[ Whether or not Terra is a good place, Mantis can't say. Wakanda, this country she's found herself in, could be beautiful, an expanse of sky that seems to go on forever and earth that is good and breeds life. It could very well be paradise. But now, it's a prison full of ghosts of those who never actually stepped foot here.
Still, the ship would have been much worse. Quill is gone. Gamora, Drax...Groot. Their memories cling to her, despair settled deep inside like she's never felt before. Of those who went to Titan, only she, Nebula, and Tony Stark remain. Nebula escaped far into the galaxy, refusing to come along with the survivors to safety. She hasn't seen Tony Stark in days.
Rocket, she's told, survived. He too has gone somwhere far off - to mourn. No one says it, yet she's certain.
Thor is the only one left in Wakanda that she knows, the only one who feels familiar (like the Guardians, like a home), so she stays by his side like a shadow for the most part. In everyone, she feels loss; in him alone, she can see the reflection of open loss that she can understand.
At his knock, she opens the door. Peers out with eyes that are clearly wet with tears that she makes no attempt to hide. Why would she? Her tears have never inhibited her. All the while, the sight of him tugs her lips upward. ]
Yes? [ And then, the fledgling smile falters: ] What's wrong?
[ Because "wrong" is now more prevalent than "right." ]
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Still, the ship would have been much worse. Quill is gone. Gamora, Drax...Groot. Their memories cling to her, despair settled deep inside like she's never felt before. Of those who went to Titan, only she, Nebula, and Tony Stark remain. Nebula escaped far into the galaxy, refusing to come along with the survivors to safety. She hasn't seen Tony Stark in days.
Rocket, she's told, survived. He too has gone somwhere far off - to mourn. No one says it, yet she's certain.
Thor is the only one left in Wakanda that she knows, the only one who feels familiar (like the Guardians, like a home), so she stays by his side like a shadow for the most part. In everyone, she feels loss; in him alone, she can see the reflection of open loss that she can understand.
At his knock, she opens the door. Peers out with eyes that are clearly wet with tears that she makes no attempt to hide. Why would she? Her tears have never inhibited her. All the while, the sight of him tugs her lips upward. ]
Yes? [ And then, the fledgling smile falters: ] What's wrong?
[ Because "wrong" is now more prevalent than "right." ]