Avians and Arachnids [DISCONTINUED]

Garden Gnome Covert Ops

I'M BACK, BITCHES.

And because you've all been good boys and girls and because I was a bit bored at work you get a new chapter. Rejoice!

---

Max wasn't sure what she had expected but it wasn't this. Peter had come by her apartment at around eight o'clock to pick her up even if he didn't have a car. He came armed with coffee, not the most romantic of notions but sweet nonetheless.

"You look pretty," Peter said when Max opened the door to apartment 17A in pair of somewhat dressy jeans (meaning they were dark wash) and, in the last ditch effort to be girlier, a dark green box top with sequins. Her hair wasn't anything special, just down like normal, but she had at least run a brush through it. You knew things were getting serious if Maximum Ride breaks out beauty tools.

"Hello to you too," Max said, thrown off of her game by the compliment. She then turned to the space behind her door and rummaged with one hand. "Let me get my coat."

"You might want to get a scarf and some gloves, too," Peter said, indicating his own Fair Isle scarf that Aunt May had knitted him for last Christmas.

"Is it going to be cold where we're going?"

"Why do you think I brought coffee?" Peter answered, handing Max one of the cups.

"'Cos you're sweet, that's why." Max ruffled Peter's hair and took the coffee from him. She grabbed her keys from the dish next to the door and locked the apartment behind her. "Shall we?"

Peter offered up his arm and Max took it, looping her arm through his. "We shall."

---

The walk to the park wasn't very far, but the sun was down and the sparkling Christmas lights of overly eager beavers wanting to get into the holiday spirit were twinkling in the birches, oaks, and maples that dotted the green expanse of rolling hills and playgrounds. The metal railings and pathways were slick with condensation, steam billowing from the small smokestacks of the fast food vendors.

"Can we have hot dogs?" Max asked, angling her body towards the closest hot dog cart.

"That's what you want to eat?" Peter asked, skeptical.

"I'm a cheap date." Max shrugged, dragging him there along with her. "C'mon."

The cart might have once been white but was now a sort of dingy grey with yellow stripes and an old fashioned logo, attempting the more festive circus route decoration-wise. A man whose jowls were sagging as much as the yellow awning gave them a tired look that spoke volumes that mostly read I should have retired years ago.

Peter scanned the menu tacked to one of the open doors. "How many do you want?"

"Seven," Max decided.

"Seven?" Peter asked.

"Three with chili, one with relish, two with mustard, and another with ketchup," she said pensively as the old man wrote her order down. "Yes, I think that's it."

"I'll have three, all ketchup." Peter reached for his wallet as the man tallied up the cost.

"Hey, I'll get this one," Max said.

"Oh no you don't," Peter counted out twenty dollars and handed them over Max's head, who reached to drag his arm down.

"Yes, I'm going to pay for mine, Peter," Max stared at him firmly.

"This is a date, which means the guy pays and in this case, I believe the guy is me." Peter handed over the twenty dollars and the man nodded gruffly, beginning to pile the toppings on their hotdogs and put them into boxes.