[closed] and i'll tell you all about it

[justlethal]

WHO: Gamora (justlethal) & Peter (nostalgiabomb)
WHAT: Meeting
WHERE: Near grocery store, District 1, north-west
WHEN: A few days after their arrivals
WARNINGS: Will update as required. Maybe some yelling.

[She does perhaps make a sight, for a number of reasons. The first is that her skin is green, even if she is humanoid in appearance. The bone structure of her face is slightly different mind, although it's not overly noticeable, but enough to draw a second look anyway. Her face is framed by strands of hair that are ombred, starting one colour and fading to another. Her expression is... less than impressed, although with Gamora, that tends to be a typical state of being. She's ignored the others around her, set off on her own, seeking answers.

Gamora does not like surprises. It doesn't matter whether it is a pleasant surprise or a not so pleasant one. She likes to be prepared, at least to some level of preparedness. Here? She's on edge. It is like someone prepared a city and then started dropping individuals in. For a brief moment, Gamora had thought it had had something to do with what had transpired just before her own arrival, but it makes no sense. Then again, little of this place does. She has been exploring, trying to find answers. They are severely lacking. She knows that she has just covered a small amount of the city, starting north and heading west, but so far, everything seems like it has been explained.

Trying to leave has proven to be true. You cannot. Not that Gamora is sure what she is trying to achieve by this. Go where? It's a day of walking, making marks and crossing parts off on the map that she has found. It's not until her stomach truly starts to grumble that Gamora calls it a day. Backtracking to one of the grocery stores that fall along her route, she tallies what she does know as she walks on silent feet. It's pitiful, although every little piece of information can help to build a bigger picture.

The sun is starting to drop by the time she approaches down the street of the store. She'll grab whatever and return to the hole she has found to rest, before another day of rinse and repeat. It's passing looks to anyone that she passes, although that leave me alone air remains. Her eyes pass over him once, not quite registering, before her head snaps back, even as she halts in place. She blinks, once, twice, as if expecting it to be some trick, before her voice breaks.]

... Peter?

Comments

[nostalgiabomb]

[ So here's the sad thing:

This is not, in fact, Peter's first time waking up somewhere really frickin' weird, without any knowledge of how he ended up there. It's not his first time getting dropped in the proverbial deep end with the expectation he'll learn to swim. And it's not even his first time being kidnapped, sadly enough.

(See, this is why he was taking a break. His life is so weird, and god, he needs therapy. Stat.)

But he's a survivor, at his core, and while a portion of his brain has dedicated itself to the strange calculus of figuring out this mystery and making his way home, he still acknowledges that, first and foremost, he has to not die. Which is made simple by the amenities on hand – the free food, the lodging, even the mild forms of entertainment. Even if there isn't really anywhere to grab movies or find music or anything of the sort.

(Which sucks.)

He's making do, though. It's only been a handful of days, so for now, he's just finding his way around, getting acquainted with the areas that they're free to access before he starts messing with the areas the areas they aren't. He doesn't want to go into the inaccessible areas until he has a weapon, at least. He could probably snatch a bowling ball and use that as a bludgeon, but then he'd have to carry around said bowling ball, and that sounds annoying.

For now, he's planning on stocking up, just grabbing essentials from the closest grocer – something he was starting to get used to doing for his grandfather, a month after Peter had returned to Missouri. It'd almost feel routine if it weren't for the eerie stillness and quiet of the streets. Peter's never been much of a cook, but he can get away with basics. Also instant noodles. Also sugary cereals and milk. (Part of a balanced breakfast!)

He's frowning to himself, mostly, gaze unfocused as he thinks. (And those thoughts, of course, mostly consist of, Grandpa is gonna be so pissed I got abducted. Again.) But his attention is caught when he hears his name.

It takes a split-second for his ears to catch up with his brain when he realizes he recognizes the voice.

His head jerks up, and he looks around, frantic. He thinks he's imagining things.

Then his gaze falls on her, and he stares. When he manages to find his voice, it's a fun cocktail of relief and uncertainty and confusion. ]

Gamora. Holy shit. Hey.

[ Strangely, his tone is closer to what someone might use after running into a familiar acquaintance at a work conference full of strangers. And he's careful to keep it at that – friendly, professional, without the tons and tons of baggage to give weight to his voice.

They're not too far apart – maybe half a block? – and he quickly moves to close the distance. He looks different than Gamora likely remembers. He's let his beard grow in more, and his hair is a little longer. His signature leather jacket is swapped for a softer maroon bomber. ]

Your hair's different.

[ In that, you know, it looks washed now. He keeps that observation to himself. ]