Summary:It is a day in The Store- like it used to be back in the day. People here, all different, and all together despite it. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
Related LogsTheme SongNone |
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Evening in The Store is more or less the same as any other time of day. The music is a little softer and 'Dinner' is available in the kitchen for anyone who wants it. Today's meal is a rather nice mac and cheese, topped with bacon and extra cheesy, roast chicken in herbs, and a dessert of freshly baked pecan pie, with what looks like a home made whipped cream. Tea, coffee, and water is always available. The food is free to anyone who finds their way in.
Dead Girl is sitting on a recliner not far from the counter- which has a very old cash register on it that is meaningfully broken beyond repair. Nothing, after all, is for sale around here.
Peter steps out of one alley and then heads down another alley, turning once before finding the door again. Once you find it, you can't unfind it.
Peter is carrying a bag from one of the local bakeries, but what's inside is something they might pay real money fortwo of Aunt May's award-winning lattice apple pies. Granny apples from Australia, unrefined cane sugar, andMay's little secret—a touch of black strap molasses.
Peter couldn't convince Aunt May to come with him. She is still recovering from her loss. Peter never will recover, of course.
He opens the front door, stepping in carefully. "Hello…? Uhm…Deeg?" He looks uncertain. He'd only been here once before. He felt, once again, that walking into the Store was like walking into Dead Girl's mind.
Sam Guthrie has heard there was old-timey stuff here, even if it wasn't exactly for sale. Which didn't really make sense to Sam, but it's New York, nothing makes sense. They folded their pizza and peed in the alleys. Everything was topsy-turvy here.
He has his bomber jacket with the shearling collar up around his neck, a check shirt over a tee and a pair of jeans with boots. His dirty blonde hair is tousled, not exactly styled but somehow attractive all the same, a sort of artful incoherence to his look. He's just kind of browsing the place when Peter comes in, getting a glance from the country boy. But he doesn't really know anybody here yet, so he's mostly keeping to himself.
Fandral had promised that he'd stop by and visit The Store a while back, and he finally manages to do so. He's dressed for a night of blending in to his surroundings, and thus in a pair of comfortable jeans, black boots, and a black button-down with long sleeves, and a leather jacket thrown over it. There's no sword at his waist at the moment, though the sedan that brought him over from the embassy might have it on hand if the need arises.
Opening the door for Baldur he says, "Here we are. This is the place." And after they make their way inside, he takes a look around with fascination. "I can't say as I've seen anything quite like this before."
From the back alley of the back alley, there's the heavy scrape of a manhole cover moved aside from underneath. Out of the manhole emerges a gigantic figure swathed entirely in a grey woolen cloak. Adam makes sure his hood is over his face, tugging its hem low, before settling the cover back in place. He makes his way into The Store from the side door—but hesitates when he realizes it's rather more significantly populated than usual. One enormous pale hand emerges from under the cloak to rest on the doorway as he lingers there.
Jennifer Walters has her rumors about The Store. In her line of work, where she represents all manner of extra human beings these kinds of mumblings come across her desk rather frequently. It's taken her a while to actually /find/ the place, having walked back and forth in the general area until she stumbled across the door.
When Jennifer walks into the store, she's hard to miss. Six and a half feet tall. Emerald green. Famously appearing on television frequently in the past years as an advocate and activist for metahuman rights. She's gone casual today, wearing some jeans, white and purple sneakers, and a plain white tee.
She takes off her sunglasses and looks around the place in wonder. "Wow," she says. "I've never seen anything like this."
Black leather boots, black jeans, a purple silk button down and a black leather jacket. Baldur's nothing if not fashionable. It just depends on your definition of fashion. "About a thousand years ago, I visited a mortal sorcerer. His dwelling looked much like this. He said he never knew what he might need to cast a spell so liked to have as much available as possible. It looked much like this." As he enters the Store, he looks around then offers a nod. "Good evening mortals, both alive and deceased."
The door is of the welcoming sort. A sign hangs happily in the window, telling everyone the Store is open. A welcome mat is out. Everyone is welcome here- that's one of the things that's always been part of The Store.
Any species, any look, any belief or sexuality or gender identity- everyone can come to The Store and sit down and relax and be at home. That's the real reason for this place.
"Hey, Peter! And Adam! Come on in!" she says to both as she hops to her feet- inviting Peter in further as she goes to give Adam a welcoming hug. "Hey, there's dinner in the kitchen if anyone wants some. I was baking pies all day!" she offers with that happy tone. She's quite animated for a dead person.
"And wow! So many people here today, that's not usual for a Monday night! I love it!" she claps once, "There's Mac and Cheese, herb roasted chicken, and pecan pies- please, everyone help yourselves!"
"So, here for a 'shift', Peter?" Dead Girl wonders first to Peter, "There's an apron behind the counter if you really want to wear one. You can take it home. It's 'The Store' themed, so your Aunt May will see that I'm putting you to work. I just had it made up!" she grins wide. "I thought she might appreciate that kind of thing. A work uniform. Never had one before, but, you know maybe it'll make it easier for you!"
"And hey! Baldur and Fandral! Welcome, welcome!" she claps again, "I'm so glad you all are here! I love having people come to visit. Feel free to look around, I'm usually up for a trade- but standard trade rules apply. It's got to be something you've been carrying around for a while, something that you don't really need anymore but keep hanging onto for whatever reason. Whatever you give away, should move you forward- and whatever you trade for should, hopefully, do the same!"
Peter looked a little overwhelmed. Okay, a LOT overwhelmed. The tall guy with the hood…the tall green Amazon…the rather grandiose individuals…it was a lot to take in.
"Uhm, I…" and then his mouth fails him. It's better when he had the mask on. More and more, that's when he felt most like himself. But he's been corraled into a service role before, and he nods to Deeg, walking towards the kitchen without another word. He unpacks the pies and puts them next to the ones already there. Hiding in plain sight, just like him.
He put the apron on, tying it in the back, then washes his hands before putting latex gloves on. You had to be mindful of such things.
So situated, the man with a 10-million-dollar price tag on his webbed head stands ready to serve.
Sam Guthrie isn't particularly remarkable in appearance at least, even if he has a fair amount of adventure in his background. She-Hulk in particular gets a second look, the massive, green-skinned woman bringing a grin to his face simply for her blatancy. He knows he's one of the lucky ones who blends in, so he always admires the boldness of people who are so unashamedly themselves.
"Ya got any Old West kinda stuff, ma'am?" he calls. "My grandpa got himself a hell of a collection back home in Kentucky and I'd love to surprise him with somethin' near fer his birthday. I don't know I got much to trade, but I'll see what I c'n do."
Fandral chuckles and says, "Well, I suppose that's a practical reason if ever there was one," to Baldur as they make their way inside. He notices Sam, remembering him from the ice-skating rink and says, "Hello, Sam," with a bit of a wave, and then a smile for Dead Girl, "Sorry that it took so long for me to make my way here. I've been a little bit preoccupied of late. This is quite the collection that you have here." He nods about the rules, remembering them from the cart at the rink. "I'm not sure that I have anything that I've been hanging onto for that long that I don't use anymore, but if I think of something, perhaps."
Adam's huge bony hand goes around DG to hug her, almost as big as her entire torso. "Thank you, my friend," he murmurs in his immensely deep voice. His cloaked head bends over her. Then he steps inside, and bows a shallow, very correct Old World bow to the assembled folks. "My name is Adam. I will keep my hood up, for my face is most alarming to mortals." There is a very young, very tiny mortal here, along with the bigger mortals and the other possibly-monstrous person (Jennifer gets a long, considering look from him), and it's a much bigger crowd than he's used to in Deeg's place.
When she hears that there's pecan pie, Jennifer's mouth waters. "Oh, God," she says, "I love pecan pie. How much is it?" Apparently Jen doesn't know the rules of the place, since this is the first time here.
It's also much more crowded than she expected. There's a couple of young men, barely legal, if she would guess. There's two very handsome men. Very, very handsome men. There's the proprietress who is… quite dead, and a hulking man who looks like he was literally stitched together. She's loving every minute of it and feels right at home.
She wanders about a bit, looking at the vinyl until she comes across one. "Is that… Is that Velvet Underground's first album? It's still got it's sticker! And it's signed by Andy Warhol! Oh my God!"
When Adam addresses the room, she turns and grins at him. "Good to meet you," she says. "I'm Jennifer."
"Are you a sorceress by chance?" Baldur asks of Dead Girl to test the theory before shaking his head once. "I am in need of nothing nor do I possess anything that I have no need of. It shall be interesting to see what you have collected though."
Dead Girl chuckles, "You don't need to serve people food, Peter. Just wear the apron and hang out. I'll teach you how to trade stuff another time. That's the only real job in this place- managing the trades. We'll set up a second for you to trade from, and we'll figure it all out." she assures him. "I just thought your Aunt May would appreciate the uniform thing for you to bring home. It makes this look like an official job, and not a place where you can chill out, do homework and just eat food." she says. "I'm not good at being a boss. I'm better at being a colleague." Dead Girl says then as she gives Adam a good squeeze. Gotta make sure the big guy knows he's welcome, after all.
"Oh, anytime, Adam." she offers to him, "Help yourself to something to eat. I also picked up a few boxes of old books at an estate sale recently." she offers to Adam, "They're in the storage room. I thought you might want to go through them before I put them out on the shelves." she says- always happy to think of a friend.
Dead Girl grins to Jennifer. "It's free!" she says, "Help yourself to dinner, I always cook for people who find me. I love to cook- even if I don't do much eating anymore. I know how it feels to have a good meal, so, I always want someone who comes into my place to feel that way." she notes, "Help yourself, really! Eat as much as you want. I can always make more food." she has a kind of grandmotherly tone there, just smiling bright to Jennifer.
Then she looks over to Sam. "Old West stuff.. hrm.." Those glowing red eyes dim a bit as her eyelids close. "I think I know something." she says over to Sam as she heads over to one of the locked glass cases behind the counter where certain special things sit. The things she doesn't want people to maybe, possibly just wander out with.
From that box she pulls out a somewhat tarnished badge. It has an eight pointed star- and a bullet is stuck in the middle. "This little piece was given to me by a ghost I helped settle some debts." she says, "He was buried with it- and although it did give him a second chance, he was still killed by his other wounds. It's made of silver- and it's supposed to say City Marshal on it." ( https://www.flyingtigerantiques.com/mm5/graphics/00000001/owcmobv_540x527.jpg )
"But, you'll need to trade something for it." Dead Girl says. "You'll have to find something that'll help you move forward, though, before it leaves the doors of The Store." Dead Girl places it on the counter, "You can come and get a feel for it, though."
Dead Girl grins over to Jennifer, "Yeah! Andy was a really nice guy! He signed a couple of those for me. I've got one of his paintings up on the second floor. It's next to my favorite piece, the one in crayon." The one done by her adopted Nephew.
"Well, I'm considered one of the world's experts on Necromancy." Dead Girl replies then honestly to Baldur, still grinning over to Fandral, "Hey! You got here. I don't mind waiting at all- I've got all the time in the world!"
Peter colors slightly. Okayyyyy…he goofed. Again.
"Uhmmm…right." He had some tools in his backpack, though. "Uhm…is there anything technical you need worked on? Is the solar array working all right?"
"Fandral," he introduces himself when Adam greets them, "A pleasure to meet you all." He then shrugs his shoulders and says, "We are who we are. Your countenance may be alarming, but your manner is pleasant, and that is far better than the other way around." He gives a dip of his head to the giant cloaked man. Then he chuckles at Dead Girl and says, "That is true. I have become accustomed to dealing with those with a much more fleeting sense of time." Mortals, in general.
Sam Guthrie comes on down to take a look. The talk of magic and such makes him feel a little awkward - not the kind of thing he grew up hearin' at the Old Baptist Fellowship growing up. He was always taught to be respectful of other people's beliefs, though.
"I mean, you don't gotta serve food, but I'll be happy to eat it. I ain't turned down a meal in my life, even if I'm too skinny to show it," he grins, considering the things he has on his person that might be considered possible sources of trade. He's not sure what he could bring himself to part with.
"Baldur Odinson. God of light and the summer son, among other things." he says, giving a smile to everyone in the shop. "A pleasure to meet you all." He even sounds like he means it. "Your consideration of others is to your credit." he says to Adam. "But one should not need to cloak oneself needlessly. All have their flaws and should not judge others based on the physical."
Adam might actually smile, a little, at Dead Girl. It's hard to tell under the shadow of his hood. "Considerate as always." He nods in greeting. "Jennifer. Fandral, Baldur, Odin's Sons. You hail from Asgard, then?" He glides silently on giant bare feet to the kitchen. It's a little crowded with him in there, but he holds himself with a delicate tension, like a deer picking its way through rough terrain. "Dead Girl has made her mark with bold strokes. Her history is the history of the city. If history you want, you will find no finer collection, even in the great museums." He cuts a silver of pie, the knife ridiculously small in his fingers. It would be polite for a human to offer to serve the others, but he does not; he's learned that people generally don't care for him touching their food.
"You are kind," Adam adds to Baldur. "My appearance most find too loathsome to tolerate. I do not wish to cause Dead Girl trouble in her home."
Jennifer Walters looks hesitant to just … help herself to pie. "Are you sure?" she asks Dead Girl. "I mean. I don't have much in the way of trade, and the rent here just can't be cheap, but…" she considers it for a second. "If these are the kind of people who frequent here," she says indicating Adam and Dead Girl herself, "I could leave some business cards? I'm an attorney who specializes in metahuman law. I work on a sliding scale and try to be affordable because I know that a lot of us have trouble finding jobs."
She looks at Peter and grins at him. "Would it make you feel like you're earning your keep if you serve me some pie? I certainly wouldn't say no to that." Baldur's introduction certainly grabs Jennifer's attention though. "Odinson? I take it you're Asguardian, then?" She shakes her head at Adam. "Appearances can be deceiving. I've seen a lot of different types of people, and one of the things that I learned is that you can't judge a book by it's cover."
"Just relax, Peter. It's all good." Dead Girl says, "Find a chair and relax." she suggests, "Or you can find something to fix. I'm sure there's a broken thing somewhere in here." she waves vaguely- clearly, she's got no plan for Peter's 'work hours'. "You can do whatever you want while you're here, like I said- the only work is the Trades, and that's something we'll need to go over when there is less action happening." And by action, she means people wandering around. That's a lot of action!
"Make yourself a tea or coffee, Peter, take a few minutes and then.. I don't know. Do whatever makes you happy. I've got some electronics on the third floor, near the stairs if you want to dig through that pile and just fix stuff while you're here. Otherwise, you can read books, play a game of chess, listen to music. Whatever you want- I'm no taskmaster and this is, primarily, for the benefit of your Aunt. As far as I'm concerned we're already square." she says with an easy smile. "You're wonderful just being you." she assures her young friend.
"You're here, and that's what matters." Dead Girl says to Fandral, "And I'm so glad you're here. Please, make yourselves at home. I have some mead I made in the fridge!" she says, "I have my own bees up on the roof." she explains, "And, I like to keep busy. I don't know if it'll be up to Asgardian standards, but I'm told it's got a bit of a kick to it." she nods towards the kitchen, "Drink all you want. There's also beer in there for anyone who wants some. I didn't make that, though, it's store bought." she goes on, "Apparently, 18 is underaged now, so if you are 18… Don't let me know and help yourself to a beer." Take that, Authority!
"I'll keep the star for you for a while." Dead Girl assures Sam, "If you really want it, that is." she smiles. "Just make sure it isn't passing fancy. I mean, it's not everyday you get a silver star worn by a dead lawman, right? And help yourself to the food. There's always food here for people who want to eat."
"I've told Adam the same thing." Dead Girl notes over to Baldur, "He just seems more comfortable with his cloak, and that's Okay." she remarks, "Honestly, I'm just glad to see him, no matter how shy he is." she offers with a friendly tease towards Adam. Nothing but love in that tone, despite the tease.
"Oh, I own the building." Dead Girl says over to Jennifer, "And I'm well invested. Don't worry about any of that- have as much dinner as you want, sweetheart." she says over to Jennifer with that bright smile. "Well, sure. We can put a few on the counter if you want." she says to Jennifer, "Always nice to have a few attorney friends. And yeah, that's one of the reasons I started the whole free meals things. I mean, back then the Village was full of people who couldn't afford dinner every night- and me, I don't eat. So. Someone else can eat it." she says with an easy smile, "So yeah, really, help yourself. If you want to give back as far as dinner goes, come on Sunday. Just bring something for the potluck. Sunday Dinner is important when I come from." When, not where. "Oh, back in the day, you should have seen it- it was a different city in the sixties. It was just as ugly, but there was a lot more hope, I think. Probably helps that half of Manhattan wasn't a wasteland, though." she notes, still sounding quite upbeat despite the topic. "What's important is that people feel welcome somewhere. That they know that here, at least, everyone is welcome and always has been. I love the living, I love watching people grow and change and evolve. I'm sad to see them go- but in my case, that's not the end of our relationship." She says, "We can share a lot of experience in Death, after the living have moved on. I still see them, and talk to them, and know them until they're ready to move on… if they don't move on from the get go, that is. Anyways, existence for all it's ugliness is still beautiful- and if I can maybe give someone a full belly, I can maybe give them a little hope. A little hope goes a long, long way."
Dead Girl grins over to Adam, "You're so sweet!" she says, "My history is my history. I just happen to have a place to store it all, and a bit more insight on the past for the reasons previously stated."
Sam Guthrie realizes he left Fandral hanging and pauses on his way down to greet the man, "Hey, dude, sorry, I got kinda caught up in my browsin' 'round. How you doin'?" he says.
At Dead Girl's words, he nods, "I gotta say, there's a lotta truth to that. Pawpaw's got a lot of them replica badges, the ones you get from the Franklin Mint? He sent off for 'em out of this catalogue he gets. Mama says he ought not waste money on stuff like that, but he likes it. Anyways, I figure somethin' authentic would really give 'im a tickle. But I dunno if I got much might be worth it. I don't come from much an' I didn't get too stocked up in things, y'know? I'd offer up my goggles, cause they're pretty sweet, but I need 'em for…reasons," he says.
He tries to peek around Jennifer, leaning against the counter, "What kinda pie?"
Peter turned to serve Jennifer a slice of pecan pie and OOOF. Big guy serving himself pie. "Uhhh…sorry, sir." He waits for Adam to finish, then cuts a generous slice of pecan pie for Jennifer, handing it to her…UP to her, and smiles sheepishly. "There you go."
Peter nods to Sam, then slides out a plate and serves a few slices of not-so-paltry poultry, mac and cheese, and adds a slice of apple pie on a separate plate. He certainly has worked as a waiter at some point, balancing the two plates.
After he walks over and gives Sam his food, he turns back to lift the lid of the pastry box, then cuts Deeg a slice of Aunt May's apple pie, also a generous slice, then snags a fork and walks it over to Deeg. "Here you go. I'll just head up to Three, then."
Fandral smiles a little amusedly and says, "I am no Son of Odin. Only Baldur can claim that. I am but a humble swordsman, along for the adventure, and perhaps to foster good relations, though I am also from Asgard." He gives a little dip of his head. He then glances over to Baldur and asks, "Would you like some pie?" Because it looks like he's going to be having himself some pie, as he starts moving in that direction before Baldur has a chance to answer. When Dead Girl offers mead, he smiles broadly and says, "Let's find out, then, shall we?" He calls over to Baldur, "You will have to help me test the mead." He seems to have no qualms about helping himself, to both pie, and mead, and getting some for Baldur while he's at it if the man agrees.
Once the others have gotten their pie and food, he slides in to acquire a slice or two, and then pours out some mead as well, returning with both plates and glasses. He's been in enough taverns with his companions to not slosh the mead onto the floor, at least not yet — he's quite sober. Noticing Sam as he returns he chuckles good-naturedly and says "There's a lot to see. I'm well, and yourself? How are Jean and Doug?" He's seen Kori recently.
"We are." Baldur confirms along with Fandral, glancing down at his clothing. "It can be difficult to tell when wearing your style of clothing but I have noticed an increase of traffic incidents when wearing my armor and don't wish to cause anyone unintentional harm, even indirectly." Intentional harm is another matter, of course. Fandral's words get an amused snort. "Listen not to Fandral. He is called 'the dashing' for reason. And I would be please to have some pie and mead."
"My apologies, then," Adam murmurs to Fandral. "I should not like to miscall your name, or your father's name." He sits on the floor, crosslegged, his cloak pooling around him. Peter, he treats with the kind of gentle bemusement one might show to a moth fluttering around. Or a spider, scurrying along a wall. To him, Peter is so young, he's barely born. "You have nothing to fear from me," he says to him.
Jennifer Walters smiles pleasently at Peter and takes the offered plate of pie. The first thing she does with it is bring it up to her nose to inhale it's aroma. "My God, this smells delicious." She takes the fork and takes a generous bite of it and makes yummy sounds. "My God," she says. "This /is/ delicious. Compliments to the chef!"
She nods at Baldur between bites of pecan pie and waves a fork at him. "Yeah. That would be distracting. I would have thought me being me would be distracting too, but honestly, one of the great things about New York is that people mostly just mind their own business. I get far more attention when I'm more human because that's how I usually appeared on television." At the mention of Fandral's dashingness. She just mutters to herself, "I'll say."
When she's done with the pie (which is gone far too quickly) she wanders over to the kitchen and places the plate in the sink. "Do we do our own dishes?" she asks of Dead Girl before popping open the fridge to find a beer that looks appetizing.
"Ooh, pie." Dead Girl says, taking a deep and slow inhale- she's just enjoying everything the pie has to offer. She'll take her time with it- she might be an hour or more on this single piece of pie. "Thanks, Peter! And don't forget to thank your Aunt. You should bring her a Pecan Pie. I think I have an extra in the fridge. This is an old woman thing- we trade pies and baked goods." she says with a grin.
"Good! Let me know about the mead. I've only been trying to make it for a couple of years, and I don't know if I've got it down, yet." The Mead isn't bad, but it's not fantastic either. One thing it is, though, is quite strong. Dead Girl doesn't really experience the world the same way she used to when she was living. She has all the same primary senses- but they're.. not the same. She takes a bite of her pie. "Ooh. That's fantastic!" Dead Girl offers over to Peter.
Dead Girl looks over to Adam, "I'm still looking on getting a big comfy chair made for you. It's been a bit of a tall order- no one wants to custom make furniture these days. I don't know what happened to all the craftsmen in this city…" She says with a shake of her head, "I used to be able to hire someone to make anything."
"Give them a rinse, and put them in the dish washer!" Dead Girl says over to Jennifer, "And feel free to help yourself to seconds if you want. Or a beer, or a mead, or whatever you can find in the fridge." she says with a bright smile. The beers are mostly store bought, although Dead Girl certainly has a flair for trying new things- and the beer selection shows as much- it's mostly New York City based microbrews she's gotten local.
"You take your time." Dead Girl says to Sam, "I can hold onto that badge for a while. I doubt someone will wander in and take it from you- the Trade has to be important. You should only trade if you're ready to give up what you have, and it has to be important. Something that's been holding you back, is ideal. I like to help people move forward. Life is *way* too short to hold onto something that's only holding you back."
Peter nods, then takes the apron off and folds it neatly before tucking it under one arm and heading for the stairs. He can breathe a little easier as he heads up the stairs. A lot of personalities down there.
Absurdly, it reminds him of high school. Fandral and Baldur, clearly the jock type. Jennifer would be the head cheerleader AND the captain of the wrestling team. The big guy in the hood? Kinda big to be the emo type, although he seemed pleasant enough.
He'd caught a glimpse of the scarred face, but hadn't flinched. What could he tell the guy? What would a big guy like that know about being taped to a lightpole by Carl King and sprayed with a urine-filled Super-Soaker? "Some scars only show up on the inside?" Yeah, small consolation.
Hey there is a lot of stuff up here. Maybe he can work on the drone while he's up here…
When Baldur agrees to pie, both pie and mead are presented, a slice of each kind — pecan and apple. He lets Baldur take whichever one he wants and seems content to enjoy the other. Though he laughs a little at the mention of his apellation. He smiles to Adam and says, "None needed, but accepted none the less." He notes Peter coming and going, but has only met the Spider-Man, and so doesn't know him very well. He gives him a wave, none-the-less.
Baldur chooses one of the plates without really looking to see which was which, perhaps not knowing they were different. After taking a rather large taste followed by an equally large swallow of mead, he notes "The pie is most flavorful. The mead, less so and a bit weak." At least by Asgardian standards. "Still, it's a good attempt for an amateur. In a decade or two you'll surely have mastered the craft."
"Decades she has, as well." Adam ate only a dainty sliver of pie, the kind of portion someone on a diet might take as 'just a smidge'. Yet that's all he seems to want. He rises in a whoosh of cloak to deliver the plate to the dishwasher. Then, thoughtful and quiet, he follows Peter up to the roof.
Jennifer Walters nods to Dead Girl, and rinses off her plate and fork. She has second thoughts about putting it in the diswasher. There's apple pie now too. "Hey… Peter, was it? Do you mind if I have some of that apple pie…" but he's gone. Assuming the boy would give his consent, she takes a slice of the apple pie and wanders towards the front counter.
She sets the plate down on the counter, and digs around in her purse, pulling out a bunch of business cards held together in a stack by a rubber band. She takes a few out from the middle and places them out on the counter for anybody to take. She looks over at Dead Girl, "I'm serious about this. Let me know if you need any legal help, or if you need something really heavy moved. I can pick up cars, no problem."
"Yeah, my bees make so much honey that I've got more than enough to keep practicing on the mead. I'll have to have you guys come by and give me pounters." Dead Girl says, smiling as she watches Peter head upstairs to go and find whatever it is he wants to find and work on. She seems content in that.
"Oh, that's very nice of you." Dead Girl offers to Jennifer with a smile, "And you feel free to come on in for a coffee and a meal anytime you want. We're usually not too busy, and there's always something neat to be found in the store. I don't really know where anything is, to be completely honest. I think sometimes the place sort of rearranges itself on it's own." That isn't actually true, except when a playful ghost decides to move something somewhere else. "I might need help moving a car before too long. I was thinking about decorating the alley with some hammered steel or something and I know this junk yard that has some old steel-bodied car frames and stuff I might be able to part out."
Finally, Dead Girl takes a second bite of the pie- just enjoying the texture. The taste. The feel. Everything about it.
"I do appreciate the expert telling me how I can improve. As Adam said- I have decades, at least, if not much longer. I mean, I don't exactly age anymore. Dead don't get older, you know?" she says towards the Asgardians.
Again then, to Jennifer she smiles. "You're such a sweetie, it's so nice you came on in today. I'm so glad to have met you."
Peter is able to find a wide table, with a chair in front of it. He settles in, then opens up his backpack. He takes out two sets of what look like smartphone VR goggles, each with a cheap smartphone already mounted to them. The next thing he takes out if a small tin with Captain America's face on it and below it, a banner reading BUY WAR BONDS.
He slides it open and takes out a dragonfly. It looks like one, but it is unmoving. He closes the tin, places the dragonfly on it, then takes out a small tablet with a large crack through the center. The screen comes up with PARKERSOFT on the front, then a pair of buttons come up, DIAGNOSTIC and ON/OFF.
He taps DIAGNOSTIC and a checklist rolls down the screen.
Fandral glances over and arches an eyebrow at Baldur and then smiles, "The pie is quite good, and I am looking forward to seeing how your mead develops as you experiment with it." He takes another swallow of the mead then, and glances up to watch Adam ascend the steps for a moment. "You've quite the interesting collection of patrons who come to this spot." He then says, "I'm sure Baldur would be more than happy to give you some pointers regarding the development of the mead."
"If I knew of any. However, I know nothing about making mead, merely drinking it and even in that, I am surpassed by a master." Baldur informs Dead Girl. "I do know that the best brewers in Asgard are still mastering their craft. Even after thousands of years, they are trying to improve their drink with each batch they make."
"Adam's been a regular for years." Dead Girl says, speaking quietly. "A lot of people who don't feel at home in other places sometimes hang out here. There used to be more back in the day, but now, it's only a few who wander in. People find the place if they're supposed to, I figure." Dead Girl says, "And sometimes I go out with the cart with a few things that just need to be traded and let people know we're still here. People like Peter and Adam need places like this." It's a quiet thing, her voice low as she speaks to Fandral. "Somewhere they can just be themselves and not have to worry about the outside world for a little while. Somewhere they know they are welcome and loved and that nothing would change that." Dead Girl smiles quietly, "It's like that Mister Rogers song, 'It's You I Like'." she says with a little smile.
Dead Girl sings a little bit of that song, "The way you are right now, the way deep down inside you, not the things that hide you~" She's got a lovely singing voice- well practiced, professional even.
"It's important for people to remember that someone out there, who isn't going away, loves them for who they are, you know? Someone who'll be there and expect the best of them and know that they're good people deep inside no matter what. That's the point of all of this." Dead Girl says, waving her hand around. "To create a space where everyone is safe to be themselves, and to learn to move forward, and to hopefully love them-selves. If I can teach the living anything at all…. loving themselves would b e the thing I want to teach them."
Jennifer Walters nods and raises her plate in a silent cheer to Dead Girl. "I'm glad I found this place, too. I'm sure I'll be stopping by frequently when I need a break." A little tinkle of an alarm comes from her purse, and she rummages around it until she finds and pulls out her phone. "Crap. I've got to go." She quickly scarfs down the apple pie with another "Oh God. So good." Chugs down her beer in a single gulp, hurries over to the kitchen to put her plate away and waves to those assembled. "It was good meeting you all!" she calls out to them, before rushing out the door.
Adam ghosts up the stairs, which creak a little under his weight. He kneels near Pete at a distance that suggests careful and long calculation: how close is looming and scary, how far is too far to show interest? It's somewhere around there. That said, it'd be quite easy to take Adam's presence in any room as looming and scary. Thus why he kneels, comfortably enough. He can kneel like this all day. All year, if he feels like it. "What is it?" he asks Peter, voice low. One very, very long finger indicates the dragonfly.
Peter is aware of Adam's presence when he reaches the third floor. Not danger, but caution, which means his Spider-Sense seems to be evolving in some way. Or he's just understanding it better.
He doesn't look up because he wants to make sure he sees any errors that might pop up on the screen. But he does speak.
"It's a remote-controlled drone," he says quietly. "…I built it."
Then a green box comes up and the word PASS in black appears. Then it goes away and the ON/OFF button goes from grey to bright green.
Fandral isn't familiar with Mr. Rogers, but he smiles at Dead Girl's words. "You are very kind, to offer a refuge to those who are in need of one, and to provide food, drink, and such hospitality. I will be certain to visit from time to time — perhaps one of the Sunday dinners, so I might bring something to contribute, as well." There's something almost wistful at some of the words that she follows with, gaze unfocused as though remembering something, moreso than being focused on the present. He inclines his head. "To be so loved." He then smiles and gives a wave to Jennifer as she heads out, "A pleasure to meet you." He takes a seat on the arm of a nearby chair, his pie finished, and sips his mead as the others talk.
"A most admirable endeavor." Baldur says approvingly. "It is much like the hall of Valhalla. So long as the warrior dies bravely in battle, he is taken by the Valkyries to Valhalla where he spends his days with comrades, eating, drinking and wenching until the final battle is upon us. It matters not who or what he was in life." Okay, maybe not exactly like. Just a little like. SOrt of.
Dead Girl nods to Fandral, "It's not a new concept, but it's something that really was important to the culture I was a part of in the sixties. Peace and love, you know? Love for the sake of love, to accept and nurture people for their unique things. We're not all the same, and just because we're different levels of different doesn't mean that anyone is more or less special. So what if some of us can fly? Some of us can't play the piano, either. Both of those things are pretty amazing." At least, according to one Dead Girl.
"Anyways, you guys eat and drink to your heart's content- I'd love to have you around for Sunday Dinner, don't worry if you can't bring something, but we love it when you do. Whatever your favorite dish to eat or make is- bought or made by you, just join the family!" Dead Girl says with a bright smile. "I got some stuff to do around here, I'll let you guys have the run of the place until then."
She calls up, "Hey Adam! Do me a favor and lock up when you're done looking through the books, if you don't decide to stay or whatever!" she clearly trusts the giant, patchwork man. "And Peter, there's a set of keys behind the counter for you to come and go as you please, in case Adam needs to jet!"
Dead Girl smiles to the two Asgardians, "It's been a blast- I hope you guys come by again and drink more mead! I've got all the time to perfect the recipe." She smiles to both, before her body goes a bit translucent and she just flies off through the wall- off to whatever thing it is she means to do 'In Town'.
"It's beautiful. Like the great insects of long ago. The name of 'drone' is apt, for I see you give it its orders as its queen." Adam's tone has nothing of irony or amusement. Only admiration. When Dead Girl calls to him, he leans to look over the railing. "Very well," he calls back to her. Oh it'd be easy for him to raise his voice to something calamitous, by the restraint he uses.
Peter is about to touch the button, then smiles. "Want to see it in action? I think I have the range problem licked." He presses one button on one of the goggles, then holds it out to Adam. "I hope you don't have any problems with vertigo…or excessive speed."
"I will bring something," Fandral promises Dead Girl, because while the hospitality is offered freely, he would not be himself if he didn't return some of it in kind. He finishes off the remainder of his mead, nodding a little bit in agreement with Baldur. When Dead Girl heads off, and the others are off on the other floors, he looks back over to Baldur and asks, "Did you want to take a look around a little?"
Baldur gives a small shake of his head as he takes his dish and glass into the kitchen to rinse. "No. Should I find something I want, I would be hard pressed to come up with something to trade for it so best not to chance the Norns using the opportunity to torment me. I was thinking of departing as well. If you wish to stay, I will simply call Gisl to my side and ride back."
Adam takes the cardboard goggles with the care of a draft horse accepting a sugar cube from a toddler. "How do I—ah, I see. No, I have no problems with vertigo, or speed." Now he sounds amused, a little. He glances over the railing again. "Asgardian lords, well met, if you now go. May we meet again in equally convivial circumstances."
Peter looks down and waves. He didn't really meet them. Ships that pass in the night, his Uncle Ben once said.
He turned to face Adam, then reached out to adjust the elastic straps. "Hang on."
For a few moments, Adam is in darkness. Then there is a quiet beep and Adam's vision fills with white light. The white fades to color, and then he is…
He is standing in front of Peter…and HIMSELF. His eyes are below theirs. He can see Peter putting on black gloves with little wires along the fingertips, and then putting on the other set of goggles. He taps a button on the side, and then presses his left thumb against the side of his hand, and lifts the hand.
And Adam's view rises, until he is facing the goggled Adam and Peter at eye level.
"You okay, sir?" Peter asks.
Fandral shakes his head and says, "Let's not chance the Norns this evening. There will be other times to visit for longer." He calls out a farewell to those who had ventured upstairs, calling out, "Well met! I am sure that we will. Be well." And with that he heads toward the door once more, stepping out into the evening air.
"Fare well and a fair night to you." Baldur calls as he heads out into the night with Fandral. "Perhaps one day we shall feat together."
Adam moves as if to counterbalance against the changes in his vision. He holds up a hand, turning it over to watch via the drone. "Ingenious. I'm well, I suffer nothing." All his fingers fold over, one by one. "Ahh, if the naturalists of my youth had had such a device! The knowledge they could have achieved. Always bound by the cruelties of gravity and time, they were."
Peter smiled to himself, then turned the dragonfly. As he did, Adam found he could see to the left, the right, up and down, simply by moving his head.
"Okay, sir, hang on. We're going for a little ride."
Then the drone flew up and out through the roof access, and then the city lights spread out before them. It was late dusk, deepening into night.
"The earlier models were good for up to two miles, but this one should make five. Should it get too much for you, close your eyes and remove the rig. Otherwise…enjoy."
Adam makes the first sudden movement: he jerks, huge hands spreading on instinct for balance. "Now I understand why you asked me of vertigo and speed," he remarks, interest livening his tone. "To believe oneself flying, while one's body remains at rest, it has vertiginous potential." He smiles too, in a rare moment of unalloyed pleasure. "The city has its charms, from such a viewpoint. Ah, the dusk is lovely. Five miles, you say? Could it manage five miles vertically?"
Peter hmmed. "Above 1.5 miles, the air gets too thin for the wings to function. I lose lift at that point."
The drone angles itself along the major city street far below it. The flight is straight and level, and while there is no sense of air resistance, there is a whisper of wind that comes through the speakers.
Peter "taps" with his right index finger, and a display comes up. On it is speed (35 MPH), altitude (215 feet), wind direction (5 MPH SSW), and a smaller box with RANGE. Under that, it says 0.3/2.1 and then the 0.3 becomes 0.4.
"Any place you would like to see?"
"I suppose the little one cannot yet overcome such limits," Adam says, thoughtful. "The day is not long off when it shall. A mere fifty years ago, the idea of such a device stretched credibility." He sways with the motion of the drone. "I find I wish to reach to grasp the buildings as if they were toys. The Cloisters, if you would be so kind."
Peter pulled up a map. "Ouch…Sorry, sir. That's way too far even if this COULD go the distance from the Village to Hudson Heights." His mouth drooped a little, but perked up. "How about Times Square?"
"How short it seems on foot. How short, indeed, it seems from the air. 'Tis too easy to fool the eye, even mine." Adam doesn't seem disappointed, rather very, very interested. "When one stands on a mountaintop, one wishes to simply step across to the next range. Very well, Times Square, then."
"Gotcha…and if you're going to be my observer, then I have to confess I never got your name."
The drone heads north towards Times Square, the RANGE ticking over at each tenth of a mile. The city building look like canyons, with rivers of white and red lights flowing along them in opposite directions.
"Adam. My name is Adam. I am Victor Frankenstein's child. In some of the papers, they call me the Monster of New York." Adam absently explains who he is, too focused on the drone images to think about how it sounds. "May I know your name, that I may know whose deed is the little creature?" He looks down, his hood slipping off, and although he catches a fold of it, he doesn't pull it back on immediately. Yes…yes, the rumors of how horrifying he looks are all true.
Peter can't see it, but his father had read that to him, as well as the history behind it. He is about to call the guy a liar, but he stops himself. The scars, the build…the guy could make a case for it.
And if that is true, then Peter suddenly realizes what that entails. Makes a set of clothes drenched with urine seem like small potatoes in comparison.
He takes a deep breath, then says, "My name is Peter Parker." Yes, the screen had said PARKERSOFT, hadn't it? He didn't even notice when the RANGE went from 2.1/2.1 to 2.2/2.2 and still climbing.
"…I'm sorry. I can't imagine what it was like for you."
Adam pauses, then, sensing the change in Peter's demeanor. "Thank you," he murmurs, serious and quiet. He can't see Peter, but he can tell there was a realization there. "Yes. My life has …known difficulties." There's a Victorian understatement if ever there was one. "I am glad to meet you, young Peter Parker. Your device tells me it has reached its capacity, yet it continues to fly."
"What…? OH!" Peter smiles. Adam can hear it in his voice. "We're past the limit from the previous model! From here on out, everything is uncharted territory!" He takes a breath, then says, "I'm not going to patronize you by saying I can understand. I just…I can just sympathize. It seems like nothing at all, but it's the best I can do."
"It is everything, sympathy. Hate, that is nothing. Disgust and contempt and fear, they are nothing, worse than nothing. Sympathy is a kindness, and kindness I shall never disregard."
To see Adam's face is to understand why Victor Frankenstein screamed and fled in terror from his newborn creation. Yet now he smiles again, faint, at Peter's excitement. "You honor me by allowing me an observation of a thing never done before. I worry for your dragonfly. What happens if its range is exceeded?"
Peter chuckled. "If the edges of your vision start to blur, that means the signal is so weak that degradation cannot be compensated for. We'll just turn around."
Adam can see that the left hand is acting as steering and throttle, while the other hand interfaces with the display. He can see the outline of Peter's right hand as it taps certain "switches" seen only onscreen. He called them "virtual controls."
Peter then launched into a short description of the power source of the drone (a tiny hearing-aid battery) and is about to finish when he stops and says, "Holy cow, we're…"
And then they crest the skyscraper and see Times Square laid out before them like a spill of multi-colored jewels. Gleaming taxis moving along the road like Hot Wheels cars moved by unseen hands, multiple screens advertising for Coke, Stark Tech, Estee Lauder, OsCorp Home Tech, In 'N Out Burger.
They hovered a mile above Times Square, gazing down at it.
The RANGE box said 5.4/5.4.
"So…worth the price of admission, Adam?"
"A little under five and a half miles. I'd say your ingenuity has been well rewarded. There is no blurring." Adam is pleased, but his pleasure fades as he settles in to the view of Times Square. "It's beautiful in its way, like a field of glowing flowers. Perhaps a bee perceives such a glow in a true flower." He may not be that excited about it, though. It's an awful lot of sheer humanity packed into a very small space—all of Manhattan is. "Admission?" he says, puzzled. Then he smiles again. "Ah. Such a price I am glad to pay."
Peter nods. "Well, looks like we have just enough charge left to bring this aircraft back to the hangar." He taps another button, and taps in a small keyboard REVERSE PATH, and hits the ENTER "key." "I'll just have it fly back along the same route."
He closes his eyes, then removes the rig, looking at Adam fondly. He'd been a beast in the novel…but maybe his anger hadn't been without cause. He couldn't imagine that kind of rage. Maybe he was lucky that way.
At least the book had been right about one thing. There was a refined intelligence behind that marred face.