i. exploration. (highstorm, springstar, location flexible)
[gamora is far from a stranger to desolation — and that is in no way a comfort.
she's seen it happen to countless worlds; her scattered memories of the last day on zen-whoberi had only been the beginning. balance, thanos had called it. correction. countless had been murdered at his behest — and many, over the years, as she'd secured her survival with her father's favor, by her own hand. what would his destructiveness look like, she'd often wondered in the silence of the night cycle, if she were to fail in her own private mission, and all six infinity stones were to fall into his hands?
as she moves through the cities now, searching for survivors that it's becoming less and less likely she'll find, there's a part of her that can't help but think: something like this.
it's a thought that grabs her by the throat and threatens to pull the air from her lungs, but she forces herself to keep going.
and eventually, she finds that she's not alone.
any form of surprise is carefully tucked away, leaving only a neutrality on her features as she regards the person she's come across. as she assesses (she's always assessing).
then:]
I haven't found much, [she says, before reaching into a pocket and producing a small, worn knife.] But I have this.
[somewhere, in the back of her mind, the voice she's never quite been able to silence tells her she's a fool, and deserving of her own destruction, for offering a weapon to what she can't wholly trust not to be a threat. but she's spent the past four years acting in direct spite of it; here, now, with a peace offering, she can choose to do the same.]
ii. roots.
[close quarters have long had a tendency to make gamora uneasy.
she can adapt, of course — had adapted in those first few chaotic months after xandar, when she'd shared living space on a small m-ship with four other beings. maybe she and rocket had found themselves in more than one yelling match regarding wayward explosives, and maybe it'd taken some time before she and drax didn't each have blades in hand waiting to be turned on the other, but something once seemingly impossible had become routine. in its own way reassuring.
but here, in the roots, among complete strangers with no real means of escape, that old unease takes precedence.
while others sleep, she finds a spot in the chamber to sit, continuing to keep her eyes open, fiddling idly with the one found knife that she's kept just for something to do with at least one of her hands. she twirls the blade over her fingers time and time again, watching the chamber around her for one single sign of anything that could be construed as suspicious. it's one thing to choose trust on the street; it's idiocy to choose it here.
open eyes, though, don't always see everything; senses, even augmented and honed, don't pick up on everything, either, especially with divided focus. when footsteps come close, her startle, with knife still in hand, is visible.
brief, but visible.]
iii. wildcard.
[closed starters for specifically plotted threads will go under this comment, and i'm also open to taking on more if you're interested! if you're interested in trading alignment energy, i'm also here to write a closed starter for that. please feel free to hit me up at lensflares, gamora's ooc plotting comment, or via private dm on discord at stardust#4864 if you have any ideas you'd like to bounce off of me! ❤️ ]
gamora | exalt | unharmonized (meridian lean)
[gamora is far from a stranger to desolation — and that is in no way a comfort.
she's seen it happen to countless worlds; her scattered memories of the last day on zen-whoberi had only been the beginning. balance, thanos had called it. correction. countless had been murdered at his behest — and many, over the years, as she'd secured her survival with her father's favor, by her own hand. what would his destructiveness look like, she'd often wondered in the silence of the night cycle, if she were to fail in her own private mission, and all six infinity stones were to fall into his hands?
as she moves through the cities now, searching for survivors that it's becoming less and less likely she'll find, there's a part of her that can't help but think: something like this.
it's a thought that grabs her by the throat and threatens to pull the air from her lungs, but she forces herself to keep going.
and eventually, she finds that she's not alone.
any form of surprise is carefully tucked away, leaving only a neutrality on her features as she regards the person she's come across. as she assesses (she's always assessing).
then:]
I haven't found much, [she says, before reaching into a pocket and producing a small, worn knife.] But I have this.
[somewhere, in the back of her mind, the voice she's never quite been able to silence tells her she's a fool, and deserving of her own destruction, for offering a weapon to what she can't wholly trust not to be a threat. but she's spent the past four years acting in direct spite of it; here, now, with a peace offering, she can choose to do the same.]
ii. roots.
[close quarters have long had a tendency to make gamora uneasy.
she can adapt, of course — had adapted in those first few chaotic months after xandar, when she'd shared living space on a small m-ship with four other beings. maybe she and rocket had found themselves in more than one yelling match regarding wayward explosives, and maybe it'd taken some time before she and drax didn't each have blades in hand waiting to be turned on the other, but something once seemingly impossible had become routine. in its own way reassuring.
but here, in the roots, among complete strangers with no real means of escape, that old unease takes precedence.
while others sleep, she finds a spot in the chamber to sit, continuing to keep her eyes open, fiddling idly with the one found knife that she's kept just for something to do with at least one of her hands. she twirls the blade over her fingers time and time again, watching the chamber around her for one single sign of anything that could be construed as suspicious. it's one thing to choose trust on the street; it's idiocy to choose it here.
open eyes, though, don't always see everything; senses, even augmented and honed, don't pick up on everything, either, especially with divided focus. when footsteps come close, her startle, with knife still in hand, is visible.
brief, but visible.]
iii. wildcard.
[closed starters for specifically plotted threads will go under this comment, and i'm also open to taking on more if you're interested! if you're interested in trading alignment energy, i'm also here to write a closed starter for that. please feel free to hit me up at