Her green skin clearly marked her a non-human, and with all the alien panic in the city, Helena figured she should probably be more cautious about approaching her. But the way she was feeling right now, the woman could be a Skrull and Helena wouldn’t care if she helped find her cross.
“It’s gold, about this big.” Helena explained, holding up her thumb and index finger to show the approximate size. “A cross is two intersecting lines, one vertical, one horizontal. There’s a ‘B’ engraved on the back.”
“It has to be here.” She said, more to herself than the other woman. Her mother’s cross had stayed on that chain through fights and explosions, the thought of losing it in a bar of all places was nearly enough to make Helena cry. “It’s an heirloom, I can’t lose it.”
The stranger didn’t immediately turn away at the sight of her complexion, which was a nice surprise. Prior to the Skrulls’ invasion of Earth, people reacted to Gamora with a sense of curiosity. Lately, it was typically something more akin to disgust. It was infuriating, being hated for something she had absolutely no control over. At least when she roamed the galaxy, it was her own reputation that made people fear her. Here, they hated her based solely on how she looked. Humans were truly small-minded creatures.
This woman seemed different, though. More open, more willing to bend. Gamora liked that, though she would not go so far as to extend the sentiment to the woman herself. She rarely decided she liked someone based on a single conversation, after all. She listened as the woman explained what she was looking for, nodding her head. “I will help you look,” she decided, sliding from her barstool gracefully.
She was obviously distressed at the loss of her cross, and Gamora’s suspicions that the charm must hold some sentimental value were quickly confirmed as the woman named it an heirloom. “If it’s here, we’ll find it,” she assured the woman, offering her a small smile. “Try not to worry yourself over a loss you haven’t yet suffered.”
