[Its been a day since Gamora was strapped into her harness. She’s become more adept at using her hands, though of course, dressing and brushing her hair are completely impossible. When she manages to turn on the camera, she backs away quick and turns around so she can get herself in frame.]
I don’t know whether you want to see me in person, Nebula? But for the record… I’m sorry.
[Nebula's been avoiding even stepping foot anywhere near where Gamora might be ever since the finders. Which mostly meant avoiding the Down entirely and only going from her apartment to Red Emerald and nowhere else. So she hadn't even known she'd been cited.
The message is unexpected and she very nearly rejects the call. Instead, she answers, frowning into the screen.]
You're sorry. Why should I-- [Nebula is momentarily distracted by the way Gamora is positioned in the frame.] Why are you standing so strangely?
[That was not convincing at all, and Nebula is about to tell her so before she says that.]
I didn't report you. [Nebula tenses, looking around her. This city must have eyes everywhere, and that thought is unsettling. Especially considering the plotting that she's been doing with Jim and D'Artagnan. Although the fight and Gamora nearly taking her head off hadn't exactly been subtle.] Are you actually sorry? Or are they forcing you to say so?
[The words Gamora had spoken to her had hurt. And maybe that shows on Nebula's face as much as she's trying to remain stone faced.]
This place can do a lot of things from what I hear.
[Make them do things that they'd rather not, for instance. She also doesn't know what to do with the apology though.]
I didn't know how to tell you. About what happened to you. [she grits her teeth, trying to find the words and get them out. Although Gamora's accusations at her still ring in her ears. About how Gamora's death and Thanos' getting all the stones in the first place had been all her fault. It stung, because it felt true.]
Because... I do think it was my fault. [She carried that weight of failure on her shoulders everyday.]
[Gamora's got no come back. Nebula's right. This place has already made her do a lot that she had no intention of doing. She opens her mouth to reply, but she ends up nodding instead.
There's silence too when Nebula admits that she thinks Gamora's death is her fault. It takes a moment for her confession to register with Gamora, for Gamora to process it. She looks sadly back at her sister.]
If my death is your fault, your torture is solely mine. Except, I... chose it. Your fate. You didn't choose mine. Nebula, I'm sorry.
What have they done to you as punishment? [How she's standing seems to be part of it. And she looks a little off, her hair a bit of a mess. And maybe Nebula is worried. She's heard how Submissives can be treated here. Nebula sounds concerned, if Gamora chooses to believe it's genuine.
Gamora's apology again make Nebula avert her gaze. She can't pretend she doesn't resent her for everything that happened to her. She wouldn't have tried to kill her so many times back home if she didn't. That's a resentment that doesn't simply disappear despite trying to mend their relationship.]
I'm sorry too. For not telling you sooner. We'd just started to mend things back home... and then... [And then.] I didn't mean to steal your life. Rocket and I only had each other for a long time. When we got everyone back, I wasn't about to go anywhere else.
[Nebula had needed a family just as much as Gamora had.]
Nothing is happening with Quill and I. Before you ask. I don't know what that network post was talking about. [Whatever she feels for Peter is not something she's willing to admit to herself, let alone anyone else.]
[Gamora doesn’t move for a moment. But with a sigh, she turns around. Nebula will realise she’s stood in her panties with a harness fastening her hands just below her butt cheeks. It’s not exactly comfortable, but that hardly bothers Gamora. Between the enhancements and sheer endurance training, physically, she can handle the bondage. She hates the humiliation.]
Perhaps even you could beat me now. [She laughs, trying to make it clear it’s a joke. But Nebula’s already talking and her uneasy laugh becomes a genuine smile. She’s upset, naturally, but she can imagine how well Nebula and Rocket would get on. Both had a cock-sure attitude and a flair for the dramatic. And both were intensely loyal to their families. She’s about to say as much but Nebula is already talking about Quill. It hurts. Even her denial hurts. Gamora fears it’s lies. Why else would the network say it? But… she’s dead. And Peter needs someone. Gamora looks down to hide the tears trickling slowly over her cheeks. After a moment, she manages,]
You have to look after him, Nebula. Be - [Fuck] - what I can never be. Learn to dance.
[That is not something Nebula ever wanted to see. Her sister trussed up like a sex object. Her cheeks flush a shade of purple, suddenly regretting that she'd asked. Although, when Gamora says that she momentarily forgets that embarrassment, glaring at first, but the laugh halts whatever retort she'd been brewing.] I will beat you someday, without any need of restraints. Once you are out of that inane contraption.
[There is a small quirk of a smile on her lips too, but it's faint. And any sight of it quickly fades at Gamora's ask about Quill.]
I'll look after him. I already am. But I'm not... it's not like that, Gamora! [She's indignant now, clearly getting flustered.] He's not over you. The version of you in our Galaxy, that's from a time before ever meeting the Guardians-- I think he hopes that she might come back. But she's joined the Ravagers. She's not you.
And I'm not you. [She never would be. Could never hope to be.]
[She’s beginning to realise that the goal here isn’t to be as good as a dominant, including Nebula. She’s supposed to be weaker, lower. Gamora hates it. It goes against her competitive nature. And with all this sadness, a good fight with Nebula is exactly what she needs.]
Next time, will they stop with a harness? [Is that How Nebula thought? Next time, will they stop with my arm? The weight of Gamora’s guilt increases. She can’t complain about something so trivial.]
My - the other Gamora joined the Ravagers? [She can’t imagine it.] she won’t go back to the Guardians then, not if she hasn’t joined. You know how stubborn I am. I do not tolerate idiocy and the Guardians are the biggest idiots in the galaxy.
[Shes sad. Just overwhelmingly sad about everything. That her life is going to end, that Thanos won. That she’s helped him. He’s used her weaknesses, her love, against her. She’s sad for Quill. For Nebula. And she’s upset even more that, if she wants to live, this place in which she is a submissive is the only place where she can do that.]
I don't want them punishing you. That's not winning, I-- [Nebula bristles defensively, as she so often did when Gamora was around.] I wanted you to feel the pain I felt for a long time. Even a fraction of it. But I don't... I don't feel like that anymore. I thought, after Ego, things were starting to be different.
[But as soon as Gamora showed up here, it's felt like nothing had changed at all from her sister's perspective. And it hurts more than Nebula can verbalize. She snorts a bit at the mention of the Guardians.]
They are absolutely idiots... [And Nebula still told them as much nearly daily, despite considering them family.] And I don't think the other Gamora knew how to handle the way Quill kept looking at her.
[He'd been the definition of coming on too strong. Nebula looks up at her, tense and uncertain. It's probably a bad idea to see her in person. She's still not convinced that her words aren't the city's doing. Still--]
[But Gamora doesn’t fully trust her sister. She realises with dismay that she’s waiting on tenterhooks for Nebula to turn, to gloat. Because if positions were reversed, she would. She has.]
Nebula, I haven’t trusted you. I’m sorry. [She hesitates.] That conversation - Ego? All of that happened a month ago for me, not years and years. I suppose, in a month… did you trust me after a month? Do you trust me now?
[She tilts her head.] But I want our relationship to be better.
[That look. Quill’s stupid look. It breaks Gamora’s heart to think that she won’t have much time left with him.]
She won’t have the patience to deal with his stupid puppy eyes.
[Its a small break through.]
I’m at Scratch, in the cabanas. Ororo’s letting me stay until I can get this harness off.
I don't entirely trust you now... because you don't trust me. [And her words earlier hand felt like daggers straight to her heart. It hurt far more than the blade she'd held at her neck.] I know that I tried to kill you many times. And that you have plenty of reason not to believe me... but I'm not who I was.
Rocket helped with that. The Avengers helped me. The other Guardians, too. I do want us to be real sisters. Like we were never able to be.
[There's a small smile on Nebula's lips as she ducks her head.] She kicked Quill in the crotch when they first met. Because he immediately tried to kiss her.
[Her expression sobers quickly, when the reality of it all comes back. Because Quill hadn't known it wasn't her. Their Gamora. Because she was gone and could never come back.]
I know Scratch. And Ororo. [Nebula likes Ororo, although she'd only met her the handful of times.] I will be there shortly.
[It still hurts. She feels so immensely sad when she hears Nebula talking about Rocket and the others. The Avengers, though that means nothing to Gamora. Just her life and all of its possibilities and the chance to be sisters - real sisters, not soldiers bred to hate and hurt - with Nebula. All snatched, once more, by their father. Gamora sniffs, frustrated that she can't wipe the tears that threaten to spill. It's rare she cries, but the knowledge of losing everything, everyone she cares about, is awful.
She is so glad when Nebula moves to a lighter topic, but her response is silenced as Nebula's expression sobers. She nods and cuts the feed to wait for her sister to arrive.]
[Nebula can't pretend it was otherwise. She'd hated Gamora more every time she'd mocked Nebula for losing and then pretended not to see what Thanos would do to her afterward. Each limb and piece of her taken, only to have it all mean nothing. Nothing she'd done had ever been good enough. What she would have given at the time to win or to hear Thanos praise her just once.
She makes her way to Scratch and heads to the back after asking around about where the cabanas are, finally finding Gamora in one of them. She keeps her distance, still. Just because her sister has her arms restrained didn't mean she couldn't still be dangerous.]
Sister... [Nebula doesn't know where to start, so she settles on that watching her and scowling a bit at the restraints. Maybe in the past she might have mocked her, but not now.]
[Gamora’s tense too. How she wishes things were normal between them. That they could laugh and cry and joke together. But that’s not their reality, not yet anyway. Gamora stays back, but it speaks volumes that Nebula isn’t taking advantage of her bondage. It brings back that uncomfortable lump of guilt in Gamora’s stomach.]
You came.
[She nods her head to the sofa bed.]
Please. Sit. Be comfortable. There’s lemonade - it’s a Terran drink - on the table.
[She eases herself down, arms bending awkwardly with the tight bondage. It’s uncomfortable but not painful and she grimaces.]
It would seem this place bears similarities to our home.
I did. [Nebula manages, watching Gamora and then the pitcher of lemonade. She moves slowly toward the drink, but doesn't turn her back to her sister for a moment. Her gaze follows Gamora's descent down to sitting and her discomfort.]
Similar. But not the same. It is a different sort of cruelty. [Nebula finds herself agreeing.] ...did you want a drink too? [Since as she is, Gamora can't exactly get one on her own.]
[It's more difficult to drink than Gamora cares to admit. Not impossible certainly, but not exactly dignified. She shakes her head, watching her sister watching her. Nebula's on edge, clearly not trusting her.]
You are right. Their punishments are not as violent as what we - you. Are used to.
[She stumbles a little. She has no right to claim to know Thanos' violence. Not like Nebula.]
I am sorry. For trying to kill you. For saying what I said. [She takes a breath.] I was... I...
[She can't admit how upset she was to Nebula. Gamora looks down at her bare thighs. It's easier to focus there than on her sister.] I don't blame you.
[In the same situation, Nebula would be very unlikely to accept her sister's help. Admitting to even obvious weakness isn't an easy thing for either of them, for obvious reasons. She sits beside her, holding the glass of lemonade in her lap and not immediately drinking it. Nebula's jaw tightens, staring down at the glass, finally turning to look at Gamora trying her hardest to look only at her face and not her bare legs. Seeing her like this is uncomfortable for a number of reasons.]
I blame me. [Nebula admits, trying to steel her expression.] I think every day what I could have done differently. If I hadn't let Thanos get that information out of my head...
I killed myself, you know. The version of me from the other Gamora's timeline. She was going to kill you. [She shakes her head, correcting herself.] The other you. And I couldn't let it happen. Not again.
[Its then that Gamora realises. If she hadn’t told Nebula where the Soul Stone was, then Thanos wouldn’t have tortured Nebula to make Gamora tell. The fault ultimately lies with Gamora. She takes a minute, working through her grief still. But Nebula killed Her counterpart to protect Gamora? There is so much love and hope expressed in that one violent sentiment. And Nebula killing her counterpart to save Gamora?
Things start clicking into place and Gamora starts to allow herself to be the bigger picture. The Guardians - her death - will allow Nebula to heal. Nebula can’t thrive with her sister, her competition, her torturer, there. In dying, Gamora will give Nebula a chance to grow and change and experience happiness. Her death won’t save the universe, but it will save her sister.
That at least clear in her head, Gamora looks up from her thighs and over at her sister.]
((OOC: I can't remember if these two have officially met, but I'm assuming he got her contact from Gamora. He knows her sister enough to send an invite XD))
[The voice makes her still, as perhaps it might always do that. Calling her 'kid', well, she's not sure how she feels about that. It's confusing, that much is certain.]
I am fine. [Someone checking up on her, is... different.] How are you holding up?
I am not sure if I have every really adjusted. I tried to blow up a SIN facility my first few months here... and I haven't tried that since.
[So maybe she's adjusted enough to not try to blow up the city. Which is something?]
Once I got things here. People. I own the Red Emerald gym, then I stopped fighting so hard. [She doesn't sound happy about saying it out loud. Shouldn't she be fighting harder?]
What kind of opportunities? [She sounds dubious.] All I've been able to do is give my Submissive as much free rein as I can and... defying their rules.
[She's quiet then, not really knowing what to say. Nebula's definitely not about to prove to him that she's dumb and weak. Finally, she starts, jaw tightening to keep her emotions in check.]
Every time I failed, or my sister beat me in combat... he would replace a piece of my body with machinery. All I've ever heard is my failings.
[It's not his fault and it's not his problem. But he'd asked.]
[She doesn't believe that.] Plenty of people want to fuck me. But I don't think they want anything else.
[Or perhaps he's right, and she just never let them try? Curiosity and a selfish desire to hear him say more, she asks tentatively.] What makes me beautiful?
[It's perhaps a blessing this isn't a video call because after the teasing pause, she's leaning forward, more eager for an answer than she wants to admit even to herself. Part of Nebula wishes his voice weren't so familiar as he said such things, but also hates what it says about her that it thrills her, too. A long denied need turned to something indecent.
There's a softness to her voice too, bordering on desperation then.] I want you to, yes. [It's all she can do to stop herself from begging.] Keep going.
[Cable exhales into the receiver, a little surprised and very intrigued. He suspects he hears intrigue from her too, although given what she said about his voice it is confusing.
In a good way.]
I like your skin. The soft parts and the hard parts. The way your brows furrow when you're thinking. [He pauses, letting it sink in a little before he tests the limits here.]
I've been thinking about what your lips would taste like.
[Even the exhalation of breath sends a feeling of pleasure across her skull-- like a misfiring of her cranial implants to her nerve endings. Then he keeps going. And those brows that were definitely furrowing release into shock, lips parting, a small gasp releasing from her throat.
Nebula knows the idea of someone with that voice telling her these things should revolt her. She should be cursing at him and shutting off her communicator. Yet, she'd asked for this. It's what she wants.]
Have you? [Nebula hums, her voice getting lower.] And what do you imagine they taste like? Maybe I can tell you if you're right...
[Cable's experience in Duplicity has been a series of moments he's sure he would have absolutely fought against two weeks ago and now he's just leaning into them.
How he feels about Nebula isn't a manufactured impulse, at least. His attraction is genuine, but by god does he feel like his boundaries have fucking blown away in the wind.
But she's receptive, so he hums right back at her.]
I bet they taste sweet. [He says, a little bit of longing in that contemplative tone.]
[She finds herself wetting her own lips as he imagines them. And she does want to believe his description will be the truth, but part of her-- the self-loathing part, imagines he'll find them wanting. It's not something she's going to admit to him right then, if ever.]
Maybe you should. [The agreement is quieter than she usually is, a yearning sounding in her own tone. She considers a moment, voice rising a bit in a slight challenge that speaks to how turned on the thought is making her.] I'll try not to bite you.
I do too. [Nebula does hate it here. Among other things.] But those circumstances... remain unchanged.
[There's nothing that can be done about it now. No amount of wishing would work. Those thoughts fade as there's another delicious coil staring to her stomach and moving lower.]
So long as you are enjoying it too... [She doesn't want to just be humored, after all.] Would you like to taste more than my lips?
[The forceful nature of his words hit her, her heart starting to beat faster, finding her own hand following the same path as his words as he talks-- metal fingers sliding between her legs. She's growing bolder too.]
How skilled are you with your tongue? I bet you know what you're doing. Would you plan to make a mess of me? And I also wouldn't mind little teeth, either.
I'm old. You learn things. I like to use my teeth, taste you properly. [The coolness of his tone is doing a decent job of disguising the fact that he's hard and doing nothing about it yet.]
I want you to use your fingers to rub some nice, slow circles on your clit now.
[Her jaw clenches at the request that sounds like an order to her ears, zinging a feeling of pleasure up her spine.]
What would you be doing with your hands while you tasted me? [Her voice takes on a slightly gruffer tone as she does just as he asks, the sound of her belt being undone faint in the audio before her metal hand slides into her pants. Index and ring fingers slide low first into the dampness of her cunt before starting a slow grind against her clit. The moan she lets out is obvious even under her clenched teeth.] Mine would be curled into fists in your hair, forcing your mouth to stay just where it is.
[Cable finds he truly enjoys the way that Nebula is receptive and compliant but still forward and demanding. As she should be. He finds his interest in her growing, but that's further back in his mind while she has her hand down her pants for him.]
Squeezing your thighs, running my fingers over them, exploring them. [He sounds faintly amused at the aggression coming out of her, but he's enjoying it.]
[The noise she makes at being called 'princess' is a half-gasp as her fingers do exactly what she tells her to, her circles increasing in speed and pressure, but there's also a scoff in there too. She's a lot of things, but a princess she is not. It's an absurd nickname, and she might say as much with anyone else... and yet, she can't deny how the affection behind it has her ready to do anything he asks of her.]
The m-metal parts... would be hard to squeeze. [She points out, breathy, her inexperience with this kind of thing is showing, but she wants to do it right.] My ass is soft though.
What if my metal is stronger? [Even horny, she can't help but offer that challenge that she's better. But there is amusement in her tone, at least.] It is easier to imagine you touching me, when I am touching myself. I've never been with anyone like me.
[Her own metal fingers continue to rub her clit, but a few digits start sliding to plunge into her pussy.]
Is there anywhere you'd like me to touch you? Or taste?
Never been with anyone like you either. [He says quickly, then adds:]
You're a little diamond in the rough, aren't you? Be lucky to spend a night with you. [Again, there's deep praise in his tone.]
I'd like you to think about me bending you over and sliding my cock into that tight pussy of yours, now that it's nice and wet for me. [Cable's voice just gets that little bit more grizzled as he thinks about it.]
Then I want you to taste the fingers I put in your mouth while I fuck you. Suck on them.
[She wants to believe he means that. That he'd feel lucky and that she's in any way special beyond the horrors done to her. But deep down she doesn't. So she's quiet at first. The praise hurts almost as much as she yearns for it...
And then he's talking about fucking her and any thought about her self-loathing disappears because her brain is having no part in this right now after that. Her breath catches.] I'd like you to fuck me. Very much. I bet you could do it right too... hard, like I like it.
[And she might even let him lead like he is now. Usually she'd be the ones giving orders. Her finger slides around her cunt one more time before she brings it to her mouth, trying to be loud enough that he'll her tongue licking them.] Are you touching yourself yet?
Sure, kiss you gentle. Fuck you rough. Grab you by the hips and pull you on and off my cock. [Almost idly, then his voice lowers again to punctuate the thoughts of particular interest:]
Grab the back of your neck, grab your hip, shove you down on it until it hits the spot. [There's a soft growl in his voice, then he pauses to listen to her licking.
At the question, he chuckles.]
I want to focus on you. I want your fingers deep in you, find me the parts of you that make you sing.
O-Okay. [It's probably clear from the uncertainty in her voice, despite her clear excitement, that she doesn't often do things like this. Nebula lets out a gasp as she plunges her metal fingers back deep into her cunt, pumping them with increasing speed-- so much that it's getting hard to keep up with the words and what she'd do to him in return and what she'd like.
She didn't usually cede control like this, much preferring to give orders. The reasons she's not now are just as obvious as they are troubling. Her fingers grow more furious, but she manages to pant out words.] I want... I would want your cock to make me scream. My fingers are not going to d-do as good a j-job.
It is actually getting a little hard not to stroke himself, but he simply shifts and restrains himself. He doesn't want to miss a second from her, not one little breath.]
You're doing a good job. [He says, sensing uncertainty from her.]
You do it well-- getting me worked up. I bet those pretty fingers know how to get you off-- know all the good places-- I can help you find more.
[Nebula opens the door, black eyes fixing on the man waiting behind them. Why she'd agreed to this is likely a moment of temporary stupidity. But he seems harmless enough. She moves aside from the door to let him in.]
Where would you like to be on your knees? The bedroom, living room... right here in my hallway? [She's not one to beat around the bush.]
Thank you for signing up for our Secret Santa! Please let me know if you require any assistance at all. Here is the information for your gift recipient.
Yours, Daphne Basset
Name: Leonard McCoy Address: Sunnybrook Age: About 40 What are your hobbies and interests? Being a doctor. Researching the scientific explanations for "magic." Helping people. He's so boring |D What is your favorite color? Blue Do you drink alcohol? Probably too much. Is there a note you would like to leave for your Secret Santa? Kiss the ones you love and tell them so every chance you get. Enjoy this present and have a happy holiday!
[ eddie drops nebula's gifts off on christmas eve afternoon, giving a sharp rap to her door before scurrying off. maybe she'll answer quickly and see him! he's fine with that. ]
To: Nebula
In the box there's a handheld game preloaded with "69+ games!" ( vintage classics, many with sex-themed changes ) and a set of different sided throwing stars. There's also a tall red bag ( meant for a bottle of wine, probably ) beside the box with a bottle of Duplicity-branded Everclear-style liquor, 190 proof.
"Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Hope it's great. :)
[The afternoon of the day after their network conversation, Nebula will receive a parcel wrapped around an old, but otherwise carefully-handled copy of a book entitled The Mask of Dimitrios. A short penned-out note is included with it, which reads:]
Please enjoy at your leisure. I'll be looking forward to hearing what you think.
- C. Saville
[It's not like the book they chatted about on the network, but he chose it with her newness to the genre in mind. The story, written from the perspective of a man new to the world of espionage, but filled with tension, mystery, and danger, felt like an ideal starting point.]
[There's much about the details in the book that Nebula knows little about. Europe in the 1930s is a bit hard to fully comprehend for an alien from space who barely understood even modern Earth outside of music, Kevin Bacon references, and the little she'd gleaned from the Avengers. But other parts she understands all too well. Corruption. Assassinations. Not knowing who to trust.
It's only a few days before the book is returned, wrapped carefully back up in the same parcel that it was sent.
She's included a note back:]
I did enjoy this book. Although, I am not sure that I am satisfied with the ending. Latimer simply went back to his life as a writer after seeing everything he saw, and witnessing the death of Peters and Dimitrios? He's naive and should have known what he was getting into.
[Charles is pleasantly surprised to receive this return written note from a space faring person --a thoughtful one that shows she enjoyed the book, no less-- and writes back in the same way:]
Ms. Nebula,
I don't think you're meant to feel about him any way than you do. [He relates to what he feels like he's hearing: That someone's own feelings or ideas might be in need of questioning or correction in some way, even by the person themselves. He doesn't want to do to someone else the kind of thing that was done to him, that made him feel that way.] If you don't like him, and think his naïveté is foolish, then that's how you received him.
I sent that book to you, with Latimer as the main character, on a guess that a character who was also new to the espionage book genre in a sense, might be a good introduction to how this type of story works. If you'd like to read more, I'd be happy to send you one with a main character who is more savvy.
[Note writing isn't exactly a forte, but it feels strange to switch to a text now. So at some point, she'll slip another note into his door, shorter this time.]
Charles-
I would like another book of someone savvy, like you suggested. Perhaps you could send me books or recommendations regularly? Only if you want to, of course. But I would enjoy continuing this.
Moreso with recent happenings. If you'd like some notes on what you've missed, the back room of the Smoking Wand is available again for... private meetings.
[She's already heading toward the door, in fact. So provided she doesn't get stuck in her apartment elevator like she did yesterday, she'll be there shortly.]
[When Nebula arrives, she'll find not much changed, the building hasn't been particularly cleaned up on the outside and there's evidence of scuffles near the front windows, phallic shaped smudges on some of the glass, blood stains here and there on the pavement and the bricks, a bit more advertising in the window and a note of the available products, with Malcolm being more business-minded than D'Artagnan had been, but the hookah bar still hadn't been the man's focus. Inside, it looks the same with colourful floor cushions and low geometric tables, hookahs set out and a cabinet of organised blends on the wall behind the counter. The door's unlocked, as the wards keep out anyone unwelcome, and D'Artagnan's taken up a stool behind the counter, looking through a ledger and clearly disinterested in doing so. He looks relatively the same too, dressed in black jeans and a dark maroon leather jacket, his hair half grown back out and chin-length, swept back by a black beret. He's garnered a few minor facial scars, and a smaller nick taken out of his left earlobe.]
Nebula.
[His greeting is perfunctory on the surface, voice flat and dry, but his eyes show more emotion, both an interest in seeing her again, and commiseration on her unfortunate return. Slipping off the stool, he nods towards the back off the room where the hallway leads off to the space he'd once used as an arsenal, presuming she'll not wish to sit around and chat idly.]
[It does look almost exactly like she remembers it as she walks up to the door, aside from a few minor things. Stepping inside, her eyes scan the hookah bar, taking it all in before her black eyes settle on the man waiting for her behind the counter, and noting how he's changed. The scars tell a story that she assumes tells that he's continued fighting this place as hard as ever.
Nebula, for her part, looks different too. The metal plate above her eye is no longer there, leaving only a sharp eyebrow and blue skin. Her cybernetic arm looks different, a replacement for the one she'd had before. It's more advanced than her old one, but D'Artagnan likely wouldn't be able to tell that just by sight, considering his technological knowledge. She's as serious as ever, but there is something in her changed. She's softer, less harsh around the edges. There's even a small smile there at the corner of her lips at seeing him, despite hating the fact that she's back.]
D'Artagnan. [She follows him to the back.] You look like you've seen a few battles since I was here last...
[He's subtle about taking in the differences, the area around Nebula's eye most obvious to him, and though his fist instinct would be to presume an earlier arrival before the metal piece had been affixed there, he knows it can't be, not if she remembers him. A repair perhaps, or something else entirely, her level of technology and what medical knowledge comes from her world, galaxy, time, it's all unknown to him. His eyes linger on her arm too, different in a way he can't specify, and thoughts like upgrading a weapon don't occur to him, for he's never seen her as such, nor considered the cybernetics 'parts'. It's the hint of a smile instead of a smirk, and the warmer note in her eyes that allow him more display of his own emotions, a faint but broad smile of his own as he opens the door to the back room.]
Not as many as I'd like. There's been... complications.
[Some out of his control, and some he's ashamed originated within himself, caught by the lure of settling and grasping onto what positive things he could of this world. A false contentment that bred nothing but bitterness and enmity in the end. The room is rather empty at present: a few items on shelves that had clearly just been used for actual storage for a time, a set of throwing knives, glass bottles likely to be used for molotov cocktails, a couple of swords, a crossbow. The leaky pipe remains in disrepair over in the corner near where the floorboards open up, the one bare bulb casting a dim circle of light and not quite reaching the corners of the room. It smells dank and musty, with the stale smoke permeating from the main seating area.]
... How long as it been for you, away, in your world?
Complications. [She remembers all the complications he, James, and her had had when they'd worked together at the beginning. But the way he says it, makes her think it's not something like that.] Are those complications mitigated now? Or still... ongoing?
[Looking over the meager stocks on the shelves, hand running along the shelf holding the swords, reaching to take one out of curiosity. She doesn't need a sword, but she did like weapons.]
It's been nearly a year. [She spins the blade in her hand.] It is strange. I did not remember this place when I was home, but the moment I came back... everything that happened here simply slotted back into my memory.
[Everything this place could do to them unsettled her.]
[As Nebula looks over the swords, D'Artagnan leans against the wall between two shelving units, crossing his arms at his ribs, chewing at the inside of his lower lip.]
That's a long time, and to be thrust back here where it all... returns to you.
[It's difficult for him to imagine, as he's never left, but recently there'd been two others gone a year and returned, though they'd only been asleep for a matter of days. Nebula has been gone months, though he's forgotten how many, exactly when it is she'd left. Sighing to himself, something between exasperated and resigned, he shrugs a bit, his tone dry and without much inflection, despite the subject he speaks on.]
Regarding the complications, I'd drawn away from rebellion for a time. I stopped fighting, for someone I love, and it proved poor choice I'd realised. That complication, I'm done with. The other, I'd been too outspoken. I forget if you were here for Tumenalia, but that's when they did it. I'd a citation for warning people of it. They tortured me, sessions of electric shocks to make me associate sedition and dissent with pain. It worked, too well, and I... still feel them if I think certain things. I can't control this... twitching, and it's difficult to speak.
[It's very much a problem, and he's only recently accepted it for what it's become. Shifting, he points one finger at his temple.]
The damage is irreparable, I've been told. I'd thought to fix it, many times, before I understood that. Whatever we do now, I'll be a liability, but I'll not break from this again, the resistance. I've things I can do and not get in the way. Organisation, notes, clandestine meetings in small measures.
[She listens even if she's not looking at him every single moment, instead running a finger along the blade to test is durability and sharpness. Being back is odd, she couldn't even say she missed anyone here because she'd not known to miss them. And if she did miss them in some capacity anyway, did that imply in some way she wanted to be here? There are a lot of confusing feelings running through her head.
Her expression softens slightly at the mention of him falling in love. Nebula's never been in love. Not really. Infatuations, perhaps. Like she'd had with Jim, not that she'd ever told him. Maybe he'd known. Her gaze rolls back up to his face when he mentions the citation and all that came after. The blade is set down soon after. She's upset on his behalf. He'd been a friend to her, like a fellow Guardian, when she'd had none of them here.]
Does it hurt now? [She steps forward, black eyes searching his face. Nebula knew torture all too well.] I wasn't always like this, you know-- [Nebula taps her arm and a metal plate that still remains on the side of her head despite the slight changes he can see.] But someone told me once... 'we work with what we've got'.
[D'Artagnan thinks to say no, impart a partial falsehood for it, but as he regards her, her intense eyes and knowing she needs no softening of anything he might speak on, just as he wants from people himself, he can't lie.]
Not where I notice it as much, presently. My thoughts are brief and faint, not directed. It's there, but I've gotten used to it at this... intensity. It's been seven months now. When we start discussing things, actionable things, or where I think clear... clearly...
[Which he's done, a thought on intended dissent, retaliation against the city, the Creator, it flows too easily in his mind once letting the first piece slip from his hold. He twitches, a few jerking motions, fingers flexing and grasping at nothing, his eyes unfocused and sliding off to the side, attempts to finish his sentence as his throat tightens, and all that comes out is low vowel noises and a pained hiss. It's a quick reaction, though it feels longer to him, and when he can control himself, he tries to return to where he'd stopped, licking his lip and letting out a harsh exhale.]
When I think clearly on it, well. You've seen it now. We work with what we've got, as you've said.
[His voice is rasping more than usual, spoken with more urgency to get it all out, irrational fear of judgment and pity though he knows, logically, objectively, that Nebula won't engage in that condemnation of weakness.]
[She's moving closer, a hand reaching out to steady him, only to let it fall as he seems to regain most of his control. Nebula stays there, only a few feet from him, in case he starts to falter again. There's no pity on her face, just an understanding.
Nebula isn't going to go into it right now, as this isn't about her, but she knows what it is to be controlled and tortured into compliance. Seeing it in someone else does nothing but make her rage against their oppressors. And that D'Artagnan hasn't ultimately chosen to give up means something. It makes her respect him even more.]
Does what they've done in any way compel you to report those plotting seditious acts? [She trusts him, but she also knows what this place is capable of, so it seems worth asking.]
[Though she'd intended to be there if necessary, and there's no wish for comfort in her closeness, D'Artagnan reaches out himself, a brief but firm splay of fingers at Nebula's bicep, hoping to convey an acknowledgement both of the silent commiseration on something she's not outwardly addressed, and for the anger in her dark eyes, for he often feels that simmering rage himself for what's happened to others. It's a look he knows well, subtle and obscured as it is. D'Artagnan furrows his eyebrows as he considers the question, it's not taken as suspicion against him, for it's a reasonable query.]
No.
[It's quiet and roughly spoken, and within that simple word is a thread of realisation they could do such a thing, and might at a future point. The possibility is not to be discarded.]
It was to silence me, nothing broader than that. The citation was for seditious speech, but it was my fourth for that offense. An escalation, as their other measures hadn't worked.
[He snorts then, a sardonic bent to his commentary.]
[Her brow quirks as D'Artagnan clutches her arm, but she doesn't move to encourage or discourage the touch. Nebula understands the intent well enough, even if she doesn't give voice to it. There's so much of her life that she'd felt helpless against. Namely, what Thanos aimed to make her. And at what he'd succeeded in making her. In many ways, she still viewed herself as his monster, despite all she'd overcome.
Nebula can't help but smirk after he snorts, approval laced in her expression.] Good. I am glad to see you haven't been cowed despite their best efforts to break you.
[Even if she hates to see him this way. Her expression turns a moment, caught on a question rolling around in her brain. One that she's not sure if she should ask because she wants a certain answer and hearing anything else might hurt too much. Finally, she shoves it out regardless.] What about Jim? I know he left, did they ever manage to break him?
[Her smirk brings a smile to his face, genuine and broad, for he had been so close to breaking. He's done it more than once, smaller degrees, but to have been near capitulation and persevered, he can take a measure of pride in it now, even if he'd felt weak for his faltering. Speaking of Jim keeps the smile there.]
Not for one moment. The last I spoke with him, he'd been involved in an... another...
[It gives way to twitching again, but he forces the words out, wincing.]
Plot with t-those... of similar mi... minds.
[Exhaling slowly, the names comes easier as he shoves the central thought away with much effort.]
Cassian Andor and Max Guevara. They're both still here. Jim, he left without ever backing down. If he returns, whether he remembers or not, I'm certain he'd join us once again.
[He nods at that sentiment, even without him here, Jim's drive remains something to admire and remember, to recall in times of despair.]
I don't know them well myself. I've spoken to Cassian more often.
[As he speaks, a more casual tone, he moves to take up the loose floorboard by the pipe in the back, pulling out a lockbox that now again holds his assembled notes and other materials on small storage cards. He sets it on the folding table, and opens it, a stack of handwritten observations, labels on the supplemental material.]
This is all I have at present, and I'd recently taken a look through all of the old publicly accessible network posts. Information varies, but I think I've organised it well enough.
[She moves to look immediately, reaching in to take a stack gently in her hands. Nebula will make sure it keeps whatever organization D'Artagnan's devised. Her eyes scan each page. It's a substantial amount of information. An impressive amount. Nebula had known how much he'd wanted to fight this place, but hadn't understood the full extent of what he'd undertaken, clearly.]
You've done more than well enough. [How impressed she is crystal clear in her voice. It's a start difference to how she'd spoken to him and Jim on their first missions together. Not a singly 'idiot' is about to be spoken.] It's good that it's written down too...
[Something a cyborg would not usually say, but.]
Harder to confiscate or track. Although you should make duplicates, just in case. If you haven't already. I'd researched the network posts the last time, and nearly everything I remember in my memory core is here.
[A crooked smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, an awkward pride in it, for Nebula isn't often so blatant in her praise, not that he recalls. He'd expected perhaps a bit of affectionate malignment on his organisation or chiding for all the unnecessary secrecy, but this is genuine, and D'Artagnan's small hum of a noise sounds rather smug in response, but there's a warmth in his dark eyes over her acknowledgement. On the matter of duplicates, he snorts to himself, though, having mentioned that to the last person he'd showed the notes to.]
I've not. I thought it... somehow ill-advised. I suppose it's not though, is it?
[As she speaks of her memory core, he chews at his lip, for it's only now he understands just how much Nebula might hold in her... circuitry, a strange notion to compare her at all to the computers and other devices that are... machinery.]
Good. I've been thorough then. I thought we might find something to build... build on with more c-caution than... destruct...
[He can't finish it, fingers pressing hard into the table, but the gist of his comment has been made.]
Copies may increase the chance of them being found, but you also don't want to risk losing it all if your only copies are discovered.
[There are risks and benefits to both strategies. But she still thinks copies are the better of the options.]
I understand... our original plan with Jim was one ultimately only based in revenge and destruction. Biding our time, learning as much as we can, it's better. [Nebula sets the papers back, closing the box for now. She'll no doubt look through them all more later.] I am not always good with having patience.
[There's too much rage in her sometimes to allow herself to wait. It's been a flaw of hers for a long time.]
I appreciate you bringing me here, telling me, and showing me this. [Having that kind of trust in her felt good. Sure, they'd worked together before, but time had passed. It meant something to her.] Being here again, I felt somewhat untethered.
[This gave her a goal. A meaning. Something other than rage. Although that is fueling her too.]
[It's quiet and quick, a nod as if he'd perhaps not ever considered keeping it from her, or not wishing her involvement. Rebels themselves aren't so rare, but those willing to actually do something and not resort to simply talking about it every so often amidst their swath of parties as if it an afterthought, those people are hard to come by. Those who will risk everything. D'Artagnan had almost fallen into the beginnings of that trap, but he'd escaped the cage of acceptance and he'll not look back.]
I've felt untethered for a long time now, I need this too.
[He'd told Malcolm the same thing when he'd asked to take over the Smoking Wand again, for what is he without a purpose?]
We may not prevail, not for years, but we'll not back down.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Video
I don’t know whether you want to see me in person, Nebula? But for the record… I’m sorry.
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The message is unexpected and she very nearly rejects the call. Instead, she answers, frowning into the screen.]
You're sorry. Why should I-- [Nebula is momentarily distracted by the way Gamora is positioned in the frame.] Why are you standing so strangely?
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[Gamora immediately snaps back. She tries to alter her stance so she’s not stood ramrod straight by bending a knee, but it still looks awkward.
There’s a beat.]
I am being punished. For attacking you.
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I didn't report you. [Nebula tenses, looking around her. This city must have eyes everywhere, and that thought is unsettling. Especially considering the plotting that she's been doing with Jim and D'Artagnan. Although the fight and Gamora nearly taking her head off hadn't exactly been subtle.] Are you actually sorry? Or are they forcing you to say so?
[The words Gamora had spoken to her had hurt. And maybe that shows on Nebula's face as much as she's trying to remain stone faced.]
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[Gamora stops herself. What she’d done was terrible.]
Do you think anyone could force me to do anything?
[Except wear a harness.
There’s so much upset in Gamora’s tone.]
I’m sorry. Truly sorry.
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[Make them do things that they'd rather not, for instance. She also doesn't know what to do with the apology though.]
I didn't know how to tell you. About what happened to you. [she grits her teeth, trying to find the words and get them out. Although Gamora's accusations at her still ring in her ears. About how Gamora's death and Thanos' getting all the stones in the first place had been all her fault. It stung, because it felt true.]
Because... I do think it was my fault. [She carried that weight of failure on her shoulders everyday.]
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There's silence too when Nebula admits that she thinks Gamora's death is her fault. It takes a moment for her confession to register with Gamora, for Gamora to process it. She looks sadly back at her sister.]
If my death is your fault, your torture is solely mine. Except, I... chose it. Your fate. You didn't choose mine. Nebula, I'm sorry.
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Gamora's apology again make Nebula avert her gaze. She can't pretend she doesn't resent her for everything that happened to her. She wouldn't have tried to kill her so many times back home if she didn't. That's a resentment that doesn't simply disappear despite trying to mend their relationship.]
I'm sorry too. For not telling you sooner. We'd just started to mend things back home... and then... [And then.] I didn't mean to steal your life. Rocket and I only had each other for a long time. When we got everyone back, I wasn't about to go anywhere else.
[Nebula had needed a family just as much as Gamora had.]
Nothing is happening with Quill and I. Before you ask. I don't know what that network post was talking about. [Whatever she feels for Peter is not something she's willing to admit to herself, let alone anyone else.]
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Perhaps even you could beat me now.
[She laughs, trying to make it clear it’s a joke.
But Nebula’s already talking and her uneasy laugh becomes a genuine smile. She’s upset, naturally, but she can imagine how well Nebula and Rocket would get on. Both had a cock-sure attitude and a flair for the dramatic. And both were intensely loyal to their families. She’s about to say as much but Nebula is already talking about Quill.
It hurts. Even her denial hurts. Gamora fears it’s lies. Why else would the network say it?
But… she’s dead. And Peter needs someone.
Gamora looks down to hide the tears trickling slowly over her cheeks.
After a moment, she manages,]
You have to look after him, Nebula. Be - [Fuck]
- what I can never be. Learn to dance.
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[There is a small quirk of a smile on her lips too, but it's faint. And any sight of it quickly fades at Gamora's ask about Quill.]
I'll look after him. I already am. But I'm not... it's not like that, Gamora! [She's indignant now, clearly getting flustered.] He's not over you. The version of you in our Galaxy, that's from a time before ever meeting the Guardians-- I think he hopes that she might come back. But she's joined the Ravagers. She's not you.
And I'm not you. [She never would be. Could never hope to be.]
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[She’s beginning to realise that the goal here isn’t to be as good as a dominant, including Nebula. She’s supposed to be weaker, lower. Gamora hates it. It goes against her competitive nature. And with all this sadness, a good fight with Nebula is exactly what she needs.]
Next time, will they stop with a harness? [Is that How Nebula thought? Next time, will they stop with my arm? The weight of Gamora’s guilt increases. She can’t complain about something so trivial.]
My - the other Gamora joined the Ravagers? [She can’t imagine it.] she won’t go back to the Guardians then, not if she hasn’t joined. You know how stubborn I am. I do not tolerate idiocy and the Guardians are the biggest idiots in the galaxy.
[Shes sad. Just overwhelmingly sad about everything. That her life is going to end, that Thanos won. That she’s helped him. He’s used her weaknesses, her love, against her. She’s sad for Quill. For Nebula. And she’s upset even more that, if she wants to live, this place in which she is a submissive is the only place where she can do that.]
Will you tolerate me in person, Nebula?
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[But as soon as Gamora showed up here, it's felt like nothing had changed at all from her sister's perspective. And it hurts more than Nebula can verbalize. She snorts a bit at the mention of the Guardians.]
They are absolutely idiots... [And Nebula still told them as much nearly daily, despite considering them family.] And I don't think the other Gamora knew how to handle the way Quill kept looking at her.
[He'd been the definition of coming on too strong. Nebula looks up at her, tense and uncertain. It's probably a bad idea to see her in person. She's still not convinced that her words aren't the city's doing. Still--]
I can meet you. Where are you?
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[But Gamora doesn’t fully trust her sister. She realises with dismay that she’s waiting on tenterhooks for Nebula to turn, to gloat. Because if positions were reversed, she would. She has.]
Nebula, I haven’t trusted you. I’m sorry. [She hesitates.]
That conversation - Ego? All of that happened a month ago for me, not years and years. I suppose, in a month… did you trust me after a month? Do you trust me now?
[She tilts her head.] But I want our relationship to be better.
[That look. Quill’s stupid look. It breaks Gamora’s heart to think that she won’t have much time left with him.]
She won’t have the patience to deal with his stupid puppy eyes.
[Its a small break through.]
I’m at Scratch, in the cabanas. Ororo’s letting me stay until I can get this harness off.
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Rocket helped with that. The Avengers helped me. The other Guardians, too. I do want us to be real sisters. Like we were never able to be.
[There's a small smile on Nebula's lips as she ducks her head.] She kicked Quill in the crotch when they first met. Because he immediately tried to kiss her.
[Her expression sobers quickly, when the reality of it all comes back. Because Quill hadn't known it wasn't her. Their Gamora. Because she was gone and could never come back.]
I know Scratch. And Ororo. [Nebula likes Ororo, although she'd only met her the handful of times.] I will be there shortly.
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[It still hurts. She feels so immensely sad when she hears Nebula talking about Rocket and the others. The Avengers, though that means nothing to Gamora. Just her life and all of its possibilities and the chance to be sisters - real sisters, not soldiers bred to hate and hurt - with Nebula. All snatched, once more, by their father.
Gamora sniffs, frustrated that she can't wipe the tears that threaten to spill. It's rare she cries, but the knowledge of losing everything, everyone she cares about, is awful.
She is so glad when Nebula moves to a lighter topic, but her response is silenced as Nebula's expression sobers. She nods and cuts the feed to wait for her sister to arrive.]
>action
She makes her way to Scratch and heads to the back after asking around about where the cabanas are, finally finding Gamora in one of them. She keeps her distance, still. Just because her sister has her arms restrained didn't mean she couldn't still be dangerous.]
Sister... [Nebula doesn't know where to start, so she settles on that watching her and scowling a bit at the restraints. Maybe in the past she might have mocked her, but not now.]
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You came.
[She nods her head to the sofa bed.]
Please. Sit. Be comfortable. There’s lemonade - it’s a Terran drink - on the table.
[She eases herself down, arms bending awkwardly with the tight bondage. It’s uncomfortable but not painful and she grimaces.]
It would seem this place bears similarities to our home.
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Similar. But not the same. It is a different sort of cruelty. [Nebula finds herself agreeing.] ...did you want a drink too? [Since as she is, Gamora can't exactly get one on her own.]
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You are right. Their punishments are not as violent as what we - you. Are used to.
[She stumbles a little. She has no right to claim to know Thanos' violence. Not like Nebula.]
I am sorry. For trying to kill you. For saying what I said.
[She takes a breath.] I was... I...
[She can't admit how upset she was to Nebula. Gamora looks down at her bare thighs. It's easier to focus there than on her sister.] I don't blame you.
[It's not quite a lie.]
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I blame me. [Nebula admits, trying to steel her expression.] I think every day what I could have done differently. If I hadn't let Thanos get that information out of my head...
I killed myself, you know. The version of me from the other Gamora's timeline. She was going to kill you. [She shakes her head, correcting herself.] The other you. And I couldn't let it happen. Not again.
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[Its then that Gamora realises. If she hadn’t told Nebula where the Soul Stone was, then Thanos wouldn’t have tortured Nebula to make Gamora tell. The fault ultimately lies with Gamora.
She takes a minute, working through her grief still. But Nebula killed Her counterpart to protect Gamora?
There is so much love and hope expressed in that one violent sentiment. And Nebula killing her counterpart to save Gamora?
Things start clicking into place and Gamora starts to allow herself to be the bigger picture. The Guardians - her death - will allow Nebula to heal. Nebula can’t thrive with her sister, her competition, her torturer, there. In dying, Gamora will give Nebula a chance to grow and change and experience happiness.
Her death won’t save the universe, but it will save her sister.
That at least clear in her head, Gamora looks up from her thighs and over at her sister.]
I love you, Nebula.
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voice; un: cable
[She's been on his mind since they last spoke.]
voice; un:bluemeanie
I am fine. [Someone checking up on her, is... different.] How are you holding up?
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How long did it take you to adjust to being here?
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[So maybe she's adjusted enough to not try to blow up the city. Which is something?]
Once I got things here. People. I own the Red Emerald gym, then I stopped fighting so hard. [She doesn't sound happy about saying it out loud. Shouldn't she be fighting harder?]
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Don't beat yourself up about losing in a no-win situation, kid. [Gently, but firmly.]
This place is very specifically designed to wear you down. You need to fight smart, not hard. Wait for your opportunities.
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But you're strong and you seem clever enough, you'll figure it out.
[He is weirdly optimistic for someone as bitter as he is.]
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Why do you think I'm either of those things? [Please don't hear the sadness tinges in her voice.] You don't actually know me, Cable.
[How she'd longed to hear anything even half as kind from Thanos.]
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[That is a massive understatement.]
Why are you so sure I'm wrong? [He notes the twinge of sadness, sorry Nebula. It intrigues him.]
You're welcome to try and prove me wrong.
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Every time I failed, or my sister beat me in combat... he would replace a piece of my body with machinery. All I've ever heard is my failings.
[It's not his fault and it's not his problem. But he'd asked.]
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I'm sorry. [Generally he thinks this sort of response is unhelpful, but maybe there's something useful he can accomplish here.]
You deserved better than him. You deserved love. You still do.
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[She pauses then retracing what he'd said.] ...I still do?
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The person you are now, the person you became from your own effort, she deserves love.
And if you can't give it to her, let someone else try.
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What if no one will...?
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You're a beautiful, fascinating woman, Nebula. Someone will. Someone probably already does.
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[Or perhaps he's right, and she just never let them try? Curiosity and a selfish desire to hear him say more, she asks tentatively.] What makes me beautiful?
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Your eyes, your lips, your voice.. the way you walk. Like you're stalking prey.
[His voice is soft, amused.]
Should I go on? I can.
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There's a softness to her voice too, bordering on desperation then.] I want you to, yes. [It's all she can do to stop herself from begging.] Keep going.
[Please.]
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In a good way.]
I like your skin. The soft parts and the hard parts. The way your brows furrow when you're thinking. [He pauses, letting it sink in a little before he tests the limits here.]
I've been thinking about what your lips would taste like.
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Nebula knows the idea of someone with that voice telling her these things should revolt her. She should be cursing at him and shutting off her communicator. Yet, she'd asked for this. It's what she wants.]
Have you? [Nebula hums, her voice getting lower.] And what do you imagine they taste like? Maybe I can tell you if you're right...
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How he feels about Nebula isn't a manufactured impulse, at least. His attraction is genuine, but by god does he feel like his boundaries have fucking blown away in the wind.
But she's receptive, so he hums right back at her.]
I bet they taste sweet. [He says, a little bit of longing in that contemplative tone.]
Soft and moreish. [He continues, thinking.]
Maybe I should try them sometime.
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Maybe you should. [The agreement is quieter than she usually is, a yearning sounding in her own tone. She considers a moment, voice rising a bit in a slight challenge that speaks to how turned on the thought is making her.] I'll try not to bite you.
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You sound like you're enjoying this. [Cable teases, just gently, just to test the waters.]
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...I am. [Despite knowing she really shouldn't.] Do you wish I wasn't?
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But I'm glad you are-- I want you to enjoy yourself. [He lets that hang in the air a moment before lowering his voice and adding:]
I'd like to think about you enjoying yourself more.
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[There's nothing that can be done about it now. No amount of wishing would work. Those thoughts fade as there's another delicious coil staring to her stomach and moving lower.]
So long as you are enjoying it too... [She doesn't want to just be humored, after all.] Would you like to taste more than my lips?
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I like to think about you, in that little dress you wore at the casino, with my hands moving your thighs apart so I can bury my face between them.
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How skilled are you with your tongue? I bet you know what you're doing. Would you plan to make a mess of me? And I also wouldn't mind little teeth, either.
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I'm old. You learn things. I like to use my teeth, taste you properly. [The coolness of his tone is doing a decent job of disguising the fact that he's hard and doing nothing about it yet.]
I want you to use your fingers to rub some nice, slow circles on your clit now.
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What would you be doing with your hands while you tasted me? [Her voice takes on a slightly gruffer tone as she does just as he asks, the sound of her belt being undone faint in the audio before her metal hand slides into her pants. Index and ring fingers slide low first into the dampness of her cunt before starting a slow grind against her clit. The moan she lets out is obvious even under her clenched teeth.] Mine would be curled into fists in your hair, forcing your mouth to stay just where it is.
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Squeezing your thighs, running my fingers over them, exploring them. [He sounds faintly amused at the aggression coming out of her, but he's enjoying it.]
Move your fingers faster, princess.
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The m-metal parts... would be hard to squeeze. [She points out, breathy, her inexperience with this kind of thing is showing, but she wants to do it right.] My ass is soft though.
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Does that make it easier to imagine me touching you? Letting me slide my metal hand up your front and palming your breast?
[He follows that with another low chuckle.]
You do have a nice little ass.
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[Her own metal fingers continue to rub her clit, but a few digits start sliding to plunge into her pussy.]
Is there anywhere you'd like me to touch you? Or taste?
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You're a little diamond in the rough, aren't you? Be lucky to spend a night with you. [Again, there's deep praise in his tone.]
I'd like you to think about me bending you over and sliding my cock into that tight pussy of yours, now that it's nice and wet for me. [Cable's voice just gets that little bit more grizzled as he thinks about it.]
Then I want you to taste the fingers I put in your mouth while I fuck you. Suck on them.
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And then he's talking about fucking her and any thought about her self-loathing disappears because her brain is having no part in this right now after that. Her breath catches.] I'd like you to fuck me. Very much. I bet you could do it right too... hard, like I like it.
[And she might even let him lead like he is now. Usually she'd be the ones giving orders. Her finger slides around her cunt one more time before she brings it to her mouth, trying to be loud enough that he'll her tongue licking them.] Are you touching yourself yet?
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Grab the back of your neck, grab your hip, shove you down on it until it hits the spot. [There's a soft growl in his voice, then he pauses to listen to her licking.
At the question, he chuckles.]
I want to focus on you. I want your fingers deep in you, find me the parts of you that make you sing.
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She didn't usually cede control like this, much preferring to give orders. The reasons she's not now are just as obvious as they are troubling. Her fingers grow more furious, but she manages to pant out words.] I want... I would want your cock to make me scream. My fingers are not going to d-do as good a j-job.
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[That's not a threat, that's a promise.
It is actually getting a little hard not to stroke himself, but he simply shifts and restrains himself. He doesn't want to miss a second from her, not one little breath.]
You're doing a good job. [He says, sensing uncertainty from her.]
You do it well-- getting me worked up. I bet those pretty fingers know how to get you off-- know all the good places-- I can help you find more.
un; sexiibabii
ding ding
un:bluemeanie| text
Are you at my door?
You could have just knocked.
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[Knock knock.]
action
Where would you like to be on your knees? The bedroom, living room... right here in my hallway? [She's not one to beat around the bush.]
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Woah-- your eyes are incredible. They're like-- space.
[It wouldn't be unlike him to lay it on, but it's genuine. At her question, though, he's going to try and squirm into her home.]
Inside, inside, inside please.
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log here
🎁 text. un: YourSecretSanta 🎄
Yours,
Daphne Basset
Name: Leonard McCoy
Address: Sunnybrook
Age: About 40
What are your hobbies and interests? Being a doctor. Researching the scientific explanations for "magic." Helping people. He's so boring |D
What is your favorite color? Blue
Do you drink alcohol? Probably too much.
Is there a note you would like to leave for your Secret Santa? Kiss the ones you love and tell them so every chance you get. Enjoy this present and have a happy holiday!
OOC
Character Journal:
Character Inbox Link: link
secret santa gift! 🎁
To: Nebula
In the box there's a handheld game preloaded with "69+ games!" ( vintage classics, many with sex-themed changes ) and a set of different sided throwing stars. There's also a tall red bag ( meant for a bottle of wine, probably ) beside the box with a bottle of Duplicity-branded Everclear-style liquor, 190 proof.
"Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Hope it's great. :)
Your Secret Santa"
[ click the present to open! ]
Delivery (6/1)
Please enjoy at your leisure. I'll be looking forward to hearing what you think.
- C. Saville
[It's not like the book they chatted about on the network, but he chose it with her newness to the genre in mind. The story, written from the perspective of a man new to the world of espionage, but filled with tension, mystery, and danger, felt like an ideal starting point.]
[ooc: Little plot blurb!]
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It's only a few days before the book is returned, wrapped carefully back up in the same parcel that it was sent.
She's included a note back:]
I did enjoy this book. Although, I am not sure that I am satisfied with the ending. Latimer simply went back to his life as a writer after seeing everything he saw, and witnessing the death of Peters and Dimitrios? He's naive and should have known what he was getting into.
I do not like him. Am I meant to?
-Nebula
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Ms. Nebula,
I don't think you're meant to feel about him any way than you do. [He relates to what he feels like he's hearing: That someone's own feelings or ideas might be in need of questioning or correction in some way, even by the person themselves. He doesn't want to do to someone else the kind of thing that was done to him, that made him feel that way.] If you don't like him, and think his naïveté is foolish, then that's how you received him.
I sent that book to you, with Latimer as the main character, on a guess that a character who was also new to the espionage book genre in a sense, might be a good introduction to how this type of story works. If you'd like to read more, I'd be happy to send you one with a main character who is more savvy.
Best,
- C. Saville
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Charles-
I would like another book of someone savvy, like you suggested. Perhaps you could send me books or recommendations regularly? Only if you want to, of course. But I would enjoy continuing this.
-Nebula
text; un: dartagnan
I see you've returned. Possibly. Do you remember me?
text | un:bluemeanie
This place seems as infuriating as ever.
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And is it available now?
[She sees no reason to wait.]
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[She's already heading toward the door, in fact. So provided she doesn't get stuck in her apartment elevator like she did yesterday, she'll be there shortly.]
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Nebula.
[His greeting is perfunctory on the surface, voice flat and dry, but his eyes show more emotion, both an interest in seeing her again, and commiseration on her unfortunate return. Slipping off the stool, he nods towards the back off the room where the hallway leads off to the space he'd once used as an arsenal, presuming she'll not wish to sit around and chat idly.]
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Nebula, for her part, looks different too. The metal plate above her eye is no longer there, leaving only a sharp eyebrow and blue skin. Her cybernetic arm looks different, a replacement for the one she'd had before. It's more advanced than her old one, but D'Artagnan likely wouldn't be able to tell that just by sight, considering his technological knowledge. She's as serious as ever, but there is something in her changed. She's softer, less harsh around the edges. There's even a small smile there at the corner of her lips at seeing him, despite hating the fact that she's back.]
D'Artagnan. [She follows him to the back.] You look like you've seen a few battles since I was here last...
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Not as many as I'd like. There's been... complications.
[Some out of his control, and some he's ashamed originated within himself, caught by the lure of settling and grasping onto what positive things he could of this world. A false contentment that bred nothing but bitterness and enmity in the end. The room is rather empty at present: a few items on shelves that had clearly just been used for actual storage for a time, a set of throwing knives, glass bottles likely to be used for molotov cocktails, a couple of swords, a crossbow. The leaky pipe remains in disrepair over in the corner near where the floorboards open up, the one bare bulb casting a dim circle of light and not quite reaching the corners of the room. It smells dank and musty, with the stale smoke permeating from the main seating area.]
... How long as it been for you, away, in your world?
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[Looking over the meager stocks on the shelves, hand running along the shelf holding the swords, reaching to take one out of curiosity. She doesn't need a sword, but she did like weapons.]
It's been nearly a year. [She spins the blade in her hand.] It is strange. I did not remember this place when I was home, but the moment I came back... everything that happened here simply slotted back into my memory.
[Everything this place could do to them unsettled her.]
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That's a long time, and to be thrust back here where it all... returns to you.
[It's difficult for him to imagine, as he's never left, but recently there'd been two others gone a year and returned, though they'd only been asleep for a matter of days. Nebula has been gone months, though he's forgotten how many, exactly when it is she'd left. Sighing to himself, something between exasperated and resigned, he shrugs a bit, his tone dry and without much inflection, despite the subject he speaks on.]
Regarding the complications, I'd drawn away from rebellion for a time. I stopped fighting, for someone I love, and it proved poor choice I'd realised. That complication, I'm done with. The other, I'd been too outspoken. I forget if you were here for Tumenalia, but that's when they did it. I'd a citation for warning people of it. They tortured me, sessions of electric shocks to make me associate sedition and dissent with pain. It worked, too well, and I... still feel them if I think certain things. I can't control this... twitching, and it's difficult to speak.
[It's very much a problem, and he's only recently accepted it for what it's become. Shifting, he points one finger at his temple.]
The damage is irreparable, I've been told. I'd thought to fix it, many times, before I understood that. Whatever we do now, I'll be a liability, but I'll not break from this again, the resistance. I've things I can do and not get in the way. Organisation, notes, clandestine meetings in small measures.
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Her expression softens slightly at the mention of him falling in love. Nebula's never been in love. Not really. Infatuations, perhaps. Like she'd had with Jim, not that she'd ever told him. Maybe he'd known. Her gaze rolls back up to his face when he mentions the citation and all that came after. The blade is set down soon after. She's upset on his behalf. He'd been a friend to her, like a fellow Guardian, when she'd had none of them here.]
Does it hurt now? [She steps forward, black eyes searching his face. Nebula knew torture all too well.] I wasn't always like this, you know-- [Nebula taps her arm and a metal plate that still remains on the side of her head despite the slight changes he can see.] But someone told me once... 'we work with what we've got'.
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Not where I notice it as much, presently. My thoughts are brief and faint, not directed. It's there, but I've gotten used to it at this... intensity. It's been seven months now. When we start discussing things, actionable things, or where I think clear... clearly...
[Which he's done, a thought on intended dissent, retaliation against the city, the Creator, it flows too easily in his mind once letting the first piece slip from his hold. He twitches, a few jerking motions, fingers flexing and grasping at nothing, his eyes unfocused and sliding off to the side, attempts to finish his sentence as his throat tightens, and all that comes out is low vowel noises and a pained hiss. It's a quick reaction, though it feels longer to him, and when he can control himself, he tries to return to where he'd stopped, licking his lip and letting out a harsh exhale.]
When I think clearly on it, well. You've seen it now. We work with what we've got, as you've said.
[His voice is rasping more than usual, spoken with more urgency to get it all out, irrational fear of judgment and pity though he knows, logically, objectively, that Nebula won't engage in that condemnation of weakness.]
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Nebula isn't going to go into it right now, as this isn't about her, but she knows what it is to be controlled and tortured into compliance. Seeing it in someone else does nothing but make her rage against their oppressors. And that D'Artagnan hasn't ultimately chosen to give up means something. It makes her respect him even more.]
Does what they've done in any way compel you to report those plotting seditious acts? [She trusts him, but she also knows what this place is capable of, so it seems worth asking.]
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No.
[It's quiet and roughly spoken, and within that simple word is a thread of realisation they could do such a thing, and might at a future point. The possibility is not to be discarded.]
It was to silence me, nothing broader than that. The citation was for seditious speech, but it was my fourth for that offense. An escalation, as their other measures hadn't worked.
[He snorts then, a sardonic bent to his commentary.]
I suppose this one hasn't either.
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Nebula can't help but smirk after he snorts, approval laced in her expression.] Good. I am glad to see you haven't been cowed despite their best efforts to break you.
[Even if she hates to see him this way. Her expression turns a moment, caught on a question rolling around in her brain. One that she's not sure if she should ask because she wants a certain answer and hearing anything else might hurt too much. Finally, she shoves it out regardless.] What about Jim? I know he left, did they ever manage to break him?
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Not for one moment. The last I spoke with him, he'd been involved in an... another...
[It gives way to twitching again, but he forces the words out, wincing.]
Plot with t-those... of similar mi... minds.
[Exhaling slowly, the names comes easier as he shoves the central thought away with much effort.]
Cassian Andor and Max Guevara. They're both still here. Jim, he left without ever backing down. If he returns, whether he remembers or not, I'm certain he'd join us once again.
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Good. [If he had broken, Nebula would have never forgiven herself for not being here. Not that she'd had much of a choice in leaving.] That's good.
I think I have seen their names on the network, but I don't know them. I'll have to start.
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I don't know them well myself. I've spoken to Cassian more often.
[As he speaks, a more casual tone, he moves to take up the loose floorboard by the pipe in the back, pulling out a lockbox that now again holds his assembled notes and other materials on small storage cards. He sets it on the folding table, and opens it, a stack of handwritten observations, labels on the supplemental material.]
This is all I have at present, and I'd recently taken a look through all of the old publicly accessible network posts. Information varies, but I think I've organised it well enough.
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You've done more than well enough. [How impressed she is crystal clear in her voice. It's a start difference to how she'd spoken to him and Jim on their first missions together. Not a singly 'idiot' is about to be spoken.] It's good that it's written down too...
[Something a cyborg would not usually say, but.]
Harder to confiscate or track. Although you should make duplicates, just in case. If you haven't already. I'd researched the network posts the last time, and nearly everything I remember in my memory core is here.
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I've not. I thought it... somehow ill-advised. I suppose it's not though, is it?
[As she speaks of her memory core, he chews at his lip, for it's only now he understands just how much Nebula might hold in her... circuitry, a strange notion to compare her at all to the computers and other devices that are... machinery.]
Good. I've been thorough then. I thought we might find something to build... build on with more c-caution than... destruct...
[He can't finish it, fingers pressing hard into the table, but the gist of his comment has been made.]
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[There are risks and benefits to both strategies. But she still thinks copies are the better of the options.]
I understand... our original plan with Jim was one ultimately only based in revenge and destruction. Biding our time, learning as much as we can, it's better. [Nebula sets the papers back, closing the box for now. She'll no doubt look through them all more later.] I am not always good with having patience.
[There's too much rage in her sometimes to allow herself to wait. It's been a flaw of hers for a long time.]
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[He might certainly commiserate on that. D'Artagnan takes the box, but he doesn't place it back in the floorboards.]
I'll make a copy or two, for now, keep one in another location for myself. Leave the other with someone trustworthy who'll otherwise not be involved.
[When he finds such a person.]
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I appreciate you bringing me here, telling me, and showing me this. [Having that kind of trust in her felt good. Sure, they'd worked together before, but time had passed. It meant something to her.] Being here again, I felt somewhat untethered.
[This gave her a goal. A meaning. Something other than rage. Although that is fueling her too.]
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[It's quiet and quick, a nod as if he'd perhaps not ever considered keeping it from her, or not wishing her involvement. Rebels themselves aren't so rare, but those willing to actually do something and not resort to simply talking about it every so often amidst their swath of parties as if it an afterthought, those people are hard to come by. Those who will risk everything. D'Artagnan had almost fallen into the beginnings of that trap, but he'd escaped the cage of acceptance and he'll not look back.]
I've felt untethered for a long time now, I need this too.
[He'd told Malcolm the same thing when he'd asked to take over the Smoking Wand again, for what is he without a purpose?]
We may not prevail, not for years, but we'll not back down.