[ The answer gives him pause – not for the words themselves, but what she leaves unspoken. It spurs him to reevaluate her, to take in his surroundings a little more closely.
Arrogant of him to think of himself and his situation as unique. Thanos had believed in multiple universes, in the way a reality would split at every crossroads. Why shouldn't these Guardians have encountered the same situation? An Infinity Stone lying in wait, and the fanatics seeking to lay claim to them. He wonders, not for the first time, what became of the Infinity Stones on Earth; wonders if they were ever truly there, or if Thanos wasted his time on a wild goose chase.
(And reluctantly, he thinks there must, too, be thousands different universes that sprang from his chase after the Orb – a universe where he followed his father's wishes, where he found the Infinity Stone on Ronan's behalf and delivered it to the Mad Titan. A universe where he wrested the stone from Gamora's hands on Xandar and left her behind. A universe where the Guardians never formed.
He doesn't think he'd like those universes.)
Eventually, he lets out a breath. ]
That takes care of my next question, then.
[ Still, it's his turn, and he's within his rights to question her. It eases something in him, though, to know that they came from similar circumstances, and that need to probe isn't quite as keen.
His gaze flicks to her hair, to the single, thin beaded braid – something he had noticed earlier.
Now's as good a time as any, he expects, though either pride or stubbornness keeps the words from flowing easily. ]
Those beads.
[ He falters, jaw clenching. Like ripping off a bandage, he tells himself. Do it quick.
His gaze flicks off to a spot over her shoulder. ]
no subject
Arrogant of him to think of himself and his situation as unique. Thanos had believed in multiple universes, in the way a reality would split at every crossroads. Why shouldn't these Guardians have encountered the same situation? An Infinity Stone lying in wait, and the fanatics seeking to lay claim to them. He wonders, not for the first time, what became of the Infinity Stones on Earth; wonders if they were ever truly there, or if Thanos wasted his time on a wild goose chase.
(And reluctantly, he thinks there must, too, be thousands different universes that sprang from his chase after the Orb – a universe where he followed his father's wishes, where he found the Infinity Stone on Ronan's behalf and delivered it to the Mad Titan. A universe where he wrested the stone from Gamora's hands on Xandar and left her behind. A universe where the Guardians never formed.
He doesn't think he'd like those universes.)
Eventually, he lets out a breath. ]
That takes care of my next question, then.
[ Still, it's his turn, and he's within his rights to question her. It eases something in him, though, to know that they came from similar circumstances, and that need to probe isn't quite as keen.
His gaze flicks to her hair, to the single, thin beaded braid – something he had noticed earlier.
Now's as good a time as any, he expects, though either pride or stubbornness keeps the words from flowing easily. ]
Those beads.
[ He falters, jaw clenching. Like ripping off a bandage, he tells himself. Do it quick.
His gaze flicks off to a spot over her shoulder. ]
How did you braid them into your hair?