riverview | video; @star.lord

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video; @star.lord

[ INT. Shared Housing, Floor 13, Room 4 – Very Late Night.

We open on a shot of the living space in one of the many shared housing units. It's dark in the messy room, with a couple of red jackets tossed onto the backs of chairs. Nearby, soft snores are audible.

In frame is a small, wooden creature, his giant eyes squinting with concentration as he stares at the screen. An old, beat-up mp3 player and a Sony Walkman sit beside him on the coffee table. The little creature mumbles a tiny, irritated— ]

I am Groot?

[ —in the same tone of voice someone else might use to ask, “How the hell do you work this thing?” He pokes at the screen fruitlessly for a while, but soon enough, his eyes light up as he shoves his hand forward one last time.

Suddenly, “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” by the illustrious AC/DC shrieks over stereo speakers.

DONE. DIRT. CHEAP.

Sorry about your beauty sleep, Floor 13. And probably Floors 12 and 14.

The sapling yelps, scrambling and panicking to figure out how to stop this crazy thing, just as a sleep-tousled Star-Lord stumbles into frame, flicking on a light. Barely audible over the music, ]

Groot, what are you—?

[ Busted.

Peter picks up the device, sees that it’s recording, and he grimaces. ]

Oh, son of a—

[ Which is when the feed and the music both cut out. ]

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[ yeah. Okay. That doesn’t clear up anything, if Peter’s honest. (Why do worlds need tethering? Aren’t they just out there, doing their own thing? What are the other two gods, if there are three of them, and what do they do? And aren’t gods supposed to be, like, immortal? Since when is there a succession plan?)

But mostly, he keeps sticking on a single point. That point being, ]

... You’re a god?

[ He can’t help the wariness that inches into his voice. Peter’s had some bad experiences with folks who call themselves gods – or, more specifically, Peter has had a singular fuck-awful experience one (1) with giant Celestial douchebag. ]

Ah... Yes. I've given up my role however, and have decided to stay here in the Quarantine, where my power is much more limited.

[They'd also prefer people not to flip out about the god thing, but that sort of comes part and parcel with the territory, doesn't it? Maybe they should keep this sort of thing closer to their chest, but they don't particularly enjoy lying. Nor are they any good at it.

They're far too earnest for their own good.]

[ He frowns at that, though he tries to conceal it.

(See, he's been a little worried that Ego might show up, one of these days. And considering the guy could be anyone, anything he wanted, Peter might be a little paranoid.

... but if the guy did show up, he doubts he'd be stupid enough to approach Peter and then start in on the god stuff again.) ]

Why would you come here? If it limits your powers, or whatever.

Well, I didn't arrive on purpose.

[Said with an ironic smile. But it fades.]

But I prefer it this way. There are countless worlds in my reality, and countless lives to go along with them. I was responsible for all of them. In ways that could help or harm, in equal measure.

[If they stay vague, it sounds more like they're simply shirking their responsibilities -- which they are -- than running from a system set up to Destroy many of those lives.]

[ ... ah. Okay. The way it was phrased kind of made it sound like they chose to be here, but apparently they were in the same boat as most of the other folks Peter's talked to. ]

But there was another person in your position before you, right? [ Peter thinks he understood that much, but, hey, maybe he's wrong. ] Did they, like, retire or pass away, or—?

Well, no two people with my Nature can be alive at once in all the worlds, so yes, he passed away. No Tetherer has met another Tetherer.

Then— How do you know what you're supposed to do? Like, do they leave behind detailed instructions?

Oh, there's many millennia of literature on the subject, left behind by previous gods. In addition, records are kept on the Nexus, where we have traditionally lived once found. I happened to be born on the Nexus rather than another world, so I was learning and being trained in my role since birth.

Uh... huh.

[ That's a lot of information to process, thanks!! ]

Explain to me again what tethering is? Like, you hold the worlds together, right? But, uh. What's that mean?

Well, if there were no way to travel between them, and no link between them and the Nexus, we couldn't monitor the worlds effectively. An untethered world would be invisible to all other worlds. Which can be useful, to avoid worlds intermingling if we do not wish them to, but, ah...

[Being dodgy around the subject is getting harder.]

An untethered world would exist with nothing to keep it in check, or nothing to track the rebirth of the other gods when the time comes.

... Okay. That makes a little more sense.

[ kind of? Like, building a freeway between planets? Maybe? Possibly?

He pauses for a second, then, a little carefully, ]

But I get the feeling you didn't really like your job.

...

[Yeah. Caught red-handed. Can't really dodge this one, can they?]

It's not my job, technically, that I have... misgivings about. I was born for my role, and I was taught to take it on starting from birth. I've sought out the other gods and had dealings with delegates from many worlds.

But I have two counterparts, to form the three gods of Natures. We Separate, Tether, and... Destroy.

[ Peter can sense their discomfort about the turn of this conversation, and—

Listen. Normally, Peter wouldn’t pry. He’s been raised around enough people with history like landmines that he knows how to tread lightly, how to stick to safe topics of conversation before slowly and carefully treading out – if he ever bothers going out that far. But apparently that usual caution gets thrown out the window when someone claims a level of godhood, and Peter just—

—Peter just wants to makes sure this person, this “god,” isn’t a complete dickbag. That’s all. Nothing personal. ]

So you have problems with your coworkers. Like, the company culture, or whatever.

[ A little glib, sure, but the joke is meant to take away some of the bite. ]

More the company culture than the coworkers. Though the Separator comes on a little strong.

[They smile nonetheless, grateful for the light tone.]

June Summers, the new hire, is no more willing to Destroy worlds than I am. Maybe even less so, in a way.

What’s even the criteria for destroying a world?

[ And he asks it warily, because the fates of worlds being decided by some cosmically selected triumvirate isn’t exactly reassuring him. Like, do they put it to a vote? Is it, “A guy spat on the sidewalk there, once, so we should probably raze the whole place”? Or is it more like, “Someone here was mean to me, once”? ]

It's... largely subjective. Different worlds can vary by the extreme. With more difficult choices it is either recommended to us that we do something such as Separating some key harmful element or Destroying as a mercy, or the gods take the initiative ourselves.

...Ultimately, the Destruction of a world is up to the Destroyer. I know the Separator is keen on seeing her world of origin gone, but it's not her call.

[ He takes a second to soak in this information. Then, ]

Who makes the recommendations, exactly? Does someone fill out a form in triplicate or something? Is it like "Please fill out Form 16DW to submit a world for destruction"?

There are far too many worlds for the three of us to monitor them ourselves. There are people in the Capitol Tower whose sole job is to keep the Nexus updated on the major goings-on of various worlds. There aren't any forms, just... discussions.

It's less a legal venture and more of a... ritual. Any use of a god's Nature is regarded as divine.

[ He lets out an acknowledging hum. He's hearing this information, sure, but whether or not he's digesting it is another matter entirely. ]

So how long have you been doin' this, then? Since birth, sure, but, like, what? A couple decades?

[They pause. He could be trying to suss out how many worlds they've seen Destroyed, to which the answer would be "none". Or...]

Are you trying to guess my age?

[ It’s Peter’s turn to pause.

Then, ]

Nnnnooooo?

[ but he drags the word out long enough he clearly means yes. ]

[They can't help but smile.]

More than two decades.

[They know they look young for their age. They sort of milk it.]

[ He looks skeptical for a second, but—

Well, she did say she was a god, and considering he's run into some long-lived Asgardians, maybe he should stop lowballing his guesses. ]

At least let me have a hint. Is it three digits or more?

There's a 3 in it.

[Knifecat.jpg. There's your hint.]

—That is completely unhelpful.

[ A pause. Apparently he's very carefully thinking over his next guess.

Then, ]

Three... [ he starts saying "hundred," but changes his mind. ] —three thousand? Ish?

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