Chapter Text
The hallways are too quiet.
Ravager ships are never quiet, save for funeral processions and empty shells, left floating in the black. Corridors are constantly filled with rowdy crew and the stomp of boots; the sleeping quarters with raspy snores and other bodily noises; the canteen with the clack of glasses and laughter between flame brothers.
Now only a faint hum of the engines runs throughout the Eclector Mark 2, setting a downright ghostly feel for the remaining inhabitants.
At least it acts as an anchor, something to let Kraglin know they're still afloat. His small crew hadn't given up yet, thundering on with their jobs until the whole lot of them succumb to madness or the black; whatever came first.
Kraglin heads for the bridge, hands folded behind his back, ducking occasionally under doors on instinct. His fin had been updated, a shorter, more practical design reminiscent of Yondu's final prototype, but old habits die hard, like the fact that he no longer has to bash a pipe along the wall of the crew quarters to wake them.
The bridge is as lonely as the corridors, occupied solely by his firstmate. Only the back of her head and a single purple-furred ear is visible, the rest obscured by a chair and a spiral of green and blue holograms. He looks over her shoulder, peering at the scrip curling around her fingers.
"Any luck?"
The A-chiltarian's head bobs, claws tapping at a clip. "I think so, check this out."
A swipe of the schematic brings up a selection of photos, each looking as if they'd been plucked from the pages of a tourism guide. "A place called 'Stars Hollow'. Small town, nice area, low crime rate."
Kraglin studies the images, turning over the chances of finding the information they need. Terra isn't a prime place for spacers, as primitive as they are, but it's a potential place to get clues on the whereabouts of their missing guardians. Quill had a soft spot for that planet after all.
"You think it's possible?"
"With a name like Stars Hollow?" She scoffs, rolling her eyes." Please, it's so obvious it's perfect. A class cover up."
"Sounds about right." Silently Kraglin collapses in the seat beside her. Kaysi fires down the holo and turns to her captain, gently laying a hand on his knee.
"It's worth a shot, mate. Y'never know what we'll find."
"Ah know," He removes the arrow from his holster, gently turning it over in his fingers. The action had become a comfort, done only in times of mental distress.
"At the very least," Kaysi chirps, lips twitching. "You can pick up some of that Terran soup ya like so much."
Kraglin looks at her, smiling back tiredly.
Small things , He thinks, laying the arrow down and wrapping his fingers with hers. Small things.
The town's too quiet.
Stars Hollow was far from the bustle of the nearest cities, sidewalks choked with tourists and trash, yet it still was never lifeless, locals always flocking about on their daily errands.
Barely anyone's present now. Even the troubadour, despite surviving the snap, didn't feel fit to play the now empty streets.
Kirk closes his front door, correction, his mother's front door, and stuffs his hands in his pockets, beginning a slow stroll. He wasn't working until later, a shift at the movie theatre (now playing cartoons and happy movies only, nothing involving apocalypses or aliens). It wasn't a hard job, the theatre was barely busy these days, but it gave him something to do with his evenings beside staring vacantly at his bedroom wall.
His mother, Lulu, even Petal was lost, cruelly dusted before his very eyes. The rest of Stars Hollow didn't fare much better, everyone missing an important part of themselves. Some were dealing better than others; Jackson remaining chipper for the sake of his kids, now left without a mother. Patty too worked hard to keep up moral.
Even Luke, sister-less, girlfriend-less and daughter-less, presses on, despite the general foulness of his mood. Kirk'd been trying extra hard recently not to worsen it during his frequent trips to the diner, but somehow still managed to mess that up. Guess Luke wasn't fond of people who cry into their pancakes.
He's a mess, even more so than before.
Kirk tries not to dwell too much as he takes the path towards the edge of town. People always said he was good at that, not thinking. He was even failing on that front, everything reminding him of life before the snap.
Kirk makes it to the pond with his eyes still dry. It's a secluded spot, beautiful in the spring and perfect for picnics. He and Lulu had shared many a moment here, both sweet and risky (She'd laughed as he got flustered and repeatedly apologise to the ducks afterwards, something about tainting their innocent eyes).
There's no nosy birds to worry about today, therefore Kirk feels no shame as he seats himself on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest as the waterworks start.
He fishes his zune out his pocket, a gift from last Christmas from his one-in-a-million girlfriend, and pops in the earbuds. An upbeat ditty plays as he watches the pond, still and all-too empty.