Firelord
"It's like you hit every stage of grief," Quill said with a grin even as walked through the door. Admittedly, he hadn't been paying a lot of attention -- he was like that sometimes, just sort of going with the flow, particularly when he was wrapped up in a conversation. It was a normal thing, to not step through those doors until there was some kind of all clear. "And hey, whatever. I was kind of being a little jerk, too so--" he paused on his sentence though, because he was finally actually taking a second to look around.
Dark, creepy woods, lit only by the moon above? Rustling trees? Quill was so much not a fan that he turned back too without another word -- but, oh. The door was gone. That was awkward, wasn't it.
"I--don't love it," he decided after a second. Good for him, he supposed, he'd thought to bring at least one of his blasters. And his hand definitely moved to his hip for an easy grab, just in case. "Oh, fuck. No offense dude, but I've never been camping and I don't want this to be a first for me." BFF St. John or not, Quill wasn't keen on the idea. At least not without the ingredients for s'mores.