Middle of the night. Nobody around except a few midnight scragglers--a few people scrambling for a shred of warmth, a last minute place to curl up and sleep. A cold, bitter chill... and some kid-shaped blotch of red who's managed to crawl his way up the 16 foot chain length fence, currently attaching what looks to be... is that a cellphone?--to one of the posts.
That, on its own, wouldn't be too remarkable--Weirder things have happened in Tompkins park. Sometimes, kids come 'round here to videotape themselves doing free-running or whatever. No, what makes this weird is what comes next: Upon having successfully attached the phone to the pole, the kid proceeds to *backflip* off the fence--throwing himself into the air, somer-saulting like a spinning boomerang--before landing into an effortless crouch on top of one of the jungle gym bars. Knees bent, poking out; hands gripping the pole beneath him.
He's got on a red hoodie--and under that, a black ski-mask. Black gloves on his hands--not a stitch of skin visible. He peers up at the phone, waiting for the light to flash--to start recording.
Hive isn't here scrambling for anything at all. He's here all the same, though, middle of the night be damned. Casual, even, like he's out for a /stroll/. He's got a backpack slung off of one shoulder, and a phone in hand, that he is currently using to send rapid text messages. Until the kid on the fence catches his eye. /Then/ he's using it to take a picture, eyebrows raising. Maybe the kid was not expecting the first flash to come from /behind/ but there it is. Snap. Snapsnap.
Tatters is little but a lump of sweatshirted body sitting on a bench, looking -- well, looking pretty suspicious, honestly. Legs crossed, a booted foot tapping in the air, a faded green backpack sits on the bench beside her and luminous orange eyes scanning the park with an affection of laziness. The acrobatics catch her eye, and she follows the figure's arc with an impassive expression before turning her attention back to the entrances, and the other stragglers. The guy she's looking for isn't nearly that spry, after all.
At the flash, the kid in the hoodie jumps--nearly six feet in the air!--and proceeds to twist, spin, and land--in exactly the same position he was in before. Except now reversed. He sees Hive--blinks--and produces a muffled, barely audible sound:
"Oh, *crap*."
At once, he's up and off the monkey-bars, backflipping his way into the air--up, up, *over* the chain-length fence, snatching his phone off the pole as he flies upside down past it... it's a hell of a thing to watch. But so's what comes next:
As he falls down the other side, the back of his jeans catch on one of the metal wires poking out from the top of the fence. The downward momentum of his fall is suddenly reversed--with a yelp and surprised *SNAP*, he's jerked back--spine-first, upside down--into the fence, jeans stretched as he *WHACKS* against the metal links with a dull rattle. Despite the screwup, he doesn't drop the phone--he juggles it briefly, before snagging it--but otherwise, he's clearly stuck at the top of the fence, wiggling like a worm, legs kicking.
"Crap! Crap crap crap!"
"Oh boy. Chill, kid. That was /cool/, you expect to just pull shit like that in the park and /not/ have someone pay attention?" Hive is still casual in his tone. Casual in his amble, over closer to the fence. He's snorting in some amusement as he looks up at the kid wriggling on the fence post, and maybe his, "Y'seeing this?" is directed to Tatters; it's at least directed to her nearby bench. Maybe it's just a comment to the world at large. He looks at the kid. Looks around the park. Looks at the fence. With a sigh, his fingers curl into the chain link. He gives it a mild shake, as though to test its strength, and then with a grimace sets his backpack down, and starts climbing. Not nearly as agilely as the teen. It's a normal slow climbing-a-chain-link-fence sort of progress.
Tatters' eyes flick back to the parcourier as he attempts a Tactical Retreat, her heavy brow knitting in concern as he takes a...whatever that is. Not a tumble...a flop? With a grumble she stands, snags her backpack and pulls it over a shoulder, then stuffs her hands in her pockets as she strolls towards him, trying to make out the suspended, wiggling figure in the gloom well enough to do a quick diagnosis. Surely he wouldn't be moving around so much if he was badly hurt?
As she walks into the range of Hive's perceptions he begins to pick up her inner monologue, a soft, feminine voice entirely at odds with her monstrous appearance. << woah, FAIL, holy crap that was GIFworthy I wish I'd gotten it but man, I don't even /have/ a phone I wonder if that guy got it? It'd get /so/ many likes. All of the likes. All of--wait jeeze I hope he's alright what if he's hurt I think I'm a bad person. :( >> Apparently she thinks in emoticons.
"Yeah, I saw it. One sec." Tatters retrieves her hands from her pockets and jogs up past Hive and /leaps/ on the fence, doing essentially what he's doing but...well, but faster. She's also apparently a lot heavier than she looks, and the fence saaaaags noticeably forwards when she hits it, only leaning further as her leathery hands pull her towards the top. << That was pretty failninja--actually this isn't terrible, I can actually say this-- >> "That was pretty failninja, BUT--" she pauses as she latches herself to the top third of the fence and reaches out to grip the boy's ankle and lift him off the snag as gently as she can, giving him a moment to adjust himself before she releases it. "But also pretty ninja, by, like, definition." << Man, I hope I didn't bend this fence too far. It'll be all...lopsidey. >>
"No! No, I got this! I totally got this," the boy in the hoodie exclaims, and there's an excited, frightened energy there as his wriggling becomes more pronounced. His legs are kicking like nobody's business; the metal's hooked in just beneath the hem. Those jeans must be pretty darn tough--they haven't ripped yet. Then again, the kid in question *is* sort of tiny. "I *so* got this. You guys aren't taking pictures, right? Because pictures would be really uncool right now. I cannot stress just how uncool pictures would be. We're talking, like, uncool enough to produce helium nuclei. Seriously though..."
Whoever he is, he apparently has a bit of trouble when it comes to not talking. The space in-between his sentences is so small that one might be left to wonder if he considers periods to be more of a guideline than a rule of grammar. And if Hive bothers to skim any of his surface thoughts, well--he wouldn't get much. Not because the kid doesn't have any--but because he doesn't have any that he doesn't immediately voice. He seems to lack an interior monologue.
"Also, like I was saying, I totally got this, I'm fine, everything's fi--" He kicks again--just as Tatters reaches up, plucks him by the ankle, and lifts. Thanks to the time she takes, he has plenty of opportunity to hook his legs up over the top of the fence, calves now on Hive's side--and pull himself up to sit, crouched. In an instant, he's hopping back--hopping *along* the fence pole, like a frog--putting a bit of distance between himself and Tatters. Peering at the way the fence sags. Then, down at Hive.
"Woahfuckjegus, woman." With Hive already climbing /up/ the fence, and decidedly /not/ a ninja, the noticeable fence-sagging just startles him, his grip slipping as the fence sags underneath him; he skids down a foot and then /clings/ tight to the links. "The fuck is this, assholes showing off day?" He grimaces up at the sky. "Or -- night."
He's still clinging, right exactly where he is, clearly reluctant to move when there are still others fencebound and possibly their moving will mean more fence-sagging. So he waits. With noticeable irritating in his expression, though there is at least concern in his voice as he calls up, "Y'aright, kid? And yes, I got the whole thing. Well, the snagging, the wriggling, up until I started climbing." Because, hands. He needed them. For climbing and not holding phones. "I gotta beg to differ, though, pictures are gonna be /hilarious/."
"Man, 'uncool' and 'hilarious' have a lot of overlap." Pursing her lips, Tatters leaaans back, putting her center of mass behind the fence and returning it to something resembling an upright position, then drops off and tumbles much less gracefully into the snow. Sitting back up, she shakes snow off her head and eyes the other two suspiciously, her hood fallen back to reveal her face: goblinoid and grayish, with bulbous, reflective eyes and shortish dark hair pinned back from her face with a hairclip. In the gloom she looks a bit grayish. << Huh, /both/ these dudes look familiar. I've seen them...somewhere? o.o The jumpy one looks internet but he might just /look internet,/ but oops what if the asian guy only looks familiar because he looks like other asian people damnit I'm racist now. :/ >> "You both okay?"
And after another moment, she finishes reviewing the moment and blink, and turns her eyes back up to squint across at the acrobat. "...physics joke, really?"
Eyes pop open so wide that they seem ready to explode out of the ski-mask. "Ohgodnolisten," the kid in the hoodie says, and suddenly he's standing right *below* Hive--whoa, he moves *fast*--hands held up to him. "You totally should *not* do that. That would be, like, the worst possible thing you could do." Well, he certainly looks like he's okay--considering he just jumped down a sixteen foot fence without missing a beat. "My internet reputation could not weather an assault of this magnitude. They'd call it Fence-Gate. They'd change my name to 'Chain-Link Man'. You are putting my fragile emotional psyche at risk here, okay? Let's talk. Do you like stunts? I can do stunts. I will totally do a backflip off anything you want if you'll delete that video."
The whump draws the hooded kid's interest; so does the physics jib. For a moment, he's distracted from the cruel man who holds his internet fame in the palm of his hands; he stares at Tatters, one eye squinting: "...I'm pretty sure there's an entry on you in the Monstrous Manual." Then: "Uh, sorry. Thanks for helping. I mean, not that I needed it, but uh..."
"Fencegate. Has a nice ring, I might use that. -- Oh, great, you're not a thoughtless asshole, you're a thoughtless /racist/ asshole. Would it help if my eyes were rounder?" Hive is grumbling this down to Tatters as he, much less quickly than either of the other two, clambers back down the few feet to the ground and dusts his hands off against his jeans. He stoops to grab his backpack, shouldering it again. "What about /my/ internet reputation, dude? What about my reddit karma? There's serious business at stake here." It's hard to tell if Hive is, in fact, serious or not. He says it all in the same bland-casual tone he's said most things so far.
"Rac--what? OhgodnoI'msorry," the kid in the hoodie says, waving his arms frantically as he backs away. He seems to have taken Hive's comment as targeting *him*. "I didn't mean *you* were in the Monstrous Manual, I meant *her*!" The kid gestures at Tatters pleadingly, as if desperate for backup on this. "Not that that wasn't a mean thing to say anyway, it just popped out and I'm sorry I said that," this bit seems to be directed at Tatters, but he doesn't even pause for a breath before continuing, "but I didn't mean that Asians are entries in the Monstrous Manual, because I totally think they aren't, even though *elves* are, but ohgod I'm not saying elves are Asians even though they have slanted eyes and *OKAY*, listen, I can *totally* make you internet famous."
"Not you. You're okay -- well, not /okay/, I mean, alright, just a different /kind/ of racist, looking different doesn't make you a monster. Uh. I meant her." Hive leans back against the fence, now, waving a hand towards Tatters. "She had this whole I know him no wait maybe it's just because he's Asian and they all look alike -- thing. Going on." He waves towards Tatters's /head/. "Kid, do you breathe? Does your mutation make you not need to breathe? Or does it just kill your brain-to-tongue filter? Or maybe that's just a teenager thing." He scrubs his fingers against the side of his head, scuffing briefly through his hair and then letting his hand drop. "Slanted eyes. Elves. Jegus. The fuck is up with tonight." /This/, he definitely seems to be directing to the World At Large. He's looking up at the sky as he says it.
"Um, elves are a player race. They're in the PHP." Tatters sighs in irritation as she corrects her fellow teenager, because that's /clearly/ the important thing here. And then she looks back to Hive, blinking for a second as she parses his words...and then narrows her eyes, grinning mirthlessly as she figures it out. "Oh. You're a mind reader. Which means I /have/ seen you before. You were at the speech, with Jax. That or I'm doing a /really specific/ kind of stereotyping." << And I'd tell you to fuck right out of my head, but additional inane babbling is probably its own punishment right now. But. Future reference. >> Grumbling and climbing to her feet, Tatters dusts herself off and pulls her hood back up...then tunes back into Peter's rambling and just...mimes digging a hole. Invisible shovel!
"Yeah, but there's still an entry for them along with dwarves in the 2nd edition..." The boy trails off, blinking. Looking at Hive, as if something he just said is only now registering: "I... didn't say anything about being a mutant. Why would you think I'm a mutant?" He takes a tiny hop back. "Maybe I'm just really spry." Another tiny hop back. Then, as he looks to Tatters--then back to Hive--a moment of shock: "Wait. You're *both* mutants?" He seems to be calming down. Until what Tatters said finally hits him--he stares at Hive and takes a *big* jump back--nearly 6 feet! "You can read *minds*?"
<<Don't think about sex don't think about sex don't think about sex don't think about sex>>
"Because of course you are, dude, humans can't pull off that shit except, maybe, those Cirque du Soleil types and they seem like they've got better things to do than skulk around parks in hoodies marvelling at what cool shit they can do. They're already getting paid for it." Hive shrugs, smirking at the sudden jump. "Yeah. I read minds. And I'd fuck out of your head, but I /can't/, so don't tell me that shit. I mean, /I/ could tell /you/ stop looking like a goblin, but I bet it'd be /just/ as effective as telling me to stop it. I can't shut it off any more than I can shut off my ears. Except nobody makes telepathic earplugs." He says this with a grimace like holy /shit/ does he wish someone would, though. "Why the fuck are you still playing second edition?"
"Man, you were accusing me of being racist 'cause I /thought I recognized you./ I'm not gonna jump to giving you the friggen benefit of the doubt when you're so eager to call me out on fleeting friggen thoughts." Tatters retrieves her backpack from the snow beside her and crosses her arms over her chest. Then blinks and squints past him at Peter. "...isn't Second Ed back when they were still putting, like, race restrictions on classes and crap?"
The kid's internal mantra is still continuing, if Hive is curious; it's shifted down to statements like '<<don't think about everyone naked>>' and '<<don't think about my secret identity>>'. The mantra is getting quieter, though; the kid's thoughts are slowly beginning to organize themselves. His headspace is a mess--but it can move as fast as he does. "I... I don't play, I just read it for fun!" the kid exclaims, before adding: "...and yeah, you need a trig calculator just to figure out your THAC0 sco--wait, you're both using your powers. Outside. Where people can see... it." He waves his hand at Hive. "Well, not you, but you *know* what I mean." Then: "Aren't you worried about getting in trouble?"
"You were thinking racist shit. Am I supposed to be apologetic?" Hive clearly is not apologetic. "/You/ were using your powers outside, dude, and you were recording them for the frakking internet. I don't think discretion is your top priority. And my powers have gotten me into /so/ much worse shit than some dumbass ticket, it's not high on my list of worries." He's eying Peter with a dose of bemusement, eyebrows raising. "I don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt. I'm just informing you it's pointless as shit to expect it to stop. I'm not /in/ your head, though. If I were /trying/ to pry, you'd know. It's uncomfortable as hell."
"I was /not/ thinking racist shit. I was /worrying/ about--ugh, whatever." << DOESN'T MATTER. >> Tatters rolls her eyes leans back against the fence...then flicks them back across to Peter and gives him a blank look. "Um, did you miss the part where neither of us can turn our shit /off?/ Do you want us to never go outside ever?" Her expression hardens. Given that it's already impassive, it hardens quite literally. "Besides, this isn't my power. It's a /side effect./" Her thoughts continue on from this, but quietly as though she's trying to Keep It Down around Hive rather than speaking an aside to him. << Ugh I am SO tempted to give him the nightmare face but then I'd have to put it BACK and that'll take all night and man, is it even worth it? >>
"I don't record any of the *really* weird stuff..." And then, something nervous edges its way into the kid's tone. "Nobody's seen me jump over a sixteen foot tall fence. As far as anyone knows, I'm just *really* spry." Hive doesn't have to be a mind-reader to catch the edge of apprehension in him--it runs deep. Much deeper than his concern of being humiliated on the internet. His voice is so low that they might have to lean forward to catch it: "I don't think anyone actually knows. That I'm, you know. People talk about it a little but, nobody... *knows*."
He looks at Tatters. "I'm sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "I mean, I dunno what I'd do if I couldn't just be, uh... normal?" As if he's testing the waters, to make sure this is the right word. "--sometimes. I mean, I can't turn off the *sense* thing, but it's not like I can't just pretend like nothing's going on."
Hive sighs, at the apprehension in the kid's tone. He slips his cellphone out of his pocket, replaying the video of Peter. But then holding it up, showing Peter a stillframe as he deletes it. "I'm not looking to get anyone outed, man. I just figured if you were recording that shit it wasn't exactly a secret. I mean, it's clearly /kind/ of a secret you had the whole hood and mask shit going on but -- you know. The rest of it." He glances at Tatters, and glances to Peter, and his cheeks puff out in another quick breath. "I'd guess if you couldn't just be normal, you'd, uh, deal with a lot more shit in life. But you'd /deal/. Everyone does. S'a choice between that or die so, you know."
"You'd probably get hassled at lot more!" Tatters perks up, her tone artificially cheerful. And then genuinely amused. "I'm actually surprised that no one's, like, called the cops on me yet for lurkin' around here all suspicious and creepyface. Must be a slow night." A smile quirks at the corner of her mouth, straining her hardened features a bit -- though it's difficult to tell, in this light. "And besides, if you're doing impressive crap half the internet's probably pretty sure you're a mutant /anyways./ ...or that you just shooped it. Or that you're a mutant and /also/ shooped it. Maybe you have shooping powers? Who knows." << Because man, the comment threads on Lily's stuff are pretty gold. In fairness she /is/ using powers, but still. >>
It's like an invisible weight slips off the kid's shoulders; at once, he's standing a bit taller--exhaling a sigh of relief. "Ohman," he says, "I would totally hug you right now if I wasn't kinda sure you might hurt me." He looks at Tatters for a moment, then adds: "So... um, I guess I owe you both." And then he's jamming his hands into his coat pockets, shuffling around. He pulls something out--a piece of paper. And a pen. Where did he get these things? Why did they not fall out of his pockets when he was performing somersaults around the park? WHY DOES HE INSIST ON BREAKING LAWS OF PHYSICS?
He scribbles something on the slip of paper... then tears it in half. Looking between the two of them, he hops forward--then shoves one toward Hive. Then another toward Tatters. Then: "My email address. My ultra-secret *Spider* email address," he adds. "If you need someone to backflip off the Statue of Liberty, I am *totally* your guy. But don't give it out to anyone. Because it is totally top secret."
If they unroll their respective pieces of paper, they will find the super-secret email address: 'SP1D3RM3N447@gmail.com'.
"Maybe someone has. I /gotta/ imagine the cops are hella freaking slow to answer those things, though. Like. Shit, the cops have given me so much shit for being a freak but it's not like going out of their /way/ to give mutants shit is their top priority, yeah? Both cuz fuck, there's /actual/ crime happening, they've probably got better things to do than go ticket some kid for jumping too high, and also cuz, uh, dude, would you want to answer a call to go give someone a /ticket/ if they /might/ light you on fire when you do? I'd drive so slow if I got that tip." Hive shoves his phone back into his pocket, taking the email and snorting at it. "Top secret. Gotcha. Spider-man. That dude's you." He sounds impressed, if not overly /surprised/, by this poitn in conversation. "I don't know why I'd possibly need someone to backflip off the Statue of Liberty, but if I'm in a bind and need some fancy acrobatics --" He doesn't, actually /say/ he'll get in touch. He just pockets the email address.
"Yeah, 'cause I'm sure that'll come up. Guess I know who to call if it does." Tatters takes the paper and holds it up to the light of a streetlamp so she can read it. Her mental image is an impression of...a lot of numbers, and then << Jeeze, that's obnoxious. >> Still, it goes in her pocket. Hive's INSIGHTFUL COMMENTARY gets a snort. "Yeah, I guess they're less eager to hassle homeless-looking dudes if there's a chance they'll get thrown through a wall or their heads exploded or whatever. And sending a SWAT deal after every weirdo'll get expensive pretty quickly." Tatters blinks for a second, then snaps her fingers as she remembers what she was doing here in the first place. "Oh, um. Speaking of creepsters, if you see someone around here who's face looks -- um, kinda like a melty candle I guess? Don't let him touch you. And if you know folks who spend a lot of time around here, let 'em know too."
"I... melty candle? Okay," Peter says. "I will not allow any dudes with melty candle faces touch me. That is *absolutely* something I can do." As if to stress this point, Peter suddenly jumps--*soars*--straight up, backflipping to the fence behind him--landing in a crouch. This time, he does not snag his jeans.
"I've got to, um, go. My Unc-nnnghkh..." he quickly cuts himself off, shifting gears as quickly as he can: "My... *Ankh*... needs polishing. Religious significance. I'm an Egyptologarian." Quick nod of his head. <<Whew, good save.>> "I'll keep an eye out for you both later. And melty-face man! Email me your email and I'll email you if I see someone with a melty face trying to touch people. Although I'll probably call the police first, because I think that's what you're supposed to do. Uh. Bye."
He backflips again, into the night--and suddenly, he's jumping, leaping, swinging--and just gone. Hard as heck to keep track of--he's like a giant grass-hopper when he's on the move.
"Uh --" That seems to be about all Hive can manage, in response to Peter's -- everything. He blinks after the kid, and then snorts quietly, his head shaking. "Fucking kids." He straightens, shifting his backpack up higher on his shoulder. "I should get. Lots of skulking to skulk. Prime lurking hours are passing us by. I'll stay away from Candleface, if I see him. What happens if he touches me? My face melt, too? Telepaths are hard to sneak up on, at least." He pulls away from the fence, looking over Tatters and then starting to edge around her towards the path he'd been on originally.
"...did we not just establish that the Fuzz are useless for this? I'd /swear/ we were just...whatever, go 'polish your ankh.'" Tatters blinks after the departing teenager, then puts her hands in her pockets, glancing over at Hive and nodding. "Actually yeah, that's /exactly/ what happens. It's permanent, too. You'll probably pick up the creep radiating off 'im anyways, but you know. Gettin' the word out." << Hopefully someone'll fry him or something! Lots of mutants around here, it'll be nice if someone saved me the trouble. >> Her thoughts carry a distinct undercurrent of worry, both that he'll hurt someone and that she'll be forced to beat the tar out of him to /stop/ him from hurting someone. She'll do it, but she doesn't like it. People break really easy. :/ Politely scooting out of his way, Tatters starts back off towards her bench. "Pleasant skulking."
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