nysalogs | ( OPEN ) mister blue sky, please tell us why.

Entry tags:

( OPEN ) mister blue sky, please tell us why.

Who: Gamora (

godslay) & YOU
What: A catch-all for January.
When: Throughout the month.
Where: Mostly Wyver.
Warning(s): None so far?

1 ) That's Not a Horse

[ Gamora does not have experience with dragons. There were none on her planet, and even less in space, but in Wyver, that isn’t the case.

She’s also discovered that traveling can be a pain, and with the availability of mounts (which she hasn’t acquired for herself yet), she’s drawn to the wyverns she’s regularly seen. She’d prefer something that wasn’t, you know, alive, but given the options, she’s willing to take one for a test-drive, to see what she thinks.

The reins are handed off to her, and she leads a beautiful red wyvern towards the city gates. She runs a palm down the beast’s broad neck, feeling its scales with appreciation, and when it turns its head to meet her eyes, she stares right back into the reptilian slits.

A quiet hiss, and Gamora reaches out to set her hand on its snout. It doesn’t snap at her, and instead, slowly blinks in quiet acceptance.

She’s just about to climb aboard, because she’s going on an adventure.

Come along for a ride? ]

2 ) Stay The Night

[ It’s nearly nightfall out in the Undergrowth, and Gamora’s wyvern is getting fidgety. She remembers what she was told about sending the beast home if she wouldn’t return before sundown, so she pulls the reins taut to stop the mount, glancing over her shoulder at her companion. ]

We should find somewhere to stay out here. He needs to return to the city, and he won’t be willing to take us with him in a few minutes.

[ The wyvern hisses and shakes out its head, tugging against its bridle. ]

… The sooner we get off, the better.

3 ) Disturbing The Dead ( A )

[ Gamora has adjusted to making a living since joining the Guardians. Earning units where they could was normal, which is why picking up odd jobs for silver doesn’t bother her.

So here she is, wandering through this damned crypt with anyone unlucky enough to join her.

She has an excellent sense of her surroundings. She can usually detect traps with little trouble, but when ghosts come into the mix, it’s hard to focus on possible trip wires that will dump her and whoever’s joined her into a dark, unwelcoming pit.

An unholy howl fills the crypt’s passage, and as Gamora whirls around to search for the source, her ankle catches on—

Oh, damn it.

The ground drops out beneath her, and there’s going to be a lot of tumbling down to land in a tangle of limbs in the dark.

Gamora gives a short grunt of annoyance as she lands directly on top of someone.

Oops. ]

4 ) Disturbing the Dead ( B )

[ This has been a long, miserable haul through the dark, and Gamora is in no mood for shenanigans.

At the end of the maze is a stockpile of dusty odds and ends that look like they might be valuable.

Crouching down by the heirlooms, Gamora lifts one up to give it a once-over. ]

This had better be what they want.

5 ) Wildcard

( ooc: have something in mind? hit me up @ poprocks ! )

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[ That's... fair, honestly, but still—

She's not looking at him, and she's not exactly making an impassioned defense of fighting in the fighting rings or whatever. The woman he'd met, Dutch, seemed to enjoy it there, seemed to enjoy all the perks that came with her position, but that doesn't exactly mean Gamora would. ]

Well— tell me straight up. Do you want to do this, or do you just think this is all you can do?

It's what I know how to do.

[ And admittedly, she likes competition; that part isn't in question. It's a good living that offers a great deal in return, but—

Is that what she wants to be? Gamora is still trying to find a balance between who she is and what Thanos made her; she wants to know what is meaningful or motivating to her, and not simply the work of a finely crafted weapon. She values her skills – she's proud of them – but she doesn't want to be reduced to nothing but again. ]

[ His lips press together in a thin line as he studies her. ]

So you don't want to do this. Is that what I'm hearing?

[ She sighs, not immediately responding as she tries to decide on the right words.

Finally, ]

It is more complicated than that.

[ ... Which is the truth, even if she's still trying to understand for herself why it is. ]

[ He peers at her by the firelight before he seems to settle in more comfortably – something that seems to say, "I'm in this for the long haul." ]

Explain it to me, then.

[ ... Ah. He expects her to do the talking thing now.

She isn't good at this part – the articulation of her feelings, because she's so unused to having them. Or, at least, being comfortable with them in the first place, allowed to experience the scope of her feelings. She doesn't do this – or, rather, she didn't do this, but here Peter is, wanting to know why she feels the way she does, when even she can't parse it out for herself.

The quiet stretches for a moment, her eyes fixed on the fire, and finally, her attention flicks back to him. ]

You know what I was trained for.

[ Her tone isn't cold, but it's detached in the way it so often is when she's discussing her past. ]

You know what Thanos made me.

[ It's carved into her face, after all, shows itself in every inch of her when she moves, when she fights. ]

I do not want to be that, anymore. I don't want to turn myself into a weapon, for my own gains or otherwise, but these abilities are mine – not his.

[ A short huff of annoyance, frustration, and she shakes her head, glancing up at Peter. ]

Shouldn't I use them for myself?

[ ... Okay, admittedly? That's all very complicated, and Peter isn't entirely sure he has the right answer for her.

But, well, he gets it, honestly. He knows all too well what it's like, being shaped into something, having pride in your skills, but still feeling resentment over why you have them.

(And now, he's experienced that bitterness two times over. First, with being raised as a thief with the Ravagers. Then, finding out that his biological father only wanted him as a secondary power source.

It's pretty much bullshit, no matter how you slice it.)

He falls quiet for a second, pensive as he stares into their campfire.

Then, slowly, in a way that clearly shows he's speaking the words as he thinks of them, ]

Have you... thought of, like, other applications? Other ways to use your skills, I mean.

[ She doesn't fidget as she waits for Peter to speak, giving him the time he needs to think.

... The question startles her, and she blinks at him, her brow furrowing. ]

Like what?

[ She's open to suggestions. ]

Like—

[ ... Give him a sec to brainstorm. He licks his lips as he thinks, frowning at the flickering fire, then— ]

What if you got a job as, like, a bouncer at a club or something?

[ There's a slow lift in her silver brow.

That isn't a bad idea. ]

... That would be better than the fighting rings, yes.

[ Oh, that's encouraging, and he runs his palm along his leg as he continues to think. ]

Or, like, bodyguard work. Security. You'd probably be pretty good at thinking two steps ahead of any shitty assassin, right?

[ She doesn't quite smile, but her lips curl ever so slightly – amused, despite the turn of the conversation. ]

Easily.

[ Protection would be a better way to earn money, something that wouldn't require her to fight for others' entertainment and silver. ]

I should see if those opportunities are available.

[ Because she'd be damn good at it. ]

[ He's been around Gamora enough that he's started to recognize her smiles and not-smiles, and when her expression changes, he relaxes with it.

Gamora may not smile outright – not right now, anyway – but Peter does. ]

I mean, the fighting ring is still gonna be there, if you really wanna go a round or two, but— yeah. At least you know you've got options.

[ She nods in agreement, reaching for one of the gathered up sticks to toss it onto their little fire. She may still consider the fighting ring, but perhaps more for herself than out of resignation; looking for other uses of her skills is oddly freeing, and she finds that, as difficult as it may have been to admit to any of this, she's grateful that Peter pried it out of her.

From where Ducky has settled closer to Peter, he stretches out his long neck, giving a questioning little trill as he nudges Peter's arm. He cocks his head at an absurd angle to blink at Peter with a big, reptilian eye.

Gamora gives the bird a Look from across the fire. ]

He may try to follow you home.

[ He opens his mouth to encourage Gamora to think it out a little more, but—

There's Ducky again, nudging at his arm, and he huffs out a breath – something caught between a sigh and a laugh. ]

Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we'll have to cross that bridge when we get there.

[ And the bird-thing drops its head across Peter's lap, trying to get at the little pile of fruit beside Peter's hip. This time, Peter does laugh, and he tries to shove Ducky back. ]

Dude, quit it.

[ Then, to Gamora, ]

Did you want anymore? 'Cause I'm pretty sure this guy isn't gonna leave me alone till it's all gone.

Edited 2018-01-24 08:19 (UTC)

[ Gamora gives a dismissive little flick of her hand. ]

Just give it to him.

[ She's content enough with what she had, and she'll just make up for it tomorrow with something more satisfying than jungle fruit. ]

He seems like he'll enjoy it more, anyway.

[ Ducky, meanwhile, is still reaching, still snuffling in a way Peter didn't realize bird-things like him could. It's a struggle, keeping the guy from completely bowling him over and reaching for the pile of fruits, but Peter manages to grab one. He uses it to capture Ducky's attention, not unlike a dog when its own grabs a ball, and Peter tosses the fruit a better distance away, this time. ]

Go get it.

[ And Ducky, obligingly, gives chase, unfolding itself and running after it in a way that reminds Peter of ostriches back on Earth. It gives Peter the opportunity to scoop up the remaining pile and relocate it a little ways away from their camp.

That done, he sits back down, wiping off his hands. ]

On the bright side, it's only that one that's messing with us. Imagine if it was the whole flock.

[ Gamora glances towards the rest of the odd flock of bird-things, tipping her chin forward as if in agreement. There's a good deal of them, and they range from smaller than Ducky to larger, and if they were more curious, that might be a problem.

Peter's little friend is manageable.

They seem to be absently watching her and Peter, perking up specifically when they speak, but otherwise lazing about the clearing. ]

It seems they're attracted to sound.

[ A pause. ]

No wonder he likes you so much.

Are they?

[ And he glances back at the flock, sees the flutter of some of their crests just as they’re settling. ]

I have been told my voice is distinctly musical.

[ — and he spots it, then, the way some of them seem to twitch to attention – but that could just be because he spoke at all, in the same way his attention might be drawn to the snap of a twig. He hums quietly – spots another twitch from some of the closer animals – before shrugging a little and turning back to Gamora. ]

Well, I can’t say I blame ‘em.

More like "loud."

[ Not really, though.

Or, at least, not always.

He just happens to talk so much more than Gamora does as a general rule, and that would garner more attention. ]

[ He casts her a distinctly unimpressed look in retur, though he doesn’t comment further. They’d just end up teasing each other into circles.

Peter sprawls back onto the ground, pillowing his head with his folded hands. The stars are starting to show, now that the sun has fully set, and the sight of an alien sky should probably be unsettling – except Peter is already used to looking up and not recognizing the arrangement of stars. ]

You never said why you wanted to come out here.

[ Absently, conversationally. If Gamora gets to ask him, he figures it’s only fair that he gets to ask her. ]

[ Unlike Peter, Gamora stays sitting up, gently prodding at the fire with a stick, nudging around the embers to help them catch on additional wood.

She glances over at him when he speaks, giving a shrug. ]

I haven't explored very far until today. If this is to be our home, I want to know it.

[ It's not like they really have anywhere else to call home now, whether they like it or not. ]

[ He hums quietly – acknowledgment more than agreement – then, slowly, solemnly, ]

I still think the Natha or whatever are full of shit.

[ But maybe that's just because Peter's a little gun-shy around assholes who call themselves gods. ]

[ She's quiet, considering him from across the flames. ]

Why do you say that?

[ Not that she disagrees, necessarily, but she'd also rather hear him out. ]

[ He's silent for a long moment, scowling up at the sky. Then, his voice affects a lofty quality: ]

"We're nameless gods who have observed the universe for billions of years or whatever. We've saved your life, so you seriously owe us one – but don't worry, we're not like normal gods. We're cool gods. We're totally chill."

[ He snorts derisively. ]

The whole thing's fishy as hell.

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