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.
"Owwww!" I whined, rubbing the back of my head and untangling myself from my chair.
"Heh-HA! Whadda spaz!" Flash guffaws in that instantly identifiable and irritating manner he has.
"Sir, could I go to--"
"Absolutely, Mister Parker." Came the instant reply, before I could even finish the sentence. He scrawled on a Hall Pass and handed it to me, with the intent I go to sick bay.
"Oh, whatta rip! How come Parker gets to cut out while the rest of us have to--"
"Chalk it up to a four year unblemished record of honesty, good grades and stalwart effort, Eugene."
"Ehhhh... not worth it."
"And since Mister Thompson seems to have such eagerness to have the opportunity to turn those grades around to earn the same goodwill... Surprise quiz." Papers began to fall to desks.
"Oh, Come On!"
As I open the door and turn back to look at the class, rubbing my head and the phantom pain it should presumably hold, I briefly hold Flash's eyes for a fraction of a second.
But it was more than enough.
"Thanks a lot, Parker. You're dead meat."
Great. So I guess I've got that to look forward to.
Minutes later I'm swinging down towards the Financial District and the Battery, trying to put all of this behind me.
I've got to come up with better excuses than pratfalls. My dignity's not going to be able to take much more.
S P I D E R - M A N S P I D E R - M A N
Oh, I should probably give you the hows, whats and whys. Bigshot journalist that I'm trying to be now...
...alright. Bigshot newsmedia website administrator who they presumably let me write the occasional thing, because they actually want me for the other things I can do.
Don't know the Hows and Whys. About to find that out, I guess.
But the what?
Extreme flood warning. Swells over twenty feet coming from Manhattan, bearing down on Liberty and Ellis Islands. Liberty Island apparently taking the brunt.
Only thing is... I'm looking at a bright, sunny day.
So those hows and whys. They've got me peaked. Piqued?
They've got my interest piqued. And me swinging for the peak of a stupidly high building to do something less than sensible. That's it. That's the way that goes.
"Pe-- Spider-Man, Spider-Man, Spider-Man... This is a reeeeally bad idea."
As I lean back in the saddle, every wall-crawling fibre of my being stretching the full tension of the webs, that are about to slingshot me across the water, my gums flap as they do when the tension of the moment isn't lost on me.
Two miles. It's two miles from The Battery to Liberty Island.
I've had Spider powers for-- less than two weeks, in some capacity? There's no chance that this ends well.
"This looks like a job for-- well, if I'm being honest, Superman. But since this isn't his city, I guess we'll see what the resident web-slinging representative can do about this."
I release and the webs fire me across the water.
"Oh... I am... I am going very fast. And down. Too down. Too much down!"
I see a ferry beneath me, and manage to tag it with a webline, and with a hard yank using my other arm as leverage, I give myself a little more loft just before I would have splashed down into the Hudson.
"Probably should have tried to land on that ferry..."
Whizzing by at a flat trajectory, my eyes almost pop out of my head as I see a woman run past me on my right.
"Overtake on the left! Tourists! Not gonna... try and catch me? Well, alright then, I'll figure out the water landing by myself..."
This is not going to be fun.
Then I see it. Ahead, small at first, but growing fast with the speed I'm moving at. A tugboat. Small, and looking even smaller from how low and heavy it was sitting in the water.
I'd like to say I aimed, but physics wouldn't be that complimentary to me.
I manage to raise my hands in front of my face, just before I slam into the side of the tugboat.
Shocked people turn and stare.
"Now..." I say, panting heavily in shock. Both hands and feet pressed firmly against the hull. Almost too stunned by what happened to move.
"Did anybody see how I just did that? Because I'm gonna want to know how I just did that."
I jumped off to solid ground and started lending assistance to soaked tourists, who were being rescued by the two women already there. Directing them to the higher ground that Lanterns were providing.
"Also, I'm pretty sure I--" I pat around my hips. "--I did. I'm gonna need for some of you to spring for the ferry the other way, because I'm pretty sure that won't work on the way back, and I left my wallet in my other pants. Cabcharge? Somebody spot a Spider-Man an Uber? If we all just throw in a buck this should work out easy..."
Banjo avoided looking down at his high-mast trouser legs, trying to play it off.
Then he heard it. They all heard it.
The twisting of metal coming from what gave the group shelter above.
A blast of ice. It moved on leathery wings. It came for them.
Paisley. Hyperion. This.
As Banjo felt the accumulated warmth of the dance floor lift to the sky, diffusing to the cold air outside, he saw a rapidly closing window.
Whatever came next he'd need to have his wits about him. Leg be damned.
"Tell ya Mum I'm sorry, Zimmerman..."
He stepped forward into the vacant space as the crowd rushed away in search of escape.
"...I don't think ya suit's gonna make it."
There was no sun. Only the warm atmosphere. But that wasn't insignificant. People had been leaving to get air all night. The A.R.C was generally designed for training on a smaller scale, and while it could be used for larger events, this was a party with the entire senior class, catered by juniors, chaperoned by staff. People were close quarters in the dance floor, and there were crowds of huddled masses in other pinch points like the bar. A lot of bodies, a lot of heat.
The thing plummeted to the floor, it cracked a panel and was backlit by sparking circuitry from the damaged and glitching structural inner-working of the A.R.C.
It seemed distracted, looking for someone.
Paisley. Hyperion. This.
He took two steps forward. He'd need space for what came next.
"He--! mmm-mmm mmm?"
A hand slapped over his mouth from behind.
"Shut. The Fuck. Up." He felt a weight dragging him back. Big Steve didn't have any hyperhuman strength, and quite clearly had never set foot in a gym, but he did still have height and weight on the smaller Australian who was also far from his physical peak.
"I'm not dying because you draw its attention this way." Banjo held out a hand at the night's sky. He could almost see the accumlated warmth frittering away, and the best possible window for getting back to his full self drifting off into the open air.
Big Steve pulled him back around a potted plant by the bathroom door.
"You're lucky I didn't freeze your bloody arms off..." He growled.
"Keep it down!" The larger man hissed. "And it's still less than THAT thing would do."
They watched as it froze students and blocked the exits with ice.
"True enough, I guess."
"So what... your plan is to just hide here? That's a terrible plan. Even if you don't care about anybody else, how long do you think it'll be until he thinks to look here?"
Things like that. Monsters. Whether Paisley or... whatever the fuck this thing was... they're like a force of nature. The cyclone, the tornado, maybe it doesn't hit your house today... but that's just today, and by it's own 'grace'. Whatever 'grace' you can attribute to a monster.
"It won't ever look this way if you Shut. The Fuck. Up."
Big Steve seemed to huddle over focusing inwards.
None of that rang true to Banjo.
"Who--? Who the fuck are you, anyway..?"
The large one next to him just rolled his eyes.
"You really do get dumber when you haven't powered up for a while." He seemed exasperated, but not just by his behaviour. Which was the general Banjo effect. But as if he'd explained this too many times already.
"We've been through all of this before. For someone who's supposed to be smart, you really seem to be willing to think you were put in our dorm by coincedence..."
Banjo had returned to the dorm. It was only the second time he'd been here. The first occasion he'd simply dumped his stuff in his new room - which was Zimmerman's old room, before he so swiftly relocated him - and left.
"But your name's not Steve..?"
"No."
"Explain again."
"Well, there's another Steve in Civics class..."
"You say 'Another Steve'. I notice you keep sayin' 'Another Steve', but your name isn't Steve. It's--"
"--Marcus!" Alex called out from the bathroom, brushing his teeth.
"Marcus. You keep sayin' 'Another Steve' but your name's Marcus."
"It's just easier."
Banjo squinted up at the taller boy. An otherwise perplexed look on his face.
"The other Steve is smaller. So they call me 'Big Steve'."
"But what-- possible connection do you have with this other kid called... 'Little Steve'?"
"No. They just call him 'Steve'. 'Steve' and 'Big Steve'.
Banjo rubbed his brow, things weren't getting clearer.
"But YOU'RE not a bloody Steve. He's--"
"I like it." He said. "Sounds good. It-- sticks with people."
"BUT YOU AREN'T STEVE. YOUR NAME IS--" Shit... it was gone again. What was it again? He knew he was bad with names, but this was--
"--Marcus!" Alex happily repeated, before continuing to rinse his mouth out.
"That! Your name is Marcus!"
"Don't you choose to go by 'Banjo'?"
"..."
"Fine. Whatever. You're Big Steve. Not--" He threw a hand up.
"Marcus."
"Come on... I told you mine."
"Yeah. Y'did. More fool you."
"Come ooooooon. I know it's something that makes you stronger. I heard."
"That's a gross oversimplification."
Alex sat there actively waiting for the expanded explanation.
"No. That's part of it. Yours is straightforward. Electromagnetism. Zzzzzzzap. Mine's more complicated. It takes too long to explain and confuses people." He lied. Trevor got it in seconds, and he hadn't exactly inspired him with his sparkling intelligence otherwise over the course of their time.
He just couldn't be bothered. All of this was too much effort for people. What's the point he was only--
--oh. Going to be stuck here for the next four or so years.
"I'm a blindspot." Spoke the other presence in the room, from the corner reading a comic book.
"Basically, I have a latent and active power that can eat away at people's memory of myself and has a... minor effect on telepaths on a psi-level." He turned the page.
"Not that powerful, though. If they're aware and focus, and have any kind of real power... well, I'm pretty weak with it."
"My parents had pictures up all around the house, I suspect, more to remind themselves that I existed and to keep checking on me, rather than for sentimental reasons. Both have my name tattooed on them as wells. There were more than a few calls from school to remind them to pick me up over the years as well."
His voice was flat and his delivery dry and matter-of-fact, as so frequently was his way.
"Is it harder to explain than that?"
She looked nervous, waiting for him outside of the dorm bloc.
It was cute and brought a smile to his face as pretty much everything about her did.
"There you are! Umm... we need to talk."
"Oh hu-llo. Don't know if I like the sound of that. An ambush?" He held his hands up in jest of surrender.
"Please Banjo, this is serious."
Not so serious that she'd use the other name yet, but he could still she was strained and getting that way in her plea.
"Then we'll get through it. We always do. What's the problem?"
"I know you've been treating the therapists you've had to see over the years as just-- well, you play your silly games..."
He bristled slightly at the description, but it wasn't enough to argue about.
"But as I've told you before a few time, I still feel that mine can do some good. So I'd like it if you could respect what I have to say next."
"Yeah, hun."
"Well, at our last session we've had some level of... new findings, which we identified. My therapist feels that if I'm to be honest with our relationship, I should let you know as well, now that it's become apparent to this point."
"New findings. Like a breakthrough?"
"I certainly wouldn't describe it that way, no. But I'm worried, Andrew. I don't want you to think less of me."
He straightened up.
"I told you. Anything it is, we'll get through it. That's what we do. I meant it."
And with some trepidation she told him, and at the end he held her. Still not sure what to make of what he'd heard. Because what else could he do?
Interaction(s):NPCs and Beach Blackjack, Raindance and Eclipse Crew
Previously:High (trouserleg) Fashion
His options had dwindled.
He'd just come from the Legal Wing after a conversation with Professor Onassis.
Somehow his plans for earlier had leaked. He wound up in a 'spontaneous' conversation that happened to remind him that he was not in possession of a US work Visa, nor would he have an address that would fare him well for such an application to be made at this point.
True enough. He could imagine an immediate rubber stamp denial for any documentation with a 'Dundas Island' residential/mailing address.
And then was further reminded that even if he did get documentation approved, the United States might not be the safest place for him specifically if he were to travel there. The implication of him having a target on his back for anyone who may just want to get into the good graces of a certain US Senator, in a world where favours were currency.
In addition to this, he was only in Canada on Student Visa, and it was difficult to imagine any other institution across the entire country who would consider a transfer from that University with the Dundas Island address.
It was the first time he felt excluded because of what he was and a place he attended as opposed to the laundry list of things that he'd done or been suspected of doing.
If her were unable to transfer, and the term on his student Visa expired, deportation awaited him. And he suspected that could well be a death sentence if there was any truth to what he'd been told.
It would be a shame for him to not get his law degree at this point, he was told. And probably his best bet for finding a stable life later somewhere or other as well.
Banjo could barely muster enough care to mumble in response throughout. His mind had already been made up regardless, and it had nothing to do with a piece of paper which told him he was capable of something he already knew he could do.
Onassis imparted upon him that at times it had been one of his deepest dreads that Banjo might one day pass the BAR and fulfil his potential in advocacy. But that he must admit that whatever he thought of the youth he remained one of the most impressive natural legal minds he'd come across in his experience as an educator.
Banjo, seeing there was nothing more of value coming but meaningless sentiment, merely grunted and left the room.
It spoke.
Everyone was frozen now. Even those who weren't in blocks of ice.
"Hello, mothers."
There was almost a cold bitterness to the word. Their delivery to the two Blackjack women left all paralysed in the moment.
Banjo scratched and clawed through the fog to take what he could from the moment in his present state.
It had the augmented form of the one who'd been leading the construction on this year's Trials. Whatshisname. Not-my-supervisor.
But with wings. Wings and very, very large claws.
Katja. If he could run interference on the breath, she was their best bet. He couldn't see her in the crowd.
And then it spoke again and the fog consumed his train of thought, leaving him to try and make what he could of the new information.
“I’m afraid, I need you both to come with me.” It's speech was clear, prim and proper. Far from what you'd expect from a mindless beast.
“The father is expecting you both,” The paternal name not seeming to hold the same level of disdain or resentment.
“I’d be happy to dispatch any interlopers who dare challenge the Chernobog.”
Gil may well have been the actor, but Cassander Charon took it as a cue. He called out a quippy warcry and threw himself into a full frontal explosive attack.
And when the flash cleared, and the fog rised, the beast had him by the throat.
Big. Flies. Mentos Freshmaker Breath. Strong. Claws. Deceptively quick within it's range. Durable. Very durable. Out of my weight class even at my best.
He went from "Maybe Katja" to "Only Katja" very quickly. His mind not considering beyond blunt force in its present state.
Then Torres stepped forward, pleading to the man and not the beast. Her power loosening the grip on Cass' throat and dropping him to the floor.
The beast said the man was all well and good but didn't have claws like these. And demonstrated his point.
But her act opened up the opportunity of alternatives.
Something other than brute force?
"Mothers, come." The cold delivery once again returned. “Before I have to embarrass anymore of your… friends.” A mist of frigid air burst from its nostrils as it snorted in some kind of huff.
“I’m getting impatient.”
Something was off.
It seemed to identify Rory and openly challenge him.
Rory seemed to try and form a plan, co-ordinate and communicate it directly in front of the beast.
Surely he's not going to...
He openly tried to borrow Amma's power and tell Haven to run on his signal, and there's telegraphed playcalls and then there was this...
“There will be no running.”
“And there will be none of this.”
“If you run, I will break both your wings and your legs.”
“Like this.”
It almost seemed to revel in what it new it would be able to do to them. Dismantling them. Anticipating and responding.
And it was fast. For someone so big it seemed almost too fast. Faster than Katja, Banjo figured. Probably not faster than me if I was running at full steam... but I wouldn't want to coast or play with it.
Brute force seemed like less of an option with every passing minute.
“You think her to be your ally?” The beast gestured to Amma with its horns. “Perhaps the woman you knew here is, but Tiamat is not.” Its face slightly turned into a cruel smile.
It was playfully cruel. In ways he never saw from the form before the trials. It assured them that man was dead. Banjo believed it.
There was talk of names, which lost Banjo. He could barely keep his head around anyone's chosen name at the best of times. He spent the time spying his surroundings.
“Tiamat, you have a mission to resume.”
“And you’re coming with me, Dove.”
And that struck home. That was after the Trials. He felt convinced there was no more point appealing to the man. He was gone by then. He couldn't have known. He wasn't the one 'behind the wheel'. This beast. This monster. This Chernobog.
Banjo looked devastated. Quiet rage and vitriol pumped through his veins where warm-blooded humour once flowed.
He stood in front of the house on the Alumni village. A few moving vans scattered along the noticeably quiet street, that was so often bubbling with life, energy and a sense of community.
"Oh! G'Day, kiddo!" The older man called from his house.
"They run you out too?"
"I-- may have made a few trips to the mainland and came up with some money." The details of how exactly and why, left vague just as they had been back home when he'd disappear and did likewise. The exact marketable skill he possessed never spoken, but for whatever reason, whatever the amount, he seemed to be able to make it happen.
"It's too hot here now. I wouldn't be game to make anymore here as it is." He said more than he usually would, the leak perhaps coming because he viewed Banjo as old enough to have some sense of where it came from.
"That said, I went big enough and hard enough that I won't have to for a while..."
"Had to... since I can't exactly sell up, when I piss off. Trust me mate, you don't want to be known as one of the ones who stuck around from before, when the types who are looking to exploit a bargain get here."
Banjo kicked at the dirt. Everyone running again. He'd done it all of his life but for some reason it seemed distasteful now.
"Sold the boat though. Well... upgraded."
"Upgraded?"
"Yeah. Ripper boat but the 'Dawny Fraser' didn't seem fit for purpose so much anymore."
He turned and looked back down at the pier.
"See that big bastard there?"
"You mean behind that massive..."
"Nah mate, it is that massive one there. Say hello to the 'Thorpedo'."
Gracefully sauntering out of the house in a wide brimmed sunhat stepped Margot, greeting him with pomp and ceremony.
"Why Hellooooooo, isn't it a delightful day for an outing? Will you be joining our boating party?"
Banjo turned and glared at the older man. "Are you out of your--?"
"They were gonna put her in a home, mate... A lot of these people... Didn't have much better waitin' for them. So I managed to buy up an old smaller cruise vessel that's in decent nick. Or former cruise vessel. Regular humans aren't the only ones who can gouge a hype for a bargain from a forced Government sale..."
He shook his head thinking of the logistics behind what he was doing, as well meaning as it was.
"How many?"
"What?"
"How many nutbags are joinin' you on this Ship of Fools for your three hour tour."
"A doz--" "Three hour tour." Banjo interrupted.
"Are you done..? About a dozen and a half."
Banjo emitted a low long whistle.
"Twenty people. Including sweet Lady Dementia over there. Scurvy, rickets or a storm..? What's gona claim you first?"
"Don't call her that... So am I saving you a seat?"
For the first time in a while Banjo emitted a laugh. A growl of a cackle with almost no mirth, at the absurdity of the question.
"Ha ha ha haaaa... No bloody way. I'd have a better chance stickin' around here and waitin' for the lynch mob to arrive, only I'm not doin' that either."
"So what are you doin'? Or did you just come up here to laugh at my well-meaning efforts, mate?"
"Well, I know you said WE don't have boat money, or buy a home on the alumni village money, but that YOU have boat and alumni village money..."
"Aww here it comes..." The Butler straightened up, waiting for the younger man to cry poverty.
"I haven't asked you for much of anythin'... in about two decades."
Widening smirk crossed his long-suffering minder's face.
"Yeah, yeah... out with it. I think I see where this is goin'."
"I need to you to buy me somethin' and I know you're not goin' to want to, or even understand why I'm askin'..."
The Butler reached into his pocket.
"I think I'm way ahead of you on this one..."
The older man held out a phone in his palm.
Banjo looked surprised.
"The promise I made... was with the guy who used to run this place. To keep the kids who went here safe. Or... you know... the terrorist who was impersonating him. I guess I don't know exactly which one of them it was with in the end... Still my word's my word. But with the school gone belly up. I trust you at least know enough now to not get yourself into TOO much trouble doing anything even stupider with that?"
Banjo took the phone and weighed it in his hand. It felt lighter than he thought it ever would.
"Y'know... if you don't make me promise not to do anythin' stupid, then we really don't ever have to pretend to ever be disappointed..."
The older man side-eyed with a screwface.
"But yeah... I know well enough to leave THAT alone. Think I've got enough people out for my blood as it is without adding more to the party."
"I mean... thanks and everythin'." He said, quickly pocketing the device before he changed his mind.
"But that wasn't actually the request I had in mind..."
"Pity, I wish there were more of you."
It dispatched the Gils in seconds. As they fell by the way side his mind steeled through the fog once more to divine strategy from the chaos.
No blunt brute force. Another way...
The cables sparking with electricity, the floor panel glitching with presumably exposed wiring beneath.
Zimmerman.
You like heroes... Now's your chance. He thought to himself. Watching the beast's footwork and the glitching floor panel with a sharp focus.
"Don't you dare. I know what you're thinking."
"I juice... maybe the leg has enough in it. I hit the opening. Slam through the panel. Draw its ire. Zimmerman steps in and fries that prick with every volt this place has from behind."
The panel. It's feet. It turns to keep powered seniors in its sightlines. The larger man hissed back.
"And you said my plan was terrible. You don't know how your leg is going to be. You don't know if you could be quick enough, and you certainly don't know if Alex won't freeze up in the moment. If it goes bad you'll kill all three of us."
"It's killing people now. He's out in the open."
A heavy hand grabbed his shoulder. Banjo would have to freeze him to try, was the implication.
"I won't let you. Anyway... look." Big Steve looked to distract him again. His focus was wondering and waning. He turned to keep up with events and got drawn back into watching.
And then two stepped to the fore.
"I'm in, but I've got a condition. Non-negotiable. You jokers are supposed to be all about respectin' personal flair, preference and caterin' to the individual. Time to put ya money where ya mouth is..."
His hollow grin grew into a wide leer, as he spoke to the recruiter.
"Well, I've... certainly never heard a request like that before. And I-- well, I can't imagine it'd be very good--"
"That's the condition. Run it up the flagpole. If ya can't do it, I'm not interested... But if you're claimin' that the Foundation caters to the individual, like you all always seem ever so proud to go sprukin'..."
He jogged back down the corridor and out to the day.
His leg was fine. The day after the incident at the dance he grew tired of waiting - tired of ruining his own life on a what if? - and juiced in the warmest part of the afternoon sun.
Now it was fine, and he was left wondering how long he could have done that and been fine. How if his mind was running at full capacity, his body at its peak capability, would things have played out the same way they did.
It was a fresh torture from the one he'd previously been experiencing after the trial, and one that thanks to his renewed focus, never gave him a moment's respite.
He skirted around the A.R.C complete with its tape and new skylight feature, as he jogged off to the farm.
He pushed on to the stable and pulled a handful of sugar cubes from his pocket.
"I've got good news and bad news. Good news is, old mate bought ya for me. Much as someone can own another. So you're stuck with me now."
The pony hoovered up the cubes, whilst Banjo rested his forehead on his namesake.
"Where that's gonna be, I guess we'll see."
"But I'm not leavin' you here in this foresaken place with these parasites of hyperhuman misery takin' over, that's for damn sure. I've seen how they treat places and things when their blood gets up, I'm not subjectin' you to that. No way, no how."
Alyssa and Luce stepped up to the moment. There was some sense of relief since he knew at least the pair of them likely had some kind of experience with something like what they were looking at.
"Yes! Get off of me, they're keeping it busy. There's a window!"
The beast started to justify itself and spin. It had not chosen bloodshed it claimed, it defended itself when it was engaged in violence by others.
...clearly not addressing the hyperhuman popsicles in the room. It'd make a good lawyer with that attitude.
"I would dare say, this has been fun though."
There was a playfulness to its cadence. Cassander Charon leaped back into the fray, as ever was his wont. An outburst from the Chernobog.
Then Haven stepped forward to surrender herself, to end the violence.
“Take me and end this.” She offered gently, a tear diluting the blood on her cheek. “Please, no more suffering.”
Banjo ripped a shoulder through and broke free from Big Steve's grasp. Looking to make his move under the cover of the myriad distractions. He threw a hand up to signal to Zimmerman, but what came next glued his feet to the floor.
"Mother,"
"“It’s too late for that now.”
A winged girl was strapped to a surgical table in the middle column of the top row. He recognised the sound of Haven’s own voice in her screams, and the sound of a bonesaw. The angles didn’t provide the best view of the winged girl, but just how many winged girls did he know? – and the screams certainly confirmed it.
Banjo staggered, his chest churned and he felt he was about to vomit everywhere.
“Father only needs your blood.”
Another useless appeal to the man echoed from somewhere beyond Banjo's notice. He was lost within the moment.
“There is no Robert left,” A truth Banjo already knew. “Only Chernobog. You couldn’t save Robert, anymore than you could save any of those who left. Those who never made it home.” A laugh followed the cruel statement.
The cruel statement. The laugh. Playful cruelty. A darkness revelled in.
“She cried for him, you know? Her lover, her last breath, barely a whimper by the end as Father took the last of her life,”
A playful cruelty.
“‘Andrew!’ It was for ‘Andrew’, ‘Andrew, save me,’.”
His mouth fell open. The cadence.
"Banjo, I... hear a voice..."
"...hitting every insecurity I have."
"The voice of my anxieties. A depressive manifestation. She says it sounds like it may be dissociative..."
"The Trials."
“I can’t believe I was ever that weak.” “Really? A panic attack right now? Couldn't handle not being the center of attention could you, Princess.”
"It hates me. Hates my hapiness. Our happiness. It hates you, but still says that you'll find out horrible truths about me and that you'll leave. That I'll never be good enough."
"I have an idea!" "Look, twinsies!"
He turned the puzzle pieces in his head.
“She cried for him, you know? Her lover, her last breath, barely a whimper by the end as Father took the last of her life,”
“‘Andrew!’ It was for ‘Andrew’, ‘Andrew, save me,’.”
"--Calli..?"
“Go to Sheol,” A stark voice penetrated what seemed to be a moment of absolute silence and snapped him from his paralysis.
With a flick of her wrist, Alyssa hurled the disk like stone through the air, the object sticking the Chernobog, transferring the rune to the beast. Pushing herself, Alyssa scrambled to Haven’s fallen form, tackling the girl out of the way as the Chernobog began to glow.
A sphere of energy burst forth from the rune before a vacuum began to consume the creature.
"NO!" A scream. A roar. The desperation palpable. It scratched and clawed against the inevitable. Clutching at an existence, for what to Banjo, must have been a second time, and watching it get torn from a grasp which even claws could not cling to. It snatched at half of it's mission and dragged her off to wherever this 'Sheol' was.
The stark silence that followed was palpable. People were scared to break it. As a few tears penetrated in muffled moments it became clear that whatever that was, it was now over.
Now they just had to live with it. Those lucky enough to still be able.
His pony was tied to a post down the beach. He barely had the give-a-shit to hide it anymore, but then people had enough on their minds its presence never came up to require an explanation. Or rather there was pity over his loss. People seemed unwilling to broach, well, anything with him in the days since.
He leaned on two cartons of beer for personal use that the Speakeasy was all too willing to offload to a regular from the island and university. In the coming days all remaining assets would be seized regardless, better to see it go to a person they knew rather than the scavengers from the mainland.
He'd been chain-skulling beers throughout, and juicing periodically to keep the booze inside him with the rest of the poison.
Painful silences and teammates he could barely face.
He hadn't looked at Haven since. He visited her in the Hospital a few times before she regained consciousness, but all interest in doing that again dissipated the second he was informed that she had woken up.
His leg was fine now. How long could that have been the case, if he'd bothered to try? Even if he went to early and always had a limp, he still would have been using his power often enough to have the wherewithal to see through such an obvious ruse.
And it had been an obvious ruse, hadn't it?
Calli had been all too eager to believe her family might actually come together over a shared tragedy, but if his mind anywhere near as well as it usually did, that pragmatic cynicism of his would have shone right through the paper thin trap they set to see the pit beneath it.
His mind which wasn't working to capacity because he got lazy and stupid in the Trials.
How many died? How many maimed, because he didn't see what was right in front of him?
His short-handed team had joined numbers with another decimated team Eclipse. Brothers and sisters in Tragedy.
"Katja's coming this way."
A statement of the obvious, designed to breach the painful silence. But not as obvious in Banjo's case who hadn't noticed due to the fog he brought down over his own head under weight of beer.
He never spoke to her about Gil, Amma and his actions. What could be said? She had kind of withdrawn herself since then anyway, not that he could blame her or anybody for that. It's not like the sentiment wouldn't be understandable.
“I think… I think I miss my home.” Uttered one of Cleo's teammates.
Home.
Home was dead. He didn't have a home. Even if this place wasn't getting shuttered he still wouldn't have had one.
All he had was anger, guilt, and a laundry list of things to do and accounts to settle.
He opened another beer.
People looking to cling to people. It made sense. After all, if it didn't he wouldn't have asked for the pony down the shoreline. When tragedy strikes, people want to cling to the safety of the familiar and that which they still care about at all. He didn't know if he could say that about all of the present company, but enough of them he guessed.
“This was…is my home…” Baxter spoke up. Some weird shit had since happened to her eyes, but she wasn't exactly one of those he cared enough about to find out how or why. “It’s the only one I’ve known since my parents died. And I... I don’t think I’m ready to let that go.”
Baxter couldn't take the silence. Predictable, he figured. Looked like this was going to be the 'So what's everybody doing now' talk, presumably.
“Maybe I don’t know where I’m going next, but whatever that looks like…I don’t want to do it alone. I don’t want to lose my home.”
He pounded another beer, and spat on the sand. He was going to have to juice again soon or things could get messy. He clung to the fog a while longer.
Cleo picked up on the direction of the conversation as well. "I'm... going to join the Foundation,"
Mentally he made a note of there being someone he would be familiar with.
“You’ll be safe there.” Lorcán replied with a saccharine lie. Addressing the emotions of the person making the statement rather than the facts of what was said.
“We’r-” He hesitated. Cobbling together a thought, or questioning the truth of his first statement? Banjo thought. “I’m,” He corrected before continuing to speak, “I’m going to Crestwood Hollow tomorrow to stay with Cass and Ripley.” Referring to his family.
“My parents thought it best if I was aware from here while the dust settles and they get their affairs in order. They’re going to be trying to get jobs to keep the house in the village. If that doesn’t pan out,”
Banjo thought back to what the Butler had said about 'don't want to be known as one of the ones who stuck around from before, when the types who are looking to exploit a bargain get here.' But decided to keep his mouth shut.
“I guess, we’ll all move to Crestwood Hollow and live with my Aunt and Uncle until something permanent works out.”
Family. Must be nice.
"We don't mean to disturb you," Two people came over, seeking some kind of company, comraderie or likeminded sentiment. Banjo didn't have the stomach for it and peeled off. He wandered down to the shoreline to juice and piss into the sea. Not something he'd have done if Calliope were still in the picture, but that wasn't the case anymore.
When he came back he saw the girl handing Gil something small and metallic, as he caught a glint of a reflection.
Perhaps sensing his lack of desire to deal with them, they finished their conversation and bid them farewell.
He felt directed silence. It seemed they took his departure as less apathetic and more an aggressively sought absence. Or at least that was how he took it. A request for his thoughts.
Well, people didn't have to not-ask twice...
"Daedalus..." He spoke the unspoken name of the last few days.
"He's still out there, and there's only one lead left. The Foundation. He's known there. He's from there. We didn't even know about him until we had contact with there. The suffering he'd caused. And what little we've learned has mostly come from there."
"I can't promise you safety. But then, I pretty much feel anyone who claims they can promise safety to any of us at this point, anywhere, is lying to you. But that's the only place that holds anything even vaguely recognisable as justice."
He couldn't even bring himself to look in Haven and Rory's direction as he spoke.
"I know I've never had much of a prosecutorial side to me... But I'm gonna go to the Foundation. I'm gonna drag him out of whatever hole he's hidin' in, and throw him in a deeper one, so dark that he forgets what the sun looks like."
"And when that prick looks across the bench, after bein' told he doesn't get to breathe free for the rest of his natural life. He's gonna know it was ME. And he's gonna know exactly how and where he fucked up."
Apologies for the bible I posted, I’ve been skiving a bit at work this week so I had a lot of time to write and thought that all worked better as one but post rather than 2!
Peter snatched up his backpack and swung for the quiet of a rooftop, far above the sounds of the city.
Sitting down cross-legged, he pulled his laptop out of his bag and woke it up with a tap of the spacebar.
The screen slowly warmed to colour and its previous screen. Until his attention was drawn to an icon in the bottom corner.
"No, no, no... C'mon... I had a frontrow seat to this, and you cut out now?! Trask, what good are you?"
Peter digs into his bag for an older solution and starts rapidly scrawling out everything he could remember from the Bestman and Toomes tech show on notepad with pen, and how it unravelled to the chaos and carnage which led to his own-- Spiderman's fight, rather-- with Toomes. The violence and harm which befelled the Press row.
Thirty minutes later he lookes at the smudgy, unimpressively scrawled pages, whilst he rotated his now cramping wrist.
"Uhh... Maybe it'll look better typed up... First with the news counts for something, right?"
He stuffed the paper and the laptop he'd used to lean on back in his backpack, and spied the Flatiron building - a building he knew had public rooftop access to the elevators downstairs.
"News courtesy of the World Wide Web-slinger, no thanks to Trask..."
One quick change back into his specially packed first-day office attire later, and he rushed and hustled for his inaugural trip to the offices of the Daily Bugle.
Peter stepped out of the elevator, more nervous than he had been brawling and falling all over the city less than a few hours earlier.
Of course his Spidey suit breathed a bit better than what he was wearing now...
The signage said this floor was for 'The Offices of the Daily Bugle - Administration, Journalist Staff and Editorial' but he wasn't entirely sure where to go. He carefully trod by each and every cube and desk looking for one of the familiar faces of Mister Jameson or Mister Robertson, but neither seemed to be anywhere he could see them. He was starting to fear the worst and that he'd have to bother one of his busy co-workers and ask their whereabouts until he saw the signage on the door of the office once he got to the back row.
He exhaled in relief at sparing himself the less than positive first impression with his new co-workers.
There was a girl busily working at two screens at the desk in front of Mister Jameson's office.
"Oh, great! Umm... I need to go in there. I-- uh, just started working here... at the Daily Bugle." He gave the girl workng at the desk a broad smile, brimming with pride as he said the full name of his new place of work.
"I'm Peter Parker."
The girl at the desk was only a few years older than he was, himself. He began to wonder if that was a standard hiring practice, but quickly cut the line of thinking. For some reason he picked up on a hint of recognition as he gave his name.
Oh... he was supposed to come in earlier, to clear up finalising all of the new employment paperwork. Maybe that's why she knew the name. Had they been waiting on him?
He decided to break the ice and discomfort by throwing more anxious words on the fire. That'd fix it. Nervous talking. The answer to everything, whether it's fighting a winged lunatic engineering genius, starting a new job, or making a first impression with a--
"I'm getting the sense that what Aunt May suggested I wear to make a good first impression has me wildly overdressed..." An awkward smile, as he broke eye contact to look around the room at the other workers, before realising the implication of what he'd just said. His eyes widening, quickly.
"Not that you don't really look nice in what you're wearing!"
He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or more embarrassed as his scrambling was met with an amused smirk.
"Riiiight..."
He decided to move along for the scene of the wreckage, digging into his bag for the papers.
"I--uhh-- I have some paperwork with me. Uhmm. Mister Jameson said I was supposed to bring this in. Oh... and-- umm... I have this too!"
He slapped his handwritten mess down on her desk, and immediately felt this was not an improvement in how this first impression was going. Selfconscious over the scrawl, and as if she could somehow read it and judge him on the contents despite it being clearly impossible for her to have any takeaway from his first effort at an article beyond his own blogsite. His stomach felt like it was twisting, churning, tightening.
"Err-- first... story..? Or article? Or news bit or whatever?" He mumbled, as if the smudged crinkled mess needed further explanation because of the means of delivery. He was about to mention the network being down, when she replied.
"Copy."
"Roger-dodger, over and out?" He quick-wittedly snapped back before his mind could edit for readership. Oh no... But then...
Her smile widened.
The tightening sensation that had been building in his chest relaxed a little.
"No it's-- it's called 'copy'." She clarified kindly.
"Okay... I've got to be honest. I've never worked--"
"In a newsroom?"
"Yeah, that either..." Peter replied, eyeing the rows of desks and cubes and hoping for a silent death with minimal witnesses.
"It's okay. I'm Betty. I handle most of the administrative work for the paper, and a fair amount of the human resources and general daily operations work as well." So he'd come to the right place for dropping in his paperwork, if not in how he presented the 'copy' for admission.
"That seems-- like a lot." Peter noted. Betty smiled, thinking he was being kind with his appraisal of her job description.
More accurately he was wondering just how much Jameson was going to have him do. He'd hoped he'd be writing and presenting science and tech based articles, but they had seemed far more impressed with the layout and work he'd put in administering his own blogsite. With news of just how much he was leaning on Betty to cover multiple jobs, it made him wonder if this job wouldn't take too much away from school and the internship he'd just agreed to take on.
But she smiled at his comment, and those concerns seemed to disappear immediately. Frittering away in the air between them.
"Well, it keeps me busy. And between you and me, Peter, I happen to be very good at it." Her smile widened, and her eyes flashed.
Are we--? Is this flirting?
He'd never had much experience with the notion, or for that matter the attention of the fairer sex in general. But the workplace was a different world. One to grow into. Is this what that world was like?
He found his own smile widening without any effort on his part, as he attempted to give some type of coherent response when...
"I-- uh--"
"PARKER! Is that you out there?! Quit chatting up the admin girl and get your butt in here!"
The pair immediately started blushing, turning away from one another.
Then Peter noticed from the corner of his eye, that she'd responded in similar kind to how he had.
Wait-- did she just-- As well? Does she feel-- or think-- or whatever... The same way?
She'd seemed so much more grown up than him though. Sophisticated. Even if she was only a few years older.
Peter stammered out a response to try and cover both of their shyness from the explosion of the Editor-in-Chief.
"I wasn't-- I mean-- I--"
"This is why you don't hire kids, Robbie! It's all puberty and hormones in here! PARKER! Don't make me say it twice! Get in here!"
"Brant! I want these office plants rotated! Get me something that absorbs pheromones!"
"I... don't think that's a thing, Mister Jameson."
His reply followed an unintelligible growl.
"I don't pay you for 'I don't think', Brant! Research! If it exists, I want them here by Friday! Unless-- they're that giant flower that smells like rotting meat. Anything else, get it in here!"
Peter went inside with his scrawled pages, leaving the admin sheet on her desk and closed the door behind him, he tried to sneak a peek at Betty one more time, but she'd quickly returned to her work. Any sign of previously being flustered now long gone.
"Parker! Sit down!"
Peter sat down in a chair on the same side of the desk as Robbie.
"What've you got there?!"
"Oh, I, umm... decided to take the initiative and went out to a tech show. This was my write up... uhh... copy." He stumbled to add the new learned terminology.
"You haven't even got your press credentials yet. And you weren't put on assignment for it... Where do you get off--"
Looking for a floatation device, Peter turned to Robbie.
"It was the-- uhh-- Bestman and Toomes tech show..."
Recognition of the name quickly flashed across Jameson's face.
"Parker! Here! Give it here. What's the hold up?!"
Peter put his scrawled pages on the desk.
"Sorry for how it's presented... There was a network outage."
"Trask's network. All phones and devices which use it have been affected. We know."
"Crap... crap... unusable... Unverified. Crap... We can't print any of this. What is this? What are you giving me? What am I supposed to do with any of this?" Jameson flung the pages back across the table at the younger man, where they floated in the air drifting slowly to the floor along with any dreams of an easy transition into the workplace.
"But that's-- What happened. I was there."
"And who the Hell are you? Nobody. That's who. Where are your sources? Who have you spoken with to confirm any of this?"
"Well-- who should I have confirmed with? He tore through the Press Row. They all probably got taken away by emergency services. Nobody else would have this yet, to confirm any of it."
"I'm supposed to believe that?! Then how'd you get this?"
"I didn't have my press credentials yet, they weren't gonna let me in. I had to sneak the guy at the door cash to get him to let me in and stand at the back."
Jonah shot Robbie a look.
"Nobody else has it, Jonah..."
Jonah shook his finger, an idea forming. With one finger on a push button phone he dialled a number.
"Wolf. This is 'J'. I need--"
"Ohh, I don't have time for this... call Media Relations." A woman's voice forced back the sigh which came from frequent exposure to J. Jonah Jameson.
"Time sensitive, and you owe me. I got a kid here who's claiming that this Bestman and Toomes show turned ugly. Press Row battered. Guy turned costumed villain. And a powered battle over the city."
There was a noteable punctuated silence hanging over the phone.
"...As you are aware, regular uniformed officers can't confirm news stories, regardless how accurate they appear to be and consistent with information provided over the internal despatch network."
"Thanks Wolf, you're a doll."
The female voice at the other end didn't even try to fight back her cringing sigh in response this time, as she disconnected the call.
Jameson hit another button on his phone for the intercom.
"Urich! Get in here, we've got exclusive on the Toomes breakdown!"
"I don't have time for this. I'm on crime beat. I'm expecting a call back regarding mob activity operating out of Hell's Kitch--"
Jonah tapped the intercom button repeatedly until it blasted a chirp in the journalist's face.
"You're crime beat. This is crime... ....adjacant. Get in here. You're interviewing the kid, you're gonna show him the broad strokes of how an article like this gets made, and then you get right back to it."
"Jonah, I don't have time to be holding some kid's hand whil--" Another loud chirp interrupted him.
Jonah turned to the younger man across the table.
"I'm pairing you with Ben Urich. He's a true reporter. You tell him your story when he interviews you. Watch how he re-shapes the information. Tells the story. I don't want to see 'This'..." A fist held the scrunched pages which had floated back onto his desk. "...again."
Peter knew he had his first day at the New U internship later this afternoon, leading into the early evening. He wanted to say something, but he already seemed to be on shaky ground with the Editor-in-Chief as it was. And the job was the only thing that made the internship possible in the first place.
It's just one time... How late could I really be from this anyway?
"One last thing... We're going to attach some of these videos you've been collecting for the story. From your site. How've you been getting them?"
"Videos?"
"Yes, these small videos. 3 to five seconds long. Some are almost ten seconds. The Bugle's site should be able to handle the size. Draws the viewer's eye."
"Oh, you mean the GIFs? I've just been... snapping them on my phone."
"Yes! Get me Gifs of Spider-Man!
Robbie cringed. "That's not... that's not how you pronounce the word."
"What? I said what he said."
The pair seated opposite gave both gave wincing shrugs.
"That's not how you pronounce the 'G'."
"Well, to be fair, there's some debate about how it's said..."
"Some... but either way, not like that." Robbie held a distasteful expression on his face.
"Gifs... Gggifs. Giiifs..."
"Oh, absolutely not..." Robbie said. Peter cringed, a look of sympathy on his face as if Jonah had trodden in something unpleasant.
"Get me... short videos of convenient size for mass distribution on our publication site without loss of visual quality through data compression... of Spider-Man!"
"I think... technically, I still own those through my own rights held over my blogsite. You said you might have me make new blogs, and handle administration of the site. But existing videos from my site, and new videos I haven't taken yet. We never discussed that in negotiations."
Robbie smirked at the audacity of the younger man who sat next to him. A vein above Jonah's brow became visible, as his teeth gritted ever tighter in an expression his dentist would doubtless warn him about.
"You're staff."
"I am. But it falls outside of the purview of my job description as we agreed. I should know, I just dropped it in a few minutes ago."
A low growl was emitted from the elder newsman across the desk.
"Freelancers scale. Until we can rectify the error in your job description."
"So there'll be a pay increase included, presumably. Since this is additional work we never discussed."
This bargain from hiring a kid was becoming less of a bargain with every passing day.
Robbie's smirk was in danger of turning into outright laughter.
The door seemed to open and both Robbie and Peter seemed to sail out of the room on a breeze of J. Jonah Jameson's ranting screams about the work ethic and mercenary behaviour of the youth of the day.
Peter found himself disappointed to see that Betty wasn't at her desk when he drifted out of his office towards Ben Urich's desk.
S P I D E R - M A N S P I D E R - M A N
"OhgodOhgodOhgod--I'mlateI'msolateI'msolate--"
Peter swung across the city. He'd had to change back into his Spidey suit to get across town, the session with Urich had taken far longer than he'd anticipated, and now he was at risk of spreading the less than ideal first impressions across multiple locations, from his new job to his new internship.
He dropped into a back alley and performed a quickchange and threw his backpack over his shoulder, stepping back onto the sidewalk out the front of the New U Technologies building near Central Park.
He rushed inside, hoping that something had caused everybody else to be late.
No such luck.
He quickly scurried across the floor and put his backpack in an open box locker. He replaced his sportsjacket with a labcoat. There was a blonde girl about his age with a headband holding everything perfectly in place. He assumed she was another of the interns.
Running late he'd have to cut corners, make some asssumptions, to get caught up without holding everybody back and--
He overheard a sarcastic jibe from Connors at his expense.
Limit shots like that..
"Hi-- yes-- hey. Sorry about this, Mister Connors--"
"DOCTOR Connors."
"Doctor Connors. Sorry." Peter corrected, getting flustered from things turning even more against him.
Maybe don't cut that corner...
"I just started a new job so that I could afford to begin this internship. It's remote and I don't normally have to go into the office, but today there was an orientation, they put my details on HR file-- you don't... care about the details... but it was a one off, sir. It won't be happening again. I'm really sorry about this."
Littered with at best half-truths and omissions, but its not like Connors would want a full detailed breakdown.
"Well, you're going to have to make up everything that you missed. Understand as well, that I am not very happy. This position is an incredible privilege that most in your position would revel in the opportunity. You haven't made a very good first impression."
"Yes sir, I'm sorry."
"Yes, so I heard. Just do better."
Looking to cut corners and avoid further negative attention, he got to work copying the assembly of apparatus that his fellow blonde intern had collected in an assortment in front of her. And then he noticed her looking directly at him, he smiled back. Being friendly? Her eyes seemed wide. Wait, too wide, what's she--?
"Mister Parker, if you had BOTHERED to ask, you would have realised that the collection of test tubes and flasks in front of Ms Stacy, that you have attempted to copy from, are in need of a clean. You may as well clean them now as well, since you've soiled them."
Shaking her head. Maybe shouldn't have cut that corner, either...
As Doctor Connors had his back turned Peter quickly asked the blonde girl in a hushed whisper.
"Quick! What did I miss?"
"The lockers, the emergency contact numbers, where the toilets are and the in-house method for cleaning test tubes and flasks - acid pre-wash, soap and water, three times distilled water rinse."
The youth dared to turn and look at her whilst Connors back remained turned.
"Thanks. Peter. Midtown High."
"Gwen. Standard High."
So... not being friendly. But not unfriendly.
Peter was walking Gwen to 'the Library' where she'd do her homework until her father came off his shift.
It had started to get dark, and whilst she'd made the trek through Manhattan to the library pretty much every nightfor a few years now, this was the first time from the direction of their internship at New U Technologies and not her school.
Her father was a police officer in the NYPD, she had said.
"So that was something new... A whole day full of new."
"Oh yes, you said you had a new job. What's that like?"
His thoughts strayed back to Betty, a smile flickered across his face.
"Kinda a lot. But... I guess fun. I don't know if its supposed to be fun, but it has been."
"So what is it?"
"Oh, I'm uh-- what did they call it? Science and Technology Contributor and Online Administrator for the Daily Bugle."
"Wooooow. Well that's pretty impressive. So what exactly do you do?"
"Well, its hard to say yet. I interviewed for an article today, but I think generally they're I'm in charge of taking care of the paper's online website."
"Oh..." She held her tongue. She'd seen their online presence. It was far from impressive.
"Oh... no no no. I haven't really started yet. It was my first day in the office today. I get what you mean though, it's a bit-- ehhhhhh. Still, if it wasn't I guess I wouldn't have a job."
"Well, it should look good on a college application," she smiled to him warmly, "let me guess, you're trying to get into Empire State U on scholarship as well?"
Peter shrugged back with his own smile. "Guilty."
"Don't let my Dad hear you say that..." Gwen joked back, daring to probe beyond her quiet first impression.
"My Dad won't let me work anywhere just yet. Said he wants me just focusing on school. Which... is nice that I don't have to, but I'd kind of like to not have to ask to borrow money any time I want to do anything."
"Well, I used to tutor a fair bit before I got the job. It's not a lot of money, but its something. If you're looking for some kind of-- what do you call it-- money independence?"
"Financial independence."
"Yeah. And with tutoring, you know, you can get some kind of control over how many you take on, how many people you're working with and who. So there's money, but its not like a real job, where you can't say no."
Suddenly Peter's pocket vibrated. He had it on silent, not wanting things to turn any worse at the internship. He pulled it from his pocket, and pressed the screen to answer, not recognising the number.
"Hel-lo..?" Peter asked.
A loud tearful outburst, before any words were spoken had Peter pull the phone from his ear briefly.
Gwen looked on, with her brow raised, not without her own curiosity over what was happening.
""Hello? Is this... Peter Parker? Hi, my name is Felicia Hardy-- and-- and I really need help. I'm taking freshman electronics at Empire State University, and I got told by my teacher that he's gonna flunk me if I-- I-- don't get a good score on my next-- my next-- oh God..." Breathy sobs and tears permeated through the call.
"Well, the thing is... I kind of recently got a new job, and I've started this internship, and between that and my... extracurriculars, I'm kind of time-short at the moment. I actually thought I took my number down from all of the noticeboards I had it listed on..." Peter replied. Gwen deduced it was about one of the tutoring jobs he'd just mentioned, and turning her head away to try not to pry anymore than she already had.
"Please-- please I really need your help--!" The girl's voice returned with breathy desperation. "I'm local! And I can't fail this class. Oh please! I'll send you my address now!"
The call dropped out before Peter could reply. "He--ll-- Hi--?"
He looked at his phone somewhat ambivalent about the call which just took place. Before realising something.
His phone vibrated again as a pin was dropped. He sighed and started replying in a text, which he quickly fired off
"Oh--! Umm... network's back up." He said to Gwen, holding out his phone for her to see.
Suddenly his phone vibrated again, and a picture image flashed across the screen. Gwen's brows raised and a smirk crossed her face.
"So I see, you CAN choose your jobs. I guess I'm seeing the benefits in that."
"Huh..? What do you mea--?"
He saw the image on his phone and his face flushed red, as he immediately felt guilt. Betty's face turned to disappointment in his mind's eye.
"Whoa-- I'd... I'd already said I would? What was? Why-- You saw! I didn't-- I'd already agreed before I saw what she looked like!"
"Uh huh..." Gwen smiled, revelling in watching Peter squirm.
"I'd never heard from her or seen what she looked like before..."
He kept digging. She kept smiling. His face turned ever more crimson.
"Uh huh..."
He hadn't just done it because the girl seemed hot, had he? I mean, how could he know?
Gwen let him off the hook, having had enough of watching him squirm, she changed the subject.
"You said the network was down?"
"Yeah, whole Trask network. Affected all devices under the provider." He grabbed the lifeline with both hands.
"Ugh... Trask." He felt warmed by her response. It wasn't a unique one. Trask had his own... problematic leanings. Peter didn't particularly like to think he was adding to his company's coffers.
"I know... I'm only with them because I'm still under the plan from when my Aunt May first put me on."
They came to a stop opposite Central Park, before Peter suddenly realised where they were. He'd just been putting one foot in front of the other next to the blonde girl, without ever asking for a destination beyond 'the library'.
"Wait-- this is-- The Museum of Natural History..?!?" He exclaimed.
"Yeah, my Dad got us a family pass. We keep it up every year. The Gottesman Research Library is up on the Fourth floor around the back. I just go up there for my homeork til my Dad finishes. 20th Precinct is just a couple of blocks over."
She turned away, to start walking towars the entrance.
"That is. SO. FREAKING. COOL!"
Gwen lowered her head and didn't turn back to face him for a few seconds, before brushing her hair slightly away as she added a "Thanks for walking me here, Peter. Umm-- a family pass is for two adults and two students and it's just me and my Dad, so maybe if ever you and even your Aunt..."
"Wow! Yeah, absolutely! This is so cool! I mean... I can't now. I've gotta go do this tutoring thing, but yeah, that'd be amazing! I love this place! The Rose Center! The Animal Halls!"
"Oh. Yeah..." She kept a small smile which didn't match his enthusiasm. "I'll catch you at New U next time, I guess. Have fun with your tutor job."
"Well, that's not my job. I mean, its just a one-off gig. My job's over at the Bu-- oh man! I'm gonna be late again though, aren't I? Yeah, catch you next time, Gwen!" He called back in a frantic panic running back in the direction they'd just walked from, not noticing the girl's expression drop at the thought.
His phone vibrated in his pocket as he ran down the sidewalk, slipping by crowds with fancy footwork, on his way back to Midtown following the pin location.
It was his Aunt May.
"Anna Watson has her lovely niece Mary Jane down from--"
"Nope. No time for that. But that reminds me."
He fired back a quick text reply apologising that he'd be late home, he'd had a last minute request from a tutor job and he'd have to find the time to get down to the ESU campus and pull his number from any further jobs again, since he was going to be busy. And then used the excuse as a reason to pivot away from being able to meet 'the lovely Mary Jane'.
He shuddered at the thought.
Then his thoughts drifted to Betty. Would it be too forward for him to ask her out somewhere sometime? How long could he work there before it would seem weird? Was it weird anyway? Would it always be?
She was only a little older than him, semed very kind, very--
"Hey, watch where you're goin', Buddy!
"Sorry..."
He weaved a little more carefully.
She did seem interested didn't she? She reacted the same way he did when Jonah-- Does that mean anything though? Of course it does. It means she got shy. Maybe she's thinking the same about you right now... Well, probably not right now. She's probably got a handle of herself better than you have. She's so much more sophisticated. But she's cool. And--
He looked up. This was the place. Pin's here. Message says the penthouse. Is that--
He went in the building and hit the button for the top floor of the elevator.
Fancy place. Well duh... A Penthouse Apartment in Midtown. He guessed he wasn't the only person who found it difficult to say no to the type of people who lived here.
"Can I get you anything to eat or drink, before you start?" A mustachioed middle aged man asked Peter. Presumably her father.
"Oh, uhh... no sir, I kind of want to get this done as quick as possible. See, I'm expected back home. I called and told them I'd be late, extenuating circumstances and all. But yeah, I kind of just have to help her get back on track and get home in a hurry."
Walter laughed out loud again at the earnesty. "Geeeeeeez..." He uttered without further explanation.
Peter held a confused expression for the response.
He was led through the house and to Felicia's room.
"Tutor's here, Flick." Was his introduction, before "Make sure you keep the door open, Flick." a laugh echoed down the hallway which only confused Peter further.
Peter's first impression was that he didn't seem to inspire confidence in her.
"Oh my God..." She cried out. "My tutor's a high school senior..."
He winced at the comment, not sure how to broach the issue.
"Uhh... Junior. Senior, next semester. I mean, if it makes you feel better, I turn seventeen in, like, two weeks..."
Evidently, it did not make her feel better.
"Look, it's not that bad. Not to toot my own horn, but I mean, I'm VERY good at this stuff. And you're not that far behind. You can't be. It's freshman Electronics. We just have to get you to 'see' it, and you'll find it easy."
She seemed to be crying in her own shame, which just made things more awkward for Peter. He didn't know what to do with his hands.
"I jus-- I jus-- I just need to pass this next unit. And now I find out that even a High School Junior would have a better grasp on this stuff--"
"Well, I'm not really... 'just' a High School junior. I mean, I won Science prizes and... a job... IN the industry..." He defended himself.
"Could you-- could you just... DO this stuff for me?" She sniffed. She removed her hands from her face and hit him right between the eyes with the eyes as her mouth curled into a smile that suggested they'd have a secret, held just between them. "Just this once..."
She reached across and rested her hand on his forearm.
His brain short-circuited. It would have made an excellent example for a new electronics student, if she's the patience to study it. Also, if it were a literal thing and not purely a metaphor.
He sucked on his teeth and ran his hand through his hair.
"This isn't how tutors work, Felicity."
She kept hold of the eye contact. He broke eye contact first.
"I mean... when's this due by?"
It took everything she had to not turn her widening smile into a laugh.
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow???"
"I know, Petey... But it's just so... hard. It takes so long for me to just get it all so wrong..."
Whoa...
She arched her back unnaturally as she got up, and with that, finally, he began to suspect something was up. It was hot, yes, but unatural. He realised he was receiving a performance for one.
And started to feel dumb for not having realised it earlier. Thoughts of Betty started to drift back. This time she wasn't even disappointed in him, so much as he was in himself.
He didn't want to waste any more time here.
It made him feel guilty again, but he could barely muster enough to care.
"I'll just get us something to drink, Petey. While you think about it."
He grunted as she left. He didn't think she noticed.
Probably wasn't used to hearing any kind of refusal to notice it when delivered as anything but blatant.
He pulled her recent results to find out what he was working with.
She wasn't wrong. The situation was dire. Needed an unlikely grade to skate by the unit with a pass. He sighed.
He'd be here all night trying to get a girl who generally didn't care enough to do the basic study to understand basic principle to get this done to the 90 percentile.
Or...
He grabbed the sheet and just started going through the work. He made the odd slip at trickier spots, checked the score twice, and added an extra mistake or two.
Ninety three percent. Should get her by.
Teacher might buy it if he thought she was copying straight from the book... Maybe... Ish...
He left her bedroom. She was leaning into a refrigerator, looking in a way Peter otherwise would be too-tongue tied to describe if he weren't so completely done with this session.
"Here. I looked over your last stuff. This should be about a 93%. Should scrape back into passing. Any more than that and there's no way I could pass it off as your work. If they hit you with a pop quiz just tell them you're still very much working from the book." He said flatly.
He didn't seem happy at all. And if he'd been drooling over her at any point there was certainly no sign of that now, Felicia could see.
"I don't need a drink. Just the cash."
She hopped over to the kitchen counter where the money for the tutor was kept. Bouncing. Still trying to lean into 'cute'. She returned to him and put it in his hands and was about to thank him when she realised he wasn't finished. 'Cute' didn't cut it.
"Felicity... Get it together. If you want to use me for this next time... Lose my number."
He took the cash and immediately felt guilty again, before he walked out the door without turning back.
He wasted enough of his ever-dwindling time and had his own work to get done back home.
Banjo burst through the toilet door only for everyone to turn and stare at him.
"Bloody Hell... Didn't mean to make that kind of entrance. 'Scuse I, gents."
Two seniors finished washing their hands and shook their heads at him, as if Banjo possessed any capacity for shame, as they brushed passed him for the exit.
The Australian saw a familiar large figure standing outside of one cubicle, his head leaning against the solid partition between two, and gestured with a point and his brow raised. Big Steve nodded in reply.
"Ya comin' out of there tonight?"
"Wh-- wh-- Is that you, Banjo? Wh-- why would I come out?"
Banjo proceeded to push the other cubicle doors open, just to check they were alone.
"It is... in fact--" He pushed the last cubicle door on the other side of Big Steve open, and gestured to the exit with his thumb. Before holding out an open palm and mouthing 'Gimme five minutes'. "--in fact it's only me. Just you and me. So what's the hold up? You're expected out there."
"Ex-- expected?"
"Yeah, I told her I'd clean ya up, and have ya back out there. So what's the hold up?"
The lock on the door twisted to a green 'Vacant'.
"Hold up, ya haven't dropped ya guts in there, have ya?"
"No I-- I wasn't going."
Slowly the door opened, revealing Alex Zimmerman in his brown stained sky blue suit, palms out gesturing to the state of his clothes.
"Alright, so you're all done. Good. Let's get out there."
"What--? What are you talking about, man?! I can't go out there like this!"
"Sure you can. Jerk spilled the drinks you were carrying for her and her friends all over you. We all saw it. It's fine. She knows what happened. HE'S the arsehole. You're fine."
Alex shook his head, scoffing at his comments.
"You don't get it, man..."
"You're right, I don't. C'mon."
"I can't-- just--"
He turned his head to one side and kept from making eye contact.
"I'm not like you. I can't just go out there like this. You could fall in a pool and just strut through the quad soaking wet like it's no big deal. I can't DO that."
"Sure you can. Everyone saw how it happened. This wasn't you being clumsy. This was that guy bein' a prick."
Banjo looked at the smaller young man, tongue stuffed deep in his cheek. This was taking too damn long.
He popped his collar and swiftly took his bow tie off.
"What?"
He began unzipping his pants.
"Shut up. Big guy's only watching the door for five minutes. Get your pants off. Bow tie too."
"What are you doing?"
He started waving his pants through the electric hand blow dryer.
"You're taking ya bloody time, so I might as well dry out the vodka for you..."
"I--oh-- okay..."
"Get out the bloody stall. Try not to get some gross prick's piss on 'em as well as the whole bar..."
The pair swapped trousers.
"Whaddaya parents shop at GAP Kids or somethin'? Whaddaya call this?" He pulled the pants up, which held at a tight half mast.
He pulled the belt out of the sky blue pants.
"Pretty sure you're gonna need this for them..."
"Thanks... thanks, man."
"Shut up. Don't give me a chance to think about the stupid things I do." He handed over the black tuxedo jacket.
Zimmerman looked down at his new black pants, which were spotless, with a broad grin on his face. They hung under his shoe heel, but after folding the cuffs back up a few times looked fine.
"That's-- that's great! You said she's waiting..?"
"Hold up..."
"What?"
"Bow tie."
Zimmerman pointed at him. "Yes!" He popped his collar, buttoned the top button and... stood dumbfounded, holding the black thing.
"You don't remember what I did at all, do ya?"
"...nnnno. No, I don't."
Banjo tied the black bow tie on the smaller man in the large tuxedo. Then stepped back to judge the balance of the two sides.
Alex threw two thumbs ups and yanked through door in exit, in a hurry to go see Cleo.
Banjo looked down at himself and the ridiculous state of his legs and socks. "Now what the bloody Hell am I supposed to do with this?"
Banjo stepped out of the bathroom holding the sky blue suit jacket over his shoulder with one hand, his top button undone and no tie. His socks stuffed somewhere in the depths of his pockets.
"Tight slim cutoffs are in season anyway, eh? I rolled him for more fashionable pants."
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.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">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.</div>
PatientBean
Mao Mao
Retired
Cyberlad
Qia
Half Pint
Festive
mickilennial
AndyC
Sep
