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

action;

[godslay]

[ —she's literally just about to answer Laura, even though she understands absolutely nothing about this, but she looks over and calls back, ]

What?

[ Buuuuut she doesn’t wait before she’s turning back to her comm, and this time, to Laura:

”What exactly are you asking?” ]

[nostalgiabomb]

She's being an instigator.

[ And he says it accusingly. ]

Tell her I don't want a band-aid on my dude.

[godslay]

[ She sighs at Peter, but to Laura: ]

Don't put a band-aid on him.

[ Look at that: she's not clarifying for Laura about whether the kicking or kissing is more accurate. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter grins. ]

Thank you, Gamora, you’re the best.

[godslay]

Don't make me change my mind.

[ DON'T BE SO SMUG ]

[nostalgiabomb]

—Wait, what'd I do? All I did was mind my p's and q's and say you're the best, which you are.

[godslay]

You're being smug.

[nostalgiabomb]

I am not.

[ Even from across the room, he sounds and looks so affronted. ]

All I did was say "thank you"! Why is that a crime?

[godslay]

[ She doesn't even say anything; she turns from where she's sitting on the couch, and gives Peter the flattest, most unimpressed, unconvinced look on the planet. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ And Peter returns that stare with wide-eyed innocence. ]

What?

[godslay]

You know what.

[ GAMORA: ACCEPTING NO BULLSHIT. ]