[ there's a flicker of emotion on that usual deadpan of gamora's, and she looks— pleased by the fact that quill just agreed to this undertaking. it will be hard, because gamora has no intention on slacking in his training, but also because the truth is that quill is good — for the level of skill he's had to maintain in the past. now, however, held up against the rest of the guardians and the ilk they find themselves mixed up with more and more often...well, it just means that something like the most recent incident isn't acceptable.
gamora doesn't want to see quill at risk like that again, not when she won't be there to do something about it, and the reality of the universe is that she can't always be there. the rest of the team can't always be there. quill is going to have to step it up, because...they need him.
peter quill is the glue holding the foolish, reckless band of misfits together, and that means they need him to stay safe.
and if gamora forcing him to improve is what will do that, then she's more than willing to keep pushing him until progress is made. ]
I don't see how any of that would help with your training.
[ don't be dumb, quill. ]
Now, are you ready to continue?
[ which also means, "are you ready to get knocked off your feet all over again?" ]
[ His expression sours for a second as he rolls his shoulders. ]
Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna enjoy this a whole lot more than I will?
[ But he shakes out his hands, rolls out his neck, and falls into a defensive stance. The expression on his face reads as wary, though he knows Gamora wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.
She’d prove a point, or whatever she’s calling it, certainly, but she wouldn’t hurt him.
... Right? ]
Just— go easy on me, okay? Not all of us in here are Speedy Gonzalez-fast.
[ fortunately for quill, now that gamora has made her point (or most of it, at least), she won't go too far out of her way to knock him down without giving him a chance to learn from the experience. this sort of training comes with incremental improvement, not immediate, so she knows that the intensity will have to vary based on his progress.
however, that doesn't mean he won't end up flat on his back repeatedly, anyway.
she just raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, "i really have no idea what a speedy gonzalez is," but then she's sliding into her own stance. ]
I won't maim you, if that's a comfort.
[ the reality is that getting thrown around is going to hurt, but she won't leave him with anything worse than a few bumps and bruises.
it's the last bit of warning he'll get before she quickly closes the space between them on the mats, swinging out with her forearm, aimed right for his head. ]
[ Peter has time enough to make his customary, Oh, shit, face before he reels away from the swing, narrowly avoiding the blow to his head.
Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]
[ gamora doesn't go after peter like she would if they were actually fighting, so, in a manner of speaking, she does go easy on him. she doesn't give him the time or the opening to fight back, but that's not necessarily the point at this juncture. he needs to dodge, to react to the stimuli of her attacks, and she adjusts her attack accordingly.
after they get started, he doesn't do poorly.
in fact, she's pleased that he holds out long enough to avoid getting immediately thrown to the ground, but then he reads her wrong, doesn't sense the move like he should, and she takes the opening without a second of hesitation.
a quick blow to his sternum, another to his ribs, and then she knocks him right to the ground without even blinking.
straightening up, she steps forward to hover over him again. ]
That was less embarrassing for you than the first time.
[ but instead of pinning him to the ground, like she so easily could, she sticks out her hand in an offer to pull him back to his feet. ]
[ He props himself up with a wince, a hand smoothing over what’s sure to be a bruise over his breastbone. For a few seconds, he tries to catch his breath, frowning at himself. Gamora is good, has spent decades of her life training, but he knows she’s holding back. He’s not sure if it bodes well for him that he, working at around 90% effort, was hardly a match for Gamora, topping off somewhere around 25%, if that. ]
Oh, good. That’s super encouraging.
[ Grumbled, though without much heat in his voice. He takes her hand to haul himself up. ]
[ He doesn’t notice that she holds onto his hand for a second longer than necessary, distracted as he is with using his free hand to rub at his neck, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. ]
“Terrans are naturally slow.” You kinda keep hammering that point home, you know.
[ He says it lightly, without any resentment. ]
I bet this is gonna feel like teaching a fish to breathe on land for you, sooner or later.
[ gamora considers him for a moment, quietly, like she's actually gauging what he's capable of. ]
I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
[ He falls quiet, eyebrows rising as she speaks. A second or two, he keeps his silence, blinking, because— ]
... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
[ He rolls his eyes at her warning. (Because of course he wouldn’t let a lackluster compliment like that go to his head. His ego is already healthy and overstuffed as it is; there’s hardly any room.)
That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
[ the challenge was just as calculated as the rest of the way gamora operates, because she knows quill, and she knows how to provoke him into action. ]
Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
[ He falls into the rhythm, once he latches onto it, clings to it like a lifeline. Because Peter absolutely is a dancer, or at least a guy who dances, and finding the beat is intuitive, by now.
And it absolutely is a dance, if he had enough leftover brainpower to think on it. The way she closes the distance between them, the way she floats back, the way he blocks and ducks and sidesteps her blows. It would almost be fun, if Peter wasn't also slightly distracted by the very real threat of taking a punch to the face.
But as all good things must, the fight comes to an end. The sparring match drags on just a little too long, and his blocks and dodges are a little looser, less precise. He moves to catch a punch, but his hand reaches the spot just a hair too late. He takes the full force (well, quarter force, for Gamora) of a fist to the jaw. It leaves him stunned and momentarily vulnerable, and he pays for that mistake, too.
The round finishes, predictably, with Peter flat on his back, grunting with the impact. ]
[ gamora is pleased by how well quill keeps up with her, that he meets her at this level to maintain the speed and rhythm of their spar. of course, her stamina outlasts his, and though she finds his sustained fight admirable, she sees him steadily losing steam, until he inevitably slips up.
her fist makes contact with his jaw, and while he's still dazed, she takes advantage. she grabs his shirt, shifts her weight, and effectively slams him into the mat, following up with her knee on his chest to keep him pinned to the ground (but without her full weight; small mercies).
she looks down at him, but there's no sneer in her expression, no derision for his loss. ]
[ The breath flies from his lungs again – from the impact, from the press of her knee against his breastbone. He just knows his bruises are going to have bruises, and he looks up, intent on complaining.
Catches sight of Gamora again, staring down at him as her hair falls around her face.
Ah, he thinks. Deja vu.
He seems content to just lie there, for the moment, a hand rubbing at his bruised jaw. ]
Was that better? [ He tests the hinge of his jaw. No lasting damage, thank God. (Or maybe that's a bad thing, because that means he can still talk.) ] That didn't feel better.
[ Considering he's still ending up down here. Not that he can complain about the view. ]
[ Actually, yes, because even as astoundingly aware of his shortcomings as Peter is, sometimes he sets the bar a little too highly for himself. Expects too much and finds himself disappointed.
(It's probably why, most of the time, he doesn't try.)
But Gamora doesn't need to know that, and he lets his hand drop from his jaw. ]
Just— figured you'd call it before, you know. [ A vague gesture to encompass the two of them. ]
even if gamora isn't going to hurt quill, that doesn't mean she won't take a provided opportunity to knock him to the floor. ]
I would think it's more motivation for you to keep up with me.
[ another moment of hovering over him, and then she finally pushes off of his chest, getting to her feet. she watches him, a hand absently on her hip as she gestures to his prone form. ]
Maybe you can consider it progress when you don't get thrown down.
[ He lets out a relieved sigh when she doesn't immediately retaliate, though it's not a huge comfort; if she really took offense, then she was fully capable of showing her displeasure later, when the moment was right.
(Gamora is scary that way.) ]
Lookin' forward to it.
[ he says, with all the enthusiasm of a guy getting called for jury duty. But he takes her hand, all the same, pulling himself to his feet. ]
[ which is a completely serious response to his bit of sarcasm. ]
Have you reached your limit for the day?
[ this time, it isn't a challenge to push him into sparring again; she's genuinely curious, because as important as she thinks this training is, she doesn't want him to stress his body too terribly.
[ He carefully tests his joints, tilting his head one way then the other to stretch his neck. ]
Think I've got one more in me.
[ Truthful, for once, though he probably would've said the same thing if he was at the end of his rope. Sometimes he can push himself too hard, force himself past his limits due to that need to prove himself, to show he's not the useless lump the Ravagers accused him of being. It's a shitty habit, he knows, and he's trying to get better about it. ]
Unless you're getting bored of tossing me around like a sack of potatoes.
[ pushing himself too hard — it's a habit of his that gamora has noticed. of course, she's hardly one to cast stones when she does the exact same thing. she, at least, has the benefit of taking far longer to tire than quill.
in response, she just rolls her shoulder, inclining her head back towards the mat. ]
It does get predictably easy, after a while.
But I can manage at least one more.
[ she steps away from him, putting some momentary distance between them. ]
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gamora doesn't want to see quill at risk like that again, not when she won't be there to do something about it, and the reality of the universe is that she can't always be there. the rest of the team can't always be there. quill is going to have to step it up, because...they need him.
peter quill is the glue holding the foolish, reckless band of misfits together, and that means they need him to stay safe.
and if gamora forcing him to improve is what will do that, then she's more than willing to keep pushing him until progress is made. ]
I don't see how any of that would help with your training.
[ don't be dumb, quill. ]
Now, are you ready to continue?
[ which also means, "are you ready to get knocked off your feet all over again?" ]
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Why do I get the feeling you’re gonna enjoy this a whole lot more than I will?
[ But he shakes out his hands, rolls out his neck, and falls into a defensive stance. The expression on his face reads as wary, though he knows Gamora wouldn’t intentionally hurt him.
She’d prove a point, or whatever she’s calling it, certainly, but she wouldn’t hurt him.
... Right? ]
Just— go easy on me, okay? Not all of us in here are Speedy Gonzalez-fast.
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however, that doesn't mean he won't end up flat on his back repeatedly, anyway.
she just raises an eyebrow at him as if to say, "i really have no idea what a speedy gonzalez is," but then she's sliding into her own stance. ]
I won't maim you, if that's a comfort.
[ the reality is that getting thrown around is going to hurt, but she won't leave him with anything worse than a few bumps and bruises.
it's the last bit of warning he'll get before she quickly closes the space between them on the mats, swinging out with her forearm, aimed right for his head. ]
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Won’t maim me, he thinks bitterly, as he tries to dodge her next few strikes. Kinda doubt that.
Early on, Peter learned that in a lot of cases, his speed and his wits would be his greatest assets. He was stronger than an average human, from what he could tell, but there were some folks here out in the black who were practically built of stone. He had to be clever about how he went about attacking them, using his blasters to empower his punches, his jets to speed his kicks, keeping his distance when necessary. Had to be fast, too, to get in as many blows as possible at once before dodging and dancing away to some unheard rhythm.
(“Cherry Bomb,” usually. )
But Gamora is faster and stronger and just— better. He manages to dodge out of the way for a bit, though all of his focus has to go into not getting hit; he never has time to retaliate. She feints, and Peter falls for it, ducking left when he should’ve gone right. He leaves himself open and pays for it, taking a few hits, and—
He tumbles to the floor all over again, the air punched from his lungs.
Well. At least the rubber mats cushioned his fall. Kind of. ]
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after they get started, he doesn't do poorly.
in fact, she's pleased that he holds out long enough to avoid getting immediately thrown to the ground, but then he reads her wrong, doesn't sense the move like he should, and she takes the opening without a second of hesitation.
a quick blow to his sternum, another to his ribs, and then she knocks him right to the ground without even blinking.
straightening up, she steps forward to hover over him again. ]
That was less embarrassing for you than the first time.
[ but instead of pinning him to the ground, like she so easily could, she sticks out her hand in an offer to pull him back to his feet. ]
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Oh, good. That’s super encouraging.
[ Grumbled, though without much heat in his voice. He takes her hand to haul himself up. ]
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she helps pull him up from the mat, and though the contact lingers for a brief moment, she's soon pulling her hand away again. ]
I warned you this wouldn't be easy.
[ but he's trying, and that's admirable enough on its own. ]
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[ He doesn’t notice that she holds onto his hand for a second longer than necessary, distracted as he is with using his free hand to rub at his neck, kneading the muscle where his neck meets his shoulder. ]
“Terrans are naturally slow.” You kinda keep hammering that point home, you know.
[ He says it lightly, without any resentment. ]
I bet this is gonna feel like teaching a fish to breathe on land for you, sooner or later.
[ That is to say, impossible. ]
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I doubt it'll come to that.
[ she gives a small, dismissive shrug. ]
If I didn't think you were capable of learning and improving, I wouldn't bother trying to help you. It's not that you're unskilled, Quill. You're unrefined.
This kind of training is demanding, but I think you have the ability to improve. It will just take time.
[ and that may be the closest gamora has gotten to genuinely praising quill in, well, mostly ever. ]
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... I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say to me.
[ Well, no, that’s not true—
(“He’s about the only family I have.”
“No, he wasn’t.”)
—but it’s definitely the nicest thing she’s said to him that wasn’t prompted by him going through some sort of traumatic experience and cutting the last tenuous ties with the shitty folks who raised him and kind of sort of bothered to give him the time of day, when the fancy struck.
But that’s just splitting hairs. ]
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[ and just like that, the momentary acknowledgement of quill's abilities has passed, and gamora takes a step back from him, gesturing to the mat. ]
Are you ready to continue or do you still need to recover?
[ she says it with a lift of her eyebrow, more of a challenge than an offer to give him a breather. ]
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That little challenge sticks between his ribs, as she likely knew it would, flung with the same precision as one of her daggers. He recognizes it for what it is: she’s prodding at him, goading him, trying to get a reaction.
... He kind of hates that it works. ]
We can go again. I’m good.
Peter puffs out an aggravated little sigh – directed mostly at himself – moving into position atop the mats again. He sinks back into his usual defensive position – a boxer’s stance, with both fists up, knees slightly bent. Influenced by one too many viewings of Rocky, certainly, but it’s worked out for him over the years. Mostly. ]
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Try to keep up.
[ she knows that he can't truly keep up, but if he can maintain the level that she holds with him, he'll be doing well. he's bound to make mistakes, obviously, and she's absolutely going to keep knocking him down when he does, but it's a matter of practice, of refining his skills even further.
who knows, maybe she'll start teaching him more than this simple way to exercise his reflexes — if he wants to learn.
she doesn't give him any warning before she's moving in again, and then she's on the offensive. she's not trying to overwhelm him, but she's also not willing to give him proper time to counter with blow after blow, strike after strike. she alternates between crowding into his space and pulling back again, and it becomes something of— a dance.
rhythmic, to let him practice, to let him learn how to sense where she's coming from, to dodge accordingly. weaving back and forth, in and out, with something that could almost be called a beat—
—if gamora was a dancer. ]
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And it absolutely is a dance, if he had enough leftover brainpower to think on it. The way she closes the distance between them, the way she floats back, the way he blocks and ducks and sidesteps her blows. It would almost be fun, if Peter wasn't also slightly distracted by the very real threat of taking a punch to the face.
But as all good things must, the fight comes to an end. The sparring match drags on just a little too long, and his blocks and dodges are a little looser, less precise. He moves to catch a punch, but his hand reaches the spot just a hair too late. He takes the full force (well, quarter force, for Gamora) of a fist to the jaw. It leaves him stunned and momentarily vulnerable, and he pays for that mistake, too.
The round finishes, predictably, with Peter flat on his back, grunting with the impact. ]
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her fist makes contact with his jaw, and while he's still dazed, she takes advantage. she grabs his shirt, shifts her weight, and effectively slams him into the mat, following up with her knee on his chest to keep him pinned to the ground (but without her full weight; small mercies).
she looks down at him, but there's no sneer in her expression, no derision for his loss. ]
Better.
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Catches sight of Gamora again, staring down at him as her hair falls around her face.
Ah, he thinks. Deja vu.
He seems content to just lie there, for the moment, a hand rubbing at his bruised jaw. ]
Was that better? [ He tests the hinge of his jaw. No lasting damage, thank God. (Or maybe that's a bad thing, because that means he can still talk.) ] That didn't feel better.
[ Considering he's still ending up down here. Not that he can complain about the view. ]
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You lasted longer, so at least you didn't die so quickly this time.
[ metaphorically speaking, of course. ]
Did you expect you wouldn't end up on your back again?
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[ Actually, yes, because even as astoundingly aware of his shortcomings as Peter is, sometimes he sets the bar a little too highly for himself. Expects too much and finds himself disappointed.
(It's probably why, most of the time, he doesn't try.)
But Gamora doesn't need to know that, and he lets his hand drop from his jaw. ]
Just— figured you'd call it before, you know. [ A vague gesture to encompass the two of them. ]
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[ she cocks an eyebrow at him.
even if gamora isn't going to hurt quill, that doesn't mean she won't take a provided opportunity to knock him to the floor. ]
I would think it's more motivation for you to keep up with me.
[ another moment of hovering over him, and then she finally pushes off of his chest, getting to her feet. she watches him, a hand absently on her hip as she gestures to his prone form. ]
Maybe you can consider it progress when you don't get thrown down.
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Or maybe you just like having an excuse to end up on top of me.
[ A beat, as he realizes what he just said. Then, so quickly that the words practically rush together, ]
That was a joke please don't hit me.
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but: ]
I think you can expect to end up on the floor even sooner next time, Quill.
[ just for a little bit of retribution.
but, despite how unamused she is by the joke, she still reaches out again to offer him a hand up. ]
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(Gamora is scary that way.) ]
Lookin' forward to it.
[ he says, with all the enthusiasm of a guy getting called for jury duty. But he takes her hand, all the same, pulling himself to his feet. ]
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[ which is a completely serious response to his bit of sarcasm. ]
Have you reached your limit for the day?
[ this time, it isn't a challenge to push him into sparring again; she's genuinely curious, because as important as she thinks this training is, she doesn't want him to stress his body too terribly.
squishy terran, and all that. ]
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Think I've got one more in me.
[ Truthful, for once, though he probably would've said the same thing if he was at the end of his rope. Sometimes he can push himself too hard, force himself past his limits due to that need to prove himself, to show he's not the useless lump the Ravagers accused him of being. It's a shitty habit, he knows, and he's trying to get better about it. ]
Unless you're getting bored of tossing me around like a sack of potatoes.
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in response, she just rolls her shoulder, inclining her head back towards the mat. ]
It does get predictably easy, after a while.
But I can manage at least one more.
[ she steps away from him, putting some momentary distance between them. ]
Would you like to try things faster than before?
[ but not too much, so as not to overwhelm him. ]
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