During the gang riots, some of my cybernetics were damaged, and I need to repair and replace them. I've been working to fabricate what I need from what I could find here.
However, there are certain parts I cannot work on myself alone...
[These are fixes she's needed to address for weeks, but the trip to Insincerity had delayed.
But see. Here's the thing. You know Nebula. You know that Nebula hates asking for help. So she'd 100% been trying to make these fixes herself now. So she looks far worse than when she'd started. But it's only because the technology she's working with here is poor for her needs! It's the equipment's fault and not hers!
It's a minute before an embarrassed and half-taken-apart looking Nebula opens the door and doesn't meet his eyes. She's got a panel off on the side of her head, leaving the wires and inner workings bare. Her cybernetic arm is on the table in the kitchen so she's missing it now, and a spot on her back is sparking-- a short-circuit she's been fighting to contain for the last hour and half.
The idea that she could have met him at his place instead had been an impossibility, clearly.] Cable.
[She steps aside to let him in, closing the door behind him quickly to head back to where her things were. She knows she should have asked sooner. She knows.]
[Immediately, Cable has the air of a mildly disappointed father. Not because she couldn't fix it or because she's broken at all, but because she's clearly been in discomfort for some time without saying so.
But because they're similar in many regards, he is well aware that asking for his help took some amount of courage. As such, he only arches a brow as he passes her into her home.
His eyes trail over the parts and tools laid out, then to her body and the sparking wires. He gestures at the nearest chair for her to sit, even though he's the guest.]
[Asking for help is tantamount to admitting that she's a failure. Or at least that had always been what she'd been led to believe. It's only in recent years that she'd allowed herself far more grace. But it still doesn't come easy. Nebula sits where he gestures, fiddling with the panel on the side of her head some more, trying to run a diagnostic, but it chirps in protest, failing again.]
I got into a fight in the Down during the gang riots. Before the trip to Insincerity. I sustained damage that I had isolated while I found the appropriate parts.
[She'd been in some amount of pain while she'd waited, but nothing more than she's unfortunately used to.] I started to attempt repairs now that I had what I needed, and it went... poorly.
Leave it. [He murmurs at her fiddling fingers, brushing them aside gently. He takes her head in his hands, half-smothering her face as he tilts her to get a better look. His eye is already glowing, but it visibly begins to scan her, listing the parts that need attention.]
You should have called sooner. [Cable chides, but he knows that they both already know this.
He points silently at a small tool, perfect for the delicate machinery of her head.]
[There's a mild grumble at that, but it's subdued, and not only because her face is basically buried in his hands. She'd asked him here after all. She'd known she needed the help.]
Usually. [She answers, feeling a pang of homesickness then.] I only ever let Rocket help me back home. No one else. [Because he understood what it meant. Because he'd been hurt like she'd been hurt. Both made to be something they were never meant to be.] He built my new arm for me.
Rocket? [Cable sounds so genuinely curious, his voice pitches upward ever so slightly. He stills his hand a moment, but he continues. He doesn't want to fuck around while she's in need.]
Rocket Raccoon? [He clarifies, but he looks at the arm and he knows.]
He's a legend in my time. [There's a fondness in his voice, because he knows what he's sharing is a little embarrassing. It seems fair, given how vulnerable Nebula is.]
I wanted to join his crew when I was a kid. I used to dream about it.
[The startles Nebula, black eyes snapping up to look at him from her awkward position as he works on her. He knew Rocket? How had this never come up before?]
He's not a rac-- [Nebula finds herself starting to say Rocket's common refrain, one that he's only just recently reconciled. He is in fact... a raccoon.] I mean, yes. Rocket Raccoon. He and I were the only ones of the Guardians who survived the snap. When Thanos wiped out half the universe.
It was just me and Rocket for five years before we brought everyone back with the Avengers. He's my closest friend. [She might not be his, but that was fine. Or at least she told herself it was fine.]
He was a legend in your time? [Nebula tries to imagine that.] If I return home and remember that, I will not tell him. His ego is large enough already.
[Cable nods along, focusing on his hands working but listening with interest to her story.]
I didn't realise you were colleagues. [He says it with interest. Oftentimes it feels like he falls into step with Nebula so much that he already knows everything about her. He realises there's a lot he's never uncovered, never asked the right questions.
There's also something he doesn't know presently, so it's time to pry.]
Are you going to tell me how you ended up like this?
[Nebula doesn't entirely realize she's doing it, but she leans her head into his palm as Cable presses the panel closed and smooths his hand along the metal.
At the question, she takes a moment, looking off in the distance as a flurry of white text flutters across the blackness of her eyes.] Better, thank you.
I'm glad you reached out. [Cable remarks, watching the text in her eyes as if it's a perfectly normal thing. He reaches for her arm, gently lifting it and guiding her to extend it and rest it on the table.]
Gangs seem to struggle to pick a side, feels like. [He sounds idle, but he's focused on his work.]
Sometimes it feels like they're buttering us up, sometimes it's like they're all in on whatever the fuck this place is.
[She shifts her seat closer to the table, letting her arm extend out, a few sparks starting at her wrist. Nebula glowers at them.]
They are only after whatever serves them at the moment. Out for themselves. All we have are the other LIERs. Most of them, anyway. I'm sure some of us are not trustworthy either.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
un:bluemeanie| text
un; cable
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I've been working to fabricate what I need from what I could find here.
However, there are certain parts I cannot work on myself alone...
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you can come here or i can come to you. let me know what you prefer.
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Thank you.
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[That is his final response before he makes his way to her home. Knock knock.
He's interested to see what kind of state she's in, but not enough to barge in.]
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But see. Here's the thing. You know Nebula. You know that Nebula hates asking for help. So she'd 100% been trying to make these fixes herself now. So she looks far worse than when she'd started. But it's only because the technology she's working with here is poor for her needs! It's the equipment's fault and not hers!
It's a minute before an embarrassed and half-taken-apart looking Nebula opens the door and doesn't meet his eyes. She's got a panel off on the side of her head, leaving the wires and inner workings bare. Her cybernetic arm is on the table in the kitchen so she's missing it now, and a spot on her back is sparking-- a short-circuit she's been fighting to contain for the last hour and half.
The idea that she could have met him at his place instead had been an impossibility, clearly.] Cable.
[She steps aside to let him in, closing the door behind him quickly to head back to where her things were. She knows she should have asked sooner. She knows.]
no subject
But because they're similar in many regards, he is well aware that asking for his help took some amount of courage. As such, he only arches a brow as he passes her into her home.
His eyes trail over the parts and tools laid out, then to her body and the sparking wires. He gestures at the nearest chair for her to sit, even though he's the guest.]
What happened?
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I got into a fight in the Down during the gang riots. Before the trip to Insincerity. I sustained damage that I had isolated while I found the appropriate parts.
[She'd been in some amount of pain while she'd waited, but nothing more than she's unfortunately used to.] I started to attempt repairs now that I had what I needed, and it went... poorly.
[Obviously.]
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You should have called sooner. [Cable chides, but he knows that they both already know this.
He points silently at a small tool, perfect for the delicate machinery of her head.]
Have you always repaired yourself?
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Usually. [She answers, feeling a pang of homesickness then.] I only ever let Rocket help me back home. No one else. [Because he understood what it meant. Because he'd been hurt like she'd been hurt. Both made to be something they were never meant to be.] He built my new arm for me.
[The one currently set on the table.]
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Rocket Raccoon? [He clarifies, but he looks at the arm and he knows.]
He's a legend in my time. [There's a fondness in his voice, because he knows what he's sharing is a little embarrassing. It seems fair, given how vulnerable Nebula is.]
I wanted to join his crew when I was a kid. I used to dream about it.
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He's not a rac-- [Nebula finds herself starting to say Rocket's common refrain, one that he's only just recently reconciled. He is in fact... a raccoon.] I mean, yes. Rocket Raccoon. He and I were the only ones of the Guardians who survived the snap. When Thanos wiped out half the universe.
It was just me and Rocket for five years before we brought everyone back with the Avengers. He's my closest friend. [She might not be his, but that was fine. Or at least she told herself it was fine.]
He was a legend in your time? [Nebula tries to imagine that.] If I return home and remember that, I will not tell him. His ego is large enough already.
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I didn't realise you were colleagues. [He says it with interest. Oftentimes it feels like he falls into step with Nebula so much that he already knows everything about her. He realises there's a lot he's never uncovered, never asked the right questions.
There's also something he doesn't know presently, so it's time to pry.]
Are you going to tell me how you ended up like this?
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[Nebula didn't get the opportunity to let out her rage as much as she'd like to, so she'd leapt at the chance.]
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How does that feel, princess?
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At the question, she takes a moment, looking off in the distance as a flurry of white text flutters across the blackness of her eyes.] Better, thank you.
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Gangs seem to struggle to pick a side, feels like. [He sounds idle, but he's focused on his work.]
Sometimes it feels like they're buttering us up, sometimes it's like they're all in on whatever the fuck this place is.
no subject
They are only after whatever serves them at the moment. Out for themselves. All we have are the other LIERs. Most of them, anyway. I'm sure some of us are not trustworthy either.