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When Ego had hired him to pick up yet another of his numerous offspring, Yondu had been expecting something more out of Parker Quill.
The kid was scrawny, even for a Terran. A little slip of a thing, all big eyes and soft edges, though she had a hell of a bite. Yondu had the lingering crescent moon impression of teeth where the little hellion had tried to take a chunk out of him when they’d first beamed her aboard the ship, already wet-eyed by only minimal fault of theirs and howling for her mama.
That had been several years ago, now, though Quill was still a lanky scrap, grown a few inches taller but never quite seeming to have enough meat on her bones to make up for it despite the fact that she ate like she was starving, falling on her food with a fervor that rivaled that of crewmen three times her size or more. She was a funny creature, Quill, with that big ol’ chip on her shoulder that she seemed to delight in wielding like a weapon against anybody foolish enough to try and test her mettle. She was gregarious, stumbling mostly by accident into enough charm to swing folk to her favor, and she had spunk, even if it occasionally manifested in somewhat unusual ways.
Yondu stared for a second longer at the choppy, rough-shorn mess she’d made of herself this time, little tufts of ginger hair sticking out over her ears, licking up off her head in direct defiance of the artificial gravity in place on the ship. She had her jaw set, chin poking out and shoulders thrown back, and she hadn’t said yet why she’d come storming up here in the first place but Yondu could see her working up to it, throat bobbing nervously as she swallowed, knuckles white where her hands were clenched into determined fists at her sides. She was a talker, Quill, and most of the crew had learned fast that it was better to cut her off before she could get started, guide the conversation somewhat so that she didn’t wander too far afield while on the circuitous path to her point.
“Whaddya gone and done all this for, now?” Yondu asked, arching an eyebrow and waving a hand at his own face.
Quill opened her mouth, and then closed it again, considering for a half-second before she set her shoulders back even further, reedy little chest puffing out, clearly preparing for some kind of backlash as she said sternly, “It was too long. It - ” She hesitated for a beat, pressing her mouth into a thin line and taking a breath to steel herself before adding, “It was makin’ me look like a girl.”
Yondu considered this for a moment. He wasn’t especially familiar with Terran biology, knew that it was fairly concrete, difficult and time-consuming to make alterations to unlike some of the other species on the ship who could change their appearance and molecular structure with relative ease. He’d been operating under the apparently erroneous assumption that Quill was Ego’s daughter - he thought that was the word the Terrans used, though he’d have had to double check to be certain. All of which was assuming that Yondu was correctly inferring Quill’s meaning in the first place, which was something of a crapshoot.
He canted his head and worried at his teeth for a second with the flat of his tongue while his mouth was still closed before asking, “Lookin’ like a freshly plucked Tezrak is better?”
Quill’s face flushed red, which Yondu knew enough by now to read as embarrassment.
“A boy!” Quill hissed mutinously. “I want to look like a boy.”
Ah, so that was it. Yondu couldn’t say he wasn’t surprised by the announcement, not that it was any real skin off of his back what his crew’s biological particulars were. He hadn’t known many Terrans and most of the ones he had known seemed fairly settled in their gender, though he couldn’t say for certain how they’d gotten to that point. That wasn’t to say that it couldn’t be done, of course, but it would be difficult. Much harder than say, Resslin who could shuffle through their species’ entire library of genders in the space of a thought, though not perhaps so difficult as it would be for some others. He’d have to do a little digging, maybe talk to Kraglin - Xandarians were fairly similar to humans in biological makeup and might have some know-how about how to do something like this.
For now, though, Quill had the right idea, Yondu thought. A haircut wasn’t a bad start.
He rubbed at his chin, thoughtful, and gave Quill a long, considering look before he replied, “Boy with a pisspoor haircut, maybe.”
Quill’s face went nuclear, little shoulders coming up defensively as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“It ain’t that bad!” he snapped. “I sharpened the scissors ‘fore I used 'em and everything!”
Yondu sighed and clapped a hand to Quill’s shoulder.
“There’s your mistake, boy,” he announced loudly, stepping past Quill toward the hallway and pausing in the doorway to turn back around and look at him. “You don’t use scissors for a close cut like that. You need somethin’ steadier, make it nice an’ even.”
Quill’s hand twitched against his arm, like he wanted to reach up and tug at one of his choppy-edged little tufts, brow furrowed and gaze suspicious.
“You called me boy.”
Yondu stared at him. “You just said you was one, didn’t you?”
Quill shifted his weight nervously.
“Well, yeah.”
“So?” Yondu pressed. “Is you or ain’t you?”
“I am,” Quill said, immediate and sure.
“So what’s the trouble then? You got somethin’ else you’d rather be called?”
“No, I - ” Quill started, and then hesitated, ducking his gaze to the floor. “Peter.”
“Peter?” Yondu repeated. Quill shifted again but when he looked up this time his face was sure, some of that embarrassment receding. He nodded, the longer of those little ginger tufts shifting with the motion.
“’s my grandaddy’s name. Mama always said she was gonna call me that if I - if I was - ” he gestured absently at the length of his body. “Y'know.”
Yondu didn’t bother trying to hide his eye-roll.
“I ain’t here to listen to your life story, boy. You want me to show you how to use the clippers or not?” He held an arm out to indicate the hallway he was poised at the mouth of, and Quill jumped to attention and trotted over.
“Yes please,” Quill said, falling into step alongside Yondu as he led the way back toward the captain’s quarters.
“Don’t be so polite, boy. Askin’ for trouble, that is.”
“Sorry.”
Yondu fought the urge to grind his teeth.
“Don’t apologize neither. It sends the wrong message.” He picked up his pace a little bit, trying to put a few feet of distance between himself and Quill. He liked the kid well enough, was glad he hadn’t couriered the little bastard right to his tyrant father’s doorstep, but it made his skin itch from time to time, being so explicitly responsible for another creature’s well-being. He was poorly suited to it and everyone knew it, though most of his crew was wary enough of his reputation not to make criticisms to his face.
Quill just sped up alongside him, though, gamely attempting to keep up though it resulted in his doing a funny little hop-skip every now and again, not quite walking but not quite jogging either.
After a few long moments of quiet, Quill said, muted and sincere, “Thanks.”
Yondu didn’t look at him, but he did reach over to tousle the sloppy mess Quill’d made of his hair.
“Better pay attention, boy, 'cause I’m only gonna learn you up proper this once,” he grumbled. “After that you’re on your own and it’s your own damn fault if the whole galaxy knows you as Peter Quill: the Fella with the Stupid Hair.”
The grin Quill shot him in response was broad enough that Yondu caught it out of the corner of his eye. Poorly suited, maybe, but Quill didn’t seem to mind.