"Damn, that was good!"
Peter wiped his mouth with a grin, set down his empty bowl of noodle soup, and let out a satisfied sigh.
At first, he had refused to eat noodles from the sewers, but by the end, he had eaten more than anyone else.
Fortunately, the arm Deathstroke had provided was large enough, and the noodle stall owner offered extra noodles, which was enough to satisfy Star-Lord's black-hole-like appetite.
"Since when did you become such a foodie?" Su Ming leaned against the food cart's counter, a cigarette between his fingers. "You know that kind of trait isn't cute on a man. You're a Dancer, so watch your figure."
Peter patted his slightly bulging belly, stood up, and tugged at his jacket, trying to hide it a little better.
"I was hospitalized before, okay? You know what hospital food is like—boiled potatoes, boiled beans, boiled carrots. Everything had no salt or oil, and even the burger patties were made from tofu. Besides, I'm the captain now. The Dancer on our ship is Drax. Come on, dance for your old captain and liven things up."
"Tch." The muscular man spun around on his stool, with no intention of obeying. He pointed his backside at Peter instead. "No one has ever acknowledged you as Captain."
"Yeah, captains are products of dictatorship. We've always discussed things whenever something came up." Rocket wiped soup from the corner of his mouth. He did not know what kind of flour these noodles were made from, but they tasted somewhat like industrial chemicals. Still, the soy-sauce bone broth was good, rich and full-bodied. "We don't have a captain. We only have one human idiot who thinks he's the captain."
Gamora ate quickly. She had finished long ago and was now filing her nails with a