This post has the following content warnings:
"This is not a good idea," Grim says, sharp and bitter.
"Which of us is in charge again?" her Father asks, cool, the threat implicit in his tone.
"I- you, sir, I know but- this isn't going to-"
"We are being well paid to take Thanos out. So make it happen. Or do I have to remind you what happens when you defy me?"
Grim ducks her head, breathes out carefully, doesn't let her reaction show beyond that. "No sir. I understand."
"Then get it done." He hangs up without saying anything else.
"He's going to kill us." Shallow breaths. "Kill us and replace us on the next planet he massacres."
"Don't be melodramatic."
Nebula finally rises to her feet again and shakes the kinks out of her recently-manhandled limbs.
"He might kill me. Couldn't bring himself to do you, though. Grim I'm fifty-fifty on."
Better odds that Grim would've given herself. Better odds than she's fairly certain she's ever had on survival.
"Are you just going to stand there and wait to die, then?" Gamora pulls herself together and puts her war face on. "We can get you out of here."
She glanced at her other siblings.
"We can all get out of here."
Her eyes follow Cull's outstretched arm to the puddle of shadow that is Grim.
"Grim has contacts in this star system. If we can make it to the nearest inhabited planet, we can slip off the grid."
Grim doesn't bother confirming or denying that - it is true, but she wants to see which direction the room is swaying in before she commits herself to anything.
"My god you're pathetic." Proxima, returning from sealing the exits, strides up to Gamora. "I ought to gut you myself, save Father the trouble."
Saying nothing, Nebula casually drifts into a flanking position on Proxima's far side.
"Proxima. You shouldn't make threats you can't keep. Weren't you scolded for that once this week, already?"
"Doubt he'd be pleased to come back and find any of us dead," Grim says, voice soft, but it carries.
"Indeed, he wouldn't."
Corvus, who up until this moment has been studying the scene with detached interest, steps between Proxima and Gamora.
"We have a sparring ring for a reason. There'll be absolutely no fighting on the command deck."
...well, if he's gonna give her a starting point.
Humming in harmony to said rumble!
Gamora produces the wooden bauble she's been whittling away at for the past month, brings it up to her lips and blows into it.
The crude woodwind produces musical notes. Not good musical notes. But notes nonetheless.
"Oh, for fuck's sake I was being--"
Nebula rolls her eye hard.
"Err, Fine."
She hums.
In dour monotone: "A thousand bottles of Kree on the wall. A thousand bottles of Kreeee..."
Together, the siblings make their way through a great many bottles of Kree!
Somewhere around the eight-hundred-bottle-mark, though, Nebula's organic eye starts watering up uncontrollably and her hummed tunes comes to a coughing, sputtering halt.
View Flat HTML
View Metadata
Search Post
