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]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

[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.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

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.

[nostalgiabomb]

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.

[shoplifter]

[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.]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ 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.

[shoplifter]

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

Wasn't it? It felt very good.

[nostalgiabomb]

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. ]

[shoplifter]

[She nods.]

I should not do that again.

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