nysalogs | ( CLOSED ) haven't changed that much to say.

Who: Gamora (

godslay) & Richie Tozier (

summertimeblues)
What: idk some loser promised her food
When: 11 May
Where: Richie's place
Warning(s): a boy Trying Too Hard

[ Gamora is good at getting places when she's motivated – and the promise of spicy food is especially motivating (even if she has literally no idea what "si, señora" means). It's been a while since she's had a chance to catch up with Richie, by nature of how hectic and overwhelming things became between the two cities, and with worrying over Peter's reappearance in the pods and kidnappings and—

Suffice to say, things have not gone smoothly.

She struggles with reaching out even to those she considers herself close, and before the Guardians, she'd never truly had "friends" or anyone that she could or should keep in contact with. People don't exactly want to be penpals with a daughter of Thanos, and Gamora was so closed off for so long that... well, she couldn't have maintained connections to begin with. Isolation is a hard thing to shake, but being on this strange planet, out of her element and away from a universe that marked her a murderer (deservedly, too), she can start a new life. She has Peter, and Rocket, and Mantis.

And also, apparently, this strange, scrawny man who keeps appearing in her life.

Weirdly, she's not bothered by it.

But she makes it to the address that Richie provided, and because she's not a total heathen like some people she knows, she knocks politely and waits for Richie to answer. ]

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[Richie wasn't sure if he expected to see Gamora again at all. She was laying chilly in Wyver, which was a town ill suited to his own speed, and he'd been running ragged up in Olympia. Between the torture and the dying and wheezing himself silly over that marathon run down Memory Lane, he's not been in much mood to reach out himself. And she's not particularly social, that's all fine as paint. He can take a hint, even if he can't help but pester people anyhow. He knows to expect nothing. There's another guy chasing that line anyway, and he's never been keen on wrecking homes.

Still, he's glad when the door knock comes and she stands there solo, no angry boyfriend (or sulking hopeful, which is sometimes worse) clamped to her elbow. Richie grins broad.]

My my my, what a nice surprise! I was half expecting a no-show!

[From behind him, Janis Joplin is feeling those Kozmic Blues and the smell of hot enchiladas pulses out in a savory cloud.

Richie steps to the side, freeing up the door for entry.]

Welcome to the Casa de Rich. Make yourself at home, lady, dinner will be done in five.

[ It would be a complete lie if Gamora tried to say that whatever smell is wafting out of Richie's kitchen isn't appetizing – and Gamora isn't wont to lie.

(Unlike some of her companions.)

She cocks an eyebrow at Richie, but as he steps back, she lets herself inside with something that might be a smile on her face. ]

I almost expected you were going to pick something up instead of actually cooking.

[ AKA: she totally didn't trust Richie's cooking skills. ]

[Hark — could it be? For generations they swore it did not exist, but he was sure he'd seen it. Gamora was smiling.

Too bad Richie's pulling a face of his own at the swipe she takes at his competence.]

That's not how a dinner party works. If the host isn't cooking you might as well have gone to the fast fry and saved yourself the trip.

[When she enters she'll see the much storied collection of records atop a shelf. Forty nine in total since he'd snapped the atrocity that was Aqua. There are books on Nysan history, politics, one open-faced tome that is about the practice of magic. The place is generally well decorated, cleanly kept. But it does smell faintly of cigarettes, and the ash tray on the table hasn't been emptied yet today.

Richie heads to the bar counter, rummaging for the appropriate goods.]

Have a seat! What do you drink?

[ Gamora's perfected the art of gathering meaning from context after so much time spent with Peter, so she at least gets the gist of what Richie means by "fast fry" enough that she doesn't have to ask.

She's instead preoccupied with scanning her surroundings, taking in the look of the apartment, the odds and ends that have made their home on shelves, before following Richie up to the bar. She doesn't sit, but she leans against the counter, still watching him intently.

(Much like a cat watches a bird; not because she views others as prey or as targets – usually – but it's instinct just to study the way they move, looking for the slightest hint of danger.

It's still hard to turn it off sometimes.) ]

Anything – but nothing too sweet.

[ Mostly because it doesn't matter as far as alcohol content. ]

Surprise me.

( CLOSED ) haven't changed that much to say.

i can't believe this warning, i'm here slaving away in the kitchen and this is my thanks

BUT IM BACK AND I LOVE U

i'd like some receipts

https://i.imgur.com/F6NdOLK.jpg uhhhhh here