PatientBean
Mao Mao
Retired
Cyberlad
Qia
Half Pint
Festive
mickilennial
AndyC
SepSimilarly, I've got a bit too much to establish for the world around Peter just yet.
Hound55 Member
Create-A-Hero RPG GM, Blue Bringer of BWAHAHA!
STATUS: A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing 2 yrs ago
Status
Recent Statuses
2 yrs ago
Current
A Perpetual Motion Engine of Anxiety and Self-Loathing
Bio
So there I am, in Sri Lanka, formerly Ceylon, at about 3 o'clock in the morning, looking for one thousand brown M&Ms to fill a brandy glass, or Ozzy wouldn't go on stage that night. So, Jeff Beck pops his head 'round the door, and mentions there's a little sweets shop on the edge of town. So - we go. And - it's closed. So there's me, and Keith Moon, and David Crosby, breaking into that little sweets shop, eh. Well, instead of a guard dog, they've got this bloody great big Bengal tiger. I managed to take out the tiger with a can of mace, but the shopowner and his son... that's a different story altogether. I had to beat them to death with their own shoes. Nasty business, really. But, sure enough, I got the M&Ms, and Ozzy went on stage and did a great show.
Most Recent Posts
Banjo released her hand and waved goodbye as the lean blonde boarded the ferry for her shopping day amongst the other Blackjack girls.
"I told you. Don't worry about it. I got the clothes all taken care of already."
She murmured something. It hadn't helped things when he'd shown her the tuxedo t-shirt as a joke.
"What's the matter? You don't trust me?"
The scrutiny never left her eye, but she gave an okay. If she didn't have complete faith, she seemed to trust him at least until she saw he'd gotten it wrong.
"You just have yourself a great day out with the girls, and don't worry about things. It's all under control. I got it."
Too far. If the repeated reassurances hadn't already had the wrong effect, they certainly had now.
She walked up the gangplank and the pair waved each other off.
Six Years Ago
"It's baggy. I thought this stuff was s'posed to be fitted."
"Yer still growin', mate. And I don't know when yer gunna be wearin' it. Or even which school you'll be wearin' it for, tabefair. Make it a bit big and you'll grow into it. Make it a fancy one, and you'll never be underdressed." The Butler said, watching on with no small amount of amusement from his chair as the teen turned and surveyed the suit in the mirror, for once looking the more underdressed of the pair due to the nature of his own dishevelled dress.
Banjo wasn't wrong. The suit was big on him. It looked a little ridiculous, in fact, given it was a full tuxedo.
"Besides. It's a tux and you're seventeen."
"Sixteen."
"About to turn seventeen. It'll play off as 'cute' at this age. You'll win over the mother. It'll trickle down. Trust me, it'll work for you, kiddo."
"You reckon my appeal to girls is in my ability to win over the mothers..?" A leer crossed his face.
"I... really don't want to think about it. I regret sayin' anything. Honestly, please don't say anymore. And for God's sake don't go knockin' up some poor girl. The last thing I need to think about is you leavin' a string of bastards behind us in our wake."
Banjo turned and looked at himself in the mirror again, frown on his face.
"Don't care what you say, mate. This looks ridiculous. And the bow tie--"
"It's a tux. It's gunna come with a bow tie."
"Do I look like I know how to tie a bloody bow tie..? if I did, somebody'd be flushin' my head down a toilet. And tabefair, its a strong stance they'd have on the issue, but I'd support it."
"Alright. C'mere..." He put his glass down and got up from his seat. And beckoned him with a finger, despite covering the entire distance between the pair himself.
Banjo did up the top button and popped the collar, waiting for the older man.
"Alright, so this crosses with this, ya flip this like so..."
The Butler flipped a loose end of the bow tie across his nose with a cheeky grin, making the younger boy flinch as the silk pinged off of his nose, and scowl at the treatment.
"...then you put a fold here, you take this through here, you start foldin' here... then when you pass it through here-- Bob's ya bloody uncle, and you just pull here and here to make the two sides match and slide it to centre. Ya got that?"
"No..."
"Well then find me, or better still, find someone else who does on the day. It's easy enough. You know how to tie a regular tie. Hell! You know how to tie a double windsor!"
"Yeah! Cos I've gone to bloody private schools for years! We don't wear bloody bow ties! Frankly I'm curious how you know how to tie a bloody bow tie!"
"Because, I'm cultured, mate." The older man replied calmly, returning to his seat and swirling his glass with a sniff of the contents.
"And quite frankly it wouldn't hurt you to get a bit of culture up you, either."
He looked at himself again in the mirror. He pulled at the baggy sleeves and trouser legs.
"Cultured, eh? Bloody ridiculous..." He shook his head in disbelief.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Banjo looked at himself in the mirror.
Silver linings. Somehow, despite everything, the tuxedo fit perfectly.
It had been six years, he'd grown a lot. But the weightloss he'd experienced from his peripheral neuropathy diet had left it fitting so well it was almost as if there was a divine hand at play.
His limp was still there, his recently discovered rage was still there, his girl wasn't, but the tuxedo fit like a glove. Cruelly comedic.
There was an assassination attempt on her scumbag father, her brother got caught in the middle, and now a fractured family was coming together, seemingly.
He wanted to go, he didn't like the thought of her being left alone with him. But she said his presence would be antagonistic.
He didn't have a counter for that. Because he almost certainly would be. With very little provocation required, even on his best behaviour...
She had the Butler's phone number and would check in to announce she'd get there safely. Saved as just that as well.
Because there's trust, and then there's stupidity.
He got changed again, safe in the knowledge that the suit fitted. A little frustrated that he couldn't send her a picture, but he was pretty sure he'd probably show up in the group chat for her anyway.
A hand on the door, he stepped out of his room and--
"Getting excited for the--"
"No." He flatly replied before the question was completed. Too much. Waaaaaay too much.
"You still goin'?"
"Said I could use the laugh."
"Prob'ly the right call. Fuckin' dog's breakfast in waitin', eh? My bird'd have a handle, but I wouldn't trust these other two to handle a piss up in a brewery."
Big Steve nodded blankly, oblivious to what was just said. Smiling and nodding was a regular response to some of his more regional colloquialisms. Particularly when he double-stacked them.
"Don't wait up. Shit to do."
"Oh, what time are you coming back, we could--"
SLAM!
"Or not..."
"I don't know why you keep trying. He's just an asshole."
"He's not an asshole. He's just sad. And he's going through some stuff."
"He is an asshole. And assholes also go through stuff. The two things aren't mutually exclusive."
"So what are you doing today?"
"Just have CC stuff, then I'm free all day. You?"
"Same. Finally got on Destiny 2, do you want to call some of the others and--"
"I think we both know the answer is 'Yes'."
"Well, alright then."
Banjo made his way to the gym, by way of the Mess Hall, his Community Contribution once again finished. The fleece was coming in on the sheep, and there weren't that many, but he was supposed to leave them for the 'Ag group' who had classes. Fences needed mending. He supposed that was typical of all things in his life. Wouldn't be happening any time soon though.
That was also typical of all things in his life.
He'd have to fire down some diet friendly grains and tasteless boiled chicken thing (and even then only after he lost his shit over the constant tuna and salmon he was getting inundated with), and go off to the gym for mind-numbing exercises. Other people had devices and headphones to break the tedium. The no-phone rule worked against him here, yet again.
It took him a half an hour to realise that Katja wasn't anywhere to be seen in or around the gym.
This was out of the ordinary for them both.
It fell outside of her Community Contribution hours. She wasn't obligated to be there. But she was generally an omni-present sunny vision in the place... well, Banjo assumed she was. Of late that had seemed to start to wane, since the Trials her demeanour had been noticeably shifted. And for the first time he'd really been struck by some kind of deep low feelings from her. Loneliness. Which... she'd sort of always been alone, but he'd never really viewed her as lonely.
'How long had that been the case?' He thought to himself, over regular reps on the adductor.
Had he been so absorbed in his own bullshit, or was this something new? Just how long had he been failing to notice? He tended to leave people to their own devices and trust they'd come to him if they needed anything. Was that the wrong way to handle this?
She'd said something about trying to hit things off with the French bird on their team.
He'd always given her a wide berth as well.
So that didn't help with his blind sport on this one either.
The night before the Trials something had almost certainly happened. He'd seen other people getting in her business and she certainly hadn't cared for that shit at all. Probably whatever happened was still fresh at the time.
He tried to rack his brains over what he'd seen from her here in the gym over the past few days, but it was like his head was in a fog. A steadily increasing haze.
His anger and loathing just bleeding into everything? The leg infecting more of his life? Seemed stupid, but everything in his life had kind of sucked across the board since then. Even at the school. He was actually finding some of the classes difficult, a challenge, and half of the team seemed to skip out altogether. And the frustrating thing... the fact that it was now becoming somewhat challenging, it made him actually kind of care. Which only made things more irritating that he was struggling to keep up.
The Trial itself had done nothing to him... but this leg. It was like he had been poisoned in it ever since. Everything just--
He stopped.
"Thirty fucking reps? The fuck are you doing? You're supposed to stop at six. More sets of lesser reps. How's this throw your sets now?"
"Fuckin' God damnit!"
He got up and got a drink, trying to figure out how he was supposed to adjust for his rehabilitative routine after losing count, or if he was even supposed to.
"The Doctor said more is less... Maybe this isn't the worst thing. It's the adductor anyway, that's the inner thigh, to counter-balance the actual work you're supposed to be doing." He justified to himself.
He drank more water and he sat back down in the next machine in his rotation.
Peter threw open the back door and ran towards the attic.
Aunt May wasn't home, and they'd kept a sizable amount of the lump sum from Uncle Ben's insurance payout in cash for home repairs, and to parse out for day-to-day expenditures.
Fortunately Aunt May was of an age where she hadn't completely bought into the idea of an electronic cashless society, despite how global trends were going. Possibly frustrating for a technologically progressive young teen, but an absolute boon for a young Spider-Man who may need to keep his resource purchases in cash. And the production of his web formula wasn't exactly free.
Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents. Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents. Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents...
He kept repeating the total in his own head so he wouldn't forget as he flew up the steps two at a time.
He opened a large lockable chest, which held a smaller lockable safe. Upon which he got to a lockable tin with compartmentalised slots for different household expenditures which the family had owned for longer than Peter could remember.
Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents...
He pulled from the home maintenance fund three hundreds and a twenty.
A thought flashed through his mind as to what Uncle Ben would think, tapping into the home funds for his own debts.
"He'd want me to be responsible for my own actions, is what he'd want." Peter told himself, the mask now down and the vocal nodes not pressed to his skin.
The grumble in his chest as he put the tin back away wasn't so sure, though.
Suddenly the doorbell rang out. Peter dropped his hand to his phone and opened up the app for the security cameras he'd installed by the front door.
Waiting the interminable few seconds for it to connect he saw a average sized African-American male and a slightly taller caucasian man wearing a long-coat, with a salt and pepper flat-top and a bold choice in facial hair that only Adolf Hitler, Charlie Chaplin... and for some bizarre reason Michael Jordan have ever attempted. The doorbell rang again.
Peter ran from the attic to his bedroom to throw a change of clothes on.
Downstairs, the sound of the teenager's echoing footsteps around the house gave the pair renewed hope that someone at least was home and would soon answer the door.
"Now when he comes to the door, just let me do the talking Jonah. You can sometimes..."
"Look, Robbie... You may have found this guy, Parker. And you may even be right that we need him. But I still run this paper. And I'm still responsible for hirings and firings. I'm not going to say anything that might turn him on us. But negotiations are still with me. I'm not having you try and handle this grown man with kids gloves and let him run roughsho--"
"Jonah, he's coming. Sssh."
The pair took half a step back and closer together to put on a better united front.
Peter opened the door and looked at the pair of them quizzically, with an eyebrow raised. Somewhat confused by who these two men were and what they wanted.
"Hello young man, is your father home?" The man in the longer coat asked, trying his best to take the grizzle out of his voice and failing miserably.
"Uhh... he's dead." Peter replied.
Robbie looked down at a piece of paper that gave him the lead.
"Oh. How about a... Ben Parker?" He read off of the scrap.
"Dead as well. Is that what this is about?" Peter asked the pair.
"Well... not really. We were hoping to speak with a Peter Parker abou--"
"Well that I can help you with. What do you want?"
"Peter-- Peter Parker? The one who runs 'Tech/Sci: Amazing Fantasy or the World of Tomorrow'?"
Peter's nervous eyes went between the pair before he uttered a gentle "Yeah?" hoping that he wasn't looking at more trouble he couldn't afford.
Jonah's grin suddenly widened with crocodile teeth showing, feelingbetter about his negotiating position now that he knew he was dealing with a child.
"That's the name you went with?" Jonah poked, hoping to already put the younger one in his place.
"Well, for a while there I was self-conscious about my age and I called it 'Amazing Adult Fantasy', but yeah, that-- that didn't attract the right kind of click-base."
"Oh that's good because we work at the 'Daily Bugle', my name is Robbie Robertson and this is J. Jonah Jameson and we--"
Are charter members of the New York alliteration club and we're proud that we've finally met our new member for 'P'... Peter thought to himself, but remained silent.
"--are proud to present you with a rare and exciting opportunity to take up our new Unpaid Internship program!" The crocodile teeth flashed, and his eyes squinted over in a gnarled version of a grin as Jonah presented his opening beyond lowball offer.
Robbie turned and looked at him, barely able to take in the audacity of the offer himself.
"Oh." Peter said. Thinking for less than a half a second before replying "No, thanks." And starting to close the door.
"Err-- it's an incredibly exciting opportunity, looks great on a college application. Foot in the door. Umm... Get the opportunity to work with professionals and build important networking relationships--"
"--in a dying field. That's fine, sir. I'm not really interested in becoming a journalist. I'm already getting offers of internships in the scientific fields that I actually want to pursue when I go to college, sooo..." The door once again began to close.
"Uhh-- it's not actually an internship, Mister Parker!" Mister Parker..? Peter thought to himself. The door stopped.
"Robbie!" Jonah snapped.
"We actually came to offer you a paid position to administrate the internet presence for the Bugle. Also, to possibly integrate your blog and vlog into a weekly feature..."
The door swung open.
"A paid position?" Peter asked. He turned to flat top in the long coat.
Jonah's snarl had Robbie slightly hesitant. Peter was pretty sure flat top was the one who was supposed to take the lead.
"Yes." He said through gritted teeth. The gnarl through his voice all-encompassing. "A... paid... position. Scaled by your age, of course. And limited by... your billable work hours... since you'll presumably be at school and unable to work full time..." Jonah gradually looked to pull back whatever kind of control he could find in this negotiation.
"A paid position..? Like a proper real job?"
"That's right." Smiled Jonah, relieved that the power in the situation seemed to be shifting. Clearly thinking that 'Maybe this kid doesn't even know how much an adult would get paid to fill the role.'
"So, how much would we be talking?"
Robbie wasn't game to open his mouth. They were prepared to offer whoever opened this door $150k to potentially keep the paper from going under. Jonah was the nostalgic type who held the value of print media itself to be intrinsic and fought the medium's move to an online platform hard. As such, it had become something of a relic, one of the few major newspapers in the world which published as many print copies as it did, and still had classified ads within its pages. Part of this was because of Jonah's ownership and control of the Bugle itself. He liked to call himself Editor-In-Chief, but really he was much more. His preference coming down to the fact he found it less impressive to be able to sign a check and become the owner of a thing, than the reverence he held for the Editor-In-Chief position itself.
As tight with money as he could be, and he was, there was no doubt that he was sinking his own funds into the paper at this point. And how much of a loss he was currently running to keep the Daily Bugle afloat.
Hiring someone for this role was not something he took lightly. He really didn't want the role to have to exist at all. But he was only now beginning to realise that the 'online presence' was not merely a trend that he would be able to outlast.
So it was bittersweet when Jonah gave his offer of...
"Twenty five dollars an hour..." He tried to get a read of the high school kid behind the door. "Plus... I guess... the scale minimum for your weekly articles. Blogs... Vlogs... Frogonalogs... Whatever you want to call them." He tossed in an extra crumb that he was legally obliged to give anyway.
Peter scratched the back of his neck whilst holding onto the door.
"Well, Flash was making eighteen bucks an hour for those few months when he was just working at Big Belly Burger..."
"Err-- well..."
"...That's FANTASTIC!" He exclaimed. A sigh of relief passed over the two men. "He even had cash enough to take Liz Allen to the movies like every week... I mean, his parents usually pay for everything, so I s'pose it wasn't so big a thing... but..." It finally occurred to him that the two adults were waiting on his response.
"I mean... I should probably ask around. Check with the family about how good that really is, but... I mean, you said it's all usual and to scale, so..."
Jonah turned sheepish, as he considered how the offer would hold up to the informed scrutiny of an adult's eye.
"Well, uhh... I mean, that would be great, except that it would mean you'd miss out on the, err... signing bonus..."
"Signing bonus?"
Robbie watched as the deal was close to fruition. J. Jonah Jameson was racking his brain trying to think of how small a figure would sound large enough to get this deal done with a child with no experience of the workforce. It was amazing. He was going to gouge this kid for a fraction of the value he'd bring to possibly hold back the tides of progress which had so threatened to flood the paper.
"That's right. In return for signing today, here and now, there's a one time payment signing bonus of three hundred dollars."
"Three hund--?!" "--red dollars!?"
The pair exclaimed with vastly contrasting expressions on their face. The grizzle had well and truly returned to Jonah's voice, along with a snarl which Robbie was well more than acquainted with, and Peter would come to find familiar in the following days.
Woooooooow... Peter thought to himself.
Jonah reached for his checkbook.
"Waitaminute." He said, a smile stretching across his face. Well, if they've come this far...
"Draw it up to three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents and you've got yourself a deal."
The pallor dropped from Jonah's face, and the aggression replaced with bewilderment at the audacity of the youth. A warm grin spread across 'Robbie' Robertson's countenance.
"Deal."
The flush rushed back into Jonah's face as he scrawled out the check to the exact figure. The snarl coupled with growled mutterings which Peter couldn't quite make out, as he wrote the check out on 'Robbie's back, complete with a particularly hard and emphatic period separating the dollars and cents, which brought a chuckle to the man as he smiled up at the young boy, a rare sparkle seemingly in his eye.
They handed over paperwork, which Peter filled out basics and signed against the doorframe of the house.
"Rrr... this part you give to the girl in admin."
"You can't run it to her for me?"
Robbie clenched his teeth and winced, knowing what was coming.
"WHAT?! YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU COFFEE TOO?!? THE YOUTH OF TODAY, ROBBIE! THIS IS WHAT I KEEP TALKING ABOUT! WORK ETHIC! LAZY, SHIFTLES--!"
"Or not... that's fine Mr Jameson. I should probably come by the office sometime anyway, just to see who I'll be working with, even if most of it will just be by remote online..."
Robbie handed over the check and the pair walked away, as he looked to extinguish the fire Peter had accidentally set off between Jonah's ears.
He slapped the check in his own hand with a smile, and gave the pair a wave as they returned to their car.
"Well, howd'ya like that, maybe the ol' Parker luck has turned around, huh?"
He went inside to update his site and inform his followers of the changes that would be taking place.
Peter's face grew more animated, the further he delved into the topic of discussion on his last Vlog to be hosted by his own site for a while.
"...and the fast paced world of Artificial Intelligence and self-learning logorithms and robotics, with the likes of ICM Corporation's Doctor Petty, Professors Ivo and Thomas Morrow, Doctor William Magnus working from his own laboratories in Hoboken, the question is less 'will the supercomputer of tomorrow utilise Artificial Intelligence' and more 'when will it be upon us?'
And that's the Amazing Fantasy for this week's look in Science and Technology. Oh! And exciting news! This will be the last update hosted from here in a while! Look out for the newest blogs and vlogs to be coming at you from me, Peter Parker, courtesy of the website for the 'Daily Bugle'! Oh... and look for the site itself to get a bit of an overhaul in the coming weeks, as they've brought yours truly on board to straighten out the online presence! Tuck in the corners, new coat of paint... we'll see what we can do. Until then, though! Excelsior!" He concluded the recording session and wondered if they'd let him continue to use his regular send off line. It did seem a bit hokey for a major newspaper publication, but they also wanted his impact on their presence. Their words.
Everything was working out! He'd be able to take on an internship after all, and was once again beginning to get excited at his choices, now that he was going to be getting paid to do something he was basically doing in his own time for free, just on a slightly different scale.
Afterall, how much could the Bugle's online site and coding infrastructure really need an overhaul? He'd been solo running his own site for a while now, he had a good handle on things. How much change could a major publication really need? He was familiar with the Bugle's building, he'd pop in tomorrow, do the basic introductions, hand in his paperwork and run an eye over the code.
Afterall, it was going to be his responsibility now. And they were paying for his services.
Wait-- responsibility. Pay.
Oh no!
Peter ran a first sweep on the vlog recording, and pulled off the outer layer of clothing and pocketed the money he'd taken from upstairs, and threw his mask on before running out the back door and swinging away.
Peter touched down just outside the bodega, shattered chunks of broken glass cracking beneath his feet, and went inside.
"Uhh... Hi." He offered sheepishly to the man behind the counter.
"I've got your money. Right back, as I said."
"You call this 'right back'?!" The man behind the counter yelled.
Peter dug into his pocket and pulled out the four wrinkled notes. "There ya go."
"Okay. You stay on board though. No checks!"
"Wait, I thought we agreed, this was all just a misunderstanding!"
Peter's eye strayed to the board which had been through some changes since he was last here a few hours earlier. There was now a large circle on the board saying 'Circle of Trust' with a scrawl which appeared to be the signature of Robert DeNiro, where all of the photographs on the board appeared well outside of the circle. Including one incredibly distinctively dressed blue and red superhero.
"No asshole. But stay on board. No checks. That's fair! Spoke with Mister DeNiro, he agree. That's fair!"
"Wait... you spoke to him in the few hours since? What, is he running this place with you? How often is he here?"
"No. Concerned citizen. Good neighbour. Spoke with him, told him what I think. He agrees."
"I'm... so confused..." Peter replied, palms outstretched.
"Well, whatever... I guess we're all square now at least. From here, I guess all I can do is try and win back your trust."
The automatic doors opened and he stepped out into the early night, before realising with a moderate panic that Aunt May would be expecting him home for dinner.
He hoped that the good news with the job would be enough to keep him out of the doghouse.
...and that he'd have time to cash the signing bonus check before she'd next look at the Housekeeping funds.
Aunt May wasn't home, and they'd kept a sizable amount of the lump sum from Uncle Ben's insurance payout in cash for home repairs, and to parse out for day-to-day expenditures.
Fortunately Aunt May was of an age where she hadn't completely bought into the idea of an electronic cashless society, despite how global trends were going. Possibly frustrating for a technologically progressive young teen, but an absolute boon for a young Spider-Man who may need to keep his resource purchases in cash. And the production of his web formula wasn't exactly free.
Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents. Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents. Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents...
He kept repeating the total in his own head so he wouldn't forget as he flew up the steps two at a time.
He opened a large lockable chest, which held a smaller lockable safe. Upon which he got to a lockable tin with compartmentalised slots for different household expenditures which the family had owned for longer than Peter could remember.
Three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents...
He pulled from the home maintenance fund three hundreds and a twenty.
A thought flashed through his mind as to what Uncle Ben would think, tapping into the home funds for his own debts.
"He'd want me to be responsible for my own actions, is what he'd want." Peter told himself, the mask now down and the vocal nodes not pressed to his skin.
The grumble in his chest as he put the tin back away wasn't so sure, though.
Suddenly the doorbell rang out. Peter dropped his hand to his phone and opened up the app for the security cameras he'd installed by the front door.
Waiting the interminable few seconds for it to connect he saw a average sized African-American male and a slightly taller caucasian man wearing a long-coat, with a salt and pepper flat-top and a bold choice in facial hair that only Adolf Hitler, Charlie Chaplin... and for some bizarre reason Michael Jordan have ever attempted. The doorbell rang again.
Peter ran from the attic to his bedroom to throw a change of clothes on.
Downstairs, the sound of the teenager's echoing footsteps around the house gave the pair renewed hope that someone at least was home and would soon answer the door.
"Now when he comes to the door, just let me do the talking Jonah. You can sometimes..."
"Look, Robbie... You may have found this guy, Parker. And you may even be right that we need him. But I still run this paper. And I'm still responsible for hirings and firings. I'm not going to say anything that might turn him on us. But negotiations are still with me. I'm not having you try and handle this grown man with kids gloves and let him run roughsho--"
"Jonah, he's coming. Sssh."
The pair took half a step back and closer together to put on a better united front.
Peter opened the door and looked at the pair of them quizzically, with an eyebrow raised. Somewhat confused by who these two men were and what they wanted.
"Hello young man, is your father home?" The man in the longer coat asked, trying his best to take the grizzle out of his voice and failing miserably.
"Uhh... he's dead." Peter replied.
Robbie looked down at a piece of paper that gave him the lead.
"Oh. How about a... Ben Parker?" He read off of the scrap.
"Dead as well. Is that what this is about?" Peter asked the pair.
"Well... not really. We were hoping to speak with a Peter Parker abou--"
"Well that I can help you with. What do you want?"
"Peter-- Peter Parker? The one who runs 'Tech/Sci: Amazing Fantasy or the World of Tomorrow'?"
Peter's nervous eyes went between the pair before he uttered a gentle "Yeah?" hoping that he wasn't looking at more trouble he couldn't afford.
Jonah's grin suddenly widened with crocodile teeth showing, feelingbetter about his negotiating position now that he knew he was dealing with a child.
"That's the name you went with?" Jonah poked, hoping to already put the younger one in his place.
"Well, for a while there I was self-conscious about my age and I called it 'Amazing Adult Fantasy', but yeah, that-- that didn't attract the right kind of click-base."
"Oh that's good because we work at the 'Daily Bugle', my name is Robbie Robertson and this is J. Jonah Jameson and we--"
Are charter members of the New York alliteration club and we're proud that we've finally met our new member for 'P'... Peter thought to himself, but remained silent.
"--are proud to present you with a rare and exciting opportunity to take up our new Unpaid Internship program!" The crocodile teeth flashed, and his eyes squinted over in a gnarled version of a grin as Jonah presented his opening beyond lowball offer.
Robbie turned and looked at him, barely able to take in the audacity of the offer himself.
"Oh." Peter said. Thinking for less than a half a second before replying "No, thanks." And starting to close the door.
"Err-- it's an incredibly exciting opportunity, looks great on a college application. Foot in the door. Umm... Get the opportunity to work with professionals and build important networking relationships--"
"--in a dying field. That's fine, sir. I'm not really interested in becoming a journalist. I'm already getting offers of internships in the scientific fields that I actually want to pursue when I go to college, sooo..." The door once again began to close.
"Uhh-- it's not actually an internship, Mister Parker!" Mister Parker..? Peter thought to himself. The door stopped.
"Robbie!" Jonah snapped.
"We actually came to offer you a paid position to administrate the internet presence for the Bugle. Also, to possibly integrate your blog and vlog into a weekly feature..."
The door swung open.
"A paid position?" Peter asked. He turned to flat top in the long coat.
Jonah's snarl had Robbie slightly hesitant. Peter was pretty sure flat top was the one who was supposed to take the lead.
"Yes." He said through gritted teeth. The gnarl through his voice all-encompassing. "A... paid... position. Scaled by your age, of course. And limited by... your billable work hours... since you'll presumably be at school and unable to work full time..." Jonah gradually looked to pull back whatever kind of control he could find in this negotiation.
"A paid position..? Like a proper real job?"
"That's right." Smiled Jonah, relieved that the power in the situation seemed to be shifting. Clearly thinking that 'Maybe this kid doesn't even know how much an adult would get paid to fill the role.'
"So, how much would we be talking?"
Robbie wasn't game to open his mouth. They were prepared to offer whoever opened this door $150k to potentially keep the paper from going under. Jonah was the nostalgic type who held the value of print media itself to be intrinsic and fought the medium's move to an online platform hard. As such, it had become something of a relic, one of the few major newspapers in the world which published as many print copies as it did, and still had classified ads within its pages. Part of this was because of Jonah's ownership and control of the Bugle itself. He liked to call himself Editor-In-Chief, but really he was much more. His preference coming down to the fact he found it less impressive to be able to sign a check and become the owner of a thing, than the reverence he held for the Editor-In-Chief position itself.
As tight with money as he could be, and he was, there was no doubt that he was sinking his own funds into the paper at this point. And how much of a loss he was currently running to keep the Daily Bugle afloat.
Hiring someone for this role was not something he took lightly. He really didn't want the role to have to exist at all. But he was only now beginning to realise that the 'online presence' was not merely a trend that he would be able to outlast.
So it was bittersweet when Jonah gave his offer of...
"Twenty five dollars an hour..." He tried to get a read of the high school kid behind the door. "Plus... I guess... the scale minimum for your weekly articles. Blogs... Vlogs... Frogonalogs... Whatever you want to call them." He tossed in an extra crumb that he was legally obliged to give anyway.
Peter scratched the back of his neck whilst holding onto the door.
"Well, Flash was making eighteen bucks an hour for those few months when he was just working at Big Belly Burger..."
"Err-- well..."
"...That's FANTASTIC!" He exclaimed. A sigh of relief passed over the two men. "He even had cash enough to take Liz Allen to the movies like every week... I mean, his parents usually pay for everything, so I s'pose it wasn't so big a thing... but..." It finally occurred to him that the two adults were waiting on his response.
"I mean... I should probably ask around. Check with the family about how good that really is, but... I mean, you said it's all usual and to scale, so..."
Jonah turned sheepish, as he considered how the offer would hold up to the informed scrutiny of an adult's eye.
"Well, uhh... I mean, that would be great, except that it would mean you'd miss out on the, err... signing bonus..."
"Signing bonus?"
Robbie watched as the deal was close to fruition. J. Jonah Jameson was racking his brain trying to think of how small a figure would sound large enough to get this deal done with a child with no experience of the workforce. It was amazing. He was going to gouge this kid for a fraction of the value he'd bring to possibly hold back the tides of progress which had so threatened to flood the paper.
"That's right. In return for signing today, here and now, there's a one time payment signing bonus of three hundred dollars."
"Three hund--?!" "--red dollars!?"
The pair exclaimed with vastly contrasting expressions on their face. The grizzle had well and truly returned to Jonah's voice, along with a snarl which Robbie was well more than acquainted with, and Peter would come to find familiar in the following days.
Woooooooow... Peter thought to himself.
Jonah reached for his checkbook.
"Waitaminute." He said, a smile stretching across his face. Well, if they've come this far...
"Draw it up to three hundred and twelve dollars and thirty six cents and you've got yourself a deal."
The pallor dropped from Jonah's face, and the aggression replaced with bewilderment at the audacity of the youth. A warm grin spread across 'Robbie' Robertson's countenance.
"Deal."
The flush rushed back into Jonah's face as he scrawled out the check to the exact figure. The snarl coupled with growled mutterings which Peter couldn't quite make out, as he wrote the check out on 'Robbie's back, complete with a particularly hard and emphatic period separating the dollars and cents, which brought a chuckle to the man as he smiled up at the young boy, a rare sparkle seemingly in his eye.
They handed over paperwork, which Peter filled out basics and signed against the doorframe of the house.
"Rrr... this part you give to the girl in admin."
"You can't run it to her for me?"
Robbie clenched his teeth and winced, knowing what was coming.
"WHAT?! YOU WANT ME TO GET YOU COFFEE TOO?!? THE YOUTH OF TODAY, ROBBIE! THIS IS WHAT I KEEP TALKING ABOUT! WORK ETHIC! LAZY, SHIFTLES--!"
"Or not... that's fine Mr Jameson. I should probably come by the office sometime anyway, just to see who I'll be working with, even if most of it will just be by remote online..."
Robbie handed over the check and the pair walked away, as he looked to extinguish the fire Peter had accidentally set off between Jonah's ears.
He slapped the check in his own hand with a smile, and gave the pair a wave as they returned to their car.
"Well, howd'ya like that, maybe the ol' Parker luck has turned around, huh?"
He went inside to update his site and inform his followers of the changes that would be taking place.
S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N
S P I D E R - M A N
Peter's face grew more animated, the further he delved into the topic of discussion on his last Vlog to be hosted by his own site for a while.
"...and the fast paced world of Artificial Intelligence and self-learning logorithms and robotics, with the likes of ICM Corporation's Doctor Petty, Professors Ivo and Thomas Morrow, Doctor William Magnus working from his own laboratories in Hoboken, the question is less 'will the supercomputer of tomorrow utilise Artificial Intelligence' and more 'when will it be upon us?'
And that's the Amazing Fantasy for this week's look in Science and Technology. Oh! And exciting news! This will be the last update hosted from here in a while! Look out for the newest blogs and vlogs to be coming at you from me, Peter Parker, courtesy of the website for the 'Daily Bugle'! Oh... and look for the site itself to get a bit of an overhaul in the coming weeks, as they've brought yours truly on board to straighten out the online presence! Tuck in the corners, new coat of paint... we'll see what we can do. Until then, though! Excelsior!" He concluded the recording session and wondered if they'd let him continue to use his regular send off line. It did seem a bit hokey for a major newspaper publication, but they also wanted his impact on their presence. Their words.
Everything was working out! He'd be able to take on an internship after all, and was once again beginning to get excited at his choices, now that he was going to be getting paid to do something he was basically doing in his own time for free, just on a slightly different scale.
Afterall, how much could the Bugle's online site and coding infrastructure really need an overhaul? He'd been solo running his own site for a while now, he had a good handle on things. How much change could a major publication really need? He was familiar with the Bugle's building, he'd pop in tomorrow, do the basic introductions, hand in his paperwork and run an eye over the code.
Afterall, it was going to be his responsibility now. And they were paying for his services.
Wait-- responsibility. Pay.
Oh no!
Peter ran a first sweep on the vlog recording, and pulled off the outer layer of clothing and pocketed the money he'd taken from upstairs, and threw his mask on before running out the back door and swinging away.
Peter touched down just outside the bodega, shattered chunks of broken glass cracking beneath his feet, and went inside.
"Uhh... Hi." He offered sheepishly to the man behind the counter.
"I've got your money. Right back, as I said."
"You call this 'right back'?!" The man behind the counter yelled.
Peter dug into his pocket and pulled out the four wrinkled notes. "There ya go."
"Okay. You stay on board though. No checks!"
"Wait, I thought we agreed, this was all just a misunderstanding!"
Peter's eye strayed to the board which had been through some changes since he was last here a few hours earlier. There was now a large circle on the board saying 'Circle of Trust' with a scrawl which appeared to be the signature of Robert DeNiro, where all of the photographs on the board appeared well outside of the circle. Including one incredibly distinctively dressed blue and red superhero.
"No asshole. But stay on board. No checks. That's fair! Spoke with Mister DeNiro, he agree. That's fair!"
"Wait... you spoke to him in the few hours since? What, is he running this place with you? How often is he here?"
"No. Concerned citizen. Good neighbour. Spoke with him, told him what I think. He agrees."
"I'm... so confused..." Peter replied, palms outstretched.
"Well, whatever... I guess we're all square now at least. From here, I guess all I can do is try and win back your trust."
The automatic doors opened and he stepped out into the early night, before realising with a moderate panic that Aunt May would be expecting him home for dinner.
He hoped that the good news with the job would be enough to keep him out of the doghouse.
...and that he'd have time to cash the signing bonus check before she'd next look at the Housekeeping funds.
This is practically how we discuss villains in the OOC.
And it's the correct conclusion, as well.
Yeah, my kid's finally come out the other side and last night was the first time I could actually get anything done as well...
...which of course meant the internet had to cut out here.
...which of course meant the internet had to cut out here.
<Snipped quote by Master Bruce>
Fun fact my mother actually dropped me in the boot of the car when I was a baby, to the surprise of nobody here
The surprising thing was when she opened the boot and let you back out...
I really like the idea that there were mages out there that went. You know what we should do with our magic? Send rubbish to some other dimension of reality.
The question is... why do politicians still exist? And excess elbow skin? Appendices which only purpose is to get inflamed and cause problems? Parasites which exist nowhere else but in the eyes of suffering creatures?
Clearly these mages didn't go far enough...
Meanwhile... in Titans...
Man, I've been busy, but keeping up with IC. Awesome stuff so far guys! Sometime this week I'll be trying to push out the next part in Squirrel Girl's introductory storyline with that very ornery hippo person. I may also have an idea for another potential character, since I found out about a gem of a guy from DC. Hehe...
Has there ever been a more disparate pair of character applications made by a player than Squirrel Girl and Garth Ennis' Hitman?
<Snipped quote by AndyC>
That's just a given with Logan, and as for Ghost Rider... that concept is so good it transcends any game perimeters. That shit is quite literally fire.
I think you'll find that where Ghost Rider is concerned, it's the pee that is quite literally fire...
© 2007-2024