COMMUNION
Communion with Nebula is as much an oxymoron as she sometimes is. It's the feeling of soft snow, gentle and embracing with its touch. A snow that feels too easy to fall into, like one's own nature. In the opposite extreme there's a fire that's searing to the touch - a constant thrum of anger. In this space, it encompasses all of it, though it's embers now. Embers that are quick to catch and burn and die again. For those who see into it enough it's in moments when she's angry - but most notable when she feels weak, when she struggles, when she worries.
This burning sensation fights ever with the cool nature of the snow. As if the anger isn't nature here and the fire is becoming more malleable in its embrace. Ever lingering, but faltering under the softness of that snow -
The snow is ever gentle and embracing, but lacks the cold (it is warm, it is self). But there is something that twists and coils in the sensation that is cold and empty. Something not alive is ever present, silent and moving, but is overwhelmed by the rest. It is not focus nor is it the all of here, but a moving part.
When Nebula speaks here it lacks the husky, mechanical sound her voice does in person. It's softer, but not warmer. It's just as conflicted and in this voice you know that this realm, in her mind, is the place she finds most comfort. Is the place she's far more willing to be herself than anywhere else: It's freedom. But the rage can burn up quickly, taking flight into sky-covered landscape. It feels like anger is the quickest thing to cling to and accept and even in this shared space any other (positive) emotions are in conflict of understanding.
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a memory—
Magic wasn’t something that existed in this Shard-Bearer’s world. The first time a little flame appears in their hand, they almost fall over from the fright of it, fearing that it might burn, but it quickly turns to delight. They can live out a dream here that never could have been.
[ ooc note — Just to avoid OOC confusion/misinterpretation, the details included in this memory are random and are not necessarily interconnected or plot meaningful beyond a surface level. However, your character is free to interpret this random memory however they’d like! This event will also be touched on somewhat during today’s NPC Communion Post. ]
post-oracle, communion
And the most important things on her list right now are to check in on all the nice people she met in the (honestly pretty awful) maze. ]
It's Nebula, right? This is so cool. [ Communion really is amazing. ] It's Regulus! You know, from the creepy maze? Did you make it out okay?
sorry this is so late! i ended up hiatusing
I'm fine.
[ The response is short, if far less gravelly, and the confusion much more difficult to hide here than in person. ] Is that all you wanted to ask?
[ She doesn't ask if Regulus is okay, because clearly she is if she's reaching out. The hint of relief, a ghost of a feeling, is something she can pick up on. ]
post-Harbinger Oracle
Nebula.
Have you eaten yet today?
[The voice was prefaced by the mental equivalent of a knock, permission, but the rest is just simple. Yes or no?]
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[ The voice in this space lacks the mechanical sound it does in life, but the dryness is there: ]
No.
[ It is an answer, but she pauses. Not quite hesitation so much as consideration: Just shutting the door at that is probably rude, so she adds: ]
Why?
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Because there is food being foisted upon me and I abhor waste.
[She… cannot even be annoyed at Nebula’s response. She would do the same. “Yes” or “No”. Maybe “why?”]
And… there is a food product being sold here that seems to be… an homage to you.
[Which might explain why she… thought to call Nebula particularly.]
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Is there not someone else nearby?
[ A child perhaps. In the tone of 'why me,' but the follow up does add to that answer even if she does the mental expression of a deep scowl. ]
That's ridiculous.
[ It's not like she doesn't have some vague knowledge that earthlings are cosplaying or talking about her and the other Guardians in her infrequent visits to Earth - ]
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[She isn't... familiar... with the concept of... "fans". Let alone fans of her or people like her. Yet-]
- I know it is ridiculous.
[But it seemed as if... she had a right... to know...]
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[ Or, perhaps, any of the natives who have been talking like they knew her. They don't and she's one step from proving that to them. ]
[ For a moment, there's no answer. Just quiet, not peaceful, and the anger doesn't roar up despite her tone: ]
Fine. You owe me.
[ Owe her what? Who knows! ]
Where is the damned place?
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... Also. Um. Who is the one getting free food here???
Deep breaths, Hayame. You took on this responsibility. You promised you would try to play nice.]
The southeast corner of the market. Here.
[She projects a vision of where the restaurant is, a small two-story family-run affair with a small garden out back for outdoor seating. Where Hayame is, because she does not fit inside well. ... No comment on who owes who.]
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[ Unhelpfully, playing nice isn't really a phrase Nebula was taught in life. She's trying not to be outwardly antagonistic, but when your version of being honest is also being critical and a bit abrasive... ]
[ At least Nebula appears to be listening - waiting - intently and gives a brusque: ] Understood.
[ Before shutting off the connection as firmly as someone might slam a door. ]
[ ... That's thankfully not an at Hayame thing, but at anyone ever in Communion. Not that Hayame knows that and nor would Nebula apologize for it ever. The woman is at least not one to waste time and it's not quite half an hour before she's made the approach to the garden area. Looking slightly more like an offended cat - or a wary one. It's probably both. ]
[ A pause. Grunting in greeting is on the table. So is saying nothing at all, but perhaps that's weirder. She settles on a touch irritated (almost like she's not sure what to do) sounding: ]
Hey.
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But it's not like Hayame expected the other woman to be soft and grateful about this. It's not like she would in her place. Their conversation is over, so it ends. They "slam the door" at almost the same time. It's not like Hayame wanted to gab about things while Nebula made her way over there anyway. They'd talk when she arrived, in person, like it was more proper.
Nebula might notice... that her appearance at the restaurant causes something of a commotion, though the proprietor seems a bit too shocked to act on it just yet, stunned still with hands over their mouth. Hayame isn't hard to find in the back garden seating, at least- she's the only one out there, her table piled high with plates full of food despite the fact that she has a large pile of dirty plates stacking up. She's eaten a lot so far already, a centaur could put away quite a large amount, but this was ridiculous.]
Greetings.
[She inclines her head and gestures to the empty chairs- there's options, beside or across from where she sits... kind of like a dog, on her haunches.]
You may help yourself.
[A small basket contains utensils. She's welcome to them. Perhaps it is best to let her get settled before showing her... That. And maybe if she just starts eating the restaurant staff won't come bustling over asking for drink orders or her food tastes. Maybe.]
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[ She ignores it because she's taught herself too. Even if some part of her keeps that tense feeling of an offended cat - ready to hiss and snarl if someone tries to approach her in any way. ]
[ She's a lot better at faking nice than she used to be, which is why nodding her head in agreement comes easier. Certainly it's why taking a seat comes easier even if she frowns at the food. Poison doesn't worry her. It's anyone inviting her to eat in the first place. ]
[ At least Hayame makes as much sense as anyone as she picks up a utensil and finds some lesser-offending piece of food to put on a plate. Grumbled low, but she has no doubts Hayame's hearing is at least as decent as her mechanical ones: ]
Don't they have better things to do?
[ She's tired of all the fanfare the locales have, like some Gamemaster affair. ]
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Apparently not.
[... Is her first grunt about this entire endeavor, but. A moment after, once she has taken a generous bite of a meat-based dish of some kind and chewed thoroughly, mulling over the hope-filled talk of a certain person... She grudgingly adds,]
... But. The Oracle fights are a way home for some of them, too, not just us.
[Some of the Kenosian citizens had been there so long they no longer felt connected to where they originally came from... but some of them still remembered. Some of them arrived recently enough to remember.]
They cannot fight in the Oracle trials, though, without shards or being part of this... "generation", so. I suppose the only thing they can do to feel useful is... "support" us.
[... That part, at least, she could understand. Not. The form the support took, but. The desire to do something. To be of use, rather than be a tool rusting in the armory. It's why she threw herself into the Oracle fights so fervidly in the first place, no matter that other shard-bearers spoke of mysteries and other possibilities and investigations. She was a warrior. Fighting for the Oracles is what she can do.
She still grimaces slightly, though, around another bite of food, finished with summarizing an explanation someone had given to her before when she had made the same complaint.]
... Doing it with less fanfare would be preferable, but.
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I know that.
[ She does. Cyrus says as much. Her voice is low and irritable, but not at that particular circumstance. Even if she thinks the whole thing is idiotic - it's this behavior, this wastefulness that eats at her more. ]
They can support quieter. Or find one of the idiots who like this sort of thing.
[ Set probably. ]
[ Before she chews down on another piece she adds: ]
Not us.
[ She doesn't think Hayame is much different from her in this regard - although age and species may differ it appeared they agreed on more than they didn't. It's refreshing in this place with people who felt too wishy-washy to handle most days. ]
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... And not to make irritated faces so much. (Is that what she sounded like to other people?) She manages just barely to simply look pressed. Which she is, by all of this, so. They really did agree on more than they did not.]
It seems we will not be so lucky.
[The food is good, and as someone who had to eat a lot of food to fuel her large body, Hayame isn't not appreciative of being offered free meals as a general concept... But all the looking, the praising, the feeling as if seeing them in the broadcast meant that they knew them... It wasn't everyone, but it was enough that it made things... uncomfortable.
And. Thinking of "uncomfortable"... Hayame pulls a hand-drawn insert from the menu that she'd set aside back out from the side of the table, setting it in front of Nebula. On it, the text labels a limited edition item as inspired by the Meridian shardbearers, a series of drinks... and one of them, blue in color with a slightly more purple streak and a specially designed cup, seems to be labeled with her name. Not that Hayame can read it, but the restaurant owner had told her.. in detail. The man barely holding himself back from coming to ask for an autograph, hovering from the main building.]
You have... inspired some followers.
["Fans".]
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[ She should, then, be more understanding of attempts like the ones they're facing now. She can appreciate food - better than most people, even, starvation a beloved lesson of her father. It does not mean she fails to see it as a waste, especially on a person like her. It's why she remains quiet even as she eats, steady, and turns her attention to the menu that Hayame presents her. ]
[ A pause. They do not know the things she has done, the damage she has caused. ]
[ She gulps, not because of the food. And then with the same serious edge to her voice, still so low it's for Hayame's ears only she answers: ]
Then they are stupid.
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Whatever the hell this is.
At least "this" came with free food.]
Maybe.
[It felt stupid to her, too, in some ways... to celebrate them for what they have done in the labyrinth trials. It was such... Even if they'd seen everything that happened in that place, and for some of them, that had been a lot... it did not mean they knew anything at all about what sort of people they were. The tone in Nebula's voice... It sounds so similar to the one she knew she used, when-]
... They only know what they saw. What we are here.
[... Not what they had done in their own worlds. Which reminds, she supposes.]
You said you were a "guardian", weren't you? [Something about saving a galaxy? A whole galaxy???] I thought you might be more used to this than me.
COMMUNION.
What drew you to Meridian, really? It is not an easy position to defend, what with the sheer enormity of "hope" and "restoration of worlds".
[ His tone pretends to be bored, asking after someone he doesn't really know about, when really his curiosity has a purpose. Nebula knows about guns. Nebula has advanced knowledge of warfare and technology. Nebula could be essential to the weapon he and his team will be building. ]
Just wondering if I can trust you with some work, or if you'll eventually give up and ditch.
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[ Nebula's response lacks the usual metalic tinge her answers often do, but it is no less sharp. It is affronted, like the sheer idea of challenging what she believes in is enough to make her go No you. And it is. It always has been, if someone challenged her she always rose to meet it. ]
[ And then in that same defiance she addresses: ]
I have seen worlds destroyed. I have been the sword to help massacre countless lives in my father's pursuit of balance. He believed his will was right - that the billions of people in the universe would thank him if he just got rid of half of all life.
All he needed was six stones of great power. [ Six oracles, this is how she connects it.. ] When he achieved that he achieved his goal.
[ She does not say 'we'. There is no intonation that she followed him anymore; That whatever was there, whatever had happened - she does not believe in. There's a feeling of loss, a whirlwind of emotion that's anger and sadness and hatred balled into one. ]
It took us five years. The universe was in shambles. Five years to reverse what he had done and kill him for good.
[ What she hopes is for good. She does not believe even this damned place would be so cruel as to wake him at the tree one day - And if it did she would not hesitate to find him, kill him, and crush that shard in her hand. (Or so she tells herself). ]
I believe because I've beat these odds before. And I will not let this damned place take my home from me again.
[ "Home". Family. Knowhere. It had taken Nebula far too long to find a purpose for her life that wasn't under her father's thumb. Most of her life lost to experimentation and pain. She had been so angry - so full of it - she never thought she'd be free. Now, she's found a purpose that isn't anger and violence. Even if it means fighting here. ]
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Your experience, then, is part of your resolve. Rather than faith, it is the simple fact that you have done this before. That is similar to me, in fact. To know beginnings and endings so intimately, is to know the truth of reality.
[ Rather than press her again, he offers his hand to her. Pale and strong, his expression calm and sharp, but not in the least bit condescending towards her. ]
That our rivals only flounder against what is natural and true, desperate and deluded in their beliefs.
[ He's grown a little more condescending of Zenith, as time has gone by. A bit disappointed by their fragility, the vapidness of their most prominent loyalist, the complacency of most of them. He likes a few of them, for their ferocity and honesty ( that they want ensure everything remains gone, rather than just accept it is — for the two are different to Set ) and the rest... well, they are just in the way, to him. ]
Zenith has always been steady, in terms of their culture, their politics and the unwavering calm of their people. I intend to destroy that, and either shatter their will or change them into something more than what quaint little pets Lady Yima made of them. I have a weapon in my mind's eye, that is being built. Theory, available technology and magical power are coming together to create this thing — and I wanted your insight. If you have no moral qualms about the reality of war, that is.
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[ That was the life she had been used to for so long. Even if it's not now, the scars are etched into herself enough that she eats she stews. She feels the burning eyes of the shopkeep and resists the growing urge to turn and yell at him. Yell at all of them. ]
What they saw. [ She laughs, the sound with no humor and sounding more like a rasp than not. ] I did nothing of celebration in there.
[ If she did to anyone's eyes it was not to hers - All she saw was weakness after weakness. But then, in her opinion, a win would be through fighting and most of those times were worked through with emotion and resilience. ]
[ You were a Guardian, Hayame says and that makes her stop for the first time. To swallow thickly as she glares down at the food. ]
I am a Guardian. [ Refuted, quickly - more an assertion to herself than to Hayame. She had once used those words "was a Guardian," when they'd met - that she had retired and she had. But now in Kenos she's pulled back to that world; And if she's the only Guardian of the Galaxy left in the entire damned cosmos she would die a Guardian. She would die for her family. ]
[ She ignores the emotion behind the conviction. ] I was an Avenger, too. "Earth's mightiest heroes." [ She wants to scoff at the thought but there's a further point. ] And a Daughter of Thanos.
[ Despite the factual way she says it there's something stilted in the phrase, said more like a curse than it is to be proud of. She tears at a strip of chicken. ] ... There were people who knew of us. Or tried to gift the other things. Weapons. Trinkets. Stupid goats.
[ STUPID GOATS!! She doesn't pause. ] Most of them did not look at me. Most of them still knew me for what I did under my father's control.
... I do not blame them.
[ There is nothing about her for them to want to admire. So she tells herself. It sure is a good thing she doesn't know the extent of what Earth people are doing. Cosplaying as her would be horrific to know! ]
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[ She affirms, but does not go further. Her presence in Kenos had been built on two things: the firm understanding of the Infinity War and that of one people who wanted "perfect worlds" could be. Being in a position to understand devastating monumental loss had only made her to believe if it had happened it was not impossible to change. ]
[ Nebula looks at his hand - but does not take it. Here, in this space, Set gets the feeling that to her trust is the most dangerous weapon. It's the most fragile gift, so easy to give and so easy to break. ]
There is nothing natural and true in this kind of devastation. [ She says it readily. Wars are one thing - as stupid as they are - but the sheer scale of what can be done far beats war. ] But you're right. Anyone who thinks they can make a perfect world are cowards and fools running from themselves.
[ Because it's those people who couldn't simply accept things. Who decided that the only way the universe could grow was to be under their thumb. Her father was like that. So many people in the universe were like that; It burns the rage in her. ]
[ She listens. And then she pauses. "Moral qualms about the reality of war," some worn down part of her wants to laugh. In the past there was never a qualm. If she had been as she was before, this would be no question. Success was all that mattered, who died along the way didn't. Now, things were different. She'd seen what haunted the universe. She'd answered so many calls from planets in danger, in war, and the innocents in between. The reality of war was never in question. ]
[ The fire that is her part of any communion is in hushed embers against the quiet snowfall, cold and warm all at once. She doesn't stew for long, but she answers. ]
There are those who think this all a farce. Maybe it is. If it isn't, then the fate of all worlds hang in the balance. Anyone who cannot accept that are idiots. Zenites are monsters who would choose to kill trillions for their visions.
[ The last part is spat out - clearly more a personal jab than not - but plainly. She does not let it linger. ] ...We all have choices. We can be a knife or we can be a guardian.
I am a Guardian. I will fight because it is all I have ever known. If an enemy comes for me or someone I call an ally I will not let them walk away without knowing what it means to try again. [ While she says it dangerously and severely, with every meaning in her body, she continues: ] But I will not attack children. I will fight, but I'm not killing anybody if I can help it.
[ While she says it, the intonation is clear: She is not afraid to kill and would do so if needed, but only as an absolute resort. Some ancient part of her thinks there are far better ways to deal with things than murder - slow and painful does the trick true. While it's there, the heavier empathetic side remains. It does not stop her from adding: ]
Yima can die. And if someone chooses to die with her, that's their choice.
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[ What he cannot tell Nebula, he realizes, is what he became after he was a guardian.
( A monster. A slaughterer of women and children, for no reason other than that he was weak and frightened and shattered and left to mourn himself, unable to strike against the man who had ripped him apart and left him to rebuild himself. To not even be able to do it right, or completely. )
He does pull his hand back, but no offense is taken. Everything about her is harsh and beautiful, and her resolve pricks in the back of his eyes and against the swallow of his throat. This is what he looks for, in people. Hayame embodies it so thoroughly, the strength of a warrior and the steadfastness of someone with honor, but the ability to do what they must, for people.
He wishes he was still like those two women. ( That he could articulate his admiration for them. That he could tell them: you are like my sister, my best friend, whom was once my greatest ally, and be without the mournful truth, that even his sister had turned her back on him when he needed her most. ) ]
Then, I will be honest with you in a way that I am not honest with those who I have taught to expect the worst of me: my only target is Yima. Not the people of Highstorm. But, I will mourn their deaths as they happen in war, once the war is over. And I will honor their endings, only when we can rest among those who are depending on us to be their protectors. To not give up. Because it is not about how much we lost.
[ Until then, he cannot flinch. Will not flinch. ]
Thank you, Nebula. I may not be a guardian god anymore, but you remind me what it was, to be one.
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[ Of course, she has no interest in those that call themselves gods. She cannot personally see them as such - even if their powers far outweight her own. But between those who claimed it: Thor, Ego, the High Evolutionary... in some ways her Father. All she can see them as is people who's might drew others to them - She can see it in the way this man holds himself. ]
[ Even if following anyone in such a manner is not something she will do. ]
Of course. Yima is the one at fault. It is not the civilians or the Shardbearers who have been dragged here... And there will be casualties. [ As there are in most wars, but the way she says it; "We do not need to become monsters," lingers in her mind. How much of her life had been led by being a monster? How much of herself has she lost? ]
[ She's quiet. ]
[ And then. ]
You're wrong.
[ She swallows. ] I had no choice but to be a knife; I was taken from my home and raised as a weapon. Any time I lost, any time I was soft, another piece of me was taken away. The universe was cruel and I was weak. It was a lesson beaten into me with every loss, until it filled me with so much anger and hatred all I could be was the knife. Because if I wasn't he'd make sure I knew better.
It was not killing him that gave me freedom. It was... Something else.
[ There's a point to this; But she hesitates, like the words and knowledge are still something twisted and foreign. For so long she had live for killing him, had let the anger consume her. The anger she had tried to let go. The anger she gave up here - reflected now in the factual way she speaks of it, like she could finally be free. ]
It was the people. My sister. My family.
Seeing the people who needed protecting. The children all across the galaxies.
[ She stops. The sensation of someone looking away; Like they don't know how to finish before stamping out: ]
You always have a choice to be a guardian.
[ "You still can be." A knife is mindless. It's hatred. It sees nothing but it's purpose. If his words are true then he has no doubt he can be a guardian. ]
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— I was soft once, too.
[ The words come out flat, unpolished and empty.
A hollowness in his gaze and a tremble in his mouth, the twitch of his curled fingers as dark claws form from nailbeds like a cat that's just flexed its claws in defense.
The actions of my own family taught me how useless it was, to resist the destiny assigned me. At the very least, I can flex that destiny far enough and hard enough to be of benefit to Meridian. I was made for this, and that's okay.
[ His own wife had given his brother the power to ruin him, and his sister had turned her back on him as if he were a home-wrecking harlot. In the blood and despair, he had hoped his all-seeing mother, the night sky herself, would sweep him into her arms and weep for him. And she had been silent, silent as the dark, until he pursued his sister — and then the tears came for her, and her alone.
What a lesson that had taught him. ]
War is a complex system, and it is not the domain of knives alone. It also does not last, but when it lives, it breathes like a living entity [ he draws a breath in to emphasize that ] — and entities like me, cannot be powerful and free. I hope you appreciate your freedom, Nebula. It suits you well.
[ Set seems to mean it, standing where he does and looking upon her with such a strange expression. Before he adds, quick and almost unwillingly. As if gleaning something from how she speaks and where he can draw an almost empathetic parallel. ]
Even with all of that: I miss my sister, too. I wanted to make up with her, for so long... we hurt each other so much.
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[ She cuts in, first - heated, the presence of flaring nostrils. Every bit of her recoiling at the very idea; Because she was taught she could never be soft, that it was a weakness. Plucked away from her like a toy she'd grown too old for, replaced with the cool metal of machinery. She is not soft. She does not know how to be soft - even if she wanted to be - too twisted and tangled to find any other way. ]
[ He speaks. He speaks like a man who believes like he is incapable of change - not as a god. Not that she has a belief that so called gods are any different. She's experiences those, too, of course. It is why she speaks as she does now. Even if she listens. Even if that softness that is buried under fire as snow speaks out against it - a touch too well. ]
[ She does not say it. He reminds her of herself; It can be felt, in the barest twinges of something. Not sadness, not pity. Understanding. They were supposed to be talking about something else. ]
My sister. Gamora. [ Because she has a name and for too long she separated herself from other people by not using their names - it is something she tried to change. ] When we were children she had promised we would always be sisters. That no matter what we would help each other; He starved us and had us fight to the death. She left me to suffer. Again and again, until I became this thing you see before you - [ Well, this is communion, he doesn't see. But the gesture is there; The feeling of this body is not her own - could never be her own. Replaced into pieces until she couldn't even tell you what she looked like in the first place or could dare to guess if any parts of it before were left. ]
For years all we knew how to do was distrust. I tried to kill her. Many times.
[ So many times. So much anger. But there is no anger now. She cannot feel any anger about those times now - because she gave those up. It is fact. Her history. ]
And then one day we reconciled. Then he would kill her - his pursuit for power meaning more to him than his favorite daughter. [ She swallows. ] That Gamora is gone. She will never be back. But there was -
[ Infinity war bullshit logic. She's not going to explain. ] - a situation. A past version of her came back. And a past version of me.
I killed her because she would have killed our sister.
[ She does not explain, but the feelings are there. The hollowness of understanding, of knowing that this other version of yourself thought they could never change. That they were trapped in a world of cruelty, torture, and violence. That anything less was weakness to be discarded. That there's a part of her that will never be free. ]
[ She swallows. ]
You are not made for this. None of us are.
We all have a choice.
[ Even if that means she belligerently doesn't see him as a god (sorry Set) but maybe that's beneficial - in its own way. ]
1/2
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[ 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.
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[ She hisses the word out. Nebula is not a calm person. She is eternally filled with rage, pain, and self-hatred. The softness of snow clutches and curls, like a lost child trying to remember how to walk-to run in the direction it needs. Her temperment is harsh and rarely falters and yet... The surprise is prominent, inescapable. The expectation palpable. ]
[ Logic reasons that there must be other Gamoras in the universe, not hers. Something more fragile: belief, hope, a sardonic understanding of her life - their lives - tells her there is no misunderstanding. If there is Nebula, there is Gamora. Always first, like the lightning. And then there was Nebula, just as powerful a few seconds behind. Always behind. It as much a fact as there are stars in the sky, no matter where or when, Nebula will always be second to Gamora. An escapable feeling, though now it is no longer fueled with anger. For Set, to Set, the emotions escape in cascades with the image of green skin, dark hair tied red, and a promise: You will always be my sister. ]
[ In person, outside of communion, she swallows hard and does the mental equivalent of slamming the lid shut on a trash can. It does her no good. Gamora is not here. None of it. Dwelling on what is and isn't has never helped. The only thing that will is ending all of this - returning home. To where she could finally, truly be free. ]
[ She does not say it. She deftly ignores his exclamation 'Nebula, you-' and perhaps somehow she didn't hear it, despite the intimacy of this place. A flame shoots up and dies out, the impression of a flared nostril, the hint she has. She scowls, deep and low: ]
We will all make a choice.
[ They have all already made a choice, but she doubts how far some of them would go for it. (She dares not doubt how far she will go). She tries to force down her thoughts and expressions, become the steel and machinery that make up her being. Pinpoint all of it down and so she asks: ] What are you looking at?
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I might have been devoured by shadows, were you not at hand.
[It is merely fact worth noting, as shameful as it was for her to admit. But now... Now, she is confused just slightly by the chance in tense. She was a "Guardian", now she is... ? She is also an "Avenger"? (Side note, other worlds sometimes had such odd words for things...) But it is not Hayame's place to question, now. It was time for her to listen. (Even if being gifted goats was... well...)
And when she is done... and the silent stretches between them. Even if it seems like a question with an answer that can only be negative, can only be suffering...]
... What do daughters of Thanos, do?
[She wonders if it is anything like what stable breed jinba with both their arms do.]
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[ She stews before sighing. ]
You don't know that.
[ Retorted, quickly, fiercely an addition: ] You would have broken through it.
[ The illusion. She thinks, hopes, believes — because she wants to believe she herself would. Because, she can't imagine if she hadn't and what that might mean. (She knows what it would mean, they all did, but that did not shake her faith in Hayame). ]
[ Look, Hayame, don't question things sometimes you have complicated feelings about your retirement and decide this fight is for your family, for the Guardians. And if you're going to die you're going to die a Guardian!!! ]
[ She glances up, finally, at the question and the cascade of thoughts and feelings that accompany it. What do they do...? What didn't they do. She almost laughs, she doesn't, though the huff of one remains in her throat. ]
I told you some of it; How our Father stole and weaponized us in his pursuit of balance. [ It's a brief overview, a quick reminder, because that's all she'd said before. ]
Before he had the Infinity Stones — his Oracles — we were part of his army. The Stones made his work quick, before that... If he wanted a planet wiped out or a person killed, it would be us he would send in.
[ To kill, to destroy. Just as he had done to each of his "children," that he had adopted, blessed with a life by his side. If you could call it a blessing - she doesn't. She doesn't think the entire universe does. But it's neither here nor there. ]
It was the only life we knew.
[ Taken as young as they were, with any semblance of normalcy stripped of them. With loss, grief, and anger the first things they were taught. She pauses; Thinks of herself, from so long ago. How if circumstances were changed it'd be a different Nebula on another side. Lost and full of hate, and with only one purpose.
It's, perhaps, why she adds one last thing: ]
It's the only life he would let us have.
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And Nebula would have to live with her awkwardly, curtly, expressing her gratitude. Briefly acknowledging the debt now created between them before moving onwards.
To something... darker, perhaps, than most women would bring up over a free meal in a lovely cafe surrounded by citizens that admire and look to them for hope after the Harbinger Oracle trial had been broadcast across the city. But they are not most women, are they? This is what they have.
So Hayame listens, quietly, because she was the one who asked. She turns the phrases over in her own head, giving them the weight they deserved. And even though it was a far different life from the one she had led in the sense of... scale, of space... Eventually, she just nods. Having been automatically eating still, she does pause... Long enough to say,]
I see.
[She could end it there. Just acknowledgement, and nothing else, a question asked, then answered. But that does not feel fair, or right, somehow, and having once felt... so alone, in Meridian, thinking that no one else was in position to sympathize with her thoughts or where they came from... and insisting to herself that it would not matter, and if even if not a single other soul supported her she would simply force herself to carry on. Nebula did not deserve that, even if she might not choose to take what she offers.]
My stable master insisted on being called "Lord", though. Not "Father".
[Understanding.]
... And we were meant for the auction block once we finished our training and came of age, not a place at his side.
[A daughter of Thanos and a daughter of Armless breeding stock raised to be an overseer of her own kind sold to the highest bidder.]