping from Drax. "Oh ho ho!" It sounds so bad. "Listen, there will be no leading into any battles. We are not battling anything. This is my ship and The Milano goes where I say it goes."

Quill turns to Thor, "I'm sure you understand. You have unlimited power of the gods or whatever. I'm sure you're a very revels worthy man but we have a lot of important things to do as we are GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY. We just don't have time to taxi you around." Quill is already headed for the ship. "Come on, Drax! Let's leave Malibu Ken to fend for himself! He'll be fine!"

Thor has posed:
Thor double-takes at the pride with which Drax claims mastery of total oblivion. The God of Thunder pauses, one blonde brow arching subtly. Drax's further declarations-- and offhanded removal of at least 12% of Peter Quill's life meter-- draw a broad smile to the Asgardian Avenger's chiseled features, however. "Ah!" Thor exclaims at the agreeable take. "I would not have suspected you were in fact the brains of this operation; my apologies for such prejudice." This doesn't seem to be in jest-- Thor merely finds it appropriate to humble himself to Drax's wisdom, and be less judgemental of intergalactic muscly men in the future. After all, -he himself- is an intergalactic muscly man.

"You look to be a most capable warrior, and /surely/ your crew came here anticipating-- nay, /yearning/ for battle, and not expecting to simply pick up... bits of killbots to sell?" There's a double-take back to Quill, now. -Is- that what this human expected?!? A mostly dismissive hand forestalls Quill's objections without actually hearing him out, fully. Instead, Thor starts to speak just before Star Lord is finished, while waving that placating (dismissing) hand. "Yes, yes, of course it does. I am in little immediate rush, and there is as you say, a Galaxy to Guard, good Jarl."

Thor moves to clap Drax on the shoulder-- gentle, for a god, but just firm enough to test. This one, he suspects, will not double over quite so easily. "Have you proper stores for our revels, or must we procure the means to ferment and distill such a stockpile?" This is an important consideration. Asked as Thor seems intent on simply boarding the Milano alongside a shoulder-embraced Drax the Destroyer.

Drax has posed:
Drax, again, peers between Peter and Thor. His head shifting back and forth as the verbal sparring pitches and yaws, like when Rocket and Peter are battling over who will pilot the Milano during a heated engagement. Or a simple parking job. Or ... just about any time either or both of them are piloting.

His hands stay upon his hips, expression impassive, "There will be battle." Said quietly, perhaps to Thor as he turns to watch Quill walk up the ramp back towards the ship. "This is exactly what you say when the Angry Furry one insists he is the Captain. I have named it the Quill Misdirection. Where you lie about our intentions. When it is always very clear that mine are to fight."

His shoulders roll, muscles flexing as they do, but he steps forward to board the Milano. "I do not know who Malibu Ken is, but if he fending for himself against the Golden Haired God Man, he will likely be vanquished and I wish to watch this one sided combat..." Said as Thor steps up to proclaim that he, Drax the Destroyer, is actually the one using his brain in these dealing.

"They often overlook my brilliance because I am also the most capable fighter. Forgetting that I am one of the smartest of my kind." The only one of his kind, actually. So it's not even a lie. A broad grin widens across his face as his shoulder is jostled. He barely moves and certainly doesn't buckle. Duplicating this comradery with a slap of his mighty hand against the armored shoulder of the God of Thumber.

"Quill has several hidden compartiments where we often store illicit goods. I assume that they will be suitably sized for whatever you might need for your travels. Though I must warn you that the small rodent is very aggressive when it comes to acquisition of his space and is most often found hidden in dark holes where, I think, he is laying eggs. I have not been able to prove this, but I am fairly well certain of it." Now it's Drax leading the way onto the Milano, with an eagerness he rarely shows for anything short of outright destruction and violence. "Come, Blonde Haired God Man. I will give you the tour."

Clearly it has been decided.

Star-Lord has posed:
Somehow, Peter Quill is not the Captain of his own Ship. His words have been unjustly ignored and he just stands there to watch Drax and Thor head into The Milano with absolutely no regard for anything that he might've said. Or even wanted to say.

"Oh hey, Captain Star-Lord, how do you feel about this bounty ruining blonde jerk ruining your payday /and/ invading your ship?" "Well gee, I don't think that's right at all." "Agreed. But does anybody care?" "Not at all!" QUill's muttering conversation with himself is one that doesn't really need to be loud enough for anyone else to hear because he's just trailing up the ramp so that he can hurry up and get this entire flight over with. The faster this is over, the better.

"And I know you want me to ask what a Jarl is! But I'm not!" Peter tosses this at the backs of Drax and Thor. "I already know!" Quill's lies continue as he reaches to close the landing ramp after he's finally on the ship.

"And we are not stopping! Straight to Earth!" Whatever ruins these revel-ing plans.