Who: Gamora, Loki What: Cover up When: Shortly after Gamora's arrival Rating: Green!
It didn't take long to make his way to the Guardian's townhouse on West 22nd Street. He wasn't entirely certain how a meeting with a different Gamora would go. Trying to get to know someone while keeping to one's self for self-preservation purposes - and keeping a lot of secrets - didn't allow for much interaction before. And he wasn't exactly forthcoming about knowing her 'father' either.
Regardless of that, the interactions with Gamora were missed and he hoped to make a decent impression. He was dressed formally in all black attire with a long overcoat, a green and gold scarf under the collar. While she would see only him when she opened the door, everyone else on the street saw what Midgard called a 'girl scout' who was scouting out the doorstep for cookie sales.
Two such scouts dared come to the warehouse peddling their baked wares, of which Loki bought all the cookies and ate them. Himself. Without sharing, because you don't have to if you have the ability to tuck them away into a space unseen. Toffee-tastic and Samoas were delicious, but he found the Trefoils were rather dry and best enjoyed with tea.
He rapped his knuckles lightly on the front door.
There was a lot about Terra that Gamora just didn’t understand, and a lot she would have to learn. But that was fine - if the trade-off was that she was actually alive, breathing, here with Peter and the rest of the Guardians (there were a couple missing but she thought fondly of them) and just able to take a moment and not be in peril, well. She’d deal with it.
She’d even get a Terran job, she’d put on a disguise and act like she originally hailed from this planet. Falling to her death, being thrown off a cliff, had put things in perspective a little.
Hearing the knock, she went to the door wearing the ‘outfit’ she’d assembled - Peter’s t-shirt and boxers, her hair a red-streaked tumble of locks around her shoulders. And verdant skin of course on display, the silver face markings that were more like tattoos, branding her as one with the Black Order. So long ago.
“You must be Loki?” She stepped back to let him in. “Thank you for coming.”
"Afraid so." Loki entered, looking around the foyer of the townhouse. He turned once he was a few steps in, looking back at her with a mischievous but knowing smirk. "You're welcome, Gamora. It is good to see you alive and well again? Even if the circumstances are decidedly...odd."
He looked her up and down, and the smirk became an apologetic smile.
"I do hate covering up with an illusion," he explained, "but it is an unfortunate necessity while on Earth."
“So I’m gathering,” Gamora sighed, crossing her arms in front of her (modest - her tits weren’t flotation devices, though Peter didn’t seem to mind) chest, uncrossing and putting her hands on her hips again.
She wasn’t fidgeting necessarily. Of course not. “Do I need to do anything special?” Loki mentioned ‘casting’ like it was either a magic spell or a net - she didn’t know. Magic wasn’t something she knew much about, not where she hailed from. “And do you want to sit down?”
At the very least, it seemed rude to invite someone in and then not offer them a place to get comfortable.
It wasn't checking her out per se, other than a appreciation for the color and pondering how best to cover it up. He gathered she was aligned with Peter Quill, who - from their brief network interactions - was also jealous of Thor. Naturally, that was a bonding experience.
So when Gamora began not-fidgeting, his eyebrows raised slightly. He guessed that his presence was making her uncomfortable. Normally he wouldn't care, and he might even relish causing discomfort in others. With her, it was a reminder that everything here was fleeting, that nothing was certain.
Seeing a Zehoberei was still a rarity. He read about them in his studies of other realms and races, of which Asgard knew much of. After some contemplation, he decided a warmer and deeper Earthling skin tone would definitely be less taxing spell-wise in order to cover that bright green hue.
"We needn't do so," he replied with a muted smile and brief shake of his head. "In fact, this need not take long at all, if you wish. It is more for the benefit of those who don't know you. You will see yourself normally in mirrors. If any were to take a picture or video of you, they would never suspect. Worry not. The only aspect I will change is your skin color. All will remain the same."
He hoped that was reassuring. He wasn't exactly the reassuring type.
“Only for those who don’t know me,” she repeated, considering this. Maybe that was why Drax looked as he always did, to her? Unless he really was wandering outside, in the bite of winter, with no shirt on. She really wouldn’t put it past him. “Alright, well. I want to fit in as best I can since I’m guessing we’ll be here awhile.”
She wondered if Peter had the Benatar here. If it even worked. There were a lot of questions, but she had to pick and choose which ones were most pressing. They all couldn’t be answered at once.
“Besides, anything’s better than being dead,” she chuckled grimly.
Drax, meanwhile, was not illusioned and standing shirtless in their tiny back patio, golden sequined pasties sparkling in the sunshine. When he went out, many assumed he was one of those tattooed strongmen from Coney Island circus side shows. That is not what he is aspiring to be, however, as he is practicing his 'professional wrestling moves.' Moves which involve taking the chairs around the outdoor table and breaking them. He will regret doing this when it is warmer out, and no one has a place to sit.
For now though? No regrets.
Loki imagined he heard things breaking, but the mention of being dead seized hold of his senses with a tight grip that refused to let go. Just like a big golden gauntlet wrapped around his throat. A tightly constricting throat that he was surprised he could even speak with, to tell Thanos he would never be a god....
He forced himself to clear his throat before speaking, and reverted back to lying to himself and everyone around him that everything was perfectly fine.
"Yes, Thanos was rather unforgiving...wasn't he."
He let that hang in the air for an uncomfortable moment.
"Now then? Let us begin," he said with practiced calm, one hand raising up to cast the spell. A green and gold shimmering ribbon began to move over Gamora from head to toe. The energy was warm as the molecules changed but never grew uncomfortably hot, and it settled over her as though designed to bind like a second skin.
Gamora’s lashes fluttered closed (she was distinctly ignoring the breaking furniture, not today), and she just let the spell wash over her - it didn’t feel like much, just a little bit heated. Not in a bad way - like a being wrapped in a freshly laundered blanket sort of way. When she dared look again, her gaze fell upon the hand she held up, studying the color.
She had never been like this before, but she trusted it was aesthetically pleasing.
“Thank you,” she uttered quietly. Now that she was ‘human’ she could go to work like other humans did. And actually be seen in public.
But don’t think she forgot about Loki’s words, though. Nope. “So that is the common enemy we have? Thanos?” she guessed, eyes dark like coals fixed on his face. Her expression was hard whenever she spoke of her ‘father,’ but she empathized with anyone who he had tortured. “He’s ruined many lives.”
As a long term option to cover the green, the illusion meant she would pass as a 'person of color' to everyone else on Midgard. This was an Earth phrase which didn't make much sense to Loki. To him, everyone's skin was a color. No one on Asgard batted an eye that Heimdal or their Valkyrie was different in any way, especially not when it came down to battle. One was revered if they were physically strong since it was a warrior society, which was why he didn't fit in well. Magic was for girls and healers, and by their time, Sif was a rarity rather than the norm.
He supposed every realm seemed to have their 'thing.' Skin color and land of origin seemed to be Earth's 'thing.' He felt the need to issue that warning so Gamora had no surprises, and drew in a deep steadying breath. It was not so much done to deliver that warning, but at the continued mention of that particular name.
"First, I must warn you that you will be faced with the random comment about your skin color. A dear friend of mine has endured this. Yet, anything further would have required more intricate and complex spellwork. I do apologize." He ignored another sound of breaking furniture, only because Gamora was ignoring it. "And yes. Thanos has ruined many, many lives. Or ended them. Which I believe we both have intimate knowledge of."
“Unfortunately so.” Her useless heart twisted a little at that revelation- or ended them. So she was face to face with one of Thanos’ many victims, who had apparently also risen from the dead in this world. “I won’t say I’m sorry because it’s cheap. But just know that I understand, probably better than anyone. And I’m...here. If you want to commiserate and because you did this and because I don’t have any friends besides the Guardians.”
They were more like family though. Family she wanted to throttle one minute and hug the next.
“You also don’t need to apologize for those who make comments about skin color.” Honestly, that seemed overly stupid to her but fine. She’d endure. She always did.
A warning seemed like the polite thing to do, even as he did an admirable job hiding his own discomfort about the current topic of conversation.
If they had anything in common, it was that Loki knew all about useless hearts and frustrating family. He tried for the longest time to shun what he deemed sentimentality, which was much easier to do when he was in the midst of the madness that took him. It was much more difficult to sort through the maze of his own bitter feelings after being thrown in a dungeon. Even so, from the start of his time in the Mad Titan's keeping, he gathered what Thanos and The Other were like rather quickly. He only wished that accursed scepter had never been placed in his hands. That he never heard of Infinity Stones long ago, or laid a finger on the Tesseract. And yet, in comparison to what she must have endured for so long, he almost felt...lucky.
"I was in Sanctuary, although only as...a guest," he admitted with reluctance. Being a 'guest' of Thanos was undoubtedly a dubious distinction to hold, not to mention a very generous use of the word at best. "My life was much more charmed before my brief time there, than yours must have been throughout. I think then, perhaps, you and I are the only ones here that know of him on a more intimate level. We seemed on good terms, before. So if you ever wish to speak about it...know that I'm here, as well."
The only other person who could possibly hope to commiserate with Gamora about Thanos was Nebula, since she had lived it too. Had experienced the torture, the enhancements, knew what it was like to be molded and shaped into a trained killer. But her sister wasn’t here.
“Then there’s no reason why we can’t be on good terms again,” she decided, since she very well might want to speak about it. Someday. The nightmares that would have her waking up screaming and fearful of falling to her death - she wasn’t so prideful to think she could work through that on her own.
“I’m wary of him returning,” she admitted. “I’m always going to be looking over my shoulder.”
He wasn't certain why he actually nodded, since he often hid the fact that he woke in a cold sweat from bad dreams. He wasn't quite willing to speak about what happened just yet, at least about the parts he knew of. A lot of what happened was fuzzy, and he was of the opinion that those matters were best left that way. Saying it aloud was to admit a weakness, that perhaps he hadn't been as clever as he prided himself in being as he tried to navigate through a situation that went from very bad to even worse.
"I would like that," he said. Her admission was a fear of his that was spoken out loud, and the smile he gave never quite reached his eyes. "You are not alone in that. When he arrived here, I did not remain. My brother bid me leave. I did not hesitate. Out of choice and necessity."
He wanted to be comforting, but everything he thought of saying seemed...lacking. He decided to reassure her with what he knew.
"I know it will never stop him fully, but they took his lower arm and the gauntlet. He lost four of his Black Order, and many of his ships and Outriders were laid waste to. There is no better realm than this to fend him off a second time. Perhaps this time, I'll be able to stay for it?"
“If you do, then we’ll fight him together,” Gamora promised, and she meant that. It was not a matter of if but when - because as Loki said, a severed arm wasn’t going to slow the mad titan down for long. Not when he was missing the infinity stones and didn’t accomplish his goal of balance.
The way he tortured and killed and called it mercy? Ugh. It gave her a shudder. One that felt like electricity, searing her muscles and paralyzing her. Her ‘father’ had a way of doing that - making her feel defenseless, like a little girl again.
Loki noticed the shudder and drew in a breath, letting it out very slowly.
"Take heart. You are not alone in this," he said, vastly unfamiliar with reassuring anyone else, when he couldn't even do that for himself. If anything, he was certain Thor wouldn't let anything happen to any of them again. "All should be well, Gamora."
Perhaps his presence was making things worse, which he often reasoned was the case. Time to make a politely calculated escape. His brows knit together, not at all due to the noise of another piece of furniture breaking off in the distance.
"It has been a pleasure meeting you again, but I should take my leave," he said, smoothing one side of his scarf down for lack of anything to do with his hands. "If you've any issues with the illusion, do not hesitate to let me know? I am always within reach on the network, should you wish to speak."
“Thank you,” Gamora told him again, sincerely. “For the illusion and...speaking with me.” He definitely didn’t make things worse, not for her. It seemed like they both had lingering trauma due to what Thanos had done to them. She didn’t know the details of Loki’s situation but her curiosity wouldn’t override courtesy and some sense of empathy - she wouldn’t ask about those details, not now.
The least she could do was walk him out (and maybe she’d take a stroll around the neighborhood too, now that she looked like she fit in). “I’m sure I’ll be contacting you soon.” Not because she had any issues with the illusion, but just because she might want to talk or something.
Or get coffee. Or lunch. Wasn’t that what Terrans did? See, she was fitting in already.