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]

[ 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.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ his archnemesis

listen, he's familiar with iPhones, but his Zune is just as good, okay? Better, even! Somehow! ]

Kind of?

But the phone won't play the cassette tape. Um.

[ He didn't think this through, obviously. ]

... Um. Later, if you want, you can come over to our place and listen to it there.

Linda can come, too.

[ She can commiserate with Gamora and Peter about playing guardian to hellions and throw back shots of tequila with them or something. ]

[shoplifter]

[She looks so very pleased at this, okay.]

Linda would like that a lot.

She does not get out much.

[I wonder what always has her so stressed out...]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ what a mystery this is

(someone please save linda) ]

Well, you guys are welcome any time.

[ And not too long after that, their order arrives. Pancakes and mozzarella sticks and milkshakes still doesn’t seem like a particularly palatable combination, but their waiter, apparently having seen it all, hardly bats an eye. ]

[shoplifter]

[Though she doesn't speak much on the matter, she looks tickled by the thought, and even more so tickled by the plates of food being brought out. From there it's really just a general bloodbath of who can scarf down what — Laura's stomach is unyielding and her metabolism is a force to be reckoned with, though she at least uses a fork, like... 70% of the time. As she licks her fingers, an older customer who had been sitting nearby gets up to pay and makes a disgusted face in Laura and Peter's direction as she goes.

"You'd do best to actually teach your child how to eat like a person and not a feral animal."

Oh, well. She pauses in her eating, looking sharply up.

¿Cómo?]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Listen, Peter was raised by Ravagers. Poor table manners were never really a thing when he was a kid. It was mostly a matter of scarfing down your food as quickly as possible, before someone else swiped half of your share from your tray.

Comparatively, Peter was a little more fastidious, but he still hasn't quite shaken the habit of hunching a little over his food, like he's physically guarding it. He's a lot better about sharing, at least.

All this to say, he doesn't pay Laura's inhaling her food all that much mind.

He's startled when he realizes the old lady is addressing him directly, and he blinks up at her, owlish and confused.

And then, once her words settle, he goes straight from bewildered to annoyed as fuck. ]

Yeah, sure, lady. I'll get right on that, just as soon as your parents teach you to mind your own business.

[shoplifter]

[The lady glowers upon the plot twist that Peter is apparently as rude as Laura is. Her voice is level, but there's a distant hint of outrage kept very carefully gloved up. "And how can I mind my own business when she's eating like a farm pig right next to me?"

And then a pancake flies and slaps her in the head like an exploding grenade of food, as she squawks ungracefully and staggers back. Laura sits blankly in her seat, lowering a syrupy hand, looking as innocent as possible despite the fact that that shit was in plain sight, no effort in concealment considered.

"What is wrong with you?! What sort of little gremlin are you?! Oh my god, my shirt—"

...........

She looks at Peter for confirmation on whether that was a bad move or not.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Sorry. Peter can't come to the phone right now.

Why?

Oh. Because he's laughing his ass off.

Fuck, that's funny.

But he scrubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, calming down a little as the woman squawks with indignation. He's pretty sure he hears demands to pay for dry cleaning, some impotent screaming that he needs to control his child, and blah, blah, blah – the kind of shit he dutifully ignores. ]

Laura. [ Only lightly reprimanding, as he tunes the lady out. ] C'mon. Don't waste food like that.

[shoplifter]

Lo siento. I will throw napkins next time.

[Aw, shucks. She can't help but smile at that as the lady, defeated by being ignored, storms off toward the front desk to file a complaint against the little booth in the back. Which is probably not good, but then again, Laura's certainly a repeat customer who eats her often enough that maybe they won't get booted for 'pig behavior'.]

I know what a pig is, but what is a — 'little gremlin'?

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Peter glances over his shoulder, watching as the lady stomps away to scream at some poor waitress until she's blue in the face, and Peter resolves to leave behind a generous tip.

(In some places, it might be more accurately called a bribe.)

At Laura's question, he presses his lips together, wondering if he ought to tell the truth.

Then, lightly, ]

I wouldn't worry about it. That lady doesn't know what she's talking about.