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[andhiswife]

Regardless of whatever else Darrow throws at her, her job at the Gardens remains a merciful constant. Greta arrives early in the morning, well before most of the children are even awake. (Rising at an ungodly hour still comes naturally to her from her years of co-running a bakery, so she might as well put it to good use.) The halls are quiet and empty, unless one of the cats has come to greet her, and she's able to get started on breakfast without interruption.

More often than not, she's able to finish breakfast without interruption, too. But there are exceptions; any number of things might drive a child out of bed early, and it's not that unusual for said child to come down to the kitchen for some company (or a fortifying biscuit).

So, she's not terribly surprised when the door eases open while she's still in the middle of kneading dough, flour up to her elbows. "Good morning," she says, still focused on her work. "Breakfast is still a ways off, but if you want a snack, you'll have to rummage for it yours--" and then she looks up, realizes it's an unfamiliar lad whose found his way in, and blinks in surprise. "Oh, hello. Have we met?"

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[close_to_the_ground]

So, Peter doesn't know how to cook. Anything. Honestly, neither did Aunt May. Uncle Ben always handled the cooking and Peter was fourteen when he died so it's not like he was really into helping out in the kitchen unless it was going to involve things he could make blow up so he and Aunt May were kind of left to their own devices.

Anyway, he's hungry all the time and he's not exactly how to explain he needs more food than normal without sounding like he is stealing from actual babies and orphans so here he is.

Getting caught.

"Hey," he squeaks, clearing his throat to try that again with less shiftiness. "Uh, sorry. Hi. No. I'm new. Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in."

[andhiswife]

'New' might mean new to the city, or it might just mean he's newly transferred from the Children's Home. Either way, she can sympathize, and her expression softens.

"Barge in whenever you like," Greta insists. "You're hardly the first." The older children are some of her most frequent visitors; they have more freedom of movement than the smaller children (no one's minding them quite as closely), and they're at a stage when three meals a day just isn't enough. She gives the lad a quick, assessing look. He's a bit thin, but not weedy. Probably got a hollow leg.

She steps out from behind the island, wiping her hands on her apron. "I'm Greta, Greta Baker. Ordinarily I'd offer a hand, but mine are a bit of mess just now. Here, would you like a quick tour?"

[close_to_the_ground]

"Oh wow your last name is Baker and you're a baker, that's crazy," Peter rambles, nodding as he looks around for food options and finally looks back with a small grin. "I'm Peter, Peter Parker. "I just got here last week, like to the city or universe or whatever. This place is nice, huh? I heard the other one isn't as good so if you've got to be an orphan this is a pretty fancy way to do it."

[andhiswife]

She could point out that it's completely normal for people to be named after their professions where she's from, but he's already talking nineteen to the dozen, and she has a feeling she'll have to pick and choose the words she gets in edgewise.

"Lovely to meet you, Peter," she says. "And it's a bit of an adjustment, both to the city and to this." She makes a pointed, manor-encompassing gesture with one floury hand. "But you're right: if you're to be in a home, this is the one to be in." The other one does the best they can with the resources they have, of course; it's not their fault their resources don't include absurd amounts of magic.

Nodding towards one of the pantries, she says, "If you're looking for leftovers, or anything quick and easy, that's the one. There's usually something in the left-most fridge, too. I don't mind you older ones rummaging about, so long as you don't abuse the privilege -- or let on to the littler ones. They'd scoff biscuits all day if they knew where we were keeping them."

[close_to_the_ground]

"No, I swear I won't," Peter says, giving his most trustworthy look before scuttling over to poke through and yank out a few bagels. "I like your accent," he says as he stuffs half a bagel in his mouth and continues to talk regardless. "So, I kind of have a thing where I need to eat more than most teenagers. Just so you know I'm not like, just being greedy or weird. I mean there's an actual reason."

[andhiswife]

She arches an eyebrow at his promise -- not disbelieving, but an unspoken suggestion that she'll be keeping an eye on him -- then returns to her kneading.

"Thank you," she says with a small, slightly bewildered smile. She knows her accent sticks out compared to Darrow at large, but it's usually only the younger children who comment on it. It's rather endearing.

As he continues, she divides her attention between her work and his words, her expression increasingly curious every time she glances up at him. "A 'thing,'" she repeats, both dubious and amused over the vaguest possible phrasing he's gone with. "What sort? Or is it a secret?"

[close_to_the_ground]

Peter opens his mouth to open before pausing because, well...

"I'm not sure. I mean it was back home but I don't know if it's supposed to be here, too."

He has kind of told a lot of people. Like, a lot. Plus it doesn't seem very likely that bad guys are gonna come attack the nice baker in the orphanage for info on him. There are way better superheroes in this city. It's kind of stuffed with them.

"I got bit by this spider, but like a special one. Gave me weird powers. Not like, gross ones. But my metabolism is insane high so I eat a lot."

[andhiswife]

Whether it qualified as a secret or not was, she'd assumed, a matter of personal preference. Whatever hints he might drop, it's not her intention to pry. So she's surprised when he starts talking about whether or not it's supposed to be a secret, as if it isn't entirely up to him. Or wasn't, where he came from.

It doesn't take him long to decide that it's not a secret here, at any rate. Greta pulls a face in spite of herself at the explanation. "A spider? That sounds... unpleasant." Spider bites, in her experience, don't give the receiver anything more exciting than a nasty welt.

"I'll be sure to adjust my portions, then," she adds with a wry smile. "Can't have you eating us out of house and home."

[close_to_the_ground]

"Yeah, the bite sucked and then it made me crazy sick and then I thought I was going to maybe turn into one before it all settled down," he says, settling on a stool and stuffing the other bagel into his backpack.

"Tell me if I'm taking too much, though. I mean stealing from actual orphans is pretty bad. So you don't live here, right?"

[andhiswife]

"Does that sort of thing... happen, where you're from?" she asks, looking up from her work in surprise. "People turning into spiders?" Ugh. "Sounds ghastly."

'Actual orphans' seems a slightly odd turn of phrase from someone who presumably doesn't have any parents here, but she doesn't comment on it. He might just mean that he has parents back home. Or maybe he just doesn't want to lump himself in with the other children, which, given his age, isn't terribly surprising.

So she moves onto his question, shaking her head. "I don't, no. I have a place nearby, a little outside of town. It's an easy enough walk from here, if you ever want to stop by. Though I can't promise it'll be much quieter than here, between my daughter and the dogs." She smiles fondly at the thought of them -- and at the fact that Saoirse is capable of being noisy, now -- moreso than before she got her coat, at any rate.