[ He hasn't heard that name in some time, but it is a name he has a passing familiarity with. ]
I knew a Gamora. She was here during the Iconoclast Oracle, and gone too soon despite her strength of will.
[ The rest, though... yeah, it reminds him a lot of him and his sister, as well. Isis and he had been inseparable once; best friends, trusted confidants. They were the most alike out of their quartet of siblings, hot-headed and passionate, sensitive and capable of the most destructive of feats without hesitation or mercy. Her husband had hurt him, and instead of looking upon him with sympathy ( or even pity, he was so desperate as to accept pity at that point — ), she blamed him. As if he was a common harlot.
So, he'd hunted her for millennia, and ripped apart every woman he came in contact with! Because every one of them reminded him of her in some way, and she needed to be punished for abandoning him. 8) 8( ]
Nebula, you... [ Another individual might apologize here, might tell her that she didn't deserve the pain she went through; the depersonalization and dissociation that she experiences echoes faintly within him, like an old numbness that he's now forgotten even exists. ( His body is a weapon, however he has to use it. Every inch of him designed for battles, to be used and wielded. Not for him, never for him. The only time it was ever his was when he held his wife, his son. And they were never truly his, he came to find out. )
"You are not made for this." Ah, and only if that were true.
The experience of a god ( for belief in him aside, he was one — ) was so different, especially Set's. Unborn, made in the image of rivalry and evil, wickedness and disorder, he struggled with a sensitive heart and a sweetness unbecoming of something so terrible, something made to give reason and shape to other things. The redheaded stepchild of the universe.
In Communion, he releases the sands. Blows them away to the ends of his mind so that they do not catch in her limbs and grind harshly at her, leaving instead the stillness of a dark, empty plane that ripples as if the surface of the water. ]
I will try to make a choice that helps us all. [ Not a good one, or the right one, just the one that does the most for Meridian and his allies. That helps them get home. ] I could use your advice, if you want to look over the weapon's design.
no subject
[ He hasn't heard that name in some time, but it is a name he has a passing familiarity with. ]
I knew a Gamora. She was here during the Iconoclast Oracle, and gone too soon despite her strength of will.
[ The rest, though... yeah, it reminds him a lot of him and his sister, as well. Isis and he had been inseparable once; best friends, trusted confidants. They were the most alike out of their quartet of siblings, hot-headed and passionate, sensitive and capable of the most destructive of feats without hesitation or mercy. Her husband had hurt him, and instead of looking upon him with sympathy ( or even pity, he was so desperate as to accept pity at that point — ), she blamed him. As if he was a common harlot.
So, he'd hunted her for millennia, and ripped apart every woman he came in contact with! Because every one of them reminded him of her in some way, and she needed to be punished for abandoning him. 8) 8( ]
Nebula, you... [ Another individual might apologize here, might tell her that she didn't deserve the pain she went through; the depersonalization and dissociation that she experiences echoes faintly within him, like an old numbness that he's now forgotten even exists. ( His body is a weapon, however he has to use it. Every inch of him designed for battles, to be used and wielded. Not for him, never for him. The only time it was ever his was when he held his wife, his son. And they were never truly his, he came to find out. )
"You are not made for this." Ah, and only if that were true.
The experience of a god ( for belief in him aside, he was one — ) was so different, especially Set's. Unborn, made in the image of rivalry and evil, wickedness and disorder, he struggled with a sensitive heart and a sweetness unbecoming of something so terrible, something made to give reason and shape to other things. The redheaded stepchild of the universe.
In Communion, he releases the sands. Blows them away to the ends of his mind so that they do not catch in her limbs and grind harshly at her, leaving instead the stillness of a dark, empty plane that ripples as if the surface of the water. ]
I will try to make a choice that helps us all. [ Not a good one, or the right one, just the one that does the most for Meridian and his allies. That helps them get home. ] I could use your advice, if you want to look over the weapon's design.