Nebula was not a soft woman. She was calloused, hard, mean, and any other word in endless languages that meant cold. In no way did anyone ever want to cross Nebula's path and get on her 'bad' side, or rather 'worse' side, since she only seemed to have one mood, so to speak.

It was a frigid morning, and Nebula had decided that rather than dealith with the other Guardians and having group breakfast, she'd slip out of the ship whilst they bickered to eat alone at a quiet café. Her sword was settled in its sheath looped to her belt,shifting with each step the woman took. Her cold, cybernetic hand brushes against it every so often to make sure it was still there. The wind whips her scars around, a silly garment she wouldn't even consider wearing if it weren't for her sister always insisting on it. It was almost second mature to put it on before heading out now.

As she stepped across the icy sidewalk, something caught her attention. A soft cry, almost like an infant, coming from the alleyway between the pizza shop and the abandoned Arcade. She paused for a moment, considering whether or not to check it out. She didn't care one bit, but she was a Guardian of the Galaxy now, and she's be damned if she let slip an infant in the cold. She sighs and resolves herself to walk down the alley.