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Video; un: ilikehorses

[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.]

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[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...]

[ 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. ]

[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?]

[ 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.

[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.]

[ 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.

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'?

[ 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.

[Man, she's salty over there.

Anyway.]

I know it's bad, but I don't mind. Someone else here calls me 'little hellion' all the time.

[She can be a little gremlin, it's cool.]

[ His expression pinches a little at that.

... but he relents, if a little reluctantly. ]

They're, um. They're these little monsters. Stories, obviously.

There was this one movie when I was a kid about these cute little dudes folks could keep as pets, but if you fed them after midnight, they'd turn into gremlins. They'd turn ugly as hell and get super violent and start killing folks.

[Oh... That's actually worse than expected.

She glances down at her plate, mostly cleaned, and looks a little concerned, brow pinched.]

I'm trying not to be a gremlin.

[ Peter waves a hand dismissively. ]

Like I said, that lady was talking completely out of her ass, and she had no room to talk about you like that.

Don't pay attention to anything she said.

I know, it is just...

I was made to be like a — 'gremlin', so I worry...

[Don't be what they made you.]

... I hurt people sometimes, on accident. And it scares me.

Hey.

[ And he says it gently, ducking down a little to better catch her gaze. ]

Those doctors and scientists or whatever, just 'cause they made you to be weapons doesn't mean you are.

The fact that it worries you, and the fact that you don't want to hurt anyone – that all means something, okay? And it means you'll get better at this.

[She smiles a little, genuine, returning to her pancakes.

But not before carefully pushing his tiny boxed gift to him, wrapped in old comic book pages; the lovely Gamora and happy Quill and dancing little Groot dolls, of course. And wordlessly, she places her hand over the mixed tape after.

Protective.]

[ He understands the gesture, and he pulls the box closer to himself, leaving it on the table beside his elbow. Like hell is he going to forget this, and the dolls are absolutely getting a place of honor in his shared apartment with Gamora.

He doesn't get gifts very often – at least, not since he was on Earth – so getting them now is a little weird. Good weird, though.

He also takes one of the pancakes from his plate and shifts it onto Laura's.

Across the diner, the woman is still sobbing over her ruined shirt; even so, Peter pitches his voice low, just for Laura to hear: ]

That throw was amazing, by the way.

[She leans in a little, surprisingly relaxed and more free, like a real kid.]

Wasn't it? It felt very good.

It was fantastic. I mean, right in the face? You couldn't ask for better aim than that.

[ Peter's part little kid himself, a lot of days, and he spares one last grin before glancing over his shoulder. The woman finally looks like she's tired herself out, and she stomps out of the restaurant. The waitress catches Peter's eye, glaring daggers at him, and he only waves sheepishly. ]

But, uh. Obviously, you know. You shouldn't do that again. [ yes, here's the obligatory adulting. ]

[She nods.]

I should not do that again.

[........... She definitely will do that again sometime.]

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Video; un: ilikehorses

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