[ Gamora can handle the cold. Her body is built for extremes, and she can ignore the way the ice and snow bites at any exposed skin on her face. It’s not enjoyable, but she’s also not bothered as she sets about making a snow block for the igloo she’s currently building. The station had those helpful survival VR experiences, but Gamora has also been put through her paces in her training as an assassin, which obviously required learning how to keep herself alive in below-freezing climes.

So igloo building? Not an issue.

What is an issue is that it’s getting progressively colder and the snow seems to be getting thicker, and the shelter isn’t finished yet.

This contributes to the bigger concern at hand, which is that her companion is not made to handle extreme cold. Gamora glances over at Peter, bundled up as he is, packing together snow for the igloo. ]

How is your face?

[ She has to ask it over the sound of the wind as she adds another block of snow to the rising wall. ]

[ Nadril is full of surprises, and simply walking past one of those odd bots produces bright, flashing lights that almost causes Gamora to reach for her sword. She blinks a few times to clear her vision, but then she actually see the photos that have been neatly produced. Only a quick glance is required for her to recognize that these aren’t images of herself walking past the bots, and that’s enough to make her pick them up.

The first is charming. It captured the moment of dancing with Peter Quill as he’s gently spun her away. She’s looking across the balcony at him, fondness on her face, an ease to her posture, and as Gamora stares down at the photograph now, a comforting warmth blooms in her chest.

The second is less so. She’s smaller, younger, without the scars etched into her face, and she’s holding onto an enormous tree with one hand… as the other throws her sister from deadly heights, to leave her in a heap on the jungle floor below.

Gamora remembers vividly how much time it took to reassemble Nebula that day. Her jaw sets, and whatever softness had crept into her eyes when she saw the picture of herself with Peter disappears as she hides the second picture behind the third.

Oh.

The third is worse.

Gamora doesn’t spend more than a heartbeat looking at the third photograph, before she’s tearing it to pieces. ]

[ You know what’s not ideal?

An alarm suddenly blaring in your ear as you’re preparing to spear a giant fish right under your feet.

The communicator earring suddenly starts shrieking at Gamora as she’s poised above a large hole in the ice, and despite her well-honed composure, she still jumps and yelps and—

—drops her spear into the water.

Her mood is clearly not great as she mutters and quickly tries to drop to her knees in time to stick her hand under the ice and catch the end of the spear. ]

[ Gamora is exploring the Cantina, because why not? There are still plenty of things for her to see here, and considering how lively it is in the evening, she’s decided to take a look.

At the moment, someone is trying to coax her into trying some newly crafted concoction. ]

I’m not interested.

Aw, don’t be a spoilsport.

Get it out of my face, or that glass is going in yours.

[ She may not have accepted that asshole’s drink, but she’s crafted one of her own – even if it doesn’t quite look like a drink.

The thing itself is shaped like a bubble, and it sits on top of a shot glass instead of inside. The bubble looks empty, aside from a pink mist that twists around.

The cheerful bartender hands Gamora a straw, and she looks from the straw to the “drink.” ]

… I’m supposed to… poke it?

( ooc: come at me with anything! or hit me up at poprocks and we can plot!