stykera | MHA #4, Sunday Morning

MHA #4, Sunday Morning

Experience dealing with an unusually young Summer had made it relatively uncomplicated for Stark to earn access into her apartment for the morning. Relatively. There had been some negotiations but gifts for the cat had certainly helped his case.

Once inside the apartment he had given Pancakes an apologetic pat (or 12) and some of the good catnip and then turned his attention back to Summer.

"So we're going to eat something that counts as real food," he said, knowing full well how ridiculous that sounded coming from him. "But maybe there could be ice cream later? Or cupcakes. But first real breakfast. Pancakes? I brought bacon, and eggs, and we could have pancakes but not the cat Pancakes or french toast? Or...I don't know. Something else entirely? I don't want you to be hungry. I don't want Pancakes to be hungry either."

Hopefully the catnip would mollify the cat for the day though. Hopefully.

"Do you want to help cook?"

What could possibly go wrong there?

[for the tiny gross ginger girl who lives there, obvs, but it's a free island you can always knock]

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It helped that Summer was pretty sure she remembered this guy from last time she was here, and, you know, all the pictures on the phone she was very disappointed did not have more games on it. Just a lot of pictures and music and jello recipes.

She made a pouting face at this insistence on real food (if you could eat it, it was real, Stark, geeeez), but she brightened up at the chance to help, because then she could make sure he didn't just feed her terrible healthy stuff.

"I love pancakes," she said, "both the food and the cat."

The cat was her best friend!

"And I want to help! Can we make them pink?"

Hopefully no pictures that would scar small Summer eyes!

"I know you do," Stark said, nodding. "I wouldn't try and make you eat something you hated!" She was much more likely to give him horrible food, how dare. And if he started trying to feed her only healthy things it was probably a good sign he'd been replaced by a robot.

"And...yes. They can be pink. Of course they can be pink!" He should have thought of that before.

"Strawberry? We could put strawberry in. Or...on top? Both? Or there might be sprinkles."

The odds of there being pink sprinkles somewhere in Summer's kitchen seemed quite high.

Oh, Summer had noped out well before it got to any of those photos. The things that woman did to food was already a questionable amount of exposure to things no innocent eyes should ever have to behold.

It had given her terrible ideas of things to try to feed her brother when she got home.

"Oh, there's definitely going to be sprinkles," Summer stated, in a tone that suggested if Stark knew what was good for him, he wouldn't even dare to think otherwise. "There's a TON in the cabinets. I want to make an entire pancake made of nothing but sprinkles. And sprinkles my eggs. And on my toast. Pancakes wants sprinkles on her kibble, too, she told me so."

And, well, with that catnip you gave her, Stark, that was probably true!

Poor tiny Morty. He was doomed in so very many ways.

"I don't know if you can make a pancake out of just sprinkles," Stark said, frowning. "They wouldn't stick. Sprinkles on toast is fine, I think. Eggs...you can have that, if you like."

Stark would be skipping the sprinkled eggs though. Probably.

"And when did Pancakes say that? I didn't know she liked sprinkles."

Whatever. He was just a dumb stupid baby. He deserved it, for existing.

"Well," Summer reasoned, "I guess it could be mostly sprinkles, with the batter to hold it together, right? And she told me earlier this morning, before you came over. Obviously. She's my best friend, she tells me everything."

Poor Morty.

"She's a very good cat," Stark said with an apologetic look in Pancakes's direction. "She can have some sprinkles if she likes but not as many as you. She's much smaller."

And probably less used to consuming pure sugar but she did live with Summer full time...

"I didn't know she talked. She's never talked to me." Probably for the best, really. "So. Pink sprinkles for the pancakes, and strawberries? We'll need a big bowl."

He had his head in the fridge looking for strawberries.

Summer was just going to look at Stark with an expression that seemed to suggest that if Pancakes didn't talk to him, that sounded like a him problem and she could probably guess why that was but she was too polite to tell him the reason why. He probably already knew, anyway.

She then looked over at Pancakes to shake her head and give her a reassuring look, but Pancakes was clearly just very into grooming herself right now.

"Gross, 'Cakes," she said. "Not in front of company!"

But she was going to leave Pancakes to her future hairball for now, because Summer knew where the big bowls were from digging around the kitchen earlier, and she went to go pull it out from the cabinet.

"This one?" she asked, as things clattered as she pried one loose and held it up. "Is this big enough?"

Was it because he was old and weird, tiny Summer? Was that why?

"I don't think Pancakes counts me as company," Stark said, shaking his head a little. "I'm here often. I think I'm just an extra person who can feed her sometimes."

"That bowl is good, yes. And you know where the sprinkles are. I've got eggs, we have strawberries. And flour and milk and sugar and...I think we have everything? We should. Are you ready?"

Was Stark ready for the batter carnage that was probably about to ensue?

Because he was old and weird was exactly why, yes. See? Summer knew he would know he was all old and weird and stuff.

She opened the cupboard with the sprinkles, and used her arm to scoop them and everything else near it into the bowl so everything was easier to carry when she put it on the counter. "Hold on," she said, and went to drag a chair from the dining room into the kitchen so she could climb up on it and gave Stark a decisive nod.

"Ready!"

The narrative knew, at least. So did Stark, let's be real. He had never pretended to not be weird.

"Good idea," he said approvingly. "The chair." He was eyeing the contents of the bowl warily though. Some of those things should not go in pancakes.

"Now. We need to make sure we have everything ready. For the recipe. I have one on my phone, so we can check. So we'll set it all out."

He was doing so as he spoke, lining things up on the counter. "And then we can measure and we can mix and we can cook."

Everything that had been in the bowl, including the sprinkles, was set to the side. He hesitated at the edible glitter, then shrugged. It wouldn't hurt anything. Some of the other containers might need to vanish mysteriously during the cooking process though.

And old, Stark. Don't forget old.

"Well, I have to see what you're doing," Summer pointed out. "To make sure you're not scrimping on the sprinkles!"

She looked over the things as he went through them and huffed out a breath.

"This seems like seems like a lot."

How could he forget old when faced with tiny Summer and so many other tiny people?

"I would never," Stark said gravely, "try to deprive you of sprinkles."

What kind of alien did you take him for?

"And it seems like a lot at first but we'll mix it all and then it will be just right. I think. But if we have some leftover that's fine."

But, no, like, really old.

Older than her dad, probably.

"My dad just makes it out of a box," Summer pointed out. "Sometimes a jug."

"I am not your dad," Stark said quickly. "I make better pancakes."

He was pretty sure about the pancake quality, anyway. He'd never actually even met the man yet.

"I like to make it without the mix. Do you help him cook, your father? While your mother is doctoring horses?"

"Have you ever even had my dad's pancakes?" Summer challenged, because she was pretty sure he hadn't. That didn't necessarily mean that she thought they were better, since this guy was apparently pretty serious about his pancakes, but the point still stood!

"And sometimes, yeah," she said. "But he usually thinks it's a distraction and messes it all up if he'd not focused really hard on it."

"I haven't had your father's pancakes," Stark said. He slid the bowl towards her. "I don't actually know your father. We haven't met. My pancakes are still better. Ready to stir?"

"Okay," said Summer, pulling the bowl closer and dutifully, albeit with uncertainty, beginning to stir.

"Have you met my mom? You said you know she works with horses, did I tell you that last time?"

"I haven't met your mother either," Stark said. "But you've told me about her. Some. Do you think it looks mixed enough? Not too lumpy?"

Summer's nose wrinkled a little as her attention turned into the bowl. "No," she reported, "it's still pretty lumpy."

And so now she was stabbing at the lumps with the spoon.

"Stirring is kinda boring."

"Would you like help? And...maybe it needs a bit more milk? Sprinkles go at the end once the batter is poured in the pan."

Otherwise the sprinkles would just get melty and sad and nobody wanted that, right?

"Or you could try a whisk?" Whisking was more fun than stirring. And whisk was fun to say.

"You can do the stirring," Summer decided, graciously, magnanimously, as she slid the bowl back over to Stark. "I just wanna add the sprinkles."

"Thank you," Stark said, taking back the bowl and attacking the lumps.

"I'm not good at shapes," he said a little apologetically. "I hope circles are all right? I'll pour some batter in the pan and then you can add sprinkles."

And maybe some glitter. Or chocolate chips.

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MHA #4, Sunday Morning

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