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edenfallingSummary: Peter finds some new music for the Milano. It's not what Gamora was expecting. (600 words)
Note: This ficlet was written for![[tumblr.com profile]](https://www.tumblr.com/favicon.ico)
toxinvictoria as part of a three-sentence meme, in response to the prompt: Star-Lord, Gamora pairing. Once again I have failed miserably at the three-sentence aspect of this game. *sigh* [Tumblr crosspost]
[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]
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The Movement of Sound To Reach the Soul
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Peter sticks his head into the corridor as Gamora walks past, headphones and an unfamiliar data stick in his hand and an oddly tentative smile on his face, and says, "Hey, Gamora, I've been thinking of adding some new songs to the ship's soundtrack but I don't want to just, like, spring it on you out of nowhere, so do you have a minute to listen to some stuff?"
Gamora frowns at this new evidence of his haphazard approach to their finances. "Earth is an interdicted planet. How much did these files cost to acquire?"
"Funny you should mention the interdiction -- that's exactly why I was able to make the swap," Peter says, with a hint of his usual mischief shading his voice. "C'mon, don't make me get all emotional out here where anyone can see."
Curious despite herself, Gamora follows him through the hatch into his cramped yet oddly tidy room, sits on the neatly made bed, and lets him slip the headphones over her ears. He presses a button on the data stick. Gamora braces for the jangle of too-loud alien music, set in modes that are slowly overwriting the last tatters of song she clung to throughout her years as Thanos's blade.
Instead, she could almost swear she hears her mother's voice, sliding soft and clear through the half-tones of a rushwater love song that was old when her great-grandparents were young.
Gamora's implants stop the tears before they can fall, but her tongue escapes control long enough to blurt out, "This-- but-- Peter, how?"
His free hand drifts down from the headphones to her shoulders, palm warm and gentle against her skin. "Like I said, I made a swap. Your planet's gone, but people collect stuff for good reasons as well as bad, and I found a university with a really famous music program and archive. They were pretty interested in my mom's mixes and the scraps I remember about other Earth music. I don't know which part of Zen Whoberri you're from, or if you had any favorite styles, so I grabbed a really random bag of stuff. I hope you like at least some of it."
He sets the data stick into Gamora's hands and steps back toward the opposite wall. The rushwater song ends; after a moment of silence, a syrga begins to pluck rippling arpeggios over the syncopated beat of a copper hang drum, and a man sings about his lover's mouth and thighs and how he wants her to ride him from dusk until the dawn. It's completely ridiculous and undignified, the exact opposite of the almost sacred image she's built around her lost people and world. And yet, she can picture it playing in the marketplace near her house, picture her father singing it to her mother under his breath and her mother laughing in bright promise, picture herself buying the file and dancing to its beat with a first lover if Thanos had never come.
"You'd like this one," Gamora says, in a voice she doesn't quite recognize as her own. She lifts the left earpiece and tugs Peter down to sit beside her, his thigh pressed tight against her own, and turns the padded speaker so he can share what she hears. After a moment his toes begin to twitch, but he restrains himself and shares her memories in silence.
Gamora doesn't think she can dance to this music, the way Peter dances to the lost sounds of his own world. She hasn't found that kind of perspective, that ability for joy. Not yet.
But she thinks, someday, she might be ready.
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End of Ficlet
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If MCU galactic civilizations don't have universities with massive social sciences departments, I will be A) extremely disappointed and B) extremely annoyed. Just look at how many cultures they have to study!
Note: This ficlet was written for
[ETA: The AO3 crosspost is now up!]
---------------------------------------------
The Movement of Sound To Reach the Soul
---------------------------------------------
Peter sticks his head into the corridor as Gamora walks past, headphones and an unfamiliar data stick in his hand and an oddly tentative smile on his face, and says, "Hey, Gamora, I've been thinking of adding some new songs to the ship's soundtrack but I don't want to just, like, spring it on you out of nowhere, so do you have a minute to listen to some stuff?"
Gamora frowns at this new evidence of his haphazard approach to their finances. "Earth is an interdicted planet. How much did these files cost to acquire?"
"Funny you should mention the interdiction -- that's exactly why I was able to make the swap," Peter says, with a hint of his usual mischief shading his voice. "C'mon, don't make me get all emotional out here where anyone can see."
Curious despite herself, Gamora follows him through the hatch into his cramped yet oddly tidy room, sits on the neatly made bed, and lets him slip the headphones over her ears. He presses a button on the data stick. Gamora braces for the jangle of too-loud alien music, set in modes that are slowly overwriting the last tatters of song she clung to throughout her years as Thanos's blade.
Instead, she could almost swear she hears her mother's voice, sliding soft and clear through the half-tones of a rushwater love song that was old when her great-grandparents were young.
Gamora's implants stop the tears before they can fall, but her tongue escapes control long enough to blurt out, "This-- but-- Peter, how?"
His free hand drifts down from the headphones to her shoulders, palm warm and gentle against her skin. "Like I said, I made a swap. Your planet's gone, but people collect stuff for good reasons as well as bad, and I found a university with a really famous music program and archive. They were pretty interested in my mom's mixes and the scraps I remember about other Earth music. I don't know which part of Zen Whoberri you're from, or if you had any favorite styles, so I grabbed a really random bag of stuff. I hope you like at least some of it."
He sets the data stick into Gamora's hands and steps back toward the opposite wall. The rushwater song ends; after a moment of silence, a syrga begins to pluck rippling arpeggios over the syncopated beat of a copper hang drum, and a man sings about his lover's mouth and thighs and how he wants her to ride him from dusk until the dawn. It's completely ridiculous and undignified, the exact opposite of the almost sacred image she's built around her lost people and world. And yet, she can picture it playing in the marketplace near her house, picture her father singing it to her mother under his breath and her mother laughing in bright promise, picture herself buying the file and dancing to its beat with a first lover if Thanos had never come.
"You'd like this one," Gamora says, in a voice she doesn't quite recognize as her own. She lifts the left earpiece and tugs Peter down to sit beside her, his thigh pressed tight against her own, and turns the padded speaker so he can share what she hears. After a moment his toes begin to twitch, but he restrains himself and shares her memories in silence.
Gamora doesn't think she can dance to this music, the way Peter dances to the lost sounds of his own world. She hasn't found that kind of perspective, that ability for joy. Not yet.
But she thinks, someday, she might be ready.
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End of Ficlet
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If MCU galactic civilizations don't have universities with massive social sciences departments, I will be A) extremely disappointed and B) extremely annoyed. Just look at how many cultures they have to study!
(no subject)
Date: 2015-08-09 11:20 am (UTC)(no subject)
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