Worlds Collide
Surviving was Meredith Quill’s only option at the moment. Being single at this age was practically a death sentence already, but having a young son as well? Having the money for basic necessities like food and shelter was practically impossible. She worked all day and most of the night at the local bar, serving up drinks to men who wolf-whistled and cat-called her. Of course, there was absolutely nothing she could do about this. Anything she did could cause her to lose her job, and she loved her son more than anything. He deserved so much more than he could give her; she wasn’t going to take away what little they had to stop something so trivial. There had only ever been a few instances when she did retaliate, and her boss had backed her; other than that, the barkeep told her to just ignore them.
Meredith had seen her fair share of Offworlders at this point. They were everywhere, ever since the battle over Terra had left them stranded planet side. Any ships that worked were loaded up and sent back into space, but none of them had ever returned. Hopes for rescue were slim to none in all of the Offworlders she spoke with; it had been five years since the last craft had left. Some of them, once they realized that help wasn’t coming, got together and formed their own villages. Segregation had happened naturally for them. They didn’t want to be around Terrans, and Terrans didn’t want to be around them.
The others… they didn’t take the hint. They knew that they wouldn’t be accepted into social settings, but they weren’t willing to stay at the bottom of the food chain either. Usually, these kinds of people called themselves Ravagers.
She had only served a handful of Ravagers in her time. Offworlders alone were usually run off the property, but Ravagers had a reputation for destruction. If anyone got wind of their occupation, they were instantly booted out of whatever establishment they were in, no matter the time or type. No one wanted a filthy Ravager mucking up their good name.
Then again, she had heard rumors of female Ravagers. Strong, foul-mouthed women who didn't bend to society's standards of their inferiority to men. You had to either have an ego the size of the moon or be downright stupid to try to mistreat a Ravager lady. Rumors of their strength spread like wildfire in the pubs- some men liked that, and others found it disgusting.
Personally, Meredith liked it. She wanted to be like that. She was like that, deep down, but she knew better than to act. These Ravager women didn't have a son to look out for; a little boy who didn't get nearly enough to eat for his age but somehow never complained. They could afford to not get hired because of their bold personalities, and Meredith couldn't. She loved her son too much to let her own pride cause him pain.
Meredith turned when she heard someone call for her, flashing him the realest fake-smile she could conjure up as she turned to make his drink. There she went again; daydreaming during work. One of these days it was bound to get her fired.
She had been working all day long; her feet ached and her arms were tired and her hair was wild from constant movement. The bar was always busy on weekends, especially at night, and dusk had fallen about an hour ago. Lucky for her, though, the barkeep gave her the rest of the night off so that she could get home to tuck Peter into bed. He had always tried to look out for her, even going as far as kicking regulars out for getting too handsy.
Walking out of the bar was always exhilarating. She felt a small sense of freedom as she marched past anyone trying to get her attention; she was off-duty now. Once she was off-duty, she didn't have to paint on fake smiles or pretend to enjoy the catcalls and disgusting remarks. She could sneer and scoff and march out like she always wanted to.
That march was interrupted when she threw open the saloon door and smacked a man right in the face.
"Aww, ow! Shit!" he swore, a deep accent dripping from his words as he covered his nose and face with two gloved hands.
Meredith's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't even seen him there! "Oh, sir, I'm so sorry. Let me get you a towel-"
"Nah, nah, don't stress. It ain't bleedin' much," he said, keeping his head ducked to let the blood drip on the ground. Blue blood.
Surely it was just a trick of the moon. Offworlders didn't come to St. Charles.
"Shit, woman, ya really know how to swing a door," he chuckled, raising his head.
Meredith's breath caught in her throat as he fixed on her with ruby red eyes. His skin was cobalt; his temple littered with scars that were a deeper blue than she had ever seen. The Offworlder was tall and broad, obviously a traveller. Maybe even a Ravager with those scars.
He was also handsome. Not handsome like a prince from the story books; he didn't have a perfect face or an entourage of riches. He was handsome like a cowboy: his beard rough, his skin scarred, his hands calloused. There was nothing gentle about the man in front of her, but, somehow, he was the friendliest face she had seen all day.
"See somethin' ya like there, darlin'?"
Shit, she was staring.
"Nope, just thought ya looked familiar," she blurted. He raised his eyebrow.
"Sugar, how drunk are ya?"
Her face blushed a bright red. "I'm not drunk, I swear. I work here… it's just been a long day," she said, feeling the urge to get out an excuse despite not even knowing his name.
The Offworlder glanced into the bar and then back at her, seemingly memorizing her features. "Ya workin' 'gain tomorrow?" he asked, his words drawling with the not so subtle ideas popping in his head.
Meredith immediately crossed her arms. So what he was attractive in a rugged, dirty way? He was still a man, just like everyone in that bar that cat-called and whistled at her like she was a dog.
"That's none of your business," she said, raising her chin. The Offworlder held up his hands.
"Alright, missy, don't get any funny ideas with the door now. I wasn't meanin' any harm," he said, a grin working its way on his face. "I was just curious."
“You men always are,” Meredith sneered.
“Now,” the Offworlder smirked, tipping his hat up a little to look at her. She could clearly see the moonlight reflecting off his navy skin. “I think we both know that I ain’t no man.”
Meredith refused to back down. She was in too deep to chicken out now. “Ya got somethin’ danglin’ between your legs? How ‘bout an ego too big for a pack mule to haul? That makes ya a man.”
The Offworlder laughed: a deep, rugged noise that didn’t at all sound pleasant. “Darlin’, we ain’t even made it to introductions and you’re insultin’ me,” he said. “I’m Yondu Udonta.”
She chewed on the inside of her lip. Saying her name shouldn’t mean anything; hell, asking the right questions to the right people could get him her name. Why did telling him seem like a betrayal of some big secret that should have never gotten out? “Meredith. Meredith Quill.”
“Meredith.” Yondu tested the name on his tongue. He seemed to like it. “A pretty name for a pretty lady.”
She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest as she turned on her heel again. She didn’t have time for idle chatter; especially not with an Offworlder. “Thanks for the compliment,” she called back, making her way down the dark street as quickly as she could. There was no telling what was lurking in the shadows.
Yondu watched her walk off, grinning slightly to himself at the frazzled pace she took up. She was strong, fearless; traits that were novelty in women these days. Even with that bee-like sting, though, there was just a little bit of honey. It was hidden deep, but it was there. He could practically smell it.
He had never much enjoyed Terra… until now.