ArchivedLogs:Nice to Actually Meet You

Nice to Actually Meet You
So many bad ideas...
Dramatis Personae Peter, Micah
In Absentia	25 May 2013 Micah runs into Peter("Spider") messing with /yet another/ set of webshooters...and gets to meet him sans-mask for the first time!
Location Holland Farm
Somewhere on the Holland farm, there is /bound/ to be a barn. And somewhere in that barn, there is Peter, doing -- Peter-ish things. In the earliest hours of the morning. The barn’s mostly empty; it’s an older one that’s probably on its way out on the edge of the Holland estate -- used more for storage than anything else. There’s a hayloft up above, with numerous empty stalls -- most of them in good repair despite the age and lack of use, but a few rusty hinges here and there. Peter’s -- finagling with something. Something he snagged from /Ivan/. Something that probably took a great deal of promises, puppy-dog-eyes, and friendship pinky swears to secure. Clad in a ZOMBIE BATMAN t-shirt, denim jeans, and those unusual two-toed socks, the chitin-clad boy is currently squatting on a chair, pouring over a table (both of which he dragged down from the hayloft -- where a multitude of old, mostly light weight furniture is being stored), tinkering with what looks to be a /very/ primitive version of Micah’s later-designed thwippy things. Just -- a strap of leather with a soldered-together mechanism that looks like a big bulky watch. There’s another one beside it. Around the room itself, there is -- it looks like someone was trying to set up a really crude, highly /dangerous/ obstacle course. Chairs, tables, other things just yanked down from the loft and set out in a variety of unusual positions -- some upside down, some on their sides, even some set up into ramps. There’s also -- one or two /broken/ pieces of furniture shoved off to the side. Legs snapped off, a table split right down the center. Micah is taking an early-morning walk…early enough that some would debate the qualification of ‘morning’. Even in farm country, he is out before the household has begun to stir. He is dressed in faded, patched jeans and a red and orange plaid button-down that he wears open over a plain white T-shirt. His casual stroll is interrupted by movement-sounds in the direction of a barn. Distinctly not-insects, not-frogs, not-farm animals just starting to waken sounds. More…human movement. Micah wanders barn-ward, hands still jammed down into his pants pockets. He leans against the wall by the entryway when he arrives. “’Mornin’,” he announces his presence to the other figure with a smile. Clunk, clunk. Peter pauses mid-tweak, and now -- there are a pair of eyes peering at Micah brightly from the other side of the barn, /squinting/ to try and make him out. And then -- there is fumbling, as Peter searches for the pair of large, Buddy Holly style glasses he so often wears -- shoving them down on his nose and squinting. And then: “!!! M--Micah? It’s--/Micah/, right? Oh man I heard that -- I mean I thought it was a /coincidence/ or something but--” BOUNCE. Peter, in a single spring, has cleared the table -- and in doing so, has /snagged/ both those unusual leather straps off it, already in the process of easily buckling one over his wrist as he hops -- skips -- toward Micah. /Maybe/ the sight of a chitin-covered kid buckling what look to be obnoxiously large leather-strap wrist-watches on himself as he barrels toward Micah won’t be the most comforting sight in the world. But whatever Peter intends, he seems to be /very/ excited to see him. “Dude /dude/ I have to show you this.” Apparently, Peter thinks he /knows/ Micah. Micah nods at his name being spoken, even offering a little wave. Hello! “Yep, that’s me. Y’heard that what-now?” A single eyebrow arches a bit in curiosity at the unfinished sentences…only to find itself drawn further upward by the incredible bouncing kid. It is fortunate for Micah that people are sort of his /thing/, and that observing movement his primary trained skill. This is all that allows him to do the math on the kid’s identity. Well, the wrist accessories also help a little. “Oh!” his exclamation serves as the first sign of recognition. “You’re,” /don’t say alien tweaker kid, don’t say alien tweaker kid/, “Spider, right?” Peter /freezes/ a moment before taking that final step toward Micah -- as if his /own/ gears were suddenly in the process of churning together, trying to puzzle out what MICAH is trying to puzzle out. When it hits him, he grins brightly: “Oh /duh/ you -- pffft,” Peter exclaims, and then he finishes hopping that remaining distance, buckling the last shooter on his opposite wrist. “I totally forgot I was wearing a /mask/ back then. Oh, huh,” he adds, and /then/ he touches his cheek. “I guess I didn’t have chitin back then either but -- /whatever/.” Peter then spins around, and -- THWP. A gray strand /snaps/ out, hitting what looks to be an old leather belt-buckle hanging from a peg on the far wall. With a YOINK, it’s snapped off the peg, sent careening in the air toward Peter... landing about ten feet short. Peter turns back to Micah. “Oh, uh,” he says, a sudden hint of violet slipping into that metallic blue. “...I uh gave, the ones you made to, um. Shane.” He says this pretty much like he’s apologizing for it. “Yep,” Micah supplies at Peter’s recollection of his mask-wearing. “Not like I’d notice any changes since I never saw your face.” He gestures Peter-ward at the concerns over chitin. “You didn’t exactly stay out of trouble with those things, did you?” It’s less of a question and more of a gentle /accusation/. Micah’s eyes follow the belt buckle rather nonchalantly, his expression betraying confusion only once Shane’s name is mentioned. “Shane? You’d have to adapt the dickens out of a pair of standard gloves t’get that to work for him.” Because that’s really the biggest issue right now. “Also, wait a minute! Can we /not/ start a whole team of teens with crazy equipment gettin’ in trouble, please? We got enough of trouble visitin’ without givin’ out /invitations/.” “Ah,” Peter adds, the violet hue /deepening/ a moment, shifting between violet-and-indigo -- kind of like some swirling mood-ring pattern. He suddenly -- /shoves/ both of the wrist-thwippers behind his back, as if it’s just occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t be showing them off. “I mean -- yeah I guess, I haven’t been, uh. Doing that,” he admits. At the mention of Shane and adaption, Peter’s shuffle between violet and indigo ends; he dives straight into indigo. “Y-yeah, he -- uh -- we -- foundthatoutthehardway. I think, I mean, we’re gonna stitch ‘em right back up, uh -- man,” Peter adds, his shifting eyes (which have been desperately /searching/ the floor for something interesting to stare at) finally managing to leap back up to Micah’s. “...um, I might have -- oh, man, don’t freak out, okay? I mean -- I guess I /did/ tell you I wouldn’t -- get into too much tr... oh, /man/,” Peter finishes, and now both those hands come right /back/ around, and he just -- /rub/ rubs at his temples. “Okay maybe you /should/ freak out a little.” Micah is apparently interpreting Peter’s /purple/ as blushing, because a faint pink creeps across the bridge of his nose for no apparent reason. Stupid…contagious…blush. “Y’do know that the feds are lookin’ for you as a suspected /terrorist/, right? An’ one of your classmates is pretty sure that you /stole/ that secret in-development glue-stuff from /Oscorp/? If that’s true… Kid, Osborn’s not someone to play /games/ with.” Micah has on his best concerned-face. It is, unfortunately, a very well-practiced face. “I, ungh, yeah,” Peter says, and now there is /more/ temple-rubbing, and maybe a little bit of pacing, back-and-forth, the violet-indigo mix still continuing to fluctuate -- by every look, it /does/ seem to be -- the ‘chitinized’ equivalent of a blush, because Peter certainly /acts/ like he’s blushing. “I know that -- okay,” Peter says, suddenly stopping, turning, and reaching over to take Micah’s hand -- gingerly! And give it a tiny, well. Tug. Toward the center of the barn. “You are absolutely /right/, I mean, /yes/ I am in all sorts of trouble and, um, that Osborn guy is basically the /scariest/ person I have ever met, and, look okay when I get back I have a bunch of stuff I’m going to have to deal with I know, but -- right now -- I just,” Peter continues, gentle-tug-tugging, “I just want to show you something /awesome/ that you made, okay?” Big, wide, puppy-dog eyes. Micah seems /somewhat/ reassured by the fact that all of his admonishments are at least giving Peter pause. Because he was nothing but excitable and pause-free when last Micah had encountered him. The assertion that Osborn is, in fact, terrifying also helps. He is easily pulled along by the hand to observe whatever it is that Peter has in mind. “Somethin’ that /I/ made? I thought those went to Shane?” That eyebrow is really getting its early-morning callisthenics today! Up it goes again. “Dude,” Peter tells Micah, just -- /waving/ the other arm, the one that isn’t busily tugging away at Micah’s wrist, flashing the weird looking leather strap -- “I mean, yeah I /built/ this but it’s -- based on the thing you made. Like, I wouldn’t really have even known how to start if you hadn’t -- look okay just stand here for a second,” Peter tells Micah, and then he’s -- gently nudging Micah back a few steps. Now, next to the table where Peter was working on. “--and /watch/. And, also, uh. Don’t freak out.” Peter /hops/ on top of that table, then. Just, SPROING, whump. That’s /probably/ where the pile of broken furniture off to the side came from; the kid doesn’t seem to have much delicacy when it comes to his perches. But then he’s turning, facing the -- ad hoc /obstacle/ course he’s assembled -- slapping his hands together, rolling his shoulders... and then, he /jumps/ -- leaping about six feet across, four feet up, before -- THWP -- the first gray strand /snaps/ out, catching a rafter, and he’s /swinging/ across the room, sling-shotting himself toward the far wall. “Hrm,” is Micah’s eloquent reply to Peter’s ‘I couldn’t do it without you’ speech. “I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that. I kinda feel like I helped you get into /more/ trouble than y’would have otherwise. Though I’m still convinced you’d’ve gotten yourself hurt continuin’ to barge in on random people in the middle of the night tryin’ to get those things built.” He ceases his grumbling to watch as he is commanded to do so. He doesn’t freak out, but does /wince/ quite visibly when Peter goes flying into the air like a mad acrobat. “Oh/gosh/, Peter, what happens if you’re runnin’ around doin’ that somewhere dangerous or just /high/ an’ the cartridge comes up empty or somethin’?” /Champion/ worrier, this one is! When Peter reaches the opposite wall, he /archs/ back -- and hits it with his legs running. The socks make a low whump-whump-whump against the wooden boards as he runs up about three steps before jumping off the wall’s surface, propelling him up -- flipping -- and landing with another whump on top of one of the other table he’s set out. For a second, his hands swing to keep his balance (having landed on the edge), the table wobbling -- but then he shifts back a step and holds his arms out like a little ‘ta-da’, grinning. Even the mention of Micah’s worries don’t seem to chip anything off the /wideness/ of Peter’s grin. “The newer ones actually beep when they’re low,” he says. “Though, I lost those ones. But I’m gonna build them again, with -- help.” Peter hops off the table. “I know they look /crazy/ dangerous, but dude it’s like -- it feels so /natural/. I’ve, uh, dropped a few times,” Peter admits, and there’s that hint of violet again, “but, nothing /too/ serious, and I’ve -- /dude/,” Peter insists, now, hopping back toward Micah. “With these things, I can basically /fly/.” Micah looks sufficiently impressed throughout this demonstration, though there are more little cringes whenever Peter seems to be in the least amount of danger through his wild movements. “I suppose a low-reservoir warnin’ is helpful, at least.” He heaves quite the sigh at Peter talking about ‘dropping a few times’ so casually. “Define /too/ serious? Y’been gettin’ hurt doin’ this?” He nods his head in gesture to the room at large, indicating the acrobatics and general use of the glue-gun things. “Oh/gosh/, please don’t tell me you actually use those to get around in the City. Please.” “I haven’t /broken/ anything,” Peter says, giving -- first, one arm a shake, then, the other -- as if he’s checking, right now, to see if anything is broken! Nope. “I mean --” He throws a glance back at the wall he just ran up. “--a few bruises? I’ve dropped, twice, maybe three times. Never too far. I’m, kinda hard to hurt,” Peter adds, sheepishly. “And I’m pretty good at the -- rough landings. Actually, um--” Another quick-glance to Micah, still violet. “--Jax just convinced me to stop, uh, riding the trains and buses with them. I know I know,” he quickly adds, throwing his hands up, “that I shouldn’t do that stuff -- after all this, I’m, really planning to cut back. But the weird thing is, this -- fight club thing? It’s the first time I’ve even /broken/ anything.” He pauses, before adding, a little quieter, a little more rushed: “...um unless you count that one time I grabbed those kids in that fire.” Micah inspects the floor as if it is very interesting, throughout this litany of injuries and incidents, his fingers raking through his hair. He tries very hard not to say anything between all of that /and/ the… “Ridin’…you mean…/on/ trains? Ohgosh.” He is sort of pulling his own hair with that. Peter only manages to escape further admonishments about /fires/ by virtue of timing that statement right after the ‘fight club’ comment. Micah gets stuck there. “Hon, please… Let me know if there’s anythin’ you need, okay? Even if it’s just to talk about…all of the /stuff/ that happened. Or /not/ talk about it. Whichever. Okay?” Peter /maaaaaybe/ snuck that fight-club comment in there on purpose like a sneaky little fink to convince Micah it is okay for Peter to JUMP OFF ROOFTOPS and RIDE TRAINS LIKE HORSES. If so, it would explain the momentarily guilty look that slips over his face when Micah immediately switches to offering him comfort. The violet swivels back over to indigo, and Peter shifts, squirms, and slides his hands behind his back, clutching them together. “...yeah I know, um. You know,” he says, scooting back next to Micah, “everybody’s been -- basically, /really/ awesome about it. I guess, I just kind of wanted... to impress you? I know that -- um I mean I don’t even know you really well, just. You built this thing, and --” Peter stares at his funny socks. He even does a little /foot/ scuff. “--and I dunno if, like, this is really important but I just wanted you to know that, it’s /saved/ some people. Lives, I mean.” Deep into indigo territory, now; it spreads down his face, under his shirt, and risks drifting down his arms. “/Including/ mine, but not /just/ mine.” All of Peter’s colour-changing and uncertainty can mean only one thing. “I’m gonna hug you now,” Micah warns, as Peter scoots over to him again. At least it comes with a warning…polite, if nothing else! True to his word, Micah throws an arm over Peter’s shoulders and pulls him in for /hugs/. Of the squeezy type. “Look, kiddo, I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, here. But I think…maybe we oughtta discuss with one of your advisors or somethin’? Before y’go back to doin’ crazy things an’ puttin’ yourself in danger again. I think it might do you some good to add a little bit of outside /judgement/ to your own. I appreciate what you’re tryin’ to do, just…” He pulls back from Peter just a shade, hands on the boy’s shoulders, enough to look him in the eyes. “Um…actually. Are you still goin’ by Spider, or is that just a mask-name? What do I call you?” Apparently Micah has a little ADD to deal with, too… Peter squeaks as he’s pulled into the hug. He doesn’t /resist/, certainly; arms might be sneakily sneaking to hug /back/ -- soft, at first, but suddenly fierce-hard before releasing, the color-changing coming under a /little/ more control. “I, I guess,” Peter mumbles, sounding a little /dejected/ about this possibility. “I mean -- they -- caught me /at/ a fire,” he admits. “Like, right after -- man what a bunch of /jerks/,” Peter says, all of the sudden, as if this -- particular facet of the scenario has just /struck/ him. “Oh,” Peter adds, blinking at Micah’s question a moment -- nose wrinkling, as if in thought. “Oh, it’s just -- Peter, I guess. Spider with the mask, yeah -- I don’t -- I don’t even know if I’m gonna -- I mean, Peter’s fine. Or Spider,” he finishes. Then, he /peers/ at Micah. “Waitasecond. What are y--” PEER. “--were /you/ in fight club? Or, like -- why are /you/ here?” Nobody out ADD’s /PETER/. “No, /that/ is the one thing that is /entirely/ not your fault. Those…officers,” Micah’s tone sounds as if that is /not/ the word he was thinking initially, “took the twins in broad daylight comin’ home from the /store/. This is…this is just the worst of evil an’ corruption an’ it isn’t somethin’ you should be expected to plan for.” That…maybe hadn’t been planned as a monologue when it started. “Peter. Nice to actually meet you, I s’pose.” Letting go of Peter fully, finally, he blinks a moment at the question. “We…really should’ve had everyone meet’n greet before splittin’ into different cars on the train, huh? I’m just here with Jax. I’d be…uh…really the saddest thing ever to watch in a fight. Maybe entertainin’ just to take bets on how fast I’d get /squished/, at most.” He tries to say this light-heartedly, even smirking a bit. “I guess ‘jerk’ doesn’t quite cover it,” Peter agrees, a little skittishly, a smile flitting hesitantly across his face. “I mean --” The smile dissolves at the mention of Micah in a fight, becoming something a little more hesitant. “...yeah man they, you know, there were people there -- who didn’t even know anything about fighting, or anything, I mean, I think they went after people who they /thought/ would be good at fighting? But, um, there were -- I mean, I was kind of lucky, I learned some -- stuff? At school. And my reflexes are /weird/ and, /basically/ I’m pretty much awesome when it comes to /not/ getting hurt, but --” There is a quick-rapid flick-flick of Peter’s eyes around the room, like he’s looking for something to peer at. “--there was a lady there -- Sloan. She’s, really big, kind of -- um, shaggy. Dog. -Ish,” Peter explains, a little sadly. “I don’t know if -- I don’t know what happened to her. She taught a lot of kids there how to -- fight. The ones who didn’t know. She helped a lot of -- but, when we all got taken out -- I mean, I /would/ have, tried to... find her, but. I was kind of...” Peter shifts, uncomfortably. “--freaking out? When we left. I’d just, I think. When we get back? I want to -- find her, make sure she’s... okay. She was nice. Gave up some of her meat for the twins,” Peter adds, still sounding melancholy. It looks, for a moment, like Peter is in danger of getting hugged /again/ as he describes the fighting. But Micah manages to restrain himself. “It’s horrible but it’s not…not a bad idea for you t’know how to defend yourself. Do they teach self defense to everyone at your school? It seems…kind of…unfortunately…a good idea.” His mouth scrunches all over to one side, clearly not happy to be saying as much. “I think they were collectin’ information at the clinic? In a non-medical capacity. They couldn’t share information that was provided just for seekin’ medical treatment, but I think folks were comin’ up with ways to be contacted that weren’t…about medical things. An’ lots of folks were goin’ to the homeless shelter where Mel works…could leave messages all kinds of places. Or, goodness, maybe just look folks up in the phone book if y’know their last names?” “They -- you don’t /have/ to,” Peter says, concerning self-defense. “I mean, they have -- courses, you can take. And, other stuff. But I think they -- want you to learn how to keep yourself safe, but they don’t want -- some of us, uh, our -- powers? Can be really destructive,” Peter admits, violet threatening /yet again/ to slip into his features. Not as much as before, though. “I think they -- mostly, yeah, just try to help you learn how to stay safe. Oh, I don’t know her last name, but -- maybe someone there -- she’s /really/, like. Obviously -- doggy. She even likes it when you scritch at the nape of her nec--” Peter snaps his mouth shut, like he has just exposed some DEEP, DARK secret. He grins hesitantly. “--actually I don’t think she wants people knowing that. She, uh. She’s really /tough/, and. I just hope she -- man, there are a lot of people I should...” Peter trails off, thinking. “...I think... they went through a lot of people.” Micah nods at Peter’s explanations. “That much the better, then. That kind of trainin’ is as good for protectin’ /other people/ as it is for yourself. Knowin’ how to control abilities seems like it’d be a part of it.” He can’t help but grin at the accidental secret-telling. “Well, my first stop would be to ask at the clinic when we get back up home. See if she left any contact information around so y’can check up on her. I know it can be hard…waitin’ to hear.” The grin flees completely at the idea of ‘going through’ people. “Well, y’said she’s real tough. That’s a mark in her favour, in the meantime.” “Yeah,” Peter agrees, and then -- WHOMPF. He’s promptly flung his arms around his mid-flank, wrapping them round to his back to give him /another/ hug, this time initiated by Peter. SQUEEZE. It almost, uh. Threatens to lift Micah off the ground. “Yeah if /I/ could get through this alive then I’m pretty sure /she/ could, I mean she was way tougher than -- thanks,” Peter says, face just shoved up against Micah’s shoulder, stopping just short of hugging so hard it might start to /bruise/. “Um, for -- listening, I guessthatsoundsweird.” /Flush/. Peter /might/ hold the hug for a few seconds longer than is polite, bordering on the awkward. Then he’s promptly /flinging/ himself away. “I should -- um,” he flails at the furniture, “put this stuff away and, um...” Micah reciprocates the hug, with just a little laugh at the boy’s enthusiasm and…strength! Micah’s smallish, but the kid’s still a teenager, so it is still entertaining enough! “That’s not weird at all. Sometimes the best thing is just to have somebody listen while you talk somethin’ through. You’ll prob’ly need t’do it quite a bit…after all that. Y’can always feel free to stop me if y’need a set of ears again.” He glances around at the furniture when Peter indicates it. “Let me help you get all this up… Gosh, I hope nobody wanted to use those tables anymore.” He makes a scrunchy-face at the broken pieces. “By the time we’re done with that an’ walk back t’the main house, it’ll be about time for Jax’s ma to tell me that guests don’t help with makin’ breakfast. Just like they didn’t help with dinner or anythin’ else they won’t let me help with.” His lopsided grin has returned, accompanied by a giggle, at the thought. “Oh yeah I, uh,” Peter glances at the broken tables, then flicks a quick look toward Micah. “--it’s all -- they mentioned, most of this stuff is junk at least, um, I didn’t ask if I could /break/ it but -- yeah, thanks.” Peter is already plucking up furniture! Probably with Micah’s help! And hefting it up into the lofts above. Then, the trek back to the main house, where they will both eat a breakfast they won’t get to help with no matter /how/ much they insist!