riverviewlogs | ( closed ) but never break.

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. ]

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[ Gamora gives him a flat look, because that seems a little over the top (but when isn't Peter over the top?), but after a moment of pause, she reaches for Godslayer.

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.

[ He clicks his tongue, almost disappointed. ]

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.

[ She shakes her head as she returns her dagger to Godslayer, letting her hand (and the thread) fall to her side. ]

Everything in this festival is cheap – though they offer more specials for couples.

[ Like that chocolate from the woman before. ]

[ He looks at her thoughtfully for a second. Then, that small smile creeps its way back onto his face, curling at his lips. ]

... Maybe we ought to take advantage of some of that stuff, huh?

[ Gamora lifts an eyebrow pointedly at him. ]

What, exactly, are you suggesting?

[ She's not dense, of course, but she wants to hear Peter say it. ]

I mean— there are a couple of events going on, right? Might be fun if, you know, we... went to one. Like. Together.

[ "As a couple?" she almost asks – but she refrains.

Instead, she seems to think it over for a while, cocking her head as she thinks about it. ]

Which one do you want to go to?

[ The first words that crowd into his mouth are, "Anything, if you're there."

But wow, Quill, he thinks. Pump the brakes a little, huh? He needs to play it cool, needs to time his shots, and he doubts dumping his hand on the table right now is going to do much more than scare her off. While this weird thread hanging between them has shifted the lens a little and put things into a slightly better focus, they're not quite there yet. Another step closer, but they're by no means at the finish line.

Pushing too hard, too fast, will only send them stumbling apart.

He clears his throat, tries to think of what a normal, sane date would be – which, of course, means he casts back to his repeated viewings of TV sitcoms and movies, trying to think on what sorts of things the romantic leads would do to get to know one another better. ]

Dinner, maybe? Or dinner and a movie. Or— or whatever you feel like doing. I'm easy like Sunday morning.

Those movies in the park sell tickets for dinner along with the show.

[ And the fact she knows that means she bothered to pay extra attention to the advertisements for the events. She's read pretty clearly what they're offering for the movies and a great deal of the other goings-on. Most of it had seemed silly, but... there had been some that seemed like things Peter might enjoy too.

Not that she would openly say that's why she knows. ]

We could do that, and go through the gardens on our way back to the apartment.

[ To end the night.

The gardens feel like... a place for them now, as foolish as that may seem.

... It's sentimental, she realizes, and that's strange on its own, too. It inspires something warm that bubbles in her chest, and she's spent so long shunning any shred of sentimentality that the kind she's found with the Guardians, with Peter, is unfamiliar but... not unwelcome. ]

[ And his smile widens a little, and maybe the way he nods is a little too enthusiastic, but there it is. ]

Yeah. Absolutely. We could do that. If you want, obviously.

Would I have suggested it if I didn't want to?

[ She doesn't say it harshly; if anything, there's a small quirk of amusement at her lips because of how genuinely enthused he seems to be. ]

Well, I dunno, maybe you were just talking about it in the abstract. Like how some folks talk about needing a vacation and then never going through with it.

[ He rubs at the back of his neck with his untied hand, shifting his weight from one leg to the other – not nervously, of course, because Peter Quill is never nervous. Ever. Obviously. ]

So, uh. You want to?

[ She could let him dangle a bit more if she wanted to, but that might be cruel. ]

I do. Tonight?

[ Since they both have the evening off, and she'd otherwise planned to head home, so she'd hardly mind fitting in that movie. ]

Yeah. [ And that smile threatens to grow into a full-on grin, but he wrangles it as best as he can. ] Yeah. Tonight's good for me.

Then we should catch the tram, if we're going to make it to the movie.

[ Because she's apparently quite serious about this. She wants to go – dinner, movie, gardens, and all.

The string feels something like an afterthought now, but it's still light and there, and when she reaches up to brush her hair away from her face, the string trails with her. ]

[ He flashes her a thousand-watt grin for a second, though it softens as he catches sight of that weird thread, thin and barely there. Those earlier thoughts bombard him again, remind him that this was a holiday about love, that whatever magical thing Gamora used pointed her to him, and—

That's good. That's really good. He never really had any doubts about where they stood, as far as how they felt about one another, but he still has a million questions about what it means, where this is going, and what they are to one another. Are they a thing, like a couple? Or are they just— going where this feeling takes them?

(This huge, terrifying feeling that swells in his chest, leaves him warm and aching.)

Now, though, he thinks maybe those questions can wait, because at least this is something. It's a tiny thing, but it feels huge, and— you know what? He'll take it. Gladly.

He holds his hand out to her, the thread swaying with the movement. ]

C'mon, then. We should be able to catch the next one if we hurry.

[ That grin has no business stirring up that warmth in her chest all over again, and not for the first time, she thinks how much she likes it (because it's genuine, bright and open, and that's the Peter Quill she enjoys the most). Those feelings tangle and flutter, even if she can't give a name to them, and this time, she doesn't try to stamp them out as quickly as possible.

She lets them be.

But his hand is offered to her, and she looks down, momentarily taken aback. She realizes she could brush the offer aside with ease, simply walk right past him and disregard it, but there's his hand and that thread linking them together, and... she doesn't want to pass up the opportunity.

Somewhat tentatively, she reaches out in turn, lacing her fingers with Peter's and letting the threads shorten to the connection of the small knots on their pinkies. ]

We'll only miss it if you are too slow.

[ And with her hand nestled in his, she uses the connection to drag him off and away towards the station. ]

[ He lets himself be dragged for a few steps, feigning reluctance out of principle – not because he doesn't want to go (because the ship for that particular act surely sailed, like, five million years ago), but for the implications that he would be the one to slow them down.

But he speeds up soon enough, falling into step beside her, and it's kind of funny, the way it suddenly turns into a race, and Peter can't help but grin the entire way there. Gamora wins (of course she does), but with their hands clasped together, Peter's not too far behind. Gamora steps onto the tram first, with Peter a bare step behind, and the doors slide shut behind him.

Just in time, apparently.

Peter scrolls through the notes he had made on his phone, finding the event he had seemed most interesting, and he directs them to the proper stop for the park.

(And it's funny, the way he never drops her hand the whole trek there. It just feels so— natural, that after a few minutes of it, he barely stopped noticing.) ]

[ On the opposite end, Gamora is vividly aware of Peter's hand in hers. Not because it feels uncomfortable, but because sustained touch is something she pays close attention to on instinct. Just focusing on the points of contact, on how... easily it seems to come, how she doesn't feel inclined to pull away from him. Things had still felt off after his bout with the pollen, and she's not sure where they stand, but this still feels effortless.

Because she wants to share this with him.

What an odd thought.

Gamora's fingers tighten gently around Peter's before the tram pulls up at their stop, and then she's dragging him back out again – though this time, there's less of an inclination to physically tug him along in her wake; she falls into step beside him instead. ]

And what are they showing tonight?

No idea.

[ And he says it lightly, breezily, as he scrolls through some informational page on his comm. ]

Like, I'm not just saying that to be a prick. [ Because Lord knows flippant answers like that are totally in his wheelhouse.

He turns the device's screen toward Gamora, and the week's movies are titles that Peter, in all of his infinite pop culture wisdom, doesn't recognize. The advertisement assures that they're all romantic movies of the highest caliber, of course. ]

I literally don't know any of these.

[ But he takes the device back, and reads off tonight's offering. ]

"Adelaide is a charming, imaginative, romantic comedy about a quirky girl intent on helping the people around her to find happiness and love. Esteemed director blah, blah, blah..."

[ Her eyes flicker quickly across the list of movies on the screen, lifting a brow.

That admittedly catches Gamora off guard, if only because she expected something to be familiar to Peter and whatever strange collection of Terran media he's managed to stash away all these years. ]

Are they not Terran movies?

[ There seem to be a lot of Terrans in the Quarantine, though; she wouldn't be surprised if most of the movies and otherwise appealed to them specifically. ]

Doesn’t look like it.

[ He says it with a slight frown as he’s giving the listing another cursory glance. ]

Or at least, I’ve never seen them. Roman Holiday. [ Too old. ] Pretty Woman. [ which came out after his departure from Earth. He frowns at the other titles – some of them in languages he doesn’t recognize – before he lets out a small, surprised sound. ]

Huh. They’ve got Dirty Dancing.

"Dirty Dancing?"

[ She repeats it skeptically, because she's not sure what to make of the name.

But also: ]

Is that about Kevin Bacon?

[ Is that a movie about the legend of Footloose? Is that what it is? ]

[ Considering what he’s told Gamora about Footloose, it’s a fair question, so he keeps any amusement to himself. ]

No, actually. This one’s a different story. It’s, uh, about this couple who, like, try to shake things up? Breaking social boundaries and tradition and stuff with dance.

[ A pause as he considers this. Then, thoughtfully, ]

... Actually, I guess it’s a little similar to Footloose, actually. But, no, they’re different.

Does Terra usually have so many things to say about dancing?

[ Apparently this is where Peter gets it from, so maybe she can't blame him entirely.

But still. ]

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