Say what you will about the Ravagers, there's no denying that they know what they're doing when it comes to ships. The Milano is living proof that you can put an M-ship through hell and she'll keep on limping along long after lesser ships would have given up the ghost. She was as good as new once she'd been repaired after the crash on Xandar. He doesn't doubt that they'll be able to restore her to her old self again this time with a little care and elbow grease. He checks her over as Quill sets up the campsite they're going to be calling home for the next few days. The wind has blown fallen leaves into the ship, and the interior has clearly been investigated by a few curious animals if the muddy paw-prints on the floor are anything to judge by, but other than that things are much as he left them.
Night is falling by the time he steps out of the ship into the warm, flickering light of their campfire. There's a chill creeping into the air as the sun slips down somewhere beyond the treeline and the sky starts to grow dark. It's always a little strange to see the stars from the surface of a planet, dim and distant through the haze of the atmosphere; from down here, it's almost understandable why planetbound races start off believing that the sky is a vault with points of light painted onto it, tiny and static just that little bit further beyond the clouds. They seem untouchable, impossibly cold and distant.
He crouches down beside the fire and helps himself to a bowl of whatever it is that's simmering in the pot. He doesn't know what it is, but it's hot and plentiful with a savoury smell, and a texture to it which promises to be filling. It'll do just fine.
"It's not as bad as it could be," he says, steam billowing up into the cool night air from his bowl as he settles in to sit by the fire. "Hull's pretty torn up, but structurally there ain't actually all that much damage. Patch job mostly." He stirs the contents of the bowl, poking distractedly at it with a spoon. "Apart from that...we'll have a better idea what needs done systems-wise once we get the power lines that got ripped loose in the crash reconnected and we can run diagnostics. Software might need a hard reset or two. Physically, it's mostly gonna be about gettin' her airtight again."
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Night is falling by the time he steps out of the ship into the warm, flickering light of their campfire. There's a chill creeping into the air as the sun slips down somewhere beyond the treeline and the sky starts to grow dark. It's always a little strange to see the stars from the surface of a planet, dim and distant through the haze of the atmosphere; from down here, it's almost understandable why planetbound races start off believing that the sky is a vault with points of light painted onto it, tiny and static just that little bit further beyond the clouds. They seem untouchable, impossibly cold and distant.
He crouches down beside the fire and helps himself to a bowl of whatever it is that's simmering in the pot. He doesn't know what it is, but it's hot and plentiful with a savoury smell, and a texture to it which promises to be filling. It'll do just fine.
"It's not as bad as it could be," he says, steam billowing up into the cool night air from his bowl as he settles in to sit by the fire. "Hull's pretty torn up, but structurally there ain't actually all that much damage. Patch job mostly." He stirs the contents of the bowl, poking distractedly at it with a spoon. "Apart from that...we'll have a better idea what needs done systems-wise once we get the power lines that got ripped loose in the crash reconnected and we can run diagnostics. Software might need a hard reset or two. Physically, it's mostly gonna be about gettin' her airtight again."