Summary:Whether it's Parker Luck or Wayne Luck, Helena and Peter's date is interrupted. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Holy cow…we're at THE LONDON!
All he said was that he was watching MasterChef in the evenings and the next hing he knows, Helena asked him out to dinner. All she said was, "It's a surprise." When he was picked up, he was wearing the suit he hadn't worn since the gala at the Wakandan embassy. He'd had to dust it off, of course. When they had pulled up at the entrance to The London, Peter was so flabbergasted he had been struck dumb. And, to top it all off, Ramsey himself was overseeing a new chef here…so he might actually SEE the guy!
Helena's dress is a little less fancy than the one she wore to the embassy. Those are for camera events, after all. But she's definitely broken out the formal attire in a navy blue cocktail dress that brings out her eyes, her hair down around her shoulders. She's not shy about driving either. The truth is, she loves her fast cars and she doesn't make any apologies about it.
Once they arrive, she links hands with Peter to walk with him to the hostess at the front, equal partners. "Okay, so, Dad and I are still a little tense right now, so it's not exactly the chef's table, but I thought you'd enjoy it anyhow," she grins.
Peter is looking around like the country mouse, and he suddenly realizes Helena said something to him. "Hunh? Oh…hey, this is amazing even if we get a seat next to the kitchen. I thought there was a six-month waiting list for this place."
He doesn't expect Ramsey do do any shouting or swearing. He tends to save those for people who call themselves chefs yet can't meet the standard.
"Uhm…this is really amazing, Helena…"
"Well, don't think I did anything too impressive," Helena chuckles, smile crooked. "The truth is one of my friends from school had a reservation because it was her and her boyfriend's year long anniversary. Except he went to Yale, while she stayed in the city. And last weekend she got the 'this whole long distance thing isn't working out' call."
She manages to look just a little sheepish as she follows the hostess to a table. It's not next to the bathrooms, but it's definitely a table they've saved for the kids of people who might come and spend more money another time. "I might have sniped the reservation while in the process of consoling her."
Peter is still rubbernecking, but has the presence to stand while Helena is seated before sitting down himself. He takes the menu the waitress provides, taking a deep breath before opening it. "…Jeez Louise…" he whispers. "Yikes. It all looks delicious, but GOSH…"
"Don't you even dare look at a price," Helena warns without even looking up from her own menu, lips twitching toward a smile. "Seriously, Pete. One of the things I love the most about you is that you treat me like a person. You just look at…me. Not my name, not any of the rest of it. So let's just enjoy you and me, doing something that we can be grateful we get a chance to do, yeah?"
Peter takes a deep breath. It's not easy. He's been worried about money for the last two years, pinching every penny. To cut loose is expected every once in awhile, but he has to fight thinking about how many weeks of food this would buy. He can afford this now. The bills are paid. Aunt May can come home to a clean house without walking like the Little Mermaid, like she has knives in her feet.
Relax.
He opens his eyes again, and says, "…Okay. I can do that, Helena. For you."
He looks back, then says, "Well…the filet mignon looks good…"
As if Helena didn't already slip a card to the hostess when they walked in. "It's hard to go wrong with that," she agrees with an easy smile. "So how's school going? Enjoying your classes? Making progress with the meatheads?"
Peter looks to her. His smile is slight, but relaxed and warm. "Doc Connors says I'm exceeding his expectations for me. I just do my work, but he says his gain is MIT's loss. I aced the prelims and got moved ahead to the Advanced Chem 403 class on my third day. I'm working on a project involving the old rituals of alchemy and how they relate to modern chemistry. I found this bookstore in the Village, a little old-books bookstore named Cover Story. They clerk was a little odd, though."
His head suddenly tilts. "…Crud." He looks to the kitchen. "Helena…get ready to get down…"
"You know, I know someone who probably has some resources on ancient magic and alchemy," Helena starts to say, though she stiffens slightly when he says she might need to get down. She doesn't rubberneck, but if he's paying attention, he might notice her palm a steak knife under the napkin in her lap.
Peter smiles embarrasedly. "Gotta head to the bathroom. Sorry, Helena. I'll be back before you know it."
He gets up, then heads towards the bathroom, slipping inside moments before his idol, Gordon Ramsey, leaves the kitchen. But he's not leaving to meet a patron or greet a fan—he has a shotgun muzzle pressed against his back by a guy dressed like a waiter but is wearing a ski mask. Three others, a chef and two other waiters, all wearing ski masks, come out with guns.
"ALL RIGHT! EVERYONE ON THE FLOOR NOW!" The chef discharges his shotgun, and there is a mix of cries and screams as everyone goes to the floor. A "waiter" drops the privacy curtains while the other one sweeps the room with the barrel of his shotgun.
"All right, Gordo! Get they money! Everyone else, the prices on this greasy-spoon JUST went up! Wallets, purses, jewelry, you know the drill!"
Helena grimaces as Peter slips away, though it's not anything against him. It's more jealousy. She just…can't exactly explain that herself. These are the times when it really sucks to be recognizable. Just existing can escalate the situation. Quietly, she lets her hair fall down to curtain her features, wasting no time in gathering the required offerings.
Of course, she also sticks a tracker on the back of her watch.
The thugs moves through the crowd while the ringleader keeps Ramsey under watch. Everything is going according to plan.
Until they hear, very clearly, a toilet flush.
"Chef, check the bathrooms."
The chef nods, heading to the men's bathroom and going inside, gun drawn.
For a few seconds, silence. Then a thump.
"Pierre?" the leader calls out. Not his real name, of course, but still…
No answer. The leader frowns, looking around while he pushes Ramsey tro the floor.
Helena can see a little better, and her instincts and awareness of Peter's particular skills cause her to look where no one else is. Up.
Above the dining area, one ceiling tile slides aside and Spider-Man creeps out, looking down at the scene.
Helena stays low next to her table, doing her best to stay still and quiet. Don't startle them. That's the problem with amateurs. You can't startle them or they start pulling triggers. And in a crowd full of civilians? That's a problem. The goal is to keep everyone safe now. She does, however, also slide a plate off of the top of the table, holding it against her body. Sure, she could just be frightening. Or she could be ready to fling it.
"Whoever's in there, come on out!" Hammers are cocked back, shotguns are raised. "No time to play hero!"
Three weblines shoot down tosnag the guns, which are suddenly YANKED up towards the ceiling, Eyes go skyward to see Spider-Man looking down at them.
"Good…because playtime is OVER." He drops down as the three remaining waiters draw back, the ringleader backing up towards Helena as the spider meets his ointment.
There's no better distraction than Spider-Man! As the gunmen find themselves without guns and distracted, Helena takes advantage of that moment to fling the plate at the back of the ringleader's head. Something tells her Peter probably wouldn't appreciate her knife skills.
The ringleader is about to bail when the plate catches him right at the nape of the neck and he goes down without a sound. Spidey is impressed, but the other two don't seem to realize they are now outnumbered and outmatched. A number of New Yorkers are mightily hacked off that they are having their night out ruined. Babysitters are hella expensive.
So, when Spidey webs up the other two and hangs then from a load-bearing strut, he is most likely rescuing them from the combined wrath of served, servers, staff, and an incensed owner.
"Oh, bloody CHRIST am I glad YOU'RE here!" Ramsey says in an explosive gust of ire rewarded.
Spidey drops to the floor, then bows slightly to Ramsey. "Hello, sir. Sorry about the mess." He glances over to the resourceful Helena. He had no idea she was that capable. But then again, having a billionaire for a father would necessitate self-defense. He walks over to Helena. "Nice shot, miss."
"Just lucky," Helena replies to Spider-Man as she stands up, palming the knife back onto the table as she does. "Besides, you'd already done all the hard work, Spider-Man," she says with a faint smirk, shaking a hand through her hair. "It's too bad my boyfriend missed it. He's a big fan of yours."
Spidey raised an eyebrow. "Well, if I see him, I'll send him your way." He gives a quick wave, and then waves to everyone else as he exits. Ramsey shakes his head. "Blimey…never thought I'd see him in person."
One minute leter, Peter steps out of the men's room, looking a little disheveled, his shirt untucked. "Uhm…there's a chef webbed to the wall in the men's room…" he tells a server, who heads to the front to notify the cops.
He sits down at the table, then looks around. "Did…I miss something?"
Helena's lips twitch as Peter rejoins the table, shaking her head. "Nope, nothing big. Just a little would-be stick up." She winks, leaning back in her chair a bit and looking around. "Well. I have a feeling this might interfere with the whole eating part of the plan. But at least it's been memorable. And I wouldn't be surprised if they gave us vouchers to come back for another meal. Seems like the sort of place you might want to take Aunt May for a special day."
Peter looks around, then leans forward. "Listen…About a block down is a food truck that serves Italian food, and they have the best calzones. What say you and I get food on the hoof?"
Helena shakes her head, smile crooked. "You know, if I thought there was a chance of us getting a meal here before midnight, I'd tell you to sit down and be patient," she teases. "But it's probably going to take them roughly forever to get things running again, so…Yeah. You win this time, Parker."
Peter grins, then crrooks his arm. "Let's go, Helena."
One profound pology, one autograph, two free meal vouchers, and ten minutes later, the two of them approach Pino's Pizzeria a la Carte, and Peter is nodded. "Hope this isn't too much of a comedown. I know you worked a little magic to put it all together."
"I hope you're not about to apologize," Helena laughs, slipping an arm around his waist. "Pretty sure you can't be blamed for some robbers showing up. Actually, now that I think of it, I probably still owe you for me being to blame for the whole graduation party ransom thing. Anyhow, it's fine," she shrugs. "I wanted to take you somewhere special, and…well, at least it was memorable, right?"
Peter chuckled. "You're pretty memorable yourself, Helena. It may sound corny, but I can remember the first time we met at the science fair with perfect clarity. It's still a little odd for me to think someone would have a crush on me, after all…"
"You say that, but I feel like you're selling yourself short there." Helena leans into him, lifting one shoulder in an awkward shrug. "What can I say? There's just something really exciting about someone you can go toe to toe with on an intellectual level. Someone you can admire. Way better than..I don't know. What is it that girls are supposed to be looking for anyhow?"
Peter sighs. "I'm practically the last person to ask. I used to think girls liked me for my mind, but it was just for my notes, help with tests, free tutoring, etc. Especially when they'd be friendly in private and caustic in public. What DO you want for yourself, Helena?"
"That's a serious dick move," Helena wrinkles her nose. "I'm sorry they were like that." At his question, though, she pauses, giving it some serious thought. "I want someone who can keep up with me. Someone to challenge me. A sense of humor. I mean, the abs of sickness, as Kori put it, aren't exactly on the cons list," she teases.
"And 'the Buns of the Tightness,' as she calls them." Peter smirks, then stops as they get up to the window and he orders a meatball calzone. "These are great if you're a carnivore at heart, Helena." He pauses, giving enough silence for Helena to order her food.
"I'm a classic pepperoni sort of girl," Helena grins, putting in her own order. "And if other people never noticed you before, then it's their loss. To me, you've always been impressive."
Peter's cheeks flush red immediately. "Well, you're pretty impressive yourself, Helena. It's why I didn't want to rush you into anything regarding…you know, us. I respect you too much. But I do have feelings for you, Helena." He looks up and realizes he is getting amorous while still in line, and quickly moves off to the side with Helena. "I just…wanted to make sure you knew that."
Helena's answer to that is simple: she reaches up to cup his cheek in one hand and leans in for a kiss. "Me too, Pete," she says quietly, smile flickering. "For you, that is. That sort of came out wrong? It was supposed to sound Han Solo cool, but it came off derpy, didn't it?" She laughs, ducking her chin with a shake of her head. "It's okay. I get that our lives are…weird, and busy, and everything else. There's no rush."
Peter nods, flustered by the kiss. That kiss was…jeez, IQ of 250 and he can't find the words for it. "Well…our agreement stands. If you want this to be something more, you will need to make the first move. I'll welcome it if it does, but I'll understand if ti doesn't."
"I'm…" Helena hesitates, tightening her grip on his hand. "I'm kind of happy to take it slow. And it's really important that you know that it's not because I don't have feelings for you. It's because I don't want to screw it up, okay? We'll get there."
Peter nods. "I can accept that. But what will all your followers say? I wonder if I'm going to get burned in effigy because I'm keeping you 'off the market.'" He snickers.
Helena snorts a laugh, rolling her eyes. "Please. I'm pretty sure the general public thinks Dad's got a tower somewhere to keep me locked up in. Like some weird little girl in a Victorian tale or something. Obviously I'm touched in the head," she winks.
Peter chuckles. "Odd. I don't see any bats in your belfry…" He stops as their order is called, and he reaches out to grasp the two paper baskets with their food.
"Oh, you never see the bats," Helena chuckles. "But the bats always see you." More than you can possibly know, even. She takes her basket, ready to dig in. This is definitely later than she planned on eating, courtesy of some would-be stick up artists.