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WHO: (

nostalgiabomb)
WHAT: Reunions
WHERE: District 1, apartment building

WHEN: Shortly after their arrivals
WARNINGS: Bickering, probably

[ How many times would she arrive in a place that looked like it belonged better on Earth this week? Apparently, twice. Which wasn't a whole lot, but it's annoying that it's happened twice. ]

[ It's unsettling not because it looks like Terra, but for the whys and hows. It's not like sleep is entirely unnecessary for her, but she hardly needs to do as much as someone else might and even if she did she hadn't been asleep. Her first instinct was to control her hand and turn it into a concussive gun, just in case, as she had made her way out of that stupid vehicle (train). With every fiber of her being determined to take it out on the first person she saw... except, there was no first person. ]

[ By the time she had found anyone else, she'd already turned her hand to normal. That conversation has been useless - someone else who'd been dragged here and just as unhelpful as she was. She'd left in a hurry, with more important things to do. Important being find a way back to Knowhere and find who - take names, kick ass you know - but hours had turned into a near day and the only information she had was that the dead could come back to life. Not Infinity Stone Science bullshit nonsense, but the actual dead. It's a spin and a half and for a moment her mind had wandered not about the woman she had met here but the her she'd met, if this place could bring her here too. ]

[ Too much of a headache and a what if to linger on, she'd kept her word and investigated the buildings they could. Had run headfirst - literally - into the edge of the district just to be turned around. She did it several times before accepting it for what it was and that acceptance is used loosely, she's not familiar with technology or magic that can do either. If this city was off to begin with, there's something hauntingly worse about defining it for what it is: ]

[ They're trapped in a prison. ]

[ Sure, a creepy prison that houses you with everything you need... Or it thinks you need, because what she needs is to be back on Knowhere. There's a city to maintain and rebuild and children to take care of. She has no time for off-shore vacations to other planets and she doesn't want one. But with the world circling in on itself, no ship in sight, and darkness pitching itself over the city even she knows when to go back to the drawing board for the day. ]

[ The drawing board, in this case, being the fact that she was still covered in soot and grime from their earlier battles and she'd long since found it disgusting. She didn't exactly have to break in anywhere, but it didn't stop her from finding first some clothes... And if she paused as she picked them up and couldn't find a way to pay for them before taking them and leaving, she didn't. Then found a restaurant that had street-food on display it... Shouldn't be possible and if it was poisoned, she'd find out, since at the moment she has the clothes under one arm and the food skewer in the other as she chews into it; At least the food tastes Terran, too, and she's got off-and-on experience with the New York area that she knows she doesn't hate it but — ]

[ Current mission: Look in these apartment buildings for a room that opens to clean up. Try not to make a mess, awkwardly apologize if it is someone's apartment (at this point, she doubts it is)... And well, maybe, rest for a couple hours. She thinks in terms of do, do, do or otherwise she'll just get frustrate at the situation all over again. ]

[ She finds herself then in the second floor of an apartment building, mid-ranged style and is on the verge of opening a door when down the other end, near the opposite exist, she spots something that can only be called familiar. Someone, who'd served often as a nuisance and attachment to her sister in their past that had evolved into someone more complicated - family. Her head turns sharply in the direction, but there is no double take because her mind doesn't let her forget anything. ]

Peter.

[ She half calls with a waver of surprise and then stops - almost accusingly adding: ]

How long have you been here?

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[ He shoots Nebula another look – narrow-eyed with annoyance. but a little fond. As if to say, "Aww, Nebula. I knew you cared."

He rocks back and watches her little demonstration; the expectant beat of silence, of her arm remaining fully intact, makes him frown. Then, when her arm does shift to something largely harmless, then back to normal. ]

Well... Shit.

[ The wisdom of this man! The insight! ]

Okay. So they've got a no weapons policy. That makes sense, if they don't want anyone fighting back. But, I mean, you don't really need a gun to kick anyone's ass.

[ The question hangs in the air, even if he doesn't say it aloud: If they don't want anyone fighting back, why bring a galaxy-renowned assassin aboard? Much less two? ]

[ Wryly: ]

Astute.

[ But he got the point. Whatever their weapons police was went as far as what was apart of them. It's unnerving, losing control of a part of her body that she'd adapted to. ]

Fight back or fighting each other? The only ones present appear to be their captives.

Either. Both.

[ He's thoughtful as he taps his utensil again his plate, the noise pleasant, quiet, and hollow. ]

Maybe they just don't want us to blow up the place.

[ Which is likely, but also kind of silly. Peter could think of multiple ways to combine a handful of what's available on the grocery store shelves into something explosive. If they really didn't want their captives to wreck the place, then they shouldn't make them readily available.

... although maybe the common person doesn't have as much knowledge about deadly, combustible cocktails, like Peter does. Thank you, Ravager upbringing. ]

[ Places that want you to fight each other would make it easier not harder to obtain weapons she thinks to herself. Killing each other is unlikely to be an objective. Making you defenseless to captors is another thing - but Peter's right. A gun or a sword was useful, but she was still capable of killing without either. There were still plenty of things in those shops that they freely gave that could be made into a weapon, given time and the right mind.]

Unlikely. Your track record alone for blowing things up is high.

[ Roughly, with that mite of new levity. Peter's penchant for reckless explosions is probably on their side. At least when it's intentional, and she bites mild amusement at the thought. ]

Well.

[ Nebula uses her utensil to spoon another bite carefully before looking up, brow arched. ]

Looks like we're not retired from the Guardians yet.

[ Maybe in a different tone of voice, what Nebula's commentary on his combustible tendencies should rightfully be a criticism. Instead, he hears the amusement behind her words, and Peter just flashes her a grin, even if it's tired around the edges.

Yeah, that smile says. We have fun.

That last bit, though, makes him take a breath – in through the nose, out through his lips. ]

And me without my uniform.

[ And his guns. And his ship. And all the resources that they had accrued over their years of tenure as premier galactic heroes.

But, hey. Peter's always been scrappy. And he's pretty sure he's done more with less. ]

I really was ready to be done.

[ The look she casts him from over the food is one that says don't let it get to your head. A brief thing, as she quickly looks away. Even now, expressing anything may not be a chore but it's something she's done sparingly. ]

[ She takes the bite as she listens. There was a time there was no uniform, no guns, no hope, and a ship beat to space. She'd been alone then, of the people she knew. Tony Stark had become someone to look after, but that was different. ]

We've done it all before. Several times.

[ During the Blip and after the Blip. Though at least working with the Avengers meant it hadn't been entirely without equipment - but Terran technology was far outdated from the rest of the galaxy. ]

The universe wasn't done with you.

It's nice to be wanted.

[ With just a touch of sarcasm. But, well, that's probably as close to some kind of comfort as Nebula is willing to offer, so he offers her a quick smile.

A spare second to take another breath, to straighten a little. Back to business, after that. ]

So we stock up on supplies like a doomsday prepper. That'll be fun.

[ He had a distant uncle who did that – had shelves and shelves of canned and dried foods and drums of purified water. The man had been convinced that the cold war would quickly turn hot, that eventually the world would be festering with nuclear fallout, and that everyone should have some kind of plan in place for what to do at the end of the world.

That uncle was not invited to very many family gatherings. ]

[ Now it's her turn to snort. The idea of being wanted by anyone - anything - is still a foreign one. She's down too much damage to be and as much as the Guardians are about trying to be better than they were, she'll not forgive herself of it anytime soon (not the who, not the why). She can see Peter, maybe, but not her... But then, she's still a work in progress. ]

[ Her brows furrow at the suggestion. Nebula knows enough to get the idea, but the context of how he sees it. Someone like the Collector. ]

I was thinking we work on making our own weapons. Make contact with those who have been set here longer. Setup scouts on the edge of the boundaries.

Sounds easy.

[ In the sort of way that it, you know. Doesn't.

But there's logic in what Nebula is suggesting, and he nods. ]

There's that network. Maybe we cast a wide net that way, see who wants to get involved, try to playa friendly with the locals. We don't have the kind of sway here that we did on Knowhere.

[ At least on Knowhere they had the benefit of allies, of people who knew that the Guardians had their best interests at heart. They'll have to build that rapport back up again, if they want to have anything close to that level of rapport again.

Internally, he sighs at the idea. The insurmountable effort of winning friends and influencing people. Ugh. ]

[ It sounds as easy as anything else they've done in the past which is: it doesn't sound easy at all. If her arm can't turn into a weapon, what happens when they try to make one? Surely, whoever is here, has such a fine control of the place there must be something there. ]

[ There might be undoubtable logic in her words but she pauses midmovement, utensil half to plate as what Peter says snaps into place in her mind. She realizes one fatal flaw in that plan, in any plan of its kind. A longer moment than she'd like and then she grunts: ]

I don't play friendly.

[ Despite how she says it so frankly, somehow it sounds simultaneously more like ' I don't know how' and 'nor would I if I did'. Because, for better or worse, Nebula is a straight-forward and honest person. ]

Edited 2023-07-17 18:52 (UTC)

Right. Of course.

[ In that mild, level way that says, "Well, suck it up, 'cause this is happening." ]

You do realize that you're gonna have to learn how if you're gonna run Knowhere.

[ —though even as he hits the last word, he falters a little. His expression pinches, suddenly awkward, looking very much like he accidentally spilled some secret.

Did they cover that, yet? Nebula had been pretty vague about the last thing she remembered, so there's a possibility that she doesn't know she made that choice yet. And was that something Nebula had already been stewing over, or had that been a spur of the moment announcement, after Peter and Mantis had announced their decision to leave?

Whoops. ]

[ For a moment she glowers at him. She knows what that tone means and she doesn't like it. A less evolved her would throw the utensil at him as a weapon - She still considers it and dismisses it. ]

I already have experience in leading Knowhere, in case you've forgotten.

[ Said with a thin grim line and a slight shake of her head. It's not meant to sound as harsh as it does, but it's still a low blow even for her. At least it's confirmation she knew exactly what he meant. She grunts, pausing a moment before eating: ]

It's kids I don't.

[ Clearly, that's why she recruited Drax. ]

[ He flinches at that – like a jab to the gut coming in from low and to the side. A muscle in his jaw jumps as he clenches his teeth, gaze quickly darting down to his food. She's right to toss out that barb, obviously. And because he's still grappling with the guilt of what a fucking mess he had been – still is, if he's entirely honest (which he isn't) – he makes no effort to defend himself.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself. When he speaks again, it's slightly more subdued than before, ]

Now's a good time to learn.

[ If there's anyone who's earned the right for that particular jab — it's Nebula, who'd been forced into the leadership role by the others around them. She never particularly wanted it, capable surely but she didn't have the right tools. Rocket said he was the one with emotionalistical issues, it was all of them. Maybe it was this fact that helped in that weird dual leadership, since she could understand the loss of her sister more than others. ]

[ She pushes her plate away, now empty, and gets up from the chair with a scratch. ]

Guess it is.

[ A touch of wariness, but more confidence than not. If there's one thing she didn't doubt, it's her willingness to do what was right by those children and the people of Knowhere. She's not good with children just yet, but that doesn't mean she won't try - or learn from Drax. ]

[ She moves to the sink to clean her own plate. As she turns on the faucet, she asks: ]

What do you want to do about Gamora?

[ From here, from this position, she doesn't need to look at him and he doesn't need to look at her. If there's any uncomfortable emotion there, they don't need to pretend the other doesn't see it. It's a quiet offering of understanding, as is the question. Naturally, bringing Gamora in to work with them - if she wanted it - comes to mind, but the question was: do they want it? Does he want it? With all the complications it holds, more deeply stinging to him (or so she thinks), she'd follow his lead in the matter. ]

[ Oh, good. Nebula's asking all the hard-hitting questions today.

And now that she isn't across from him, he doesn't bother to hide the weird, conflicted look that crosses his face – the grief and confusion and anger and, weirdly, embarrassment. It's funny how that all comes slamming back into him, like he never left that familiar, beer-soaked table on Knowhere, and was still self-medicating with bottle after bottle. Like that month of trying to heal had never happened, had never even been a thought that crossed his mind.

He's still messing with the last bits of food on his plate, and he has a vague memory his mother chastising him gently – that's for eatin', baby, not for playin'. It's why he spurs himself to take a couple more bites.

Around the mouthful of food (because table manners had never been a concern for anyone raised in the Ravager lifestyle), ]

We should let her know what we're up to.

[ And he manages to sound detached, even-keeled. The strategist in him, the Captain part of him, recognizes an asset when he sees one. Gamora is strong, effective. A valuable warrior, through and through. Whatever weird shit lies between them, at the moment, should be set aside in favor of the larger picture. ]

Let her decide whether or not she wants in.

Edited (bein nitpicky) 2023-07-17 19:45 (UTC)

[ She at least has the grace to not look at him when she asks. Probably, because it makes her just as uncomfortable to ask that kind of thing as it does him to answer it. Still, it was a question that needed to be ask. There was no point in avoiding her sister if she was around and if she could be of help she wouldn't want to. ]

[ Nebula cleans the dish but listens to the small motions - the shuffling of food then followed by its chewing. He's mulling it over and while she grimaces at his way of speak-eating (because at least she doesn't totally lack manners) she jerks her head in a nod. ]

Fair enough.

[ It's not righting her out, but it's letting Gamora's own comfort decide what she can handle. Given how things have gone, she's not sure the answer is going to be anymore a yes than the one they were just with. She exhales through her nose as she puts dish away and turns back around. A hand leaning against the sink as she concludes: ]

You're going to freak out.

[ More, about all of it she means. That's what he's going to do about Gamora. ]

Freak out how?

[ The last time they had this exchange, he had been on the verge of puking or tearing down the walls with panic.

Now, he mostly just sounds angry. And tired.

He slams his utensil down, the ceramic plate rattling a little with the force of it. ]

I just got kidnapped to fuck knows where, by fuck knows who, for fuck knows why. I'm a month out of practice – not that that matters, since I don't have my guns or even a Med-Pack as insurance, so who the hell knows what's gonna happen if it comes down to a fight? Instead of anything useful, I've got a backpack with stickers and trading cards and boxes of goddamn cereal.

And, oh, yeah, just in case I wasn't having a bad enough time, it turns out my dead girlfriend is alive and can't even stand to look at me.

I think I've earned the right to freak out.

[ —which is what he's doing. Right now, it looks like. ]

Edited 2023-07-18 02:13 (UTC)

[ Yeah. Yeah, she (should have) expected this. ]

[ Nebula did. There's no world in which Peter Quill handled it well that she knew of. That's half the reason she never told him she had contact with her sister to begin with. She chose to today because it'd be worse if he ran into her — clearly that's already happened. ]

[ And clearly he did need a freak out at someone. Gamora's no child, she can fight her own battles and stand up for herself just fine. Nebula doesn't need to help with that and nor does she want to. But Peter's family too, and if it means listening to his freak outs she'll begrudgingly do so. Especially when it means Gamora's spared when her own emotions must have the worst of it. ]

[ So she lets him talk. Listens and then breathes out with that same steady way: ]

Yeah. Your girlfriend. My sister.

[ The tone cuts to say yeah, I get it. ]

So make it count.

[ You know, part of him was gearing up for a fight. He was ready for it. He was hoping for it. Just to have an outlet for the weird, agitated thing coiling low in his gut, ugly and bitter and corrosive. Life with the Guardians means that whenever Peter felt like picking fights, he was spoiled for choice. None of them liked being the target for misdirected anger, so they were often happy to respond in kind.

But then she responds so fucking levelly, and he regrets the way the fight goes out of his on his next exhale.

He sags, then, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the surface in front of him. He scrubs his face. ]

Yeah. Sure. Easy.

[ He forces the words out, casting them with more humor, even if his heart isn't entirely in it.

A deep breath in. A slow breath out. His voice is still muffled by his palms when he speaks again. ]

I shouldn't have yelled at you.

[ Which as close to an "I'm sorry" as he's likely to get, right now. ]

Don't be a fool. No one said it was easy.

[ It's not. In more than a few ways, she has more experience with that than he does. Living through the Blip wasn't easy. You never expected to see them again, her doubly so, and there was outcries across the galaxies. She'd known loss, she'd seen more during her and Rocket's time answering distress signals. It never gets easier, but someone has to do the job. ]

[ She snorts. ]

You couldn't hurt me if you tried.

[ From yelling or anything in between, it's a promise, as she snatches up his plate to take away herself. Pausing minutely before adding in total seriousness: ]

If you get her hurt I'm not above slicing your tendons. Then worse.

[ Not that she thinks he would intentionally do so these days, but intent wasn't always in the picture. Despite the serious intensity of it, there's a trace of what would be called Nebula's more sadistic brand of humor. ]

[ He casts her an unimpressed look as she snatches the plate, as she offers something that's probably supposed to be some kinda reassurance. ]

Doesn't matter if you were hurt or not. I still shouldn't have yelled at you like it was your fault. So I'm apologizing. 'Cause that's what friends are supposed to do.

[ His second grade education was good for something apparently. And the finality of his tone seems to say, So deal with it.

The threat, at least feels like more steady ground, and he offers a halfhearted snort in response. ]

You're not gonna tell me to stay away?

[ Nebula doesn't respond to that... or, well, that's not true. She does grunt, but doesn't grace Peter with a more verbal response. Decides to pretend it doesn't matter further, because that means acknowledging any kind of warm feelings at being called a friend. And even if she knows that's what they are - they're more than that really - even if it's a fact she'll say readily when it counts... It's not the same hearing it about her. ]

[ She ignores it, dumps the plate a little rougher in the sink than she should because of it (it doesn't break or chip, it's fine!) Rolls her eyes as she turns the sink back on. ]

Only if she tells you to stay away.

[ Coolly, levelly. She knows that this Gamora has as much of a place in the Guardians as herself. The truth is, she probably feels she has more of a place in it. Gamora's the one who invited her in, offered her a place and a family. It was only after she lost her.. they - her and Rocket - lost all of them that things changed. She became a Guardian because it was the natural conclusion, especially after years with Rocket. Gamora - this Gamora - had helped make it what it was. ]

[ Even if she has to admit to herself that Gamora'd been right it probably did sound more like her. The her from now, not then. If this had been hours ago in the same situation, she'd likely feel displaced. ]

[ She washes the dish. ]

You're not the only one who lost someone, Star-Lord. I'm not cruel enough to keep people who care for each other apart.

[ Unless. You know, he hurts her in anyway. That will always hang in the air. Because he's family, too, and she wouldn't let Gamora hurt him either. ]

[ That's the fun thing about Nebula, Peter had decided a long time ago. Acts of microviolence like that are a surefire way to know that she's taken what someone's said to heart. Part and parcel of her whole "I'll make you wish for death, grrr" act that hides some deeply buried empathy and compassion and loneliness.

It would be cute, if it weren't inherently coupled with the very real danger of some mild property damage.

It's why his ears perk reflexively, listening for the clattering and shattering of ceramic, and when he doesn't, he relaxes. Not that it really matters. The dishware and the cookware were already here in the apartment; if it breaks, it breaks. Not like he bought them, anyway. Maybe if he's still feeling so wound up, he'll go shatter some cups and bowls later. That might be fun. ]

Aww, Nebs. That's awful romantic of you.

[ It's absolutely meant to be teasing, and it's absolutely cast out to get a rise out of her. ]

[ I'll make you wish for death, grr, is exactly how he makes her feel with that remark. Nebula stiffens, hands gripping the handle of the fork with the thought of it only takes a good stab in the eye — And then sighs with deep annoyance.

Drops it in the clean sink and picks up the towel lying nearby. With the same rough movement she would have used to stab a fork in a tender place, she moves to shove the towel into his chest as if to say 'clean the rest of your dishes,' and adds with a snort: ]

I'm not the idiot who fell for you.

[ ... said. like she... doesn't sometimes feel like she feels a lot of things for him that she doesn't want to (or would never truly to piece together) ]

[ Yeah, he kind of expected that.

She could've been far more violent with it, he knows, and it's not like it actually hurt or anything. That doesn't stop him from huffing out a quick oof like it did, nevertheless.

He at least catches the towel when she release it, and even if he rolls his eyes, he dutifully gets to his feet, taking up station at the sink. ]

She's your sister.

[ In that mildly reproachful way that says, Should you really be talking about her like that?

Obviously that's all they're talking about. ]