2019-09-22 - Reconnecting With Your Friends

Summary:

Peter and Anya meet up after the Dr. Gatling battle.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun Sep 22 00:00:00 2019
Location: 20 Ingram Street, Queens, NY

Related Logs

None

Theme Song

None

anya-corazonpeter-parker

The broken arms suffered by Spider-Girl didn't take too terribly long to heal, thanks to the help given by Agent Harman. SHIELD gave the young woman some help as well, namely in nourishing her and offering to help patch up the cuts and bruises she'd sustained. However, try as she might, the young woman hasn't been able to sleep. About 17 hours after the battle, with a thermos full of caffeine (Dino's Coffee refers to it as a Depth Charge; 3 shots of espessso in coffee, black), she's swinging up and down the streets of Brooklyn, headed in the general direction of Queens.

Go figure, it's a slow night. She hasn't happened upon anyone that needs webbing, punching or kicking, and though her body is in that funny place between tired and wired, her brain is definitely the latter. Eventually she fires off a direct message to Spider-Man: «You and your girl okay?»

Spider-Man is currently Peter Parker now. He is sitting on the roof of the house at 20 Ingram Street, and Aunt May is already in bed, sleeping the sleep of the pure of heart and uncomplicated of life. He looks down at his phone as the message comes up, sighing softly. «She's recovering. Showered for about two hours, I think. We told each other how we couldn't have saved those people without allowing a clockwork pandemic loose on thee world.» He paused, then asked, «How are you holding up?»

«I don't understand any of it.» «I mean, I read the mission logs or whatever, but this stuff is so over my head.» «I don't really care. She healed my arm up. It's fine. It's weird but it's fine.» «I cant sleep. Where are you?»

The messages come in rapid fire, one after the other, as if Spider-Girl is an Olympic Texter. She's doing it all while swinging one handed through the city, that thermos half full of caffeine dangling from the black backpack over her shoulders.

Peter smiled, and a moment later, a waypoint with Spider-Man's symbol appeared on her HUD, pinpointing his location. «You can find me on the roof. Land quietly. I'm the schmuck in the civvies.»

«Stand by. Omw»

It takes her about ten minutes. New York is pretty big, but it really isn't that huge when you aren't held up by pesky things like traffic or stop lights. As she's grown more comfortable with her powers, Anya has learned of a new thing… in silence and darkness, she becomes all but invisible. Only the sound of a webline thwipping through the air announces her arrival. The landing doesn't have a sound at all, and she can't even be seen until she steps into the light cast by orange street lamps.

The roof is angled, but in good condition, and it is solid under her feet for a house that is decades old. Peter is there, looking up above the treeline (which comes in handy for a certain Spider to slip in and out of the area).

He looks up to see Anya. He looks…a little lost. No wry smile, no attempts at jokes. Just a somber, "Hey."

Spider-Girl isn't really expecting him to be in civvies and de-masked. She had figured it to be another of his jokes, so she's a bit caught off guard to find him as just some young man, by the look of it, even younger than she. That also catches her off guard; she'd expected him to be older. 26, 27 maybe.

"Oh, uh. Wow. Hey. No mask, huh? You were serious."

Walking silently over, she reaches up to pull the mask off her face, leaving it free to dangle behind her neck. Her mohawk is all flat now, sticking to her shaved head with the sweat of so many web-slung blocks.

Sitting down, she curls her legs up beneath herself and wraps her arms around her knees, perching the backpack between her feet. "I guess it doesn't really matter any more, does it?" she asks.

Peter says without looking at her, "…Didn't seem fair. I knew who you were. Thought you were entitled to know who I was." He seems very very tired, but still alert. "…Did you go for the reversible backpack option like I did, so no one would recognize your backpack?"

Had she been in a better frame of mind, Anya would have recognized him already. The familiarity isn't lost on her, but, it's been a rough day for everyone. "Nah," she says. "It's all black, I just stuff it in my other one. I keep Anya stuff outside of it, so I can just whip it out, web the big one to my clothes wherever I'm leaving them. I figure, if I ever get caught, at least there's nothing in this one linking her to me."

She's got her eyes on the rooftops for now, but after a moment, she glances down, taking note of the neighborhood.

Peter nods, looking back out. After a moment, he took a deep breath.

"I want to think that we destroyed Gatling, but the more I think about it, the more I'm afraid that something or someone was behind her, and that person is still loose in the world. I felt something…unsettling, even after that machine was destroyed."

"We all felt something," Anya answers. "That whole situation was… fucked up." She looks over to him, a frown on her face. "For some of us, a lot more than others." Her eyes are empathetic, but a sadness enters them too. "I didn't even know you were with someone. I could'a been around to know, maybe could'a helped prevent something. I know, it's water under the bridge, but, I'm sorry."

Peter looks to Anya. "Thea, you mean? We're not together. She…she's my sister in everything but blood. We're not dating. We…we trust each other. If she said that I had to chop off my leg, the only thing I'd ask is 'Right or left?'"

A flush of embarrassment enters her cheeks, but Anya doesn't spout off any defense. She does nod her head to confirm that she's talking about Thea, but the last remark draws a coy smirk. "Just the leg? Arms are too valuable, huh?" She knows it's just a play on words, it's in her tone of voice.

With a sigh, she turns her eyes back upon the city, while reaching into her backpack to produce a protein bar wrapped up in SHIELD ration wrapping. Two of them are taken out, one offered to Peter. "I don't think anything is really ever over," she remarks. "Seems like there's always someone else out there wanting to bring the ruckus."

Peter takes the protein bar, then picks up something sitting on the other side of his body and places it between them—a plastic container filled with homemade brownies with chocolate chips in them.
"I know. And there usually is. And when it comes, there will be people like us to meet it head on. Maybe we're more Don Quixote than Zorro…but the alternative is to do nothing. And that option sucks dead green bunnies through a straw."

The reference draws Anya's attention back to Peter, mouth curled into a crooked smile. "So what you're saying is, modern society thinks we're crazy." She nods her head. "Maybe that ass hat over at the Bugle is just trying to fit a part in the narrative."

Opening her protein bar, she opts for it first; those brownies are going to taste a lot better than dry peanuts, chalky 'chocolate' and some gooey material that's probably similar to what they ate in the real world in the Matrix.

"I'm more like Poe Dameron," she remarks. "And it gets me into trouble."

Peter smiles for the first time. It is a pained smile.

"We are helping people without expecting compensation. We jump into danger, often without regard for our own safety. We serve others, without expecting entitlements for the powers we have." He chuckles. "OF COURSE we're crazy. But doing the right thing without putting ourselves first is counter-productive to the world." He pauses. "You go to church, Anya?"

"It's counter productive to everything the world tries to tell us we should do," Anya somewhat agrees. "But that doesn't mean it's wrong."

When asked of church, she visibly sighs. It takes her a moment to formulate an answer. "No, not for a long time. Abuela, everyone, even my mama and papa when they were here, they were Catholic." She shakes her head. "I can't… I can't be around it without thinking of all those things the crooked Priests did, how the Vatican covers it up, how they're sitting on enough wealth to feed the world." She shakes her head again. "I don't, but, that doesn't mean I don't believe."

Peter nods. "I do. Every Sunday with Aunt May. I realized I go more regularly than I used to. My Uncle said my brain was a gift. These powers are a different kind of gift. But gifts like these have to be used responsibly. I didn't realize that when I was younger, but I'm all too aware of it now. If I *can* help, then I *do* help. That's the long and short of it. Deceptively simple, isn't it? Simple in concept…difficult in practice."

There is a sense of understanding on Anya's face. "It's why I hold back," she tells him. "I see someone beating on someone, it's one thing. I see someone beating on someone 'cause they're black, or queer, or a 'dork' -" She makes quote marks in the air "- or a woman? That stuff… it makes me see red. What I want to do is break their jaws so bad they can't ever speak again, but… I know it's wrong. It ain't my place to do that." A deep breath is taken. "Plus, I just might punch right through their skull. Difficult in practice? You're damn right. But… I don't want to become one of them while trying to stop them."

Peter nods, biting into the protein bar. He grimaces. "When I was ten, Carl King made a chocolate-covered turd pie and made me eat it. This reminds me of that day." He puts the protein bar down. "Sorry. But that thing tastes pretty bad."

He looks to her. "We have to tell ourselves to hold back all the time. We have to be better than them. Being a hero is a tough job." He looks to Anya. "Because it HAS to be."

The remark draws a hard snort from Anya. A derisive swear is uttered in Spanish. "We always remember the names of our bullies, don't we?" she asks. "Marcos Guitierra. Pulled my skirt down in fourth grade at recess." She shakes her head. "Estupido."

She suffers through the protein bar while listening. "It also means eating this garbage so I don't run out of webs again," she remarks. "And breaking your arms. And get shit on by the newspapers, and the cops." She nods her head. "But then you find out there's a bartender who's got your back and a shot any time you need one, cause you helped run some Nazi's outta his drinking hole." She shrugs, and gives Peter a grin. "It's got its perks."

Now freed up for one of those brownies, she takes one up and makes to stuff it into her mouth.

Peter nods. "If you go to the White Castle in Brooklyn, you can get a Spider-Man Special. 12 cheeseburger sliders, large fries, large soda. In Chinatown, you might hear a child refer to 'Zungu%<236> de zhizhu,' or Honorable Spider. And Big Jake gives me a free chili dog every time I visit his cart." He smiles. "Little gifts. Little rewards. But they always brighten my day. I can live with little things like that."

"Three taco trucks in Spanish Harlem," Anya agrees. "But really, Peter…" Seems shes finally remembered how she recognizes him. "White Castle? Please tell me that's a last ditch kinda thing. Even spiders get the shits."

The brownie is bitten into, and she waits a moment before asking, "Does it help? The church thing?"

Peter quirks an eyebrow. "Uncle Ben used to take me there all the time when I was growing up. I went there for my birthday dinner, and me and my Uncle always sat and ate and talked. So I'll kindly ask you to accept my liking White Castle, please?"

He pauses. "Yes, it does. It keeps me focused. It helps me remember what is really important. To be great…you have to be a servant. To elevate yourself means you must place others first before yourself. And that with great power must come great responsibility."

Anya sobers and nods her head. "Well, yeah. You should keep going." There are things that remind her of her parents as well.

Another bite of her treat is taken, eyes now back on the streets. "It must be a good one; you're not an asshole." She sighs and shakes her head, before lowering the brownie-wielding hand to her lap. "I'm… not straight, you know. I'm bi. And I drink, and sometimes, you know, I'll smoke weed. Not often, just… when I really need to chill. Those two aren't a big deal, not really. But the first one?" She shakes her head, a deep and vulnerable frown on her face. "That's a big one. I can't even walk by a church without thinking they already hate me."

Peter looks to her. "You're going to the wrong church, then. Any church that tells you to hate someone for any reason is not a place you should be going to. And don't expect me to judge you or your lifestyle. I may not do what you do, but I'm not going to think of you as less of a person because of it. Besides…I've done some things that make lifestyle choices nothing at all in comparison."

"It's a good thing I didn't throw away that one good dress, then," Anya answers with a smirk. "Cause I'm totally gonna go to church with you and Aunt May."

The brownie is finished, and she looks around again, observing the relatively quiet neighborhood. "It's funny… I was more violent before I became Spider-Girl. People used to call me 'chiflado loco'. Crazy shorty. But not long after it happened, there was this creep cat calling some of my friends, right? I went to give him a right hook, knock that gold tooth right out of his head. He dodged, and I busted a hole in the wall behind him. Solid cement. That's when I knew." She pauses, soberly. "That's when I knew I had to be careful."

Peter smiles. "Just say the word. I'll give you the address, you can meet us there, or come here and we can walk over together. Aunt May would be thrilled to have someone to talk to other than me. Service is at 10 AM and noon, but we usually do the 10 AM service. We grew up Irish Catholic, but we go to United Presbyterien now."

He looks to Anya. "I think it was when I felt Crusher Hogan panic after I held him 50 feet up a pole over the ring that I realized how scary that kind of power is. But I was still being in my Jerk phase then. I was…cured of that. But it's not a cure I'd prescribe to anyone." He looks to Anya. "You actively do what is right, Anya. And no matter what anyone says, you've earned your last name, because you have the heart of a hero."

Anya looks at him as he tells the story, and she can't help but smirk a little. A part of her wishes for a time machine, just so she can go back and witness this epic humiliation of a bully.

But that's just it. This isn't the good story of a bullied kid who finally stands up for himself and gives someone a bloody nose. It's the story of an act that scared someone to death; literally, fearing a broken neck.

She flushes a little at his compliment, and bows her head. "Ever hear of the cycle of violence?" she asks him. "Anyone who is an abuser, or a bully, or a bad person in general… has probably been a victim before. Usually as kids." She nods her head. "We have to do better."

"We will, Anya. Because we have no choice." Peter stood up. "I should probably head back in. I'm actually feeling tired enough to sleep, and I have classes in the morning." He looks down at the container, which still have five brownies in it. "You can take those with you, Anya. Just bring the container back afterward." He sticks his hands in his pockets. "Anything else I can do for you, Anya?"

Closing the container, Anya stuffs it into her backpack and slings it over her shoulders before standing. "It'll be webbed up here in the morning," she tells him, before shaking her head and smiling. "I didn't really come here for me, you know. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Peter looks thoughtful. "Keep your eyes open for clockroaches. I get some samples of stuff, and I'm analyzing them now, but as insidious as this enemy is…just be watchful. That's what you can do for me."

"I'll program Arana with the data and put her on 24 hour patrols," Anya says. Another thought comes to mind… she could go talk to Agent Simmons and build a veritable army of Arana drones to do just that. But she'll keep that one to herself.

She makes to leave, but before she does, she turns back. "Don't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Peter Parker. Leave that to Apollo." With a friendly grin, she pulls the mask back over her face, throws a black webline into the darkness, and disappears a moment after she's whisked off the rooftop.

Peter watches her go, a sad smile on his face, then begins packing up.

Well…maybe things will settle down for awhile. Maybe he will not have to worry about some unexpected surprise to…

…well, to cross his path.

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