Captain William Laurence (betwixtsea_nsky) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-09-25 10:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, peter quill (star-lord), william laurence |
Who: William Laurence and Peter Quill
What: Peter comes by to fix Laurence's closet door, discovers something interesting inside
When: Recently
Where: Laurence's appartment
Ratings/Warnings: Low/none. I mean, Peter is Peter and takes great joy in being as crude as possible around Laurence, but other than that...
Status: Complete
Peter normally hated any jobs that required him to follow a schedule and do things on someone else’s time. Still, when a position for a replacement handyman was offered for a few weeks, he thought hey why not. How much work could an apartment building take?
Apparently a lot.
It was kind of annoying, and within a few days, he was already re-prioritizing and doing other things. Never again would he be doing this kind of work, and once he finished this last one, he’d ensure it wouldn’t be on his list.
It was something so simple -- a closet door had fallen off. Did the guy even BOTHER to look at the track? It was usually something easy like popping it back on, or fixing the hinges… but whatever. He could overcharge the building, and it would probably take a few minutes anyways.
Of course, because it was such a small job, it took him more than a few days to get to the apartment. He had the keys to get in, so when he got to the door, he knocked a few time.
“Handyman,” he called out, looking up and down the hallway. He hated those stupid fish eye lenses the doors had. Peep holes. Dumb. He stood slightly to the side so that no one could look at him. Some habits were hard to break.
Laurence was a little annoyed at how long it was taking the handyman to come to his apartment. It wasn’t a hard fix, he knew, and would likely take someone with experience only a few short minutes to fix, but for Laurence, who had little experience with such things, it would take significantly longer and he was a busy man didn’t often have time for such things. Besides, he was paying a not insignificant amount on rent for his flat, and for the price he paid, he expected speedy repairs.
So when he heard the word handyman, he was both equal parts relieved and annoyed that it had taken this long. As it were, he was working on a report in his office, the converted second bedroom where the broken closet door was, and was listening to a Bach record on his turn table,
He didn’t bother with the peep hole when he opened the door, and his prepared greeting died on his lips when he saw who was on the other side of the door. “Mister Quill,” he said, the surprise evident in his voice. “I had not expected to see you here.” Though, he was very little surprised that Peter would show up days late for a job.
Well. Peter knew THAT fancy voice.
“Hey!! Laurence! Sup, buddy! You live here?” Peter’s booming voice echoed down the hall as he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “What a crazy coincidence! I was just thinking about you too when I went on a run yesterday. About what you taught me, about ducks and their pinning ears...thing.”
He couldn’t remember the actual term but that wasn’t really important.
“You’re the one with the closet door problem?” Peter pointed his thumb at himself. “I’m your guy! Show me the way.”
The fact that Laurence lived here should have been obvious by the fact that he had answered the door, so he didn’t bother giving Peter an answer to that. “It’s good of you to have made it,” he said, stepping aside from the door so that Peter could come in. “I’m sure you must be very busy.” He had better have been busy, at least, to have left Laurence waiting so long. “I’ll have you take off your shoes at the door, please.”
The door opened to a short hallway, really more of a place to hang your coat and store your shoes, which then opened up into a large, sparsely furnished and immaculately tidy living room. There was a bookcase, though only a few books, mostly nautical themed, were displayed there alongside some souvenirs that he had picked up on his travels. The more impressive collection was that of his classical and operatic records. A large painting of a ship at sunset hung over his couch. At the far end of the living room was a kitchen table, large enough to comfortably seat a small dinner party, and to either side of the living room were doors leading off to the bedrooms.
Laurence led Peter into the right bedroom, which held a tasteful, but comfortable-looking futon where Pidge sometimes slept when they didn’t go home after their Sunday dinners, a large desk where Laurence could do his work, and the closet that Peter was to fix. “Can I get you any tea or coffee?”
"Nah, I'm good," Peter answered, his gaze wandering around the room. The entire apartment was classy as fuck, and he really found himself oddly impressed. Actually no, not oddly -- appropriately. Laurence seemed to be that kind of guy anyways.
No comic book posters on the walls here!
Looking at the closet, Peter nodded to himself as he touched the door. As expected, it didn't close, and at first glance, Peter wasn't entirely sure what was wrong with it.
It seemed to be on the tread, so maybe it was a slight misalignment or bent wheel and -- "Hot damn, is that a kimono?" A golden, beautiful one. Peter couldn't help but reach out and finger the hem gently. "That must feel so nice when you're naked."
Laurence had been placing the work he was doing for the military into folders and discretely placing them in a drawer, having a strong feeling that if he told Peter not to look at his paperwork, or if he so much as locked the drawer, that Peter would try exactly that, when Peter mentioned the kimono. His shoulders tensed. He really should have removed it from the closet before Peter arrived.
He forced himself to relax his shoulders - Peter was not the sort of man he should show weakness or embarrassment in front of - and turned towards him, hoping, maybe, that all Peter had found was the traditional Chinese clothing that had been provided for him when he first arrived in China in his dreams. But no, Peter was fingering the yellow silk robe, embroidered with gold thread in the design of a dragon, the precious gemstones that were sewn to it glittering in the light. It probably would have been quite comfortable to wear against bare skin if it’s lavishness didn’t immediately make Laurence so uncomfortable.
“It’s called a Gun Long Pao, or a Dragon Robe in English,” Laurence answered. “I’ve not yet worn it in this life,” and hopefully never would. “It was one of the gifts from my dreams.”
That startled Peter.
Did he know that Laurence was a dream person? Probably at some point, but not now. “Huh,” was all he could say as he let the material fall from his fingers. “I don’t know why you wouldn’t wear it. What’s the point of locking up your super nice things just to look at them? You never get to really enjoy it or experience it. I got a Zune player from my dreams. They’re obsolete here, but that didn’t stop me. I figured out how tocharge it and use it, and now it’s like my favourite thing. In fact…”
Peter reached into his back pocket and pulled out his music player, headphones wrapped around it. “See? Never leave home without it. And it’s not like it has some super happy memories. ..I got it as like a gift after my ...dad died.” He looked down at the player, tossed it lightly in his palm before putting it back into his pocket.
“Yea. Carpe Diem or some shit, man. Gotta live life.”
While Laurence wouldn’t have spoken of the dreams to anyone else, he generally assumed that everyone on the Network was a dreamer themself, and if not, they had certainly heard of the phenomena, and so he only felt justified in his belief when Peter confirmed that he, too, had received an item from the dreams.
“I am sorry to hear about your father,” Laurence asked, wondering if Peter’s father was still alive in this world, but knowing that asking as much would be inappropriate. His own relationship with his father beared a strong resemblance to the one the had in his dreams, right down to the meeting his father had had with him, where he claimed he would not disown Laurence but only because to do so officially would cause a scandal. Being the third son, Laurence wasn’t set to inherit much of anything anyway, so a formal disownment would have been superfluous.
“The robe is hardly meant for daily wear, no matter how you look at it,” Laurence said, eyeing gold thread and sewn on gemstones. No, he couldn’t imagine anyone who would willingly don such a thing. He didn’t say that the robe was reserved for members of the Imperial Family of China and to wear it in this would would have been inappropriate by every measure. That would only invite more questions that Laurence wasn’t sure he wished to answer.
Peter shrugged off Laurence’s mention of his father. After all, Yondu was here now, and that’s all that mattered. For all of Pete’s bravado, he was oddly happy to know he had a father. It’d never been something he expected nor was it something he knew he wanted until, well, he had it.
Life was weird.
“Yeah, I guess,” he finally responded to Laurence’s comment about every day wear. Peter still didn’t really understand Laurence’s hesistancy but to each their own.
He grunted a bit and wrenched the door off the track so that he could look at the mechanism. As suspected, it wasn’t much of a job. “But like drag queens wear ridiculous stuff all the time and it’s a million times gaudier than this.” He peered down into his toolkit and rummaged around before continuing. “So I think you should wear it. Naked probably. Just sit down, and let the air cool your balls while you’re draped in jewels like a boss.”
Peter was half tempted to link Laurence to the Lonely Island music video but it probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
None of Peter’s ‘suggestions’ were very much appreciated, and while Peter was focusing on the closet door, Laurence risked pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyebrows all but meeting above his fingers. Why the universe insisted in throwing him and this vulgar man together all the time was something that Laurence couldn’t quite understand.
“It’s a shame I’m not a drag queen then,” Laurence said, though he hardly thought it was a shame. The gaudy outfits and over the top make-up might make some people happy, but Laurence wasn’t one of them. He had no desire to stand out more than was necessary, and if his dress was toned down, it was how he preferred it.
“Surely you don’t speak this way to anyone else,” Laurence said, not quite sure how else to respond to the comments about the balls. It most certainly had to be Peter just trying to get a rise out of him.
“Surely I do,” Peter said nonchalantly. And it was true -- since Peter had zero filter, it meant that really, he said what he wanted when he wanted, regardless of who was around.
He was getting better at not swearing around children though.
Kind of.
Laurel’s kid at least.
A few moments later, he was oiling the track and maneuvering the door back on the tread. Pushing it lightly, it rolled easily and Peter grinned at Laurence.
“Hey, look at that -- I did my job! It works, and I can get out of your hair now.” Cleaning up the toolbox, he rubbed at his temple, leaving behind a streak of grease that he didn’t really notice or care about. “Or is there anything else while I’m here?”
Laurence briefly wondered if it wouldn’t be worth it to attempt some of the maintenance around here himself, despite scarcely having the time and certainly not having the expertise - if only because it meant that he wouldn’t need to deal with Peter again, but he dismissed the thought quickly. It was best to have things taken care of by the people who actually knew what they were doing.
Luckily enough for Laurence, that had been the only job he’d needed Peter for at the present time.
“Very nice job,” he said, because it had been, he could admit that even if didn’t especially care for the man who’d done it. “I am fine for the time being, but I’m sure that I will call again if I ever need more done.”
Peter tipped his head and gave a little salute. "You do that. I'm awesome."
Even if Laurence didn't agree.
"See you next time, buddy."
Because there would be. Totally.