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JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME
You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...
You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.
You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.
Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.
With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.
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The Siren approaches the pile, raising her hands when Gamora makes her threat. ]
Wouldn’t it be better to divide the weapons as evenly as we can? We don’t know what’s living out there.
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You're right. We don't. [ She looks away from the latest backpack, taking a second to size Maya up. If she's approaching that diplomatically, chances of an immediate fight seem slim. ] I don't plan on taking every knife, but I'm not about to head out there alone until I'm properly armed.
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What constitutes “properly armed” to you? Because based on the number of knives you seem to have and the number of packs you’ve already gone through, weapons are a rare commodity.
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[ Although that requires her leaving them something to sharpen sticks with. As much as she would like to replace all of her own missing knives, she can't argue that the other woman is wrong. The rest are as lost as she is and she shouldn't be taking just anything she feels like taking, but she'd also been hoping to be long gone before any of them made their way out to call her on it. That makes it infinitely harder to simply abandon them to their fate.
All of which Gamora isn't about to say out loud. Instead, she turns away, back to her search and onto the next pack. In that one, she'll find another hammer, which, again, she sets aside with the other supplies. ]
I suppose I could live with only three.
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And if there are only three knives in all of those bags?
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Then you'd better hurry up and make sure, before I get bored and leave with them all.
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Well, if nothing else, she can make sure this lady doesn't run off with all of the weapons. She crouches down and begins rummaging. ]
... I'm Maya. What's your name?
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[ She thinks not. Still, and she honestly hates herself for pausing to even think "but what would Quill do", maybe she should be... nicer. Gamora sighs, quietly, mostly to herself, and answers, ]
Gamora.
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[ No weapons in this pack, unless whatever lives here is deathly allergic to trail mix. In which case they are set. ]
Do you remember how we got here?
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If we're stranded. There has to be something out there. [ Hopefully an outpost, with ships. That kind of something. ] But no, I don't, and if you're asking me that, I take it you don't, either.
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Maya sets aside the pack in favor of grabbing another from the pile. ]
I don’t. I don’t even remember leaving Pandora, let alone hopping on a shuttle and crashing.
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Pandora? [ Not a planet she's heard of. Gamora opens another pack, eyebrows rising for a brief second or two at finding, yes, yet another knife. There. Four, four knives. ] The last I recall, my... friends [ still a weird word, ok ] and I were only just leaving Xandarian space.
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[ Though, speaking of friends- she casts another glance around at the survivors who are beginning to emerge into the daylight. ]
I don’t see my friends anywhere.
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[ Also doubtful, since Xandar is a pretty important part of that altogether.
Though when Maya looks around, Gamora can't help but follow suit. Maybe she missed her own. One is rather small. ]
Not exactly the strongest looking bunch, either. If we truly are stranded, they aren't going to have an easy time.
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[ Maya purses her lips. It's an odd mix of people, to be sure. Some look like they can take care of themselves. Others... not so much. ]
All the more reason for those of us who can fight to stick by them.
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But for how long? [ Tired of crouching, she'll finally rise, stretching out once she's up before settling her arms, folded, across her chest. ] I know it would be cruel to leave them to their fate, but you don't move fast with a crowd.
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There looks promising. At the very least, there’s probably shelter there. Maybe supplies, if not other people.
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Shelter, maybe, but the rest? Those walls look as thought a stiff wind will knock them over. There can't be people there.
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