"A bunch of idiots."
Nebula sat beside Gamora with her arms folded. She had no desire to drink coffee and was merely complaining.
From betraying Thanos and joining the Guardians of the Galaxy, to killing Thanos not long ago, all the way until today.
She had been complaining about everything, like some bitter old woman.
Of course, it might also have been because 60% of her organs had been replaced with metal machinery. She could not drink alcohol or coffee, and she could barely participate in any of the Guardians of the Galaxy's recreational activities.
Well, these people's idea of entertainment was drinking. Space travel was actually quite torturous. Just thinking about how everyone would be frozen into ice cubes if the ship malfunctioned was stressful enough.
Besides, that would probably count as a relatively painless death in space.
"Phew, phew. They're young; it's normal for them to have energy. As long as we get paid after the mission is done, that's all that matters." Yondu, seated beside Peter, was much more relaxed. He blew across his coffee cup as if whistling. "That way, Peter can take better care of me in my old age. That's an Earth custom, right? Supporting the elderly is a fine habit."
"You're not too old to kill people yet. Also, stop blowing! Your Whistle Arrow is moving in your pocket! It's about to stab you to death!"
Star-Lord shot him a sideways glance. His feelings toward Yondu were complicated, probably a lingering effect of Stockholm Syndrome.
In short, some things had happened. Yondu no longer had a spaceship, so he was traveling with the Guardians of the Galaxy.
"Um, Peter." Mantis timidly raised her hand and asked her question. "Not long ago, your father wanted you to return to Sparta and inherit the throne.