milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It's not fair that Peter's sore even in his dreams. He shuffles, wincing, toward the nearest booth, and flops gracelessly into it.

Sitting down. It's good stuff.

[OOC: I may be slow! In tagging, not on-the-uptake. Though I may be that too.]

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"Fine," he says grimly, without looking up. "New training regimen."

It's true!

"...Oh. Does it preclude waffles and/or hot chocolate? You look like you need cheering-up food."

She hovers uncertainly, wanting to give him a hug but having been taught a lesson in Dismissal From Adults by Nathan yesterday.

Peter drags a hand across his forehead and looks up. "I'm all set, but if you want 'em feel free." There's an old-fashioned bottle of soda by his arm; he reaches for it. "And I'm really okay, just tired."

And mildly grouchy, but not particularly unhappy.

She nods and sits across from him in the booth, then makes a particularly hopeful face at a waitrat. The waitrat squeaks affirmatively and gives her a ratty thumbs up, then runs off.

"They know me too well here," she says cheerfully in the time it takes for the rat to return with a large mug of hot chocolate. "Also I am probably going to have no teeth left by the time I'm twenty."

"You should really floss," says Peter, with the wisdom of twenty six and still chewing. "No reason not to, right?"

"Oh, I do. There's a limited amount flossing can do against the sheer amount of hot chocolate I drink around here, though. It's too delicious to let be, I'm afraid."

Conversationally, after a sip of hot chocolate: "I met your brother."

Peter hasn't seen his brother since -- well, technically since he collapsed on the stairs outside the Odessa police station.

"Yeah?" he says, glancing back at her. Ordinarily the mention of Nathan would get a smile from Peter, or at least some pretty obvious sulking; now he's just calm.

Matilda has no way to know this, of course. There's nothing but mild curiosity in Peter's voice when he says, "You met Nathan?"

She nods. "Twice, actually. He likes waffles with pineapple on top." Beat. "And he can be a tad rude at times."

Look, I am cheerful now! I have gotten over my Nathan-snubbing!, says her face.

Her face is a terrible liar.

"No accounting for taste," says Peter, who prefers strawberries with his waffles.

And then his focus sharpens, and he smiles, a little, ruefully.

"Yeah, that's Nathan."

She smiles back, her cheerfulness becoming progressively more honest. "He was probably just in a bad mood or something the second time I talked to him. The first time, he was perfectly ordinary except for the pineapples."

"He's under a lot of stress these days," says Peter; whether this is in defense of Nathan or in warning is open to debate. Maybe it's both. "Did he tell you he's running for Congress?"

"He never mentioned it. He was more concerned with blowing off my ideas for how to stop some city blowing up."

Peter does not really seem very surprised by this.

Well, except -- "He told you about the bomb?"

"I believe his exact words were 'Unless someone exploding and taking out half a city is normal where you come from.' He didn't seem inclined to provide details beyond that."

It is difficult to snark with a hot-chocolate moustache, but she tries valiantly nonetheless.

"Well...yeah," says Peter, scratching his head. His arm is stiff; he winces as he lifts it. "It's kind of a security thing. It's probably classified."

"...Classified? That's a new one."

She takes a sip of hot chocolate and seizes upon the first opportunity for a subject change that presents itself. This being: "And anyways, running for Congress is no excuse to not want cookies."

"Well, it's a matter of national security," Peter insists, and only stumbles over the words a little bit.

Then, brightening: "No, yeah, there I agree."

"Cookies are delicious. Everyone likes cookies."

Tilda is very firm on this point.

"Even potential Congressmen."

"Some people are allergic," Peter says helpfully. "At least if there's chocolate in them. Or peanut butter, or nuts."

She points a finger in the air in the traditional 'but wait!' gesture. "Ah, but there are all kinds of cookies! There's ones without chocolate or peanut butter or nuts - what about oatmeal cookies, for example?"

Academics and food. Tilda is in conversational heaven.

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