ᴍɪsᴛᴇʀ ᴡɪsᴅᴏᴍ (wisdoms) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-05-12 07:49:00 |
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There truly was a food truck for everything - and Pete would know, many of them with their delicious meats and confections had catered his and Lina’s outdoor park wedding and reception with twinkle lights and plenty of literal and metaphorical magic. Unfortunately though, not all of these trucks could receive a prime spot on the menu - so he considered it his duty to catch up and try the other ones that he and his now-wife had missed. Case in point: the truck which served nothing but popsicles, kind of a gourmet ice cream truck - different from those old-fashioned ones with ‘Good Humor’ splashed on the side, and colourful menus. No, these were serious popsicles - ingredients that were farm fresh, treats sometimes infused with booze and exotic spices. Amelia was still a little too young for much dairy - Wisdom wanted to wait until a bit past her first birthday, which was in a mere week or so - so when he took her to the park, he stuck with something fruity for an icy treat that she could gnaw on and would also help her sore gums (since she was teething). Rainbow something or another - all he knew was that she was smearing the popsicle all over her mouth and turning her tongue a strange shade of purple. He, personally, stuck with a key lime pie. It was tart and bitter. Naturally a grump like Wisdom would appreciate that. And since Michonne, a bounty-hunting friend from the past, was now here in Orange County? Pete saw it fit to invite her places that weren’t soaked in alcohol - healthy for the both of them; they could catch up and actually get fresh air too. Because she was here, he wanted to make sure she was faring alright too. The dreams could be a little much, and he didn’t miss them. The repeats were bad enough. They sat on a blanket, Amelia in a dress and little sunbonnet printed with flowers - she’d already insisted her shoes not be on her feet, and her father was really expecting her to take her first steps any day now. The little bugger was raring to go. “She might decide she wants some of yours,” Pete chuckled, and sure enough, Amelia was eying Michonne’s popsicle with no doubt a devious plot in mind. “She’s like her mum. Tiny in stature but never wants to quit eating.” Adapting, that's what Michonne would call this right now, she was adapting to the changes. The changes of California in general, the changes of Orange County, the new and interesting developments within her life. Not limited to the dreams either. Connecting with people was probably helping her not focus on the painful wounds that were reopening all over again. And while she'd been hesitant at first to spend much time around Wisdom’s surprisingly sweet little girl, it wasn't just as jarring as she expected it might be. “Well, if she gets her gums on yours, she'll need something to sweeten it up.” Popsicles wouldn't have been what Michonne expected, but she was again surprised by Pete and his choices. “Strawberry Delight is definitely more kid friendly than key lime.” Although it might make the kiddy look like she just murdered someone with her mouth. “It’ll teach her a lesson. Dad’s popsicles are off limits. Right? Yes?” Wisdom chuckled, holding the light green treat-on-a-stick away from his daughter, who made a grab for it anyway. Probably just because she was being denied and didn’t like that. He let her have it a moment later, swapping out his for Amelia’s baby-sized, half-eaten popsicle - and as soon as she stuck the edge of the key lime into her mouth, happily placing it onto her gums, she made a face. It was quite classic, if you asked him. Too bad he didn’t manage a photo of that little puckered rosebud mouth and her crinkled nose. She flopped on her bum, not sitting in a very ladylike manner, but that was alright. Wisdom scooted her into his lap and held her there for the time being. “So, the dreams are still bombarding you I presume?” he asked, and he knew Michonne wasn’t always one to open up about things. Pete was the same way. But she could talk to him, if she wanted. Yes, the eternal struggle of ‘I want’ with babies, she could understand the little tyke just wanting what she thought she was being denied, after all, other peoples must be nicer than hers, and she should have them all. Even if she didn’t like it after all. “I get the odd night of actual sleep, probably just as well. I might’ve driven into a wall otherwise.” Of course most of the time it was napping on her sofa in front of a television playing anything that was as far removed from zombies as she could get, she’d ended up on Fairly Odd Parents a few nights ago and wasn’t sure if those dreams were worse than the zombie ones. “It’s bearable,” which was basically life at this stage for Michonne too, “Although it’s killed the whole genre for me.” Which was irritating, since it was so popular. “Right, you can’t really forgo sleep entirely. So there’s the occasional night your body just crashes because it can’t take any more fatigue,” Wisdom sighed around another bite of tart key lime - and he remembered those days well, dreaming of nothing but loss and death and the one-thousand ways in which he’d fucked something up. He was completely and utterly broken, a mutant with his hot knives and heat shields, a toy that no one wanted - sometimes he would try, he’d find a woman who thought they could fix him and so they would try also, but they always left for some reason or another. Like Michele. Like Maureen. Especially like Kitty. The constant abandonment was why he hated the repeats of his dreams so much. Because there was never anything good to remember - blips here and there, maybe. But it was rare he’d actually get to see them. Instead he was simply reminded of how he had nothing in another world, and it was probably his fault (everything was his fault). “I also know what you mean. Superhero genre’s been killed for me too,” he smirked. “Maintaining any sense of optimism is difficult. But...possible to do. I’ve been fortunate enough to find people that remind me things aren’t going to go to shit in the same way they did once upon a time.” It was another glimpse into a life that Michonne had yet to fully understand, when the dreams were so terrible, when they took so much from a person, and yet people stayed her. They formed connections worth this level of suffering and discomfort, with the oppression of seeing these things each night with no escape, and yet they stayed. She knew she didn’t have to ask Pete why he stayed, the content and inquisitive child proof enough that there was something else worth it here, but she’d been so disconnected for so long that it seemed far more complex. “That seems like the crucial component here.” Support, reminders of life, not dreams. A reason to actually put up with it. “Well, I guess that and small little mini-me’s to corrupt.” It was still a sight to behold; Pete Wisdom and a child. She almost wanted to snap a photo just to send to some of their older mutual acquaintances to prove it happened. “She’s a rather adorable mini-me, isn’t she?” Wisdom grinned a bit; Amelia was squirming so he let her wiggle her diapered bum and crawl to her heart’s content. Which meant she went right for Michonne, plopping in her lap and mirroring her father’s grin - though Amelia had so much more in the way of gums. A few baby teeth poking through. “Baaah,” she shared importantly, and she’d probably find Michonne’s dreadlocks fascinating in a moment here. Little Wisdom needed those in her tiny, tiny hands. And not to fear, Pete had snacks for her. The black hole of an appetite was no doubt a trait inherited from her mum. That, and the small stature. “Another crucial component here is fresh air and socialisation. I’ll make sure to take you out for both more often. I think grumpy sourpusses such as ourselves could do with more of both.” It almost hurt to admit that but there it was. Wisdom remained selective about his friendships though, don’t get him wrong. He was picky, and didn’t trust easily either. “Who knows - perhaps someone could also pop up who dreams of the same shit you do,” he suggested. That did help as well. Or so he’d heard. The only one he felt closest to in that regard was Barton, and they seemed to dream of different universes entirely. Kitty, at least, understood what it was like being a mutant in a world that would never accept them as people. She was fairly proud that she hadn’t flinched from the young girls inquisitive visit, Michonne’s free hand moving to hover by Amelia’s back, should she topple, Michonne would steady her. Children were likely the only ones permitted to touch the dreads. And only because they were cute. “She is cute. Are you sure she’s yours?” Michonne was teasing of course, because that smile was Pete’s cheeky grin, but she was ridiculously endearing. Michonne was even willing to share her popsicle with the little one, or at least allow the inspection of it all. “Not grumpy at all, are you? You’re far too sweet.” Although maybe getting out and having air and sunshine was a good idea, it was certainly relaxing. “Have you ever dreamed of people from your life? People you knew before, things that happened having a twist?” With the start of things being so like life, Mike and Terry showing up again, Andre and… that. Michonne was curious if it was likely to continue. Oooh, strawberry. Amelia liked this one a lot better than her dad’s! She held the stick in her hands, about to put the edge of the popsicle into her mouth but Pete stopped her - Michonne likely didn’t want a side of drool with this cool, refreshing treat. “A couple people,” he nodded. “My father and sister, for one. My mother.” She was the same as he remembered - resentful of both him and Romany for some reason. Reminders that she’d been shackled in an unhappy marriage. Wisdom grew up immersed in so much resentment and spite, it was a wonder he’d learned how to love at all. “There’s my former girlfriend, both here and there. She did quite the number on my useless lump of coal heart,” he huffed a sarcastic laugh. “So there are similarities. I like to think of it as this world being sort of a cracked mirror reflection of the other. Reflection it may be, but it’s not perfect.” Parents and siblings made sense, it was meant to be an alternative life time they dreamt, right? Their own lives in alternate places at least. Family remaining in those aspects was logical really, and Michonne knew that her own parents and brother had featured earlier. It did make her wonder what happened to them, after the outbreak, if they were safe or lost to the madness of the virus. “My ex was there. In my dreams.” Mike and Terry had died the same day as Andre, the drive by was designed to do just that, Michonne had accepted her partner and his friends death a lot easier than her son’s death. The dreams were a little more complicated. “He was a walker, or zombie, whatever you want to call them.” Because Michonne had let him turn, let him become one of those things as punishment. “I was just wondering how many other people were going to show up there, with decomposing faces.” “Difficult to say but there might be a fair bit of crossover in terms of people. Is there - well, I suppose that’s not a cure for it yet?” Wisdom asked, squinting thoughtfully. “The world has likely fallen apart, society has regressed. Doubtful scientists are in their labs concocting something.” Honestly though, a zombie outbreak was just the thing that would happen here in Orange County. They’d had demons, spiders, Stormtroopers, why not even more examples of pop culture phenomena come to life? He’d be sure to keep an eye and an ear out, and pay attention to Michonne’s dreams. Because he didn’t trust this place on his best day - it was his home, yes, and he’d painstakingly built one. But regardless. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how things worked around here. Amelia was still happy as a clam with Michonne, snuggled up to her cutely. Wisdom let her be for the time being. “Who knows. You could dream for years, meet someone, and then find out their dream love interest has shown up to likely develop confusing feelings for them and you’re expected to be bloody fucking elated about it.” Not that he spoke from personal experience or anything. Right. “Not yet, not that I know of. It’s a virus of some sort, I couldn’t say how far spread it was. But so far it’s just … chaos.” Chaos and death and lose and bitterness. And she was a little used to it. Michonne had figured that, when she started this dreaming, when she saw her little boy again when she closed her eyes, there was hope. Until yet again, Michonne’s trust in her partner was unfounded and her son paid the price. It was tough, but she knew she had to deal with it, somehow. Little things seemed to help, like the little sweet girl who’d found her dreadlock and was inspecting the end of one. “That’s an oddly specific example, Pete.” And said with the exasperation of experience too. “Are you speaking from experience there? Or is this a hypothetical situation?” Well, sort of, but he’d attempt to rein in on using curse words to describe this purely hypothetical situation. Amelia was getting to an age where she’d soon be uttering her first word - and while Pete would be proud if it happened to be something like gobshite, he didn’t think others would appreciate it as much. “Experience,” he admitted with a snort of a laugh, though obviously Michonne knew that. “I try to be understanding though.” He wasn’t about to tell Lina who she could or couldn’t see - especially when the person clearly meant a lot to her - it just would’ve been nice to be asked for his thoughts about the whole thing. Maybe they didn’t matter. He supposed he could see that too. “Anyway, sounds like you’re in for a bit of a wild ride,” he said. “At the very least, this is a world not so dire where you can wander into the grocer and buy any old thing - wine in a box or cheeseburger-flavoured crisps, even.” It was likely complicated, feelings and dreams. Michonne couldn’t say; her feelings for Mike hadn’t altered because of the dreams, she didn’t hate him anymore, but he was dead anyway, so her feelings didn’t really matter. It wasn’t something she had to worry about right this second anyway. A wild ride was probably putting it lightly, but it didn’t seem like there was much use in fighting things at all. It didn’t seem like anyone had any luck there, “Boxed wine I could tolerate, but cheeseburger chips? Really, Wisdom that’s just disgusting.” And highly unlikely to be appealing at all. If you wanted something cheeseburger flavoured, just buy a cheeseburger. “Everything here is weird, I hope you grow up knowing that.” She told Amelia utterly seriously. Because it just was. “Not a fan of cheeseburger crisps myself, but we’ve got some weird shit in Britain too,” Pete assured. “Prawn cocktail flavoured crisps? Not to mention putting those spaghetti hoops on toast is just weird.” Brits put a whole bunch of oddness on toast - beans, for example? Marmite? Pete was from London and even he thought that was strange. Amelia giggled and cooed, clapping her hands, because clearly this conversation was amusing to her. “She seems to like you,” Wisdom observed then. “Feel like playing nanny sometime?” He and Lina were owed a date to themselves anyway - it had been a long time coming. “Why do people want soggy toast?” It made no sense to her at all, just none. To each their own she supposed, even if they were just utterly crazy. “Bangers and mash is pushing the boat out a bit for me.” Soggy, smooshy, food. Not her thing, like baby food without the sweetness. “Well, she’s tiny, I’m guessing she likes most people if they just make faces at her.” But she did have a rather sweet temperament. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t have a line of people willing to watch her.” Sweet thing like this? Convincing man that Pete was. Surely they already had baby sitters ready before the little one was even born. “I did have one about her age mind you. Little older, he’d found his feet. I wouldn’t say no if you were in a bind.” She could get past the memories again, really. Alright, so Michonne wasn’t wrong - Pete did have a line of people willing to watch his daughter, between the grandparents (even curmudgeonly old Harold would enjoy the time with his granddaughter), the aunts, and the godparents. Rather, he was just extremely picky about who he did let mind Amelia. Extending the trust was something of a compliment, maybe. “You did?” He hadn’t known that Michonne had one of her own though. There must be a sad story involved here - if she’d lost her child, he couldn’t even imagine. He just knew that if anything happened to Amelia, it would devastate him and that was putting it lightly. “You’ve the experience, then. But she’s a good judge of character, really. She doesn’t like just anyone - a finely tuned personality detector, this one has.” To which Amelia made raspberry noises and blew spit bubbles. Oh yes. Sheer emotional genius right here. Stroking her hand over the sweet little tufts of hair, Michonne just nodded, “Little boy,” maybe later she’d feel up to sharing more, it was a huge step to share this much, but she’d leave the wounds just itching a little rather than gaping. “Really? Finely tuned is it?” The spit bubbles had Michonne snorting a little, but she was painfully adorable. “I guess she has to know who’ll put up with your crap, huh?” As mellow as Pete seemed with the little tyke out and about, she highly doubted that it was like flicking off a switch. There was likely still a lot of restlessness, although living here probably helped with a lot of that. “Well, since you’re such a stellar judge, who am I to argue, hmm?” Babysitting, okay. So she would be open to that. “At least you dad’ll know I’ll wreck anything that this crazy place spits out, hmm?” Fair enough. Pete knew not to press, especially when speaking of such a topic must be the definition of difficult - if Michonne wished to share more later, he’d be there. Perhaps talking about it might help those old wounds heal rather than simply scab over, but only time would tell. “Oh, yes, me the perpetual grump - I’m quite the stellar judge,” he grinned a bit. Much restlessness to be had here, a lot of gloom and doom and rain clouds, but those were predominant traits of Wisdom’s personality anyway - if he was a cheerful bugger, no one would know what to do with him. Especially his family and few close friends. But he was glad to hear that Michonne wouldn’t mind spending more time with the little crumb gobbler. It was perhaps therapeutic all on its own and, either way, he was pleased to see her sticking around in the OC. You needed allies, you know, in a place like this. |