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WHO: Yondu Udonta | OTA
WHAT: Yondu has a search for some company derailed by a mirage
WHEN: A week and a half after the explosion
WHERE: A dingier part of the city
WARNINGS & NOTES: References to sex work and references to dying

Yondu's heart isn't what you'd call open. Now, without the presence of his crew and without the ability to use his arrow as intimidation he's had to moderate his behavior. But he's still got his walls up, he's still mostly getting along with people based on practicality, and he's still not willing to search for an actual companion even this far into his dumbass life.

This is the worst of the reasons as to why he's taking some of his wages and looking for a companion for the night.

Worker droids are the best back home. They can erase memories, have lots of tricks programmed in, and they're not gonna judge a body that's covered in scars and wear. Problem is he don't know if any of these damned places have something of that sort. Instead, he's wandering the dingiest, shameful part of this utopia looking at the selection of girls offered on lit signs that aren't always scrolling or flickering they should.

It's in the middle of his trolling that, instead of a prospective business to patronize, he sees a familiar broad shouldered towheaded Terran walking down the sidewalk, drifting in between busy foot traffic composed mostly of perverts, drunkards, and cheapskates. A sea of inconvenient failures he just nearly lost track of Peter in.

"...Hey! Hey Quill!" He shouts. The kid doesn't hear him.

It still feels like a heartbeat since he 'died'. He had his last admission, an acceptance of his fate and penance for a life full of bullshit, the cold and silence sinking in as he realized he'd be dying the same as so many more of his crew. The better of 'em, anyway. He said what he said, but he would have liked to have known if the boy'd felt the same way. Peter didn't argue the point at the time, at least. He'd just looked at Yondu up until the point that Yondu couldn't see him no more.

The Ravager is moving before he even knows he's moving. He's shoving by people, nearly knocks a woman over. "Quill!" he shouts again. "Hold up! It's me."

But he doesn't stop. And when Yondu grabs his arm and spins the guy around, it's a fella with a big mustache and a modded third eye in his forehead. Looking very, very offended.

The old captain jerks his hand back, looking just as offended even if he has no right to be. As if this guy turning out to have nothing like the face he thought he saw was some great hostile act against him personally. He yanks back completely and starts storming off, kicking a clanky can from the path as noisily as possible. Because pissy displays of angry noise with an accompanying growling shout are the best way to show off one's patient personality and not make people veer around you as if you're a madman.

Maybe they're not far off, he figures, if he's seeing nonsense.

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Yondu whips around like the off chance that someone recognizing his voice could mean that, maybe, just maybe, he'd just lost track of Peter. That it's him calling out a 'Yondu'. But no, it's the friendly kid that bombing fucked up.

"Somethin's real wrong with my fin. I'm seein' shit." He thumps his temple a couple of times, like he'd knock a wire back into place that had come loose. That old "fix it by kicking it" method.

He makes sure he's out of the way of the people walking, looking in the reflection of a darkened shop window, and giving his temple another pound.

There is a momentary look of concern and regret on david’s face. He’d promised to help Yondu look at that, hadn’t he? And now he’d gotten side tracked. Again.

“What sort of things? Could be you’ve got a short messing with your head. I could try and help. I am a qualified neurosurgeon. Well, for human brains at least.”

Edited 2019-07-07 21:41 (UTC)

He thinks about the money saved up. He'd wanted a prostitute, but the last thing he wants is to suddenly find himself banging the Missuz Ogord or something. Not that Aleta was bad looking by a mile, he just doesn't need that right now.

So instead-

"Let's go find one o' them mod places. They'd have the equipment to take a look. I ain't interested in gettin' nothin' patched into me just yet but I can pay 'em to use what they got."

Oh, damn. David hadn’t even thought of that. But he smiles as he considers it. Yeah, that could be useful, couldn’t it?

“No reason not to try. Maybe we can figure out things in a place like that.”

And yes, he pulls out his phone to start searching for a local mod shop. In this part of town people might be more willing to rent tools out. And he may be a touch excited to look over the tech in question.

“Don’t know that I can get your arrow working in short order, but I should get your fun to stop being rude.”

He waits as David checks for info. "Which one is the closest?" He cares fuck all about quality or ratings. Or agreeability. He'll strong arm if he has to. All he cares about is if they have something that can see where the wires fit into his brain got crossed.

"As long as they do head mods I can work with 'em." Or sensory mods of some sort. He shoves aside some drunk who nearly carelessly bumps into him, everything about his fixed permafrown reading 'not in the mood'.

"And you're assuming a lot more information than I have available," David shrugs as he finally selects one. "Things can be hard to track in this city, but I think I have a lead on a place a few blocks from here."

He hopes it has what they needs, but he has other immediate concerns. In this case, the concern is that he needs to keep Yondu from a fight.

"Let it go," he says softly. "Just for now."

"Might be right. Might be that the closer ones ain't the sort you can look up on your phone." And he knows that. He even prefers that, usually, but he doesn't want to drag David into place while he's trying to strongarm them for information.

He just needs to drag him into the one place, have the damn thing looked at.

But for now, at least, he just leaves the drunk to stumble. The drunk who points at him accusedly and warns him, 'There's candy stuck in your skull' and goes teetering along his merry way.

Yeah, well, David has a certain requirement for how much credibility and oversight a place has, okay? He wants tools that are up to date and he can complain to someone about their right to operate. If nothing else, he wants the place to be sanitary.

"I think I'm going to prefer what I can find," David admits, ignoring the drunk. Laughing, he knows, wouldn't be the smartest. "Here, take a right at the next corner."

Yondu rubs his hand over one side of his fin as they walk.

"This is a prototype. The one I had before got busted when I got shot in the damn head. Might be a side effect of that. Never had it happen before, but there's always a first time for everthin' an' this has been in there for a while."

He lets his hand drop again, flexing his fingers irritably.

"What sort of malfunction are you worried about?" David asks as he leads them around the corner and past a group of leather clad toughs. He's really not in the mood to break someone for looking at him funny tonight. Especially because he knows it would turn into a pissing contest.

Thankfully a surly blue man with sharp teeth at his side helps him avoid having to prove that normal looking and in slacks and a long-sleeved shirt doesn't mean pushover.

"And have you experienced traumatic head injuries before?"

"A few times. More'n once, anyway."

Indeed it doesn't, because Yondu's mood is reflected on his face, and other than the biggest of guys (or the drunkest) people are starting to give them a wide berth. Just what Yondu wants.

"This thing roots down into my vision, my hearing, and a few other bits of brain meant for motorfunctions. I use sound vibrations to control my arrow an' it follows a plan that I visualize. Don't know how similar it is to Terrans, an' I ain't had a problem like this before, but I had this thing in my head in some shape or another since my skull stopped growin' an' I was old enough for 'em to stick it in there. So I cain't be sure that the wear and tear ain't got to it. I don't reckon I was meant to live this long, nohow."

Bitter and angry, every single word. Technically, he didn't live this long, he doesn't guess.

"I also froze to death before comin' here. So that mighta had somethin' to do with it."

Fuck. David prays to whatever gods may be out there, that this doesn't need to head into brain surgery areas. Ever. Who knows how Yondu's brain structure differs from Terran. And now Yondu's got David thinking of them that way too. Fun.

But really, it's the 'froze to death' that gets David to stumble and come to a stop.

"You what?"

"Froze to death. Out in space. Luckily didn't have time to suffocate or nothin'. Just froze an' passed out an' that was the end of it. Turned up here alive an' well."

He notes David stopped, and he stops too, and shrugs out his arms uselessly.

"Well I'm back on my feet I reckon." Like dying isn't that big of a deal.

Yeah, David’s died before. He knows it’s a big deal.

“The cold could have damaged components. Or your brain. Geez, tell me this stuff before. And suffocation could still have figured in.”

He looks almost annoyed. It he can make do. What other choice has he?

"Nothin' else stuck, though. Which makes it real confusing. I can still see. Not a hint of numbness in me. My coat had frost in it, though. Shook it off an' it was fine."

At least the bizarreness of the situation has calmed Yondu down.

"Until now I ain't seen no side effects other than my arrow weren't flyin' right. But that was more like it couldn't get powered up like it oughta. I know I mentioned it before, but- Hold on..."

He pulls it out, since it can barely leave its holster on its own anymore. Holds it mid-air. Whistles, and it hovers, and it pings right off a cement wall near them.

"Normally my arrow can bore right through that thing," he goes to pick it up. "I can take down fighter ships with it. Now it's about got the inertia of a toy."

Interesting. David has to wonder how it ever got the force for what Yondu is claiming. But it doesn’t matter. It is all basically something he has to figure out. Too many problems he’s trying to deal with, but David can handle burning himself out some. Not like he has anything else to hold his time.

“I wish I knew more about the tech this runs on. But I suppose we’ll start with the fun.”

At least, in this case, Yondu can provide some self-knowledge and maintenance, rather than having someone completely technologically inept near him. He needs the second pair of eyes, though, because seeing the top of one's head is a feat he has yet to master.

"Y'ain't the only one. Part of me don't think this shit can pull us out of time. Part of me reckons that maybe it just copied us. Except that I cam back with my clothes frostbit an' my body right."

Even his bruising was gone. As if he hadn't been in a fight with a whole planet.

"My money has been on a computer simulation," David admits as they turn the final corner, finally catching sight of the mod place. There was the best place for them to work at least.

"Which is horrifying in its own way. And raises questions of free will."

"If that's the case, where would you even reckon the simulation began? Before we ended up here? Our whole lives a test run?"

His head hurts. He doesn't want to think about that. But maybe it would make clearly seeing Peter Quill make some damn sense.

"Now that I wouldn't be able to pinpoint," David admits. Too many people, from too many places and times. Who is to say who is even real here. If any of them are. It's an existential crisis he'd rather not focus on.

"For now, I'm acting as if it's real. I don't want to make the mistake of not and get hurt because of it."

"Yeah, I think that might be the better plan." He says it distantly, though, like he's still considering it.

"Right, well. What's the name o' this place?" He falls into step again, rubbing the scruff on his chin as he thinks.

"Better U," David says, cringing at the name. Someone is maintaining a business and the business name is killing him. Branding matters, and this is the worst part of it.

All he can do is look around, until he finds a mostly falling apart sign with the words he said, dingy on it. Dammit. This place doesn't look hygienic.

They reach the place and Yondu doesn't seem even slightly discouraged. He pushes his way right through the door, looking for someone to talk to, and already having a look around at the superficial contents.

A good sign already, he can see some clear model heads showing some cybernetic prosthetics. He wanders over to one, having a look at it. An augmented eye rooted in a head, black with a silvery iris, thick threads of artificial nerves trailing back into a fake clear jelly brain.

You'd think it'd dissuade people. As would the discounts on some of them. But there's a lady with a beehive hairdo in there casually flipping through a magazine and waiting their turn to talk to the help.

Well, now David is definitely curious about what is going on. He spends a bit time considering the display before sighing and turning his attention to Yondu. "I'd probably steer clear of ocular upgrades for right now. We don't need to wire new things in for you."

Get the current thing working first, thanks."

"No, no. I ain't interested in havin' that. It looks a little like Krylorian work. We had a guy with an eye implant on the crew. We could switch around how the wirin' functioned an' hook him into a security camera feed. Give 'im a handheld switch an' he could flick between views."

Made a damn good look-out during a bank heist.

Yondu straightens up, smoothing out his lapel after that brief, strange reminiscing.

"I think I see how most of these work. Tech's understandable, so I'm bettin' that whatever they got to work on people ought to be able to see in me just fine." And if something's wrong with him, he figures they should find it. "How much you know about Kree tech?"