Peter's eyebrows arch upwards and he presses his lips together, mulling over her statement: 2150. Uninhabitable. Ookay-dokey. Point one towards this being some bizarre headtrip courtesy of — flark knows, but the sooner he wakes the scut up the better.
Or she's a nutcase.
Or number three or four, it's not a dream and he's not losing it, but he's not really sure that a conversation about the end of Earth is one he wants to entertain. 2150 is well into his future, even if 2050 isn't, and—
—Whatever. Right now, they — he's — got bigger things to worry about.
—Or this is all part of a ruse, but compared to the Nova Corps, compared to the Chitauri, compared to being thrown in prison, it's really not all that bad. Different, sure, but that just opens the door to opportunities for exploitation.
Which is to say: he laughs. It's a short laugh, more an exclamation than anything else. "I promise I'll keep it in mind, uh — what did you say your name was, again?"
no subject
Or she's a nutcase.
Or number three or four, it's not a dream and he's not losing it, but he's not really sure that a conversation about the end of Earth is one he wants to entertain. 2150 is well into his future, even if 2050 isn't, and—
—Whatever. Right now, they — he's — got bigger things to worry about.
—Or this is all part of a ruse, but compared to the Nova Corps, compared to the Chitauri, compared to being thrown in prison, it's really not all that bad. Different, sure, but that just opens the door to opportunities for exploitation.
Which is to say: he laughs. It's a short laugh, more an exclamation than anything else. "I promise I'll keep it in mind, uh — what did you say your name was, again?"