"I don't like the look of this." Peter said to himself seriously, looking around at the crowd gathered about him. Now was definitely not the time for stage fright. Peter stood staunchly, shoulders squared in a way that didn't betray his insecurities. He wasn't new to fighting, not in the least, nor was he new to crowds, but something was different now. Something almost sinister was playing on the edges of his mind, never quite revealing itself.

Peter stared at the gate across from him. Whoever, or whatever the the hell was on the other side was waiting for him, probably just gnashing it's undoubtedly sharp and numerous teeth in anticipation. His eyes swept the arena, looking for anything to mentally cling on to. His team wasn't to be seen, but neither was Kirri. This definitely meant something, although it was impossible to tell what. Maybe it meant they were ironing out some kind of deal, or maybe it just meant Quill sucked at finding faces.

The large wooden gates creaked open and the crowd roared. A man slightly smaller than himself was pushed forward, looking as nervous as he Peter felt on the inside. He stood at a good five three above the ground, his emerald green skin was paler than it should have been, flushed to nearly blue in his face. He wasn't well muscled, though did have a certain look of lean strength.

Peter had no reason to fear him, but he had a bad feeling about it all the same. The man was of a race that he had never seen before with spiked gills sticking out awkwardly from his neck and eyes coated by a second set of lids. Long strands of barbed spires stuck out from the outside edges of his forearms. This guy was looked creepy as hell.

Peter widened his stance, raising up his fists as a signal that they should start the fighting soon. Given as neither of them had particularly wanted to fight in the first place, it was beneficial to both parties that someone had decided to make the first act of aggression. The other man changed to a fighting stance as well, and the two began to circle.

The crowd began to roar at them, anticipating some blood shed. Considering that one of them had what could be considered as more or less a row of knives for arms, they wouldn't be disappointed. Peter struck his favorite cocky grin and spit at the ground. His opponent copied awkwardly, a gob of blue goo falling to the ground. Peter smirked at his affirmation of manhood momentarily, but faded when he noticed the ooze begin to sizzle and burn into the ground. More cheers.

The two circled again, drawing closer and closer. They locked eyes. Peter didn't like what he saw in them to say the least. They looked unreasonably nervous for someone with such a clear advantage. Something had to be up.

As the two came closer and closer, Peter finally swung, connecting his fist with his opponents face. The crowd roared again, but it didn't feel right. The green man stumbled back his eyes wide but looking no where in particular. Peter was perplexed.

"What's the matter fur face?" He asked tauntingly.

Wait a minute, he aint' got fur. Peter mentally cursed himself. There was a collective confused sound from the onlookers. Quill tried not to look embarrassed.

The opponent stepped carefully forward, arms outstretched in front of him. The razor like barbs on his arms stood alert, bearing themselves like snarling teeth. Suddenly, the man dashed at Quill. He missed completely, but managed to catch the hem of Peter's Jacket. The red leather ripped loudly. Peter swung around, confused by the miss. He should have made that. Taking advantage of the pause his opponent dashed again, this time aiming true. Peter barely dodged, some of the flesh on his arm made to ribbons.

And the crowd went wild.

The man looked so confused, his head turning about quickly. Peter rushed at him, elbow bared at the enemy's face. When the enemy didn't even try to dodge, Peter finally got it. He stopped dead, looking all around him.

"Oh, come on!" He roared at no one in particular. The audience went silent. Peter turned around, his arms lifted in the air. "You put me against the blind guy?" He turned about, looking for a face to blame. "Seriously?"

Kirri laughed loudly, a slow infectious chuckle. Peter found him instantly. The rest of the audience began to laugh as well, spreading the mockery through the crowd like a virus. A moment later the only one's not laughing were his trusty team mates. Kirri stood and suddenly everything was silent. All eyes turned to the mountain of a man.

"Fight." He said in authoritative, demeaning tone. The audience remained quiet, eyes fixed on Peter's defiant face.

"Hell no." Peter shouted, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "I'm not gonna be the fucking guy nicks the blind guy. It's just not fair!" Peter felt almost outside of himself, protesting dramatically about a fight fixed in his favor.

Kirri smiled at him ruefully. "It's not like you're winning.". The audience erupted, even his friends were seemed to be in with it this time. He wanted to protest further, but the red streaks running into his palm made for a weak argument.

Suddenly, a green fist connected to the side of his head knocking him to the ground. Peter stayed down a moment, looking for his attacker. The very same opponent who had looked petrified just moments before had been replaced by a stern monster crouching beside him.

"My name is not 'the blind guy'", He said, seething with anger. Peter laid still, waiting for an opportunity to move. Laying in the sightless gaze of the monster man was something that could crack even the sanest of individuals. Thankfully, Peter Quill was not in the least bit sane.

Peter quickly tucked in on himself and rolled out of reach, grabbing a handful of sand in one motion. The angry opponent growled, "My name is Th-"
"I don't really care anymore, bub." Peter cut him off in the mocking manner one might expect from a nine-year-old.

"I am Thesbar!" The monster shouted, jumping at him with a slashing arm. Peter didn't dodge, distracted by the dialogue. He could suddenly feel his pulse in his ears. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. He looked down, his chest was seeping red, making his white cotton shirt match his jacket. He grimaced almost audibly.

The shock hadn't let him feel it yet. He was now running on adrenaline and intuition solely. Peter had clearly struck a nerve with Thesbar, he could now only hope against hope that Thesbar hadn't just done the same. Peter stumbled a step back, looking at the audience with the face a wounded animal, which to them, he was.

He caught several eyes, scanning the stands for reasons unbeknownst to even himself. Suddenly he locked gazes with Groot and Gamora, finally finding something familiar in the crowd. His opponent was readying himself for another attack when Peter suddenly knew what he needed to do.

He cleared his throat and began to circle Thesbar. The audience was silent in suspense. Thesbar turned continuously in an attempt to remain facing him. Peter was going to be harder to hit his now that he was mobile. Out of the blue, Peter released his handful of sand, flinging it with conviction into Thesbar's face. He yowlled, gripping at his face as he fell down to his knees attempting to relieve his traumatized eyes. Peter took his chance striking his opponent to the ground in a swift motion, not bothering to recognise that he just threw sand into a blind guy's eyes.

He was beginning to feel light headed from the loss of blood. He was running out of time.

"You can tell by the way I use my walk, I'm a woman's man, no time to talk." Peter began to sing, deciding now was as good a time to test his abilities as any. "Music loud, and women warm. I've been kicked around since I was born."

Gamora's palm came crashing into her forehead as she heard Quill attempt to choke out a high soprano from the brink of passing out. He continued on, though he wouldn't have stopped if he saw her anyways. "Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

Peter's opponent, who was now rolling about on the floor was groaning loudly. Quill took this as a sign to go on, belting out what he could remember.

"Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother, you're stayin' alive. Stayin' alive.

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive."

The audience sat dumbstruck, watching the butchered performance of a 70's classic from a man on the brink of bleeding out to his now wailing opponent.

Eventually, Thesbar stopped went on in a howling croak, finally stopping when a moment later, woman in a classy yellow ensemble made her way to center of the ring. She poked at the body with the tip of her boot.

She nodded to Kirri, who in turn stood up from his throne like seat.
"I think it's clear we have a winner." He said, in a dark voice that Peter was beginning to believe was the only pitch he was capable of. Peter's face lit up just long enough to recognize his victory before collapsing down beside Thesbar, equally unconscious.