αяє тнσѕє му ¢нυ¢к тαуℓσяѕ? *:.｡..｡.:*ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 *:.｡. .｡.:*

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖥𝖨𝖵𝖤: 𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖨 𝖢𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖪𝗂𝗅𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽?

~

"Is that a rooftop party?" My eyes skim the scene before me. Music, beautiful aromas that I can only imagine is food, and a bunch of 30-60 year old's gathered together, chatting.

"Seems so," Hobie readjusts where the spikes sit on his head, before turning back to me. "What's the plan, sarge?"

Pavitr and Gwen had gone ahead, observing the party to hopefully find the famous Miles Morales. Hobie and I had decided to hang back, settled a few apartment buildings away.

"Hm... The smell of food wafting from them is making me hungry." Propping up into a kneel, I watch him in my peripheral.

Rubbing where I assume his eyebrows are, he utters something that sounds like "I assume you want to go get food then?"

"Yarrrs!" I caw, shaking his shoulders, "What kinda food do you want?"

"I'm feelin' some greasy ass fried fish and chips. Know any good places for that?" He steadies himself in what one would call a power pose, turning his full attention to my answer.

"Well, as long as this New York isn't that different from mine, then yes!" Jumping to my feet, I reach out a hand. He takes it, letting me help him up.

"Lead the way, then, n/n."

~

"OK, so," I start, hands resting against the dip just above my hips, "This looks exactly the same, except for the fact that the owner is cranky white man instead of the sweetest old guy who would help a row of ducklings get across the street safely."

"Have you seen him do that before?" He quirks a pierced brow in my direction.

"Well, no, because this is New York and the nearest park with a pond is 10 kilometres away," I huff, "But you get what I mean!"

"Wait, love, aren't you American? All red, white and blue, bald eagles, pow pow gonna shoot you?" He questions, miming someone shooting down birds from the sky.

"Uh, yeah?"

"But you said kilometres. Don't you monkeys use miles?"

"Ohhhhh. I mean, yeah. But my adopted mother used to live in Manchester before moving to NYC, so I've just always used the metric system." I shrug, before poking him in the back, leading him towards the store entrance.

~

Hobie POV:

Adopted mother?

I mull over her words as she leads me into the shop, her touch burning into my back.

Would it be weird to ask about it? Is that too nosey?

Too lost in my thoughts, I don't realise she's asked me a question.

"Hm?" I hum, tuning back into reality.

Hands on her hips, glaring at me, y/n repeats her question.

"What are you ordering?"

"Oh, um, you order for me. I like everything." I mumble, after seeing how cranky the guy behind the counter really is. Not risking the wrath I may face from a greasy old cracker if I take too long to decide.

"We will get uhhhh," My eyes run over her now unmasked face, soaking in her attractive features. She taps on her chin, indecisive. "$6.00 worth of chips with chicken salt, and um... 1 serve of whatever fried fish you have, and 1 serve of salt and pepper squid." A smile lights up her face, happy with her decision.