theyralfo | (no subject)

In hindsight, putting "Renegade" on this mix was probably a bad choice^•.

The reasoning had been relatively sound. Who didn't enjoy the slow build, the rocking chorus that made it feel like everything was possible if you had the right soundtrack? The mood had struck her and the next thing she'd known, she'd been dragging it into the playlist. Someone was bound to appreciate it. That Anathema just knew to be true.

Headphones tucked in her ears, she was on her way to get herself a drink to congratulate herself on yet another brilliant set of horoscopes, each different and catered to the six different publications that she was employed by. Getting a proper job with regular hours was something she kept meaning to get to, but hadn't yet. It was on the list. Somewhere after organizing her sock drawer, she swore.

Humming along to the song, she followed the familiar steps, stepping around people a moment just a moment before they ran into her, ducking around delivery men and shoppers without losing a beat. She knew where the Book was (in her flat for once, locked in a drawer, key tied around her neck), knew which drink she was starting with (a Dark & Stormy, seasons be damned) and had a fairly good start on knowing which books were going to be on the best seller's list (three years from now).

Still, even foresight and practicality had their limits. These limits occasionally liked to rub themselves in Anathema's face by causing her to step just a moment too late out of someone's way, six steps from the pub she was after. Collisions had to happen somewhere and this was more abrupt than most.

Pulling her headphones down, she grinned brilliantly up at the tall, handsome man she'd walked into. "Sorry about that," she offered, hand slipping around to hit pause on her CD player. "I'm not normally the stumbling into men type. You caught me off guard."

• Or it had been an incredibly right one. The jury was still out on that one. They'd taken a long lunch and showed no real sign of returning.

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Peter thinks he's got an in. He overheard some guy at a bar the other night talking about stealing some stuff for somebody on the other side of town. So he figures, if he can get the jump on them and do it first, maybe he can collect whatever type of payment they were gonna get.

See? It's just like being a Ravager. Just like home.

Though, he doubts anything he gets is gonna be anywhere close to how much he was gonna get for that orb on Knowhere.

He's still pissed that deal never happened, and he ended up in Darrow instead, where nobody even knows what it is. It's not bad, being on whatever Terra this is, but he could be rich.

He's got his mind on the literal prize today when the lady runs into him on the street, wearing headphones. Usually, people have those weird headphones that just pop right into your ears, so it's weird to see.

She's pretty easy on the eyes, too.

He's got time before he needs to do his thing.

"No, it's cool. No harm, no foul. You should just do one headphone, though," he says, and points to the ones she's pulled off, "It'll keep you from accidentally dancing into traffic."

Edited 2015-01-30 07:51 (UTC)

"I could, but then it'd ruin the sound. You can't get properly lost in a song if you can still hear all of the traffic about you." It sort of defeated the purpose. She could've sprung for an iPod and its seemingly less supply of music and those little nubs that got squashed in her ears, but had gone a more traditional route. It just made sense that way. Shrugging easily, she took a better look at him. Good-looking, muscular, decidedly up to no good. All traits that she had a fondness for, largely because practical and nebbish was only her type in cases of Dire Emergency.

Or that was her story and she was sticking to it.

"Trust me, I'll know if I'm about to dance into traffic, but thanks for the warning." Anathema would probably know at least three weeks in advance. Then she'd do it anyways. Giving her CD player a tap, she shrugged. "I think it's the song's fault anyways. Renegade is meant to be heard at full volume, life and limb be damned. Agree or disagree?"

She's got a point.

And most of the time, he keeps both headphones on anyway. If it worked for Morag and the Kyln, it'll work for anything that Darrow can throw at him.

He raises his eyebrows at her question, though, and glances down at her player. Most people usually have those tiny boxes for their music though, and whatever she's using isn't one of those. It looks pretty familiar, though.

"Renegade like Styx Renegade?" he asks, intrigued.

"The one and only." Looking up at him, she cocked her head slightly as she waited for an answer. There was an expectant tone to her body language, as if asking that sort of questions bluntly to a complete stranger she'd run into was the most normal thing in the world. It wasn't the most abnormal which was really all she was waiting for.

"I put it on this mix I'm testing out. Go on, tell me you wouldn't listen to it loudly and proudly if it were you. I dare you."

"Depends on what else is on it," Peter replies,. He's not exactly up on every single piece of music that came out in the Eighties, and he's apparently missed almost thirty years worth of stuff at this point, but that doesn't mean he doesn't get to be picky.

"One bad song could ruin the whole thing."

"Naturally. That's why I'm testing it out."

Just because it seemed like a good idea at the time didn't mean that it would hold up to scrutiny in the field. She didn't want it to fall apart, regardless of the mix's eventual owner. That part was still rather to be determined, dependent on a sort of inspiration that had not yet struck. "This one has Renegade sitting next to Another One Bites the Dust which might be a bit too on the nose. But I couldn't help it, you know?"

Peter's talking as though he's an expert on mixtapes. Compared to most people he's met since he was eight, he is, but really there's just been that one his mom gave him. Not that anyone else has to know that, though.

"Yeah, yeah, definitely," Peter says, and then finally extends a hand for her to shake, "Peter Quill. People call me Star-Lord."

With a fluid gesture, Anathema switched off her CD player before taking his hand and giving it a shake. A wry smile took up residence on her face, matched with a sly quirk of her eyebrow as she looked up at him. "Do they really?" she asked, already very certain of the answer to her own question.

But plucking wayward notions from people's heads was rude to start with. Saying something about it typically was a last ditch effort. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Anathema Device."

"Yeah. Yeah they do. Why wouldn't they?" Peter says, taking offense, even though people still refuse to. It's not weird to have an outlaw name. Lots of people have outlaw names. No one ever asks Ronan if his real name is Ronan, but apparently Star-Lord's super weird.

So's 'Anathema', come to think of it.

"People really call you Anathema?" he asks.

"Unfortunately, yes. Tried to be an Ana once, when I was seven. It didn't stick."

Anathema was well-acquainted with the fact that her name was rather odd, the definition of it ill-suited for anyone let alone a little girl. Agnes Nutter's words had provided a great deal of comfort that it was fun and she'd be perfectly well despite her name right up until the end of days.

She shrugged. "Anathema's not the sort of name one picks for herself. Unlike Star-Lord. That's a title more than anything. Lord of Stars, that sort of thing. Unless you are, then I beg pardon."

"No offense taken," Peter says, even though Anathema hasn't said 'no offense'. It seems kind of implied.

Besides, he didn't pick the name himself. not that she know that or that he's about to say as much, but the point still stands.

"Besides, if the name doesn't stick, you've gotta make it stick.