2019-03-07 - Along Came a Spider

Summary:

Spider-Man is out on patrol and comes across a Dead Girl.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Fri Mar 8 01:04:44 2019
Location: Central Park

Related Logs

None

Theme Song

None

peter-parkerdead-girl

Well…time to try out the new duds.

For the last 18 months, he has been running around in a converted hoodie, socks, sweats…and a modified ski mask. How to Fight Crime on $5 a Day. Now, after months of testing, he is going to look like a PROPER superhero.
He looked in the mirror. Well, maybe not PROPER, considering he's going out on glorified longjohns, gloves, and socks…but at least they LOOK better.

Ten minutes into the patrol, and he's feeling pretty good. No rips, no places he's worried it will come apart if he stretches too far.

Now, all he needs is some activity. But nothing has showed up so far. It's a quiet night.

He perches in top of a light pole overlooking Central Park's southern end, and says aloud, "I guess nothing's going on…"
Then a woman's scream comes from within the park, and Spider-Man sighed knowingly. Could always count on the Parker Luck.

He fired a webline and launched himself towards the disturbance.

Dead Girl has habits- long enjoyed and well engrained habits. One of which is a lovely night-time walk around Central Park. She doesn't let the cordons stop her from walking along her favorite paths, damaged they may be. She's been walking this route for almost sixty years- she's not going to stop now just because half of the city was destroyed.

And then a scream- it isn't that far.

Dead Girl sinks into the ground and travels quickly now, flying barely along the path with only a pair of red-eyes over the top of the ground so she can find her way towards that screaming voice. Towards whoever it is that is in trouble.

This, too, is an old habit of the Dead Girl. Help those who need it.

Three guys. Not one, not two, but three. And one woman, who is INTENSELY regretting her decision to use the park path as a shortcut before it got too late. She was backed up against a tree, and hemmed in left, right, and front. The leader in the front smiled. "Not a smart decision, honeygirl."

"You can say THAT again, dirtbag."

The leader looked up in the direction of the voice and saw the guy in the red-and-blue costume. "Who the Hell are you?"

The observer sighed heavily. "NO ONE understands the mask concept…"

In silence, Dead Girl rises from the ground in front of the young woman. There is no mistaking her for anything other than a dead woman- albeit one dressed as if she just stepped off the set of the musical Hair. She's pure 60s.

Her hands rise slowly- fingers lengthening into sharp claws as she stands protectively in front of the woman- her eyes glowing bright in the darkness. A pair of angry red lights- like the balefires of the underworld.

Unlike Spider-Man, she wears no mask. "Well.. come on. You wanted to tangle with a honeygirl." she offers quietly.

The three men have OBVIOUSLY seen too many Japanese horror movies. They glance to each other, terrified, before they head in three different directions.

For almost a full minute, Spider-Man is rooted to the spot on the lightpole. He has no idea what to make of this, and isn't sure what to do.

The woman does, though. She just faints dead away. Nothing like following tradition.

Dead Girl's entire mien changes as the woman faints, shifting to catch her before she hits the ground. "Woop! Careful there." she offers as the men go and run on their way. Dead Girl helps to settle the young woman against the tree, "Oh, poor thing, she's had quite the fright! Those men probably took it out of her." Dead Girl says, as she just sits quietly next to the other woman.

She looks up towards Spider-Man. "You know, it's nice to see young men going out to help people at night. It's been a while since I've seen that." She offers with a surprisingly friendly smile and very warm tone. Her fingers, somehow, have gone back to normal fingers and don't look like they might take an arm off. "I'm Dead Girl." she says, with a little wave of her hand.

"Nice to meet you."

Spider-Man shakes himself out of the apparent brain reboot he is experiencing, tilting his head as he looks down at her. The clothing is pure vintage, but the woman is giving off no ambient heat.

"Uhmm…hi. I'm Spider-Man. Testing out the new suit." It does look nicer than the patchwork one he'd worn since he showed up. "I…I'm sorry, I'm staring and I can't help it."

"It's okay." Dead Girl offers. "I'm fairly familiar with stares." She says with a playful grin. "You can't be a lovely lady like myself and not get the stares of young men!" Her tone is teasing, playful, a little self-deprecating.

"You can come down here, if you'd like." she says, as she quietly checks on the young woman. "Poor thing. Probably taking a short-cut. This used to be such a nice park, you know? You could camp out here in the sixties and no one would bother you at all. Give you dirty looks, sure, but that's about it. The seventies were a little less save though. And in the 80s, man. I used to kick the cheese out of four or five guys a week in the 80s."

"I like the suit." Dead Girl offers. "It's very sleek!"

She seems okay. The monstering-out part seemed to be saved for the 12th Street Kings. He recognized the insignia, the colors. They were probably in Hoboken by now, which is DEFINITELY not their home turf.

Spider-Man stands up, then steps off the light pole and descends 30 feet to the ground, landing in a low crouch before standing up straight again, head still cocked slightly. First the red-headed Amazon, now this pale young (-looking) woman in the tie-dye. "I'll…have to take your word for it. You've really been around that long?"

"Yeah. I've lived here since fifty-nine. That's the year I was murdered." Dead Girl explains, "I run The Store. It's been there since 63, in the Village. A little hard to find, but you should come and hang out sometime! I've got a lot of vinyl to listen to."

"I've been helping people in the city since then. Mostly dead people- but the living, too." she continues as she keeps checking on the poor, passed out woman.

"The dead don't get older." She explains, "So, here I am. Same as I've always been. I'll be here a while longer. I love New York City."

Spider-Man smiles a little under the mask. The new one seems to convey his emotions better than the ski mask he used to wear. He'd smile more, but the thought of this girl being murdered in 1963…His Uncle Ben would have been working at the Army Depot in Brooklyn…

"Did…did you ever find out who…did that to you?" He couldn't say the word "killed," no matter how hard he tried.

"Oh, it was my lover." Dead Girl offered. "He shot me face to face, at least." she remarks, "He's long dead now. So, no worries. Forgive and forget, right?" Dead girl asks, with a certain sweet and honest tone to the question. "Anyway, it's me that sent him to the devil. Self-defense after the fact. I was *really* angry about it." she admits, "But, that was a very long time ago, and I've never seen his spirit since. I suspect he ended up.." she whistles and points down.

"Anyways, what about you? What made you decide to go out and help people while wearing a mask? It takes a lot of courage to go out and help people- and there's a certain humility in doing it anonymously."

Spider-Man sighs. "Abe Lincoln once said that if you want to test a person's character, give them POWER. I got a little power and I became a selfish jerk…" He pauses for a moment, then continues, "…and it cost me DEARLY. There is a responsibility to using these gifts, and the greater the gifts, the greater the responsibility. So now…now I use them the way I'm supposed to, to help others."

He crouches next to the passed-out woman. "There are a few reasons I wear a mask. One, because I have to have a life to myself, and I'd rather not let my enemies find me with a Google search. Two, so that when I'm in over my head…which I am, a LOT…my enemies can't see how scared I really am."

Dead Girl nods quietly, listening. She's so still. She doesn't breath, except before speaking. She doesn't blink. She might as well be a statue- if it wasn't for the kind stroking of the passed out woman's hair. A comforting gesture, even if it is coming from a cold hand.

"So, a major mistake." Dead Girl says, nodding quietly again- listening as Spider-Man speaks, "I can understand that, sure. You're helping people now, though." she notes, "ANd you're putting yourself into danger when you're doing it." Smiling ever so gently when Spider-Man admits he's scared sometimes.

"I think that's normal." Dead Girl says, "To be scared. For yourself, for other people- when you go rush into situations that are dangerous… well. You sound quite brave, to me. Overcoming that fear. Out-thinking it. I bet you'll be fun to watch."

"And, maybe help. If, that is, you'd like some help from an old lady like myself!" Dead Girl grins wide at that- she seems to delight in saying it.

Spider-Man looks thoughtful. I tend to run my mouth a lot when I'm in costume. It distracts my enemies, gets them angry enough to screw up…and it feels safer than without it. That amount of anonymity."

He looks back to Dead Girl, then says, "I'm not proud. I'll take all the help I can get. It beats the four broken bones I got last week in two separate fights." He pauses for a moment, then adds quickly, "I heal pretty quickly. But still…would you like to know who *my* hero is, Dead Girl?"

"Well, I can help all kinds of ways." Dead Girl says, "For one- you can't hurt me." she notes, "So.. we can practice some sparing without you worrying about hurting someone." she says. "I've done that a lot for people who want to fight- it's important to know how a body feels under a fist if you're going to want to win a fist-fight."

Dead Girl pauses, nodding quietly, "I'd love to know who your hero is, Spider-MAn."

Spider-Man nods. "Rocky Balboa. If you've ever seen his movies, especially the first two, you know why. Because he doesn't give up. You knock him down, he just gets up again. No matter how bad he's hurt. My uncle once told me the winner of a boxing match is the last boxer who gets knocked down…and gets back up again, Rocky once said that it's not how hard you hit. It's how hard you *get* hit and keep moving forward."

"You won't have me argue against that." Dead Girl notes. "Rocky Marciano was the same way. I saw him fight when I was a kid, back in fifty-four. Fourteen-year-old me was kind of hot and bothered by him." she says with a chuckle. "My parents were so angry I went to see a boxing match." she smiles still- a gentle thing. Sweet, kind.

"That's not something you can be taught, though. I mean, I get it. I dug myself out of my own grave. Moving forward. Getting back up- it's the most important thing. You're a smart guy, one-hundred percent correct."

Spider-Man looks back to her. "That part? It's not smarts. It's sheer will. Quick mind? Try a *strong* mind. I can't imagine what it was like for you, and I'm not going to patronize you by trying. But i've got to hand it to you on that one." He looks around. "I tend to be a reactive fighter. It's one of my gifts. I guess the technical term would be 'hyper-intense spatial awareness,' but that's a mouthful, so I just call it my Spider-Sense. I can be aware of threats that others don't see and I can react to all threats with a prescience that is almost predicting the future. It's like…it's like seeing ALL the possible contingencies at once, but my mind processes it at the instinctual level."

"That's really far out!" Dead Girl says, "Wow- I know people who dropped a lot of acid trying to get that sense." she teases, "That must be very helpful in keeping from sneaking up on you." she remarks- eyes following something that just isn't there. "I see ghosts. And other astral travelers." she says, "But- that's not quite the same."

"And honestly, sitting in your own grave is maddening, at first. Once you get over that, though, it's just terribly boring. Most people pass on, though. A few hang out. Watch over their loved ones, or rage at things they can't change. Some don't even know they're dead- they're just.. programmed to go through their life as if it never changed. There's a an old Dutch ghost on Wall Street that just pushes a phantom cart every day. Those are the ones that are almost impossible to reach, though. I've tried getting that dude to pass on for decades. Barely even acknowledges me."

"Does that make it hard to sleep? Those kind of senses?" Dead Girl wonders, "If so, I know a great tea recipe that might help calm the nerves."

Spider-Man blinks behind the mask. He is at a loss for a few seconds, then realizes he was asked a question.

"Well, not really. An alarm isn't very helpful if it is always on. I don't sense everything all the time. It's usually when I'm physically active, or if there is a varying threat—general, specific, or imminent. If a place was going to crash into my house, I would be woken up out of a sound sleep, but not if it's just flying overhead."

He takes a deep breath. "Are they…disturbed by you interacting with them? Does it bother them when you try to reach out to them?"

"Oh, not at all. Some of them seek me out." Dead Girl says, "To give messages to loved ones. To protect something sacred to them. Or, just to shout and rave at someone who can actually hear them and isn't trapped in the astral plane." she explains. "Usually it's of the 'you gotta help me' sort, though, that come to find me. I mean, in theory, I could just… put him out of his misery. I have the skills to force him to move on- to move any of the ghosts I meet on. I don't like to do that, though. Some places it's better to go on your own accord."

"There are a lot of ghosts in this city. More than you'd think. Those of them who aren't completely insane, or trapped in a holding power all know who I am." Dead Girl smiles still- it's so gentle that smile. Kind and welcoming, despite being on the face of a corpse.

"I've been helping the dead of this city for decades. I've been protecting the living just as long. I love it here, and I love the people of New York- alive and dead."

Spider-Man nods. "Well, you've got me beat, that's for sure. I've only had these powers for about a year and a half. And the editor of the Daily Bugle, J. Jonah Jameson, said I was a threat or a menace. I…don't know what to say to that. I've been hated for pointless reasons most of my life, but i never thought I'd be hated for helping people. It's just…jarring, sometimes."

Dead Girl shrugs, "I've read that." she says, "Mr. Jameson is often right about things. I think he's rather off the mark with you, though. I've got a good feeling about you. Something tells me you're an honorable young man, and you really just want to help out."

"You can't control what other people think about you, though. Or what you look like, or who you love, or any of that stuff. All you can do is behave in the way you know is right. At the end of the day, Spider-Man, you answer to yourself and your own conscience. Keep helping people. I've never regretted helping people even if I scare them to faint, or if they react badly to seeing a walking corpse. It helps that I'm really not easy to hurt. Turns out it's *reaaaally* hard to kill a dead person."

Spider-Man looks to the woman, whose head is swaying slightly. "Think she is going to come out of it, soon. Listen, is there a good way to contact you? I don't know if you have a cell phone. Do you need one? I have a couple of junky ones I repaired. Nothing flashy, but they do the job."

"I might be from the past, but I do have a phone. I've kept all my phones over the years. I've got one of those old motorola bricks, even. I keep it in The Store." Dead Girl explains, "You can find me there, most of the time." She gives him the address- an alley through another alley in Greenwich village. "I own half the building- that's where my little art project is at." A three story art project with walls of books and vinyl records and all kinds of knicknacks. "There's a garden on the roof, too, if you just want a place to chill. It's my zen thing. You can always come in through the door up there. I don't usually leave it locked. Just in case you need a place to lay low- there are dozens of ghosts who hang out there, so they always know how to find me."

Dead Girl reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a card- offering it over to Spider-Man. Phone number and address of The Store. 'Established 1963'.

"And if you want to trade something in the store for something else, let me know. Except my action figures- I've got all the old Captain America ones, and I really can't bare to part with them."

Spidey takes the card, then looks at it. "I've heard of dead voters, but this is the first I've heard of a dead business owner. Do you have a name you go by other than Dead Girl, or that none of my business?"

"You can call me Deeg." Dead Girl offers, "I have a name I was born with, though, if that's what you're asking. I don't just go and share that with anyone, though. There is power in names." She says it as if she knows. "Great power."

Spider-Man nods. "You can call me Spidey. Or Webhead. There are a few other names, but they're not suitable for your ears, alive OR dead." He sticks the card in a waist compartment. "If something comes up, I'll give you a call. Right now I am having a hard time thinking what talking to dead people canhelp with crimefighting, but maybe it just needs to percolate."

"Oh, you're a smart guy. You'll come up with something." Dead Girl says with a smile as she looks down at the young woman who's beginning to stir. "I don't want to give her another fright. I'll just head back home."

Dead Girl's body seems to go translucent- and she floats into the air, "See you around, Webhead!" she chirps as she flies off towards Greenwich.

Spider-Man watches her go like Mary Poppins without the umbrella, then looks at the woman, who is gazing back at him. "Take it easy, miss..you had a bad scare, but you're okay?"

"What happened?" she asked, trying to get to her feet.

Spider-Man looked into the night sky. "Not sure, myself.." he says wonderingly.

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