[b]Peter Queen/Spiderbolt[/b]

It was well into the night, and the opening gala was underway. Peter wore a black tuxedo, hand-crafted by one of the best suit makers in the world, his supersuit underneath it. His bow and quiver were hidden in a bin out in the back alley behind Queen Consolidated NYC. Just in case. There was an insane terrorist on the loose, after all.

Peter was drinking a glass of 1982 Chateau Lafite Rothschild, red wine at its finest, and conversing with his guests. They were congratulating him on advancing the company, and how they hope his playboyish ways won’t get in the way. Telling him things he barely listened to. Scanning the scene of the party, Peter spotted someone he hadn’t seen in a long time, mainly due to his crime fighting- Harry Merlyn. His best friend. His best friend with whom he’d spent countless hours with, engaging in all kinds of fun things that only billionaires can afford. 

Harry wore a blue suit, also hand-crafted by the same people that made Peter’s tuxedo. He had redish-brown hair, cut short, and blue eyes. Average height. Average body build. Nothing much, but enough to attract most girls. Peter left his guests in mid-sentence, approaching his best friend.

“Harry Merlyn.”
“Peter Queen.”
What followed was the warmest embrace you have ever seen by two straight men. One that lasted a long time. Until-
[i]BOOM![/i]
An explosion in the building. Then some laughter. Belonging to none other than the Dark Goblin.
The guests screamed and ducked for cover as glass rained down upon them. Peter tackled Harry to the ground, shielding him from any debris that fell down.
“You okay, Harry?” asked Peter.
“I’m fine. Peter- what’s happening?” replied Harry, panicking.
“I don’t know,” lied Peter, “Catch up later, okay?” 
With that, Peter rushed outside, extracting his bow and quiver from the bin and discarding his tuxedo in their place. As he rushed back into the building, maniacal laughter could be heard from above.