[it's not as if hearing her name out of the mouth of a stranger is the most unusual thing to happen. her name has followed her almost everywhere she's ever gone, hissed with rage or spiked with venom — and none of that has been undeserved. more recently, though, it's come to her with some form of regard, which she can't say she believes she's earned. both are uncomfortable in their own ways, and she finds that she likes it best somewhere in between, in the space that familiarity occupies; when it's mumbled sleepily into her ear early in the day cycle, or reaching her in an exasperated yell from halfway across the ship, that's when she thinks she can most easily exist in her own skin.
familiarity, wholly unexpected, is what makes her take pause now; familiarity out of the mouth of a stranger.
her offered hand, with the knife on her palm, doesn't move, remaining outstretched between them, as gamora's eyes tick up, studying the stranger without blinking. they take their time, carefully noting every detail — but there isn't anything that sparks recognition, apart from the fact that he appears terran.
she only knows one terran notably (and that thought doesn't come without an ache), but even so, that doesn't give her much to go on.
no subject
familiarity, wholly unexpected, is what makes her take pause now; familiarity out of the mouth of a stranger.
her offered hand, with the knife on her palm, doesn't move, remaining outstretched between them, as gamora's eyes tick up, studying the stranger without blinking. they take their time, carefully noting every detail — but there isn't anything that sparks recognition, apart from the fact that he appears terran.
she only knows one terran notably (and that thought doesn't come without an ache), but even so, that doesn't give her much to go on.
finally, with all other options exhausted:]
Do I know you?