( that's a weird question and, quite frankly, one that peter feels he should be asking her instead of the other way round. he's not, like, deeply familiar with the avengers and is primarily only familiar with the x-men thanks to kitty, and whilst he knows — in a loose definition of the word — that earth-based vigilantes have not always made the best decisions ever, or been involved in the greatest of plans, or even just plain Done Good Things, that's not just an earth thing.

she'd asked if he also went by star-lord, so he thinks she must know something of him. they're not from the same universe, so he doesn't know if the peter quill she knows ("knows") was involved in any galactic wars, doesn't know if she knows him for being a very charming (thank you) thief-slash-space pirate, but he thinks that if she knows of him, she must know something of what to expect from him.

so he wonders why she's asking. the question sits with him for a moment as he finally takes a sip of his coffee. all at once, he screws his nose up and looks down at the contents. the fact that it's — no exaggeration — about five-hundred degrees doesn't manage to disguise the fact that it's burnt, bitter, and tastes like it's been brewing for longer than peter's been alive.

he takes another sip before pointedly looking out a window. )

Mm, yeah, you're right, ( he mutters dryly, pausing to place the coffee cup back down. the porcelain sounds a soft thud against the coated wood of the table and he pushes the mug away from him, a few centimetres towards the middle of the table, a small trail of hot left in its wake. ) I'd much prefer to be sat in my flarking creepy as shit motel room, making bets with myself on when it's next going to ask for a bodily fluid.

( yes, okay, the mayor had apologised for that, but what kind of weirdo asks for blood in the first place? absolutely a weirdo that will ask for more blood — or worse — in the future. )

Are you sure? ( he asks, looking back at her and attempting to meet her gaze. )