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godslay) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
riverviewlogs2017-09-14 10:15 pm
godslay) wrote in riverviewlogs2017-09-14 10:15 pm
Entry tags:
( closed ) but never break.
who: Gamora and Peter Quill
what: Soulmates Shenanigans
when: September 5th-8th (maybe)
where: ?????
warnings: People who are frustratingly bad at feelings.
[ Gamora has discovered two things since her encounters with that new flavor circulating around the city. One: Peter Quill takes up a lot of space in a very small bed. And two: she happens to like sharing that very small bed with the aforementioned Peter Quill.
Not that she's said that to him. Or mentioned the nights spent in his bed. Or done it again since – though that doesn't mean she hasn't been tempted to do so; there have been evenings when she's paused by her own bed, looking over to Peter's and considering crawling under the blankets before he comes in for the night or, on later evenings, nudging him over again to demand a spot on the bed.
But she doesn't – as much as it soothes her, as comfortable as it had been, and as well as she'd slept; she doesn't know how to mention it. Because the first night had felt like a fluke, and she's not entirely sure what had come over her. The second time she'd been affected physically in that odd, cold way, and— maybe she had encountered something, like that pollen that took Peter's memories. Or maybe it was that additive that had been in her coffee and the treats.
On the other hand... it had been so nice, hadn't it? She hadn't been opposed to sharing so much space with him, to being that close, and she'd been content. Beyond content, she'd been happy. And Peter had impressed her with how he'd handled it and the way he treated her, and she liked it.
But does that mean she's going to bring it up?
Probably not.
However, that doesn't mean she isn't thinking about it, which happens a lot in the following week. Actually, it's hard not to think about it, because the city itself seems to have been wholly overrun by a new festival dedicated to love.
What convenient timing (or possibly inconvenient, given it forces Gamora to keep running into all sorts of different romantic things throughout the entire week).
About halfway through the week, Gamora is still preoccupied with that... thing with Peter. Their months in the city and the time before they arrived, and that Unspoken Thing keeps looming over her, now with even more bits and pieces to consider. Finally, finally, she allows herself to be stopped by one of the vendors on the streets on her way home from work. He plies her with potions – which she immediately and adamantly refuses, because she has no interest in swallowing something she doesn't trust – and eventually, offers her a tiny jar with a red thread inside of it.
This, she looks at more seriously. Apparently, all she has to do is tie the thread around her finger, and an identical thread will appear between her and her "soulmate."
That sounds utterly foolish, because it's a silly idea on its own, but... what harm is there? She doesn't actually believe the claims that it will "help her find love," but considering how much she's struggled with her feelings recently, why the hell not?
She accepts the bottle from the vendor with the small string inside of it, and once she's headed down the street, she opens it up and pulls out the thread and note.
... Well, the note is useless, but the thread she ties around her pinkie finger.
Almost immediately, the thread begins to glow, and the light trails out and away from her hand, long and red and disappearing into the crowd. People walk through and over it with hardly any problems, so she has to imagine the vendor wasn't kidding that only she and one other person could see it, but she still tugs experimentally at it, watching it move and wiggle like normal string might.
Frowning, she unties the thread, and—
Ah. The light is still wrapped around her finger.
... She also realizes she forgot to ask how long this would last.
With some measure of reluctance, she starts to head through the crowd, following the thread to at least see where it leads. ]
what: Soulmates Shenanigans
when: September 5th-8th (maybe)
where: ?????
warnings: People who are frustratingly bad at feelings.
[ Gamora has discovered two things since her encounters with that new flavor circulating around the city. One: Peter Quill takes up a lot of space in a very small bed. And two: she happens to like sharing that very small bed with the aforementioned Peter Quill.
Not that she's said that to him. Or mentioned the nights spent in his bed. Or done it again since – though that doesn't mean she hasn't been tempted to do so; there have been evenings when she's paused by her own bed, looking over to Peter's and considering crawling under the blankets before he comes in for the night or, on later evenings, nudging him over again to demand a spot on the bed.
But she doesn't – as much as it soothes her, as comfortable as it had been, and as well as she'd slept; she doesn't know how to mention it. Because the first night had felt like a fluke, and she's not entirely sure what had come over her. The second time she'd been affected physically in that odd, cold way, and— maybe she had encountered something, like that pollen that took Peter's memories. Or maybe it was that additive that had been in her coffee and the treats.
On the other hand... it had been so nice, hadn't it? She hadn't been opposed to sharing so much space with him, to being that close, and she'd been content. Beyond content, she'd been happy. And Peter had impressed her with how he'd handled it and the way he treated her, and she liked it.
But does that mean she's going to bring it up?
Probably not.
However, that doesn't mean she isn't thinking about it, which happens a lot in the following week. Actually, it's hard not to think about it, because the city itself seems to have been wholly overrun by a new festival dedicated to love.
What convenient timing (or possibly inconvenient, given it forces Gamora to keep running into all sorts of different romantic things throughout the entire week).
About halfway through the week, Gamora is still preoccupied with that... thing with Peter. Their months in the city and the time before they arrived, and that Unspoken Thing keeps looming over her, now with even more bits and pieces to consider. Finally, finally, she allows herself to be stopped by one of the vendors on the streets on her way home from work. He plies her with potions – which she immediately and adamantly refuses, because she has no interest in swallowing something she doesn't trust – and eventually, offers her a tiny jar with a red thread inside of it.
This, she looks at more seriously. Apparently, all she has to do is tie the thread around her finger, and an identical thread will appear between her and her "soulmate."
That sounds utterly foolish, because it's a silly idea on its own, but... what harm is there? She doesn't actually believe the claims that it will "help her find love," but considering how much she's struggled with her feelings recently, why the hell not?
She accepts the bottle from the vendor with the small string inside of it, and once she's headed down the street, she opens it up and pulls out the thread and note.
... Well, the note is useless, but the thread she ties around her pinkie finger.
Almost immediately, the thread begins to glow, and the light trails out and away from her hand, long and red and disappearing into the crowd. People walk through and over it with hardly any problems, so she has to imagine the vendor wasn't kidding that only she and one other person could see it, but she still tugs experimentally at it, watching it move and wiggle like normal string might.
Frowning, she unties the thread, and—
Ah. The light is still wrapped around her finger.
... She also realizes she forgot to ask how long this would last.
With some measure of reluctance, she starts to head through the crowd, following the thread to at least see where it leads. ]
no subject
Which logically follows, really. Gamora spoke on things when it was important, when she had little choice but to talk things out with him. And that's sort of her thing. Which is fine. Peter kind of likes that about her, if he's honest, that she doesn't say five words when one will do, that she says what she means, that she cuts straight to the point – unlike certain other babbling assholes who will remain unnamed.
But on the other hand? It's definitely confusing. It's annoying. Because that means that in this case, he has to be the one to bring it up, and Peter has a bad habit of waiting just a hair too long, of mistiming his shots – at least when it comes to heavy, sticky things like emotions and feelings.
He thinks he almost got it right that day on the balcony, but he deflected a little too much to the left, treated it a little too glibly. But the timing was almost right, with the sun setting behind them and casting everything in a golden glow.
He remembers thinking about how gorgeous Gamora had looked in that light.
(Too fucking bad it blew up in his face not two minutes later – and again, hours later.)
And ever since then, he's been a little gun-shy. Too hesitant to pull the trigger. And with everything going on, he feels like he can't be blamed for this one. Hell, for all that he insists he's fine, he's still not quite over all the shit that happened on Ego's planet. Months removed, and those wounds still feel as fresh as the day it was inflicted. It's over, though, and it's behind them, and he just needs to move the hell on.
Figuring this thing out with Gamora seems like the logical first step.
It's cute, the little love festival. Dragosta. It reminds him of how stores ramped up to Valentine's Day back at home, where stores suddenly became bursts of pinks and reds and frilly white lace. Bouquets of red roses and giant boxes of chocolate. He was never really one for Valentine's Day, being a kid and all, but he'd come home from school with his few greeting cards and boxes of chalky conversation hearts. (He never got very many; he wasn't exactly Mr. Popular, back in those days.) But he'd come home from school, and Mom would have made a giant red heart for him out of construction paper. She'd scoop him up in a giant hug while he flailed uselessly and wailed about how embarrassing she was.
("You're the only Valentine I need, baby.")
The potions are new, though, and for a few desperate seconds early in the week, Peter's almost fooled into trying one on for size. The thing with Gamora has him rattled enough that he actually considers throwing back one of these dumb potions on the off-chance that it might make things a little easier to manage. A vendor stops him, touts his multicolored potions and lists off all of their benefits.
"It'll help you find the person your heart most desires," the man says, putting a small vial in Peter's hands.
And Peter can't help but bark out a laugh, passing the bottle back. He claps the man on the shoulder and says, "Buddy, that ain't my problem."
So he doesn't buy a potion, but he keeps an eye out, making mental notes of events that might seem fun, taking pictures of flyers and announcements with his comm device if something seems particularly noteworthy.
Halfway through the week, his shift ends a couple hours earlier than Gamora's, and he uses the time to stop off at a bar and get a drink or two before heading home. It goes about as well as it normally would. (He turns down a few advances with a smile, a shrug, and a chipper, "I'm taken," even if he's not really.)
It's just as he's paying-off his tab that he notices it – a thin red line wrapped around his little finger, trailing off through the door. He flinches at it almost bodily, and the bartender casts him a startled if amused look as Peter tries unsuccessfully to yank off the string.
"You alright, sir? Was a bug crawling on you?"
Peter frowns, opening his mouth to respond – except he follows the thread with his eyes again, notices the way no one else seems to pay it any mind. In fact, they're walking through it, over it, around it, like it's not even there. Peter swallows, stretching out his fingers and folding them into a fist – and while the string moves with him, it remains as invisible as ever.
"Had a few too many," Peter finally croaks out. Once the bartender thanks him for his patronage, Peter darts out the door, following the strange thread. ]
no subject
(A rooftop. She ends up on a rooftop.
Multiple, in fact, when the thread leads her to a dead-end in an alley. Admittedly, it's a lot more direct than weaving through people, but along the way, she may have knocked something loose mid-leap and broken someone's window.
Considering there's no immediate shouting, she assumes no one is home.
... Oh, well.)
When she follows the thread to the ground again, she lands next to one of the vendors and their themed treats. The vendor looks momentarily startled, but then she's all smiles and friendliness, trying to wave Gamora over.
"A special deal for you and your partner?" the woman offers with a light grin, holding up a bag of chocolates. "Bring them around, we have so many different sweets!"
For just a second, Gamora eyes the chocolates (a flicker of a thought reminding her how much Peter might like them), but then she manages a somewhat strained lift of her lips in return, waving the woman off with a short, "Not interested."
The vendor doesn't seem perturbed, and just waves right back. "Come around if you change your mind!"
Gamora's already walking down the street.
Far enough in, and when she tugs at the string on her hand, it seems to go taut. Her brows lift, and she walks with a little more purpose, expertly dodging around anyone she might accidentally bump into, and—
From a distant, she spots Peter.
And the string seems to be weaving all the way back to him.
Oh. ]
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It'd be weird as hell, after all, wandering around on top of some residential building. Someone would assume he was scoping the place out, to say nothing of the risk of falling and breaking his neck.
Instead, Peter does the sane thing and walks around.
After a while of following the trail, Peter is about to give it up and just. Go home. Because he's starting to feel ridiculous, going on some wild goose chase, following a path that only he can see. The string is still as intangible as ever to everyone save him, and he tries a few more times to tug it off with predictable results. He grunts out a frustrated sound, pulling a hand through his hair, and aims himself toward the nearest tram station.
But then he feels a tug – and he frowns, raising his head to look around. He spots Gamora moving toward him in the crowd, and he unconsciously breathes out a sigh of relief, weaving his way through to meet her halfway. At least Gamora won't think he's too crazy when he explains this invisible string around his finger. Like, she'll probably accuse him of eating or drinking something weird again, even though he hasn't, but at least she'll try to help figure out what the hell is happening.
When he's within earshot, he calls out, ]
Gamora. Okay. There's something seriously weird—
[ but his voice catches. Being within earshot also puts him close enough to see her, and he notices that red string, winding and tangling on the ground between them. He traces it with his eyes, follows it to its end, where it wraps neatly around Gamora's pinky.
And he finishes on a croak, ]
... going on.
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Given the way he trips up, she can only assume she's not the only one aware of it. She closes the distance between them, halting a few paces back, and: ]
... You see it too?
[ She has to make sure she's not imagining this for herself, but it's on his hand instead of someone else's, and—
Does that mean it worked?
Or is it just some silly part of this already absurd festival?
Maybe it's a magic trick that connected her to the person she's closest to in the city? ]
no subject
[ And he raises his hand, gives the thread a quick tug; sure enough it stays in place around his finger. He scowls at it for a second, which is probably too strong of a reaction, given that it's not really doing anything. But it's weird, and it's random as all hell, and why won't it come off? ]
Yeah.
What the hell is it?
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It's for this useless festival.
[ She gestures around at the vendors, the decorations – and the string lifts and waves around with her hand, still firmly in place. ]
no subject
... Okay, but what is it? 'Cause I haven't touched any of the festival stuff, and you haven't, either—
[ Considering her apparent opinion on the holiday. ]
—so where'd it come from?
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... One of the vendors gave me a jar with a string in it. I tied it around my finger, and this— [ She tugs at the string around her pinkie; it wiggles, but doesn't go anywhere. ] —showed up immediately.
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... She messed with the festival stuff. ]
... You messed with the festival stuff.
[ And the corner of his mouth tugs upward in a startled sort of smile. ]
You literally just called this festival useless.
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It's single-minded and frivolous.
[ So: useless.
... But, obviously, if she thought it was completely useless, she wouldn't have taken that jar. She wouldn't have tied that string around her finger. ]
I just—
[ She makes a short, frustrated noise. ]
I didn't think it would do anything.
[ Which isn't totally true, because she'd been willing to give it a shot on the off-chance it might. ]
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(He'd never admit it aloud, but Peter's something of a hopeless romantic.) ]
Well, it did something.
[ And he lifts his hand again, splaying out his fingers to examine the knot. ]
Was it supposed to do this, though?
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[ She didn't think it would be harmful, at least, or she wouldn't have dared touch the damned thing. ]
It does not... influence anything, but I don't know how long it's going to last.
[ It's definitely tying the two of them together, though, not linking her to another person who isn't Peter.
(That's oddly reassuring, even if she's not entirely sure what to do with the information.) ]
no subject
I mean, at least it's... not really doing anything, except being there.
[ He pinches the thread with the forefinger and thumb of his free hand, running his fingers along the length of thread. He can feel it, even if no one else seems to; everyone else he had passed had walked through it as if it hadn't been there, so at least they won't risk getting it tangled on anything. A good thing, he figures, considering the two of them spend a good part of their day out in the abandoned city. ]
Still weird, though.
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It doubt it will affect anything.
[ She touches it for herself, sliding her fingertip from the knot and along the string, that bit of uncertainty in the press of her lips. ]
I should have consulted you before messing with any of this.
[ ... But why should she have? ]
no subject
Why would you—?
[ ... Except Gamora already kinda said, right? "It's for this useless festival." Which is all about love and romance, and all the vendors are trying to sell these potions and shit to help folks find their true loves or whatever.
"I should have consulted you," she said, while some weird red string hangs between them.
Peter slowly lifts his head as that revelation dawns on him, and he feels himself starting to smile.
But he's just as quick to temper that giddy spike of excitement, because, well, she got this from some dude off the street, if he's understanding her right. So how effective could it really be? It could just be some weird fluke, right? Could be that the magical effect just latched onto the person she knew best, or the person she's known the longest, or the person she was thinking of at the time she tied the string around her finger.
—although that last one is also a pretty good sign, really. Because if Gamora picked up a magic vial that was meant to point her to her soulmate or whatever, and she was thinking of him? That's gotta be good, right?
He clears his throat. ]
It's, uh. Fine. [ Yep. Totally playing it cool, here. Just ignore the nervous sort of strain in his voice. ] I mean, you know. No harm done.
no subject
(And considering he abandoned that line of questioning, she's not going to answer it.)
Trying to parse for herself what the string means is already an insurmountable feat, but there's a part of her, small though it may be, that finds an odd comfort in knowing it led her right to him. And maybe all it did was lead her to someone she hoped it might, maybe it was directed by her own feelings, but—
That does mean there are feelings. Things to motivate it. Something for it to latch onto.
But she's acknowledged that to some degree already, hasn't she? Offered it in small part in every light step forward she's taken with him, but...
It's the discussion they haven't delved into.
This thread feels like another piece of it. ]
You were already finished with work, weren't you?
[ As in: she's hoping she didn't interrupt him while he was still on duty. ]
no subject
[ Man, the idea of him flipping out in the ruins is almost funny, but that could've also ended kind of badly, so he avoids thinking on it for too long.
He lets the thread fall from his fingers, though he keeps examining it, studying how it seems to pick up the slack of its own accord, like a spool of measuring tape winding itself back into place. ]
So we just— let this one run its course, huh?
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I assume it should disappear on its own. And if it isn't physically affecting anything... it's harmless.
[ The string isn't catching or tugging, after all, and it's not like it's yanking either of them around.
It's just... there. ]
If it stays longer than a day or two, I'll go back to that vendor.
[ And demand to know how to get rid of it. ]
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[ He's all too familiar with the tactic. Some of the Ravagers like selling shit they stole – regardless of whether or not said items actually worked. ]
It's... fine. I mean, it's not bothering us, right? It'd be different if we had to be attached at the hip, but—
[ He gives an experimental tug on the string, lifting his hand up and away, and while the string goes taut for a half-second, it soon stretches to accommodate the distance. ]
—seems okay.
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Maybe it lasts as long as the festival itself. ]
It should be fine.
[ She raises her own hand, watching the thread lengthen and stretch between them. ]
He said it can stretch or tangle, but... "never break."
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... I almost want you to use your sword and see how true that is.
[ mostly because Peter is the kind of guy who likes taking things to extremes. ]
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Instead of drawing the sword itself, she detaches the dagger, flipping it once in her hand to hold it properly, and then bringing it up to the thread.
Shockingly, the knife makes contact with the thread, and instead of slicing through it, the thread just bends around the blade. She tugs up, and the string slides along the edge like it's no sharper than her finger. ]
... I'm not sure what I expected.
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That went about as well as I thought it might.
[ He lets his hand fall to his side, stretching his fingers out one last time before letting them relax. The thread isn't much of an inconvenience, odd as it is, and it's not really hurting either of them. Maybe if it was making them act weird, he'd be more concerned, but he feels the same as ever.
Although he feels like something small has clicked into place – a single, tiny piece of a partially completed puzzle. It feels like progress, even if a voice in his head demands that he not get his hopes up. ]
Hope he didn't charge you much for this thing.
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Everything in this festival is cheap – though they offer more specials for couples.
[ Like that chocolate from the woman before. ]
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... Maybe we ought to take advantage of some of that stuff, huh?
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