[she can extend trust — but it doesn't mean she'll let her guard down. not completely, at any rate. it'd be a mistake to underestimate this woman, she thinks, and it's a mistake that many would make; they'd fixate on her crisp appearance, on her demeanor fitting of a diplomat or a politician, and they'd dismiss her as any form of threat potential in seconds.

but gamora knows better. glinting in the low light, there's a ferocity visible in the woman's eyes — the same that's reflected in her voice. there's much more to her than can be gathered in an initial glance.

it'd be a mistake to underestimate her, and there's a reason not to get complacent — but there's also, at the same time, more of a reason to not regret her decision to trust.

for a time, she just listens, considers; notes: meridian, gift. more than that, though, she notes something familiar. enough that, long after the words have died out, she has her own quiet offering into the silence.]

The first time I lost a fight, my father locked me in a sensory deprivation chamber. [there's a shudder down her spine at her own use of the word father, but it's the only one she has without making this skeleton of a story more than she wants to tell.] No food, no water, nothing but my own thoughts for three days. He thought it'd break me down, give me the disadvantage I deserved against my next opponent. But the instant he let me out, I attacked him directly, and I made sure it bled.

[tilting her head, she glances back at the woman.]

He was a fool.

[it's said with more certainty than she actually feels, because the truth is — thanos been a step ahead of her at every turn; he had, in fact, known exactly how to break her. the thought goes down sharp and bitter when she swallows it, but she makes sure none of that shows on her face.

there are better tortures.]