Video; un: ilikehorses

[shoplifter]

[The feed opens to Laura looking a little uncomfortable in her own skin — you'd think she was in trouble again or something, forced to give another on-screen admission. But nope! Trouble was totally a few days ago. She's been an angel as of late (or as close to one as a stabby mutant can be). Instead, Linda motions for her to go ahead and start her video broadcast. What for, you ask? She steels herself.]

Prijata is coming up; it is a celebration to give people things. I am not very good at it.

But we had wood-carving for the end of the year art project, so I — made some... wooden dolls for people. [She pauses, looking up again at Linda. She motions for her to continue on.] I am not very good at it yet, so the painting is not perfect. Even so, I have... made... many good friends. Friends I didn't think I would make. So... Quiero agradecer a mis amigos. I want to thank my friends.

[This is clearly something she's not used to saying. At all. And her cheeks are slightly flustered by the time she stops and she's plucking at her tattered shirt sleeve — a new visual compared to the usually cool and collected child who never seems to care enough to be embarrassed. It's just, you know. It's different when it's something you've made for someone else. And it is their faces, a face she had studied in that way of hers over the last few weeks as she worked on the project. Her bed is covered in crafting materials, a sign she'd rushed to get them done in time.

She shows them in detail, don't worry about being left in suspense. Indeed, they're all carved carefully from wooden bits, with little items and clothing pieces glued together.

The kid sits in this earnest hope that she did well enough to not be teased. It's a normal thing to do, right? Something a person does, not a science project.

She hopes it's obvious who is who:]



I can bring them to you, wherever you are... if you want yours. If you do not, I can keep them on my dresser.

[Honestly, knowing how many she made is an eye-opener for her; she didn't realize she cared about so many people here.]

.... Feliz Prijata.

[... Even if it's a bit early.]

Comments

[nostalgiabomb]

She’s perfect, too.

[ just like the genuine article amirite fellas

gamora is a queen text it ]

If you’re really sure about giving them away, I’d love to have mine. And I’m sure Gamora wants hers.

[shoplifter]

[He nods, smiling a little.]

Good. They can stay together.

I do not know which is appropriate, though. This—

[She taps the mini Peter and mini Gamora together, as if smooching rather chastely.]

Or like this.

[She kicks mini Peter in the head with what is Gamora's foot.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ WHY ARE YOU CALLING HIM OUT LIKE THIS ]

The first one. Definitely the first one.

I mean, obviously.

[shoplifter]

If I ask Gamora, she will agree?

[so innocently]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ A lengthy, weighty pause.

Then, ]

... How about we don’t ask Gamora, and say we did.

[shoplifter]

I'm going to ask Gamora.

1/2

[nostalgiabomb]

You really—

[ —don’t have to, is how he planned on finishing that sentence, but—

Too late. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

Dude.

[shoplifter]

[The picture of innocence.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Flatly, ]

Why are you doing this to me.

[shoplifter]

Because friends tease each other.

[Right? She thinks they do - sometimes the other mutant children did.

But they’d still fight for each other.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ ... yeah, okay, fair.

It's why his nose wrinkles, mouth twisting to one side – an obviously theatrical show of annoyance.

But he heaves out a massive sigh. ]

Fine.

But, seriously, don't add anything to my dude, okay? He's already perfect as he is.

[ unlike the genuine article amirite fellas

peter quill is a mess text it ]

[shoplifter]

I won't. I promise.

[Even if it probably could use one with all the kicking to your head Gamora probably does.

You're a good egg, Peter Quill, Star-Lord.]

[nostalgiabomb]

Good.

[ and he accompanies the word with a slightly challenging glare, as if to say, You better not be lying. ]

When can I pick it up?

[shoplifter]

At the diner. After pancakes.

[She is covertly sneaking pancakes into this equa-

No, it's not covertly, this is blatant pancake celebration.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He barks out a laugh, then lets out a breath. ]

Right. Gotcha. Gimme, like, an hour.

And I guess it'll be my treat?

[ With that dry, flat delivery that says he already knows the answer.

But he makes his way to the diner in question within the hour, waiting for Laura at the front door. ]

[shoplifter]

If you insist.

[She slips on her glasses, cutting the feed rather smoothly for an 11 year old.

Eventually she'll be wandering up to the diner, her familiar battered green backpack bobbing in unison. She perks and raises those glasses off her forehead, looking thankfully like she hadn't gotten into any trouble on the way there (you never know, with her).]

Hola.

... Happy early Prijata.

[nostalgiabomb]

Hola— [ His accent is awful. ] —and happy early Prijata to you, too.

[ And he turns, holding the door open for her. ]

Guessin' you want the usual?

[shoplifter]

[Can you say hola and sound like any more of a goober.

But bless your soul, anyway. She wanders in and the locals wave at their common customers.]

Pancakes. But someone said I should try - mozzarella sticks.

[It sounds kind of weird, like. Why sticks. What is Mozzarella? It sounds like a virus.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Listen, he could have said it with a hard H. Then where would we be?

And Peter follows in after, directing them to some booth beside the window. ]

Oh. Yeah. Mozzarella sticks are great. You dip ‘em in marinara sauce.

[ ... pancakes and mozzarella sticks is probably a weird combination, but, whatever, man. When the waiter arrives, Peter still puts in the orders.

He also tacks on two milkshakes, because he is an adult with an independent income, and if you can’t spend that money on unhealthy food choices then what’s even the point? ]

[shoplifter]

[We'd be making fun of you, that's where we'd be.

She sits down at the booth, instinctively checking out the window and around the room for any signs of suspicious people; it's just second-nature, and when it looks like everything's okay, she settles in her seat. Her senses are always so hyper-active, so the smell of food is already making her antsy.

Before she goes in on coloring on the kid's mat, she carefully puts the two newspaper-wrapped boxes on the table, sliding it over to Peter; there was clear caution put into making it look good, and there's even a thin ribbon tied around it all (Linda helped).]

For you. I made it 'fancy'.

[nostalgiabomb]

You didn't have to do all that.

[ But that being said, Peter grins, clearly delighted, and slides the boxes closer to himself. ]

Oh, right, uh—

[ He digs through the pocket of his signature jacket, pulling out a small, plastic case housing – you guessed it – a cassette tape, carefully labeled "Laura's Mix, Vol. 1". ]

This, uh. This is for you. If you want it.

[ does laura even know what a cassette player is??????? ]

[shoplifter]

[She holds it up high, clearly interested as she pours her gaze all over the mysterious device.]

......................... What is it? A 'mix'? Like cookie batter?

[nostalgiabomb]

Uh, no. Not exactly.

It's music. Just, like, a bunch of songs I put together for you. A "mix."

[ He takes a breath to continue, then, he winces. ]

Oooonly you probably don't have a cassette tape player, do you.

[ In fact, most of the folks he made mixes for probably don't have one.

... well. Shit. ]

[shoplifter]

[Oh! She looks a bit more confident.]

Like my iPhone.

[Quill vs. iPhones, Pt. II.]