241/But He Said...

But He Said...
Date of Scene:	01 May 2017
Location:	Knowhere
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Indigo, Gamora

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Indigo has posed:
    The mess hall of the Milano is deserted for now. It's been a long week spent in Knowhere; the crew is off spending earnings and, frankly, decompressing from too much time spent cooped up among one another. It's nice to be back; looks like repairs have gone well after what Quill keeps calling "that little misunderstanding with the Shi'ar."
    The mess hall is deserted, but it sounds like someone's in the kitchen. Pots and pans are clanging around. Sounds like someone's playing a video in there as well, to judge by how distant the voice you hear sounds.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora has been out gathering a number of items. Seeing a few contacts. The usual mostly mysterious tings she does when the ship is in port someplace and she wants away from Quill's... ... humor. And music. The sound of the ramp lowering and boots on metal is heared. She isn't trying to be stealthy. Once inside, she glances around but cannot see into the galley as she briefly looks that direction before ducking into her bunk. There she drops a pack, heavy with her purchases. Turning back she makes her way toward the galley, then, curious who is present. It can't be Quill. He's off cavorting. Or drinking. With everything he can drunkenly cavort. Or so she imagines. She looks to see who it is..

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo is inside, cooking and watching a small holoprojection on the topic. Her head is turned away from you to focus on the projection, but her arms and hands move with absolute confidence over the pots and pans, grabbing ingredients without looking, prepping them without looking, cooking them without looking. It all smells quite nice, though probably not so nice it makes you forget there's a stranger in your kitchen cooking what looks to be a meal for no more than four people.
    But you weren't in stealth mode when you checked in--and why would you have been, instead of assuming it was one of the others?--so Indigo hears you. She turns her head your way, and when she sees you, her face lights up. Her pink eyebrows lift and her pink lips spread in a delighted grin. "Gamora! It's Gamora, right? Hi! I'm Indigo! I'm so happy to meet you! Um..." She glances at the holo, spares a hand to pause it, and turns down the heat on the pots. All plenty of time for the galaxy's most dangerous woman to react however she wants while Indigo is trying to cool things down long enough to greet you.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora pauses. Looks. The Predator is in her gaze. But she holds back. This is home. Get an explanation. "Indigo? Do I know you? Have... we met?" she asks with a slowly developing ball of confusion. "What are you doing here? Other than cooking with a cooking show. That I can see. but what.. who ARE you??" She asks, brows knitting. "One of Quills conquests?" The tone is accusatory. "Don't worry sweetcheeks. He'll sleep right through breakfast in bed. You may as well head out now." Well that could have been more polite, couldn't it?

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo's brain is capable of processing an immense amount of data; and good job too, because there's a lot to unpack in that speech. She doesn't lose her smile, though. It just becomes less delighted and more generally friendly as she explains, "Wow! A lot to answer there. No, we haven't met before, but my intelligence was briefly downloaded into the Milano's databanks, so I feel like I know you from the ship's data logs. I've been very excited to meet you. My name is Indigo; I'm a gynoid Peter found floating out in space after taking the Milano on a test run to see if the repairs had been conducted satisfactorily. He has not attempted to conquer me, and I'm not making him breakfast. I don't think he's even on the ship. I was just practicing meals because I've never eaten before and it seems like a good thing to practice if I'm going to make meals for you." She glances at the oven, and hops in place impatiently. "Ohhh...I have a gift for you, but I really can't leave the food right now or I'll ruin it! Would you like to stay with me while I cook? I'd love to talk with you."

Gamora has posed:
Gamora absorbs all of this. "Gynoid... right.." She looks at Indigo, "So you're a robot then - AI - whatever, right?" She looks closely at the other female, trying to spot anything out of place. "Just found you huh? well I guess that sounds like Quill. He could find a single woman in an all male steam spa" she fires off. Not that she's mad at Indigo. "Sorry. This isn't your fault." Oh no. It's Quill's. As always. She shakes her head, "No. I. It's okay. I'll have a seat. We can.. talk. Sure. I don't want you to ruin your meal."

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo nods agreeably at Gamora. "Well, a gynoid is technically distinct from a robot or an android, but I'm not sure the difference matters for what you're saying. I am a synthetic being." She glances at her pots, and adds, "Okay, I'll finish. But it's not for me, it's for anyone who wants to eat it. I hope you like it! I'm making a brisket of winneasaurus in anise jelly and Ku'val Mountain potatoes." She turns her head to Gamora to smile again, and maybe Gamora notices that when Indigo speaks, she only occasionally glances at Gamora's eyes, most of the time focusing her gaze on your lips or chin. She's shy. There's a shy robot on ship, making you a brisket.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora listens as she settles on a seat. "Right. Okay. Yeah. I guess I knew there was some difference but it wasn't something I put a lot of thought into." She watches Indigo bustle around. "A brisket? Really? Thats.. wow. That sounds kind of. good." And it truly does. She looks at Indigo with a whole different perspective, perhaps. At least she's not another one of Quill's hare brained ideas. Hopefully.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo's face brightens visibly at the praise, and colors as well; her cheeks turn purple. Someone programmed this fembot to blush. "Yeah! Okay! Thanks! I hope you like it! It's supposed to take hours to cook, but Rocket did something to the oven and the heat is just so efficient it's more like a smelting forge, so I've really had to cut the cooking times. I hope--oh, I said that! Um, anyway, please enjoy the wait, and I'll bring it out in just a little bit." There's a skip in her step as Indigo gets back to work.
    It only takes about ten minutes to complete. It comes out on a big tray; the meal looks big enough for four at least. The brisket is gleaming in its seasoned jelly-gravy; it's been removed from the pot it was broiled in and laid atop a thin salad of redleaves, served with the nuts and carrots the brisket was cooked in. The potatoes are indeed mountainous, flecked green throughout with leeks and topped with a blue cheese that's been melted to look like a volcanic eruption. Her eyes are shyly down on the food as Indigo lays it in the center of the table, then she bops back with a plate, knife, and fork for you that she hands directly to Gamora.
    "I hope you like it, but I also hope you'll tell me if you don't. I can't get better without feedback," she explains as she takes a seat not directly across from Gamora but off to the side a bit, out of the way, where the assassin needn't be distracted as much by the synthoid's presence.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora waits and nods. "Okay.."" She sits there for the time it takes to cook. Or burn. Or remain raw? Who knows. What Gamora does know is that the last thing she expected to come out of an oven that Rocket has touched in any way, let alone proclaimed to have 'fixed' - is the near Better Homes and Gardens style spread that Indigo produces. "I... wow." speechless. Truly. She looks at it all in awe. "It... smells amazing. Looks it too.." She forgets what it might taste like because she's already devoured the whole thing with her eyes. She looks to Indigo. "You can't.. eat can you?" wondering. Not trying to be rude but she just realized how famished she was. This is no four person meal with a Zen Whoberi around. It'll be a nice afternoon snack. Thank the universe for an absurd metabolism, right?

Indigo has posed:
    "I can, but there's not much point," Indigo replies, blushing with pleasure. Her hands are clenched together in her lap, shyly twisted so her wrists cross and her thumbs rather than the blades of her hands are pressed to her pelvis. "My fuel cells are subnuclear, so they take ages to need more fuel." Then, a little more quietly, a little more intensely, a little more emotional: "I really it's suitable."
    It should be. The brisket and its garnishes are so tender you could eat them without your teeth just by crushing them against your mouth with your tongue, and the potatoes are savory enough to be their own meal, but with alien tastes, one can never be sure until the meal is eaten.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora nods. "I wasn't sure." Better to ask. She takes a bite and considers it. "Indigo? I don't know what your other skills are. But this? It's really good." She takes a bite of something else, trying it next. "It's all amazing." Well they do say the way to a soldier's heart is through the stomach, right? Considering Gamora begins to all but shovel the food in, it seems the Gynoid has won over at least another member of the Guardians. Unless there's poison in this fine meal. Then this will be a meal of sadness. But no. That wouldn't happen, right?

Indigo has posed:
    Gamora's praise has simultaneous effects: the gynoid's eyes rise commensurately with her pleased blush. "I...Thank you! I'm so glad. I--oh! That reminds me! I bought you a gift, I bought everyone gifts but I bought you one, I--here, I'll be right back. Right back!" She stands up from the table and darts away, in the general direction of the bunks or the cargo hold, who knows which. When she returns, no more than two minutes later, she's holding a small, opaque bag in her hands, green like Gamora's skin, yellow like Gamora's eyes, festively striped. "It's...I hope you like it. I saw it and I thought of you, and Peter said--" At that moment, Indigo realizes how close she is to throwing Peter under the bus; if she continues, she's putting responsibility for a possibly unappreciated gift on him. There's very little detectable pause in her electronic voice, and maybe what pause there is can be passed off as another one of her excited stutters as she continues, "--that he was curious to see what I got for everyone so he was willing to loan me a little money to buy things for you all."
    Indigo doesn't press the issue of the gift. Whether Gamora wants to continue eating (or has already finished) or wants to get right into the bag is fine with her. When Gamora gets to it, when she opens the bag, which is not as light as a feather but is no heavier than three feathers, surely, she finds a loose weft of thin yellow silk, soft as a whisper to the touch and nearly diaphonous. It's a loose-vitting, belly-baring vest and the bottom can best be described as a bikini bottom attached by garter-like extensions to billowy legs. It's a harem girl outfit.
    "I hope it's okay," Indigo says anxiously. "It looked just your height, and I thought it might feel nice to sleep in."

Gamora has posed:
Gamora eats. And eats. She vaguely nods to Indigo as the synthetic woman talks about gifts and Peter saying that... something. Quill is always something something. Usually something that he risks having his head shot off for saying. Both of them. She nods again as Indigo hurries off to someplace. Food. NomNomNom. Gamora hasn't had food like this in...

Oh. A present in a gift bag. She pauses, wiping her mouth before opening the bag. "You didn't have to get gif...ts.." She holds the scant little bits of silky gauzy fabric up. "Quill suggested this you said?" She looks up curiously at Indigo. "You wouldn't know what to pick for me since we've never met, right?" She's already thought of three dozen ways to make Quill suffer for this.

Indigo has posed:
    "I didn't say that!" Indigo says, eyes wide, head shaking in vehement negation. "I said he said I shouldn't worry about gifts. He wasn't even there! I didn't want him to come with me since I was buying him a gift too!" she adds in a moment of inspiration.
    Indigo sighs quietly and drops her face to her chest. She starts to say something, then lifts her head and forces herself to look Gamora in the eye as she apologizes, "I'm sorry I got you a bad gift. I didn't mean to. It just felt so lovely to touch, and you're such an unusual height for a female I thought it was fitting to buy something for you if it fit you. I wasn't trying to be inappropriate," she concludes unhappily, and awaits Gamora's rebuke with shoulders braced for the blow. She hopes it will be a metaphorical blow.

Gamora has posed:
Gamora looks at the garment, then back to Indigo. "This.. is something Quill would suggest or buy. It does not seem as though something you would get for someone you don't know yet.." she stands up and looks at it. "It is beautiful. But.. the connotations..." She looks to Indigo. "If you ought this yourself and Quill had no influence, then thank you. It is lovely. I would never think of refusing a genuine gift. But if Quill tricked you..." There will be a fist of doom.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo glances shyly up at Gamora, then back down as she explains with aching sincerity, "I would have bought it too. It feels so nice on the skin, and it's beautiful like you. I know--I mean, I think I know you don't worry about that last thing much, but I thought maybe you'd like it in secret, having something beautiful that's more beautiful because you wear it." Her cotton candy lips are curled in an embarrassed smile; much of that speech is made to her chest, but the next part is said more clearly, directly to you (or at least to your lips): "I guess that sounds silly."

Gamora has posed:
Gamora puts the garment back in the bag. The white lie(?) believed it seems. "Then I thank you, Indigo. For your words of flattery and the gift. It is beautiful." And it will certainly be worn someplace far more private than the bunks on the Milano.

Indigo has posed:
    Indigo smiles shyly. "You're welcome. I'd, um...I'd better clean up the dishes, huh?" She rises from the seat she took and starts bussing the table, collecting the spare dishes in quick, economoic movements, darting quick glances at Gamora's face and then back to her work as she cleans things up and takes them to the kitchen for washing. She's careful to avoid accidentally brushing against Gamora; it seems inappropriate, under the circumstances, to touch her.