bakerstreet | picture prompt meme.

i, ii, iii, iv

[ -- music has become such a persistent presence in her life. unbidden and unasked for, she cannot go a whole day without some scrap of solitude assaulted by sounds piped through the ship's speakers. some raucous and loud; some sweet and measured. all that gamora knows for certain is that she'd spent a long while resenting it.

but like many things, it's grown on her. the guardians are between jobs, except a simple favour fulfilled for an ally wherein they cart a bit of (supposedly) harmless cargo from one system to the next. as such, there's more downtime in this fortnight then they've enjoyed in months. she uses it to catch up on small chores. namely, today, those chores involve laying godslayer across her knees and sharpening the sword's wicked edges.

she leans over her work, sitting on an up-ended crate. and, for the time being, she mistakes herself for being alone in this part of the ship's anatomy. a few minutes wear on and (against her best judgment) the noise funneling through the speakers seems to coalesce into something enjoyable. sheer brute familiarity with the songs peter quill so often played had lent a kind of skinny appreciation for this one in particular.

her downfall starts with a hum. hesitantly pitched and slightly off-key, gamora hums her way clumsily through the first few bars. her second sin, it seems, comes when her shoulders sway just slightly while she continues to work.

how embarrassing. ]

[ Peter's used to the team grousing whenever he pipes his music through the ship.

The Ravagers treated his music the same way. Bitched about how loud he played it, complained about how often he played it so that they could hardly think without Blue Swede drifting through their heads at some point. They spent a good deal of their time moaning about it, but it grew on them. They'd call for him to play his mother's tape as they celebrated a huge haul or a successful job or someone's birthday. They'd pretend they were doing it for his benefit, but he'd watch with muted satisfaction as they drunkenly sang and danced along, remembering all of the words without Peter's prompting.

In that first week after leaving Xandar, it had been the same. Someone telling Peter to turn that racket down so they could concentrate, and Peter snapping right back, My ship, my tunes, my rules. With a brand new tape in his possession, he was going to damn well listen to it, was going to damn well memorize the words and the music, the pauses between each song and the little hiccups when the recordings didn't quite take.

And eventually, everyone relented. Eventually, everyone seemed to find as much enjoyment in the music as he did, though they rarely ever admitted it. But sometimes he would catch Rocket humming to himself as he tinkered, tail twitching in time with the music. Sometimes he'd catch a tiny Groot, bobbing along with the beat. Sometimes he'd catch Drax looking quiet, contemplative – Drax wouldn't dance a day in his life, Peter knows, but those looks had to mean something. And sometimes, he'd catch Gamora—

As she is now. Swaying a little. Humming a little. Peter had only been down here to fish through a crate and restock the protein bars in the sad little area they call the galley. He hadn't meant to hang back and spy on Gamora. But he's doing it now, leaning in the doorway, listening to that inexpert singing and watching the tentative swaying.

"Brandy," by Looking Glass. Probably the best song ever created, if Peter's opinion means anything. He can hardly blame Gamora for finding it catchy, and a part of him wants to say something, to laugh and tell her, I knew you were a dancer.

But he doesn't. He finds he doesn't want to interrupt; and more than that, he finds himself charmed by it all, feels something warm curl behind his breastbone at the sight of her. ]

[ this song has played so often, now, that she's begun to pick out the layers in the music. the thrum of something peter called a guitar, once -- and the bright brassy burst of an instrument gamora cannot name. whatever it is, she swears can feel its brash noise straight through to her bloodstream. and (indeed) her languid sway is on occasion punctuated by a head bob timed precisely to the trumpet.

and by now, this song has played so frequently that she can discern the story hidden beneath a sprawling, repetitious chorus. there's a ballad worth teasing out from an otherwise sedate song. she witnesses it for nth time, scraping her sharpening tool the sword edge in a rhythm that almost matches what she hears.

yeah, brandy used to watch his eyes, she hears the man croon., when he told his sailors stories. gamora's hands fall still and her chin lifts. she may never cop to it, but if she had to pick a favourite verse then this one would qualify. and she wishes she could feel the ocean foam rise. see its raging glory.

-- but the moment fades long before the song does. it may be that she heard some shuffle of a foot or an intake of breath. whatever the clue, she sits bolt upright. all motion and pleasure drains from her posture. cybernetic implants do their work and absorb all the ambient nose flush beneath the music and the speaker fuzz. her awareness of someone else in the room grows like an itch up her spine. gamora steadies one hand on the crate beneath her and twists her body, looking towards the hatch.

quill. ]

-- What do you want? [ immediately, she is on the defensive. but gamora doesn't speak of what he may have seen; she knows better than to invite peter's laughter. it'll come out all on its own. ]

[ Peter's not sure what gave him away – the scuff of his boots against the metal flooring as he got more comfortable, or him inhaling or exhaling out a soft little laugh, or, hell, maybe he blinked weird and she heard it.

Whatever it is, though, he tenses the instant Gamora does, preparing himself to move in case she decides to answer with a knife instead of her words.

When she reels around and spots him, angry and guarded, Peter instantly puts up both hands in a gesture of surrender. ]

Whoa, wow, easy there, tiger. Just passing through. Didn't mean to surprise you.

[ It's an apology, of sorts. He doesn't like this change, and he's almost sorry he didn't silently excuse himself to allow Gamora to enjoy the song on her own. ]

Drax ate the last protein bar. [ In answer to her question. ] Left the empty box in a cabinet, like some kinda jerk-off.

[ gamora thinks she ought to feel a twinge of guilt when his hands raise so quickly -- indicative of how unpredictable and volatile he finds her. but more than guilt, she feels a thin pleasure for still being a figure of intimidation. if not outright respect. he doesn't rush to laugh, nor does he draw any immediate attention to the scene he'd played party to.

good, gamora decides. perhaps he hadn't seen a thing; perhaps she'd caught sound of him just as he'd arrived. it wouldn't do to let him know she might like his irksome habit of regaling the whole damned ship with his music. bad enough the way her heart had swelled any time he covered her ears with the listening devices. bad enough that she should sway at all.

with a glower, she sets godslayer aside and pushes onto her feet. ]

Tiger? [ she drawls her way through the word. it's unfamiliar. ] Just when I thought I'd heard all your insults, you come up with another.

[ -- she misunderstands. of course she misunderstands. she leaps to conclusions and distrusts these things which are unknowns to her. quill, she thinks, can't be saying anything nice. ]

[ —Well, okay. That throws him for a giant loop.

For a second, he's too confused to respond, staring at her while trying to figure out how, exactly, she read that as an insult when it was anything but. ]

Hey, no, hang on. That wasn't— I wasn't trying to make fun of you.

[ And it's at that point that Peter realizes Gamora has no idea what a tiger is, and it makes sense why she'd assume he was insulting her. A lot of the unfamiliar stuff that spouted from his mouth – references to his childhood on Earth, snide little remarks and nicknames – were said with the intention of being denigrating. Little wonder she'd assume more of the same. ]

We have these predators on Earth, right? These giant cats. [ "Cats" should be safe enough, he figures. Common enough. He spreads his arms wide to demonstrate just how giant he means. ] Orange with black stripes. They could probably break a guy's neck with a swipe of its paw. Scary as shit, but seriously awesome.

[ Beautiful, too, he nearly adds, but he'd rather not be disemboweled.

Instead, he gestures to Gamora. Then repeats, ]

Tiger. Get it?

[ he commits himself to the rigmarole of describing this beast. and, to his credit, he manages to make it sound like something just impressive enough to warrant some reconsideration of her reaction. and when he broaches the description 'scary as shit, but seriously awesome' gamora's expression returns to something neutral. unbothered. ]

Got it.

[ simple validation. abandoning entirely her chore at hand (and with 'brandy' fading finally into tinny moments of silence before the next song), she approaches until there are only a few crates between him and her.

gamora leans forward and grabs the edge of a container. protein bars, of course. and if they happen to of a variety which peter's expressed a preference for, then she'll claim it as coincidence. ]

Why keep them around if they could snap a Terran's neck?

[ He watches as she approaches, and even if Gamora seems only a little satisfied – though not mollified; almost never that – she at least doesn't seem pissed off, anymore. Which is a vast improvement, Peter figures, and he'll take what he can get.

When she opens the crate, he spots the bars in question, and he blinks, pleasantly surprised. He gets as far as smiling and saying, "Hey–!" before she asks her question.

Which leads him to blink at her again. ]

I mean, they can, but they don't. Snap human necks, I mean. Usually, anyway. They tend to leave folks alone as long as those folks aren't dickweeds and try to mess with them in the first place.

[ And with that explanation out of the way, he points at the box of protein bars in the crate. ]

I don't remember getting those.

You didn't.

[ get them. but that's about as far as gamora's willing to walk with the truth. rather than lie, she'll merely deflect. dodge. defend. so, in the hopes of moving past what might become an obvious conclusion, she tosses the container at quill with an easy underhanded lob. ]

Hopefully the box will last longer than a week, this time.

[ it's almost as though no one on this ship has ever learned how to cope with rationing. ]

[ He frowns at that response, brow furrowing, and his lips part to ask the obvious question: Then who did?

But Gamora interrupts him by tossing the box his way, and he jerks a little, startled, but manages to catch it.

Once he's not in danger of fumbling it anymore, he casts her a flat, unimpressed look. ]

Could've given me a heads up, first.

Why? [ her arms cross loose over her chest. ] We are part of a team, aren't we? I should be able to count on you catching something thrown at your head. Warning or none.

[ his expression doesn't daunt her, at least. ] Otherwise, how do I know you won't balk when something's thrown at mine?

[ -- she's not saying the word, not even thinking it, but it's not difficult to realize she's describing something close to trust. ]

[ Peter sort of sees where she's coming from, but he still continues with that flat look. ]

... So you're saying that this was a test. To see if I could block something thrown at your head.

[ a more subtle creature might have tried to sell the lie. but subtle isn't one of gamora's strongest suits -- so, dully: ] No. But it could have been.

[ then, with a puff of air in her cheeks: ] Be happy you passed.

[ For another second or two, Peter just stares at her, slightly bewildered. Then, he snorts out a soft laugh. ]

You could've just said you felt like throwing something at me. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened.

[ WELL, in that case --

gamora stoops low and fetches a second container. it, too, boasts the same variety just like all its brothers and sisters stacked neatly in one crate. straightening, she tosses it from palm to palm before -- without uttering a word -- proceeding to chuck this one at his head as well. ]

[ ... He's not sure what he expected.

But this time, at least, he has some forewarning, and he's already shuffling the earlier box and tucking it under his arm. When she throws the second, he dutifully catches it, still aiming for that flat, unimpressed sort of look from before. The effect is lessened, somewhat, by the small smile trying to tug at the corner of his mouth. ]

Which one was that? Another test, or did you just feel like throwing things again?

Can it not be both?

[ she snipes back before (you guessed it) chucking a third at peter. ]

[ That one startles him much more than the first, mostly considering he was readying some smart-ass reply, and he nearly fumbles this one before catching it. ]

Gamora.

[ Aiming for exasperated, but it comes out on a laugh. ]

Dude. I just needed one.

[ quill laughs plenty -- often, she'd noticed, at someone else's expense. this laughter, however, sounds warmer. perhaps because it's made at his own expense. and while gamora doesn't offer quite the same magnitude of mirth, there is certainly a sharp upturn in the corners of her mouth.

her eyes smile more than her lips do. ]

And now you have three. The galley will be well-stocked. [ oh, she's so smug and proud of herself. ]

[ He snorts out another laugh, a little more derisive this time, but he rearranges the boxes in his hands into a stack. ]

Right, right. [ Dryer than a desert. ] You had good intentions. Of course. Dunno how I didn't see that to start with.

picture prompt meme.

if you're up for another thread?

i am absolutely up for another.

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