2019-09-08 - Meeting a Stranger...

Summary:

Spider-Man encounters three people—two dead, one alive, but…strange.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun Sep 8 02:11:56 2019
Location: Alley in Queens, NYC

Related Logs

None

Theme Song

None

peter-parkerduela

A Queens back alley after midnight is everything you'd expect it to be: dark, dirty, and depraved. The pavement glistens with a dirty shine from rain earlier in the evening, as the clouds stubbornly refuse to give way to moonlight. As if this place is not worthy of being touched. And perhaps it's not. The worst is the stench of what the rain has wet, and left for dead. Dumpsters and piles of garbage line the edges of the alleyway, in a solemn and sordid procession.

But perhaps that, tonight, is't the worst of all. Five gunshots ring out from the alley behind two abandoned buildings. One, a forgotten pawn shop, the bars on the windows now jailing only rats, and squatters. The other was once the office of a bail bondsman. It apologetically advertises "Ope 24 ours" on a neon sign out in front, where N's and H's are commodities that are hard to come by.

There is a gravelly, rhythmic sound of someone beating feet down the alley, as those in the area who shouldn't be in the area also stir, peeking out windows from between dirty and derelict blinds. No one /should/ be in this area. Not human, or mutant, or moonlight. But that doesn't mean anything to the figure standing in the alleyway, looking down solemnly at the form of a youth lying on the pavement. What really means anything, anymore, anyway?

His Uncle Ben had told him "With Great Power Must Come Great Responsibility." But the one that he had to learn on his own, the one that was more painful to accept, was "Sometimes…You Can't Save Everyone."

But he tried. Oh, God, how he tried. But sometimes he wasn't in time. Like Uncle Ben. Like Leah, the little girl who had idolized him, maybe even dreamed about him as coma transitioned into death.
And now, it looked like there might be another one to add to the list, another picture to add to the Gallery of What Couldn't Be.

Spidey landed on the wall of the alley, crouching there as he looked down at the youth laying in the grime and slime of the alley. But it's the other one who gets his attention. ALICE has alreaady informed him that the boy was dead.

"…Okay. Who are you?" he asks. No more laughter, no more fun.

A face slowly turns up toward the voice, peering at him from beneath a violet velvet tophat. Doleful eyes, wide and green, are set within pale white flesh, as the neon paints it shades of red and blue. From a wide, cadmium red smile, a soft and sorrowful voice: "Me? I'm nobody. Who are you?"

Spider-Man looks at her speculatively for a moment. "I'm just your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. And I don't buy it. Nobody is 'nobody.'" He looked her over. Kinda risque steampunk, but asa guy wearing glorified pajamas, who is he to judge?
"Did you kill him, were you here when he died…or are you a witness after the fact?"

"I'm nobody, but sometimes people call me names," she replies matter-of-factly, nearly devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

The girl looks down again to the lifeless form at her feet. "He was already dead when he ran into the alley."

Spider-Man descended slowly until he could drop to the alley, landing lightly on his feet. He looked to the woman, then straightened. "You have to have some kind of name, miss. Something you call yourself." He crouched to get a better scan of the guy.

The young woman looks up and watches in wonder as Spider-Man descends to the street. Her lips form a smile much more pleasant than the one painted upon her face. "That's beautiful," she says to him as he begins to crouch. "That's an entrance. You should have started with that."

Then, to his question, she puzzles, adjusting the green-glass goggles on her hat, then her hat, and she rubs her forehead. "I don't call me anything, but sometimes, God, he calls me Duela. And I'm sure God would know, wouldn't he, Mister?"

Spider-Man looks a little self-conscious. "Sorry…out of respect for this guy here, I felt I should limit the showmanship." He takes a deep breath. "All right…Duela. Good a name as any. You can call me Spidey, or just Webhead if you like." He holds his hand over the corpse. "Ouch…poor guy. Shot multiple times. Better notify the police, so they can try to find out what happened, maybe see if he has any family or friends." He stands up. "We…we should let him be. Avoid screwing up the forensics." He looks past the alley to the bench near the small lot someone tried to convert into a garden. No garden, but the grass is there. "What say you and I talk over there?"

Duela looks down at the corpse again. The dead man was wearing a grubby white tee-shirt, but it is now all but soaked with blood. Likewise his dingy jeans. The only thing pristine is his sneakers, which are brand new and look expensive. He has dusty blonde hair, and blue eyes that look for moonlight, but find none. "I know his name," Duela says. "I saw it all. The dead boy ran into the alley, and I know his name." But she trails after Spider-Man, her own voice hollow. It doesn't echo off the streets or walls. It is a void in and of itself.

Spidey walks to the bench, but does not sit down until after she does, if she opts to sit. She seems…disconnected, somehow, but people react differently to trauma. And by the look of the smile on her face, before it had adopted a more natural, more REAL cast, this scene might not be the trauma she's dealing with.
"Well…why don't you tell me what happened? The police will need to know, but I can do all I can to keep you out of it."

Duela sits down and crosses her feet at the ankles. Her feet, no longer reaching the ground, swing slowly to and fro. When she speaks, she gestures, pointing here and there as the story unfolds.

"He was dead when he ran in," Duela repeats. "He ran in over there," she points. "Nobody was behind the dumpster there. Watching. And God, he was there watching, too. And the man, he was over there." She points to a spot near the dead boy. "And the dead boy spoke first." Her expression takes on a twisted and vile tone.

"You got the stuff, give it over," she says in a lowered and gravelly voice. "Nothin funny this time, I'm sicka your shit."

In another, low but calm tone, she replies to herself. "I dunno what you mean, man. What stuff?"

"You think you're funny?!" she says again in the gravelly and angry voice. "I'll kill your ass right here."

She reaches behind herself, at her waist. "He reached," she said. "And the man pulled out a gun. BAM BAM, BAMBAMBAM! And the dead boy saw the holes when he looked down, and only then did he realize he was dead. He staggered forward, then back, and then he doubled up and fell."

Pointing back to the dumpster, she continues. "Nobody was over there, but then she was somebody. Because when Nobody is with God, I'm Duela. And Duela is me. But God cried out. "Duela, run!" And God left the dead boy, and the man ran the other way. And I was Nobody. And Nobody doesn't run from nothin'."

The retelling is…eerie. But she has no weapon he can see (and her outfit doesn't leave much to the imagination) and it has the ring of authenticity to it. If she is lying, she is a loss to the theatre.

So, she is "Nobody" when she has to be brave, when she has to act. And talking to God? Not really going to count that out, considering how many conversations HE has with God. They all tend to end the same way, though.

"All right, Duela…if you saw the shooter again, would you recognize him?" He taps a couple of virtual keys and the holo-emitter in the mask opens up a blue image of a box with a featureless male head. "We can register what he looks like, give it to the police, and then they won't bother you…"

"I'd know him," Duela says quietly. "But he was dead, too. He just didn't know it, yet." She looks curiously at the hologram of the featureless male head, and she reaches out to touch it, her fingers swishing right through the image. "Story of my life," she replies solemnly, and lowers her hand again. "I don't know the Man's name, but the dead boy is called Douchebag. Even when he is dead. Because I heard the Man say Douchebag, as he turned to run away. I thought God was gonna chase him, but God didn't want to be involved. He ran the other way."

"Hang on." He reaches up to touch something, something only he can see, and a menu appears to the left of the head. He taps something, and a menu of head shapes appears next to the featureless main one. "Okay, I've got the feedback on. Touch the shape that the shooter's head most looks like."

Duela hesitantly reaches up to touch a shape. Her finger passes through. "I can't touch it," she says, even as it is chosen and comes to the forefront. "Nothin's real anymore. Kids these days, I tell ya…" She furrows her brow, looking back over toward the dead boy lying on the street. "He's looking for moonlight," she says softly. "But he has holes that the moonlight would refuse to fill. The Man made them, to prove to him he was dead. And the Dead Boy, he doubled up and fell. And his holes, they fell with him, and God left."

Spider-Man sighed. He restarted the feedback plugin, then said, "I'm sorry, Duela. We can only do so much for him, and I'd like you to help me, please. Try again."
This time, touching the shape immediately changes the main face shape to the one Duela picks. "We're going to gown through each part, like a puzzle. When we assemble him the right way, we should get his face. But our pieces are going to be different parts of his face. We can assemble it together, you and me."

Upon choosing a shape, then another, then another, Duela seems enthralled in the game. For the first time since Spider-Man arrived, she seems focused and coherent. Her finger deftly moves between features, choosing one, then another. Down to the tiniest detail. "This is the Man," she says, as she chooses his mouth. "It's not him exactly. But it's nearly him. It's the mouth, y'see? Something in the corners of the mouth. That isn't him at all, but it's close. It's as close as I can get. But there's no place for the holes."

Spider-Man nods. She is very intuitive. Picks up on the interface easily, was focused and precise when oriented on the "game."
"This should be enough." He taps on the image and saves it. I'll send this to the cops. They should be here in five minutes or so." He pauses. "Do you have someplace to go? Is your home near here?"

Duela stops to tilt her head, watching Spider-Man intently for a moment. As if trying to decipher something that is just out of reach. "He won't be far." She points again in the direction where he ran. "You can follow the blood. The last two BAMS were his, but they weren't from his gun. They just belonged to him. They came from over there." She nods toward the dumpster. "Cause he saw Duela when he turned, and he raised his gun. And God fired. "BAMBAM!" And the Man ran that way. And God ran the other way. 'Duela, run!" And Duela ran with him, and left Nobody behind. Because Nobody can't run from nothin'."

Initially, it sounds like crazy talk, but there is a language she speaks, It's English, but it's her English, her interpretation of the reality she sees. If you listen for it, you can decode it.
"I'll tell the cops about that. Maybe they can follow it back to him." He paused. "Thank you, Duela. I'm glad you're okay."
"Okay" being a relative term, but as Polonius had said in Hamlet, if this was madness, there was a method to it.

"Okay," replies the Harlequin, and she stands, and brushes the damp off her velvet coattails. She looks at Spider-Man a moment longer. "So." She looks both ways. The direction that God had run, and the direction that the Man had run. And she chooses the lighter path. As she rounds the corner, she steps over a second form in the darkness, hardly giving it a second glance. After all, she knows what that one looks like. And now, so do the Police.

Duela. Her name is Duela, except when it is Nobody. An old rhyme seems to surface in his mind as he watches her leave, following just far enough until he sees the second body.

"But yesterday night I got quite a scare
I woke up and Nobody just WASN'T there!
I called out and reached for Nobody's hand,
In the darkness where Nobody usually stands,
Then I poked through the house, in each cranny and nook,
But I found SOMEBODY each place that I looked.
I seached till I'm tired, and now with the dawn…"

Spider-Man looked up to see an empty alley.

"…There's no doubt about it-
NOBODY'S GONE!!"

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