ArchivedLogs:Optimists

Optimists
Dramatis Personae Peter, Rasa
In Absentia	Wednesday, November 29th, 2017 Part of Future Past TP
Location NYC - Queens
Peter's parents' house in Queens is as it always has been; a handsome little duplex nestled away in a lower middle-class neighborhood -- a twin home, cojoined with a pair of very loud neighbors. A backyard with green, well-cut grass; a metal fence -- and a paper cut-out of a Thanksgiving turkey wearing a pilgrim hat mounted on the front door. When Rasa arrives -- and presumedly knocks -- it doesn't take long for someone to answer. Peter's still kind of short. Not as short as he was *three years* ago, but not strapping or tall. He's still covered in chitin -- and today, he's also clad in a Captain Marvel T-shirt -- a bright red shirt with a golden lightning bolt splayed over its front -- a weird silver locket hung around his neck -- and blue, denim jeans. He's grinning the moment he sees Rasa at the door. "S'how's Ivan?" Peter asks, right before -- behind him -- an older woman's voice calls out. "Who is it, Pete?" He calls back over his shoulder. "Rasa -- I'm headin' out with hir to grab a bite -- unless," and Peter turns back to Rasa, dropping his voice to address hir, "you want to stay here?" While he asks this question quite honestly and cheerfully, still wearing that smile -- he's also slowly shaking his head back and forth. No, Rasa. You do not want to stay here, and meet Peter's folks. You want to give Peter an excuse to ESCAPE the suffocating presence of Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Rasa stands outside, her hands promptly shoved back in her pockets after knocking, her hazel gaze shifting over to the other door that she didn't knock at and the neighbors that she can hear from there. She's come a long way in the past three years, looking ever more like a standard human - and in today's case, far more feminine that she was ever able to manage while they were at school together. Her dark hair is swept up into a smooth bun, a few whispy curls purposefully left down to frame her cheek bones and soften the severity of her forehead. Her skin is a mellow Mediterranean shade of olive, with just a hint of tan gathered from the fleeting sunlight that marks the shorter days this time of year. Her coat is a professional looking beige wool, wrapped tightly around a thin waist by a belt. She is as tall as she was in high school, but her dark brow boots give her an extra inch or two in height. "Hey Pete." Conversation halts briefly and Rasa's brows climb her forehead when she hears a voice calling out from inside. Luckily, the look on Peter's face says all she needs to know. "Oh, I'm sorry. I have kind of a tight schedule this afternoon. Don't have a ton of time." She raises her voice to a loud conversational tone so that eavesdroppers could hear if they really wanted too, but not awkwardly enough to sound forced. "Got your coat? I think I have enough time for a cup of coffee before meeting up with the boss, if that's okay. But we have to do it near the station." She gives him a knowing smile and lowers her voice. "Ivan's well. Haven't you seen him yet?" "Okay, hun, just be careful -- do you want to put on your face-paint? Maybe you should put on your--" "I'll be fine," Peter calls back to the voice of Aunt May, managing to only roll his eyes a *little* bit. He's already reaching for his coat, beside the door -- a heavy, leather-brown bomber jacket that looks like it belonged to his Uncle. Once he's thrown it on, he's emerging out of the door, into the autumnal cold -- giving his shoulders a quick shrug, allowing a gush of chilled white mist to emerge from his mouth and nostrils as he shuffles and hops besides Rasa. Both hands are shoved roughly into his pockets. "Not yet -- my folks have been smothering me," Peter says, his mouth twitching into a half-grin as he skips down the steps. "Your boss?" he asks, and there's a quick, so-small-you-might-miss-it quirk of his brow -- a faint worry-wrinkle -- as he recalls just who Rasa's boss *is*. "Yeah, I'm apparently not supposed to head back to school before seeing him. I don't know, maybe he wants company for the trip back. You want me to say hi to Harry if he's there?" Rasa turns toward the stairs and pulls one hand out of her pocket to wrap it around Peter's arm as they turn to head down to the street. "You have my sympathy for the smothering bit - but you have to like it a little bit, or you would have stayed away for the holiday. Massachusetts is a pretty long distance from here and there are soo many reasons to stay on campus." "...I'll just call Harry," Peter mentions, his gaze distant -- staring down the street as they walk. Rasa's arm manages to dislodge Peter from his thoughts -- he blinks and grins down at her. "It's alright. I mean, I love them, I wouldn't *not* come. I think my Aunt May would explode if I didn't show up for one of the holidays. And it's kind of cool, because they're so... isolated? Insulated? From everything. I mean, my Uncle keeps up with the news a bit, but when I'm staying with them, it's like the world is a lot smaller." He glances back down the street as they walk, his arm tightening, tugging Rasa's hand against his flank. "I'm joining the X-men," Peter comments, his voice suddenly soft -- a hint of color deepening his cheeks. "That bunch of optimists?" Rasa's brows rise once more as she turns her head toward Peter and studies that color tinting his visage. "Well, that makes sense," she concedes. She inhales deeply and turns her attention back toward the sidewalk in front of them. "I think that is just how people turn out, in the end. If they don't force themselves to be part of the world, they just kind of stop. It probably gets harder as you get older too, as getting out period becomes more and more a pain in the ass. Though, with your parents, I guess I always thought that they were more community minded and would be in with the neighborhood some how." She wets her lips and falls silent. "They never expected to raise a kid. They didn't *want* one," Peter says, amusement tinting his tone. "They just wanted to live a quiet, happy life -- in a tiny part of the world. And then? They ended up having to take me in. And *then*, they found out I was a mutant. And *then*, I grew *chitin*," and what began as a small bit of amusement has swelled up to a hint of throaty laughter. "Seriously, sometimes I have to wonder what their lives would have looked like if--" He looks back at the house -- never losing pace with Rasa. The amusement fades into something more stern; he turns back to continue forward. "--Optimists. Yeah. I guess, I just -- superheroes, y'know?" He grins at this, eyes tracing their way back to Rasa's face. "Beats running into burning buildings all on my own." "--speaking of danger," Peter adds, "how are you doing at the Land of Oz?" "You are the ever unwinding head of cabbage. Think you've reached the center and suddenly there's another leave of interest to peek under." Rasa snickers softly and keeps walking, leaning a little against his shoulder. "Are you a cabbage patch kid?" She peeks behind him and stares at his rear for a moment as if the trademark signature would be evident through his clothes. She clears her throat and turns her gaze back to his face. "Yeah. Superheroes. Looking for your Justice League? Oz is... less and more surreal than you'd think. It's got classes and I'm studying and that's great. The constant medical check ups are more regimented than I'd like, but -- base lines, you know." "I haven't mutated *that* far," Peter responds, only to add (with a tiny mouth-twitch): "Yet." As Rasa leans against his shoulder, Peter huffs out another gust of cooling mist; some of the people on the street here are glancing their way -- a few curious looks, a few knowing ones -- Peter's face isn't unknown, here. Rasa's *is*, but she looks -- normal enough. Though the fact that she's arm-and-arm with someone who absolutely doesn't prompts a few of the stares to linger longer than is likely polite. "You're being careful, right? Osborn is... I mean, you know better than most people, I think," Peter tells her. "But..." "...y'know how, I can sense danger, right?" he continues, his voice significantly quieter -- as if concerned about being overheard. "It's like, this painful tingle. Around B, it's *always* whispering, just a little bit. Like, there's never a time when B *isn't*... a little dangerous." Peter's free hand reaches out to touch the back of Rasa's wrist, at the sleeve -- careful not to touch skin. His voice drops to just above a hushed whisper: "But around Osborn...? It always *screams*." "I'm banging him." Rasa replies, her voice stone cold serious. She stares straight ahead and keeps walking, dragging him if he stops walking. "Of course, I'm using protection and being super safe. It's hard though, given the skin contact issues, but he's come up with these full body condoms that have a breathing apparatus and everything." She falls silent after that. At those three words, Peter actually manages to *choke on air*. It's quite an impressive feat for a man who can juggle, walk on a tight-rope, and balance a flaming torch on his nose -- simultaneously. He does, in fact, stop walking -- and Rasa is forced to drag him for just a little bit. As she *continues* to elaborate, she's forced to drag him a little farther -- until, at last, his feet start moving -- whump, whump, whump -- and he shakes his head, breathy laughter distorting his words: "Do you have *any* idea what sort of images you just put into my head? Oh. My. *God*. I need, like, industrial grade BRAIN BLEACH, Rasa." Rasa just laughs and shakes her head. "Oh, relax, Peter. I'm not screwing Norman Osborn. I barely see him. He's got an entire empire to run. He actually doesn't like hanging around the kids at the school all that much, let alone spend time with all the undergrad minions he's training up. Yes. I'm careful. I've seen what he turns into and I like avoiding that." She rubs his arm lightly where she holds on to him and looks down at the ground. "I just feel like everyone when I come back for the holidays thinks I'm an idiot for going to his school and all people can ask me is if I'm being careful. You know I didn't have anywhere else to go. I'm doing the best I can." "...no, yeah, I--" Peter withdraws the hand from her sleeve, moving to scratch furiously behind his head as he puts on a sheepish grin. "--yeah, sorry, I mean... yeah. We all know he's... dangerous as heck. I guess I forget, sometimes. And, yeah -- it's one of the only places out there just taking mutants, no questions asked. I guess that's... I mean, it *is* a good thing. I don't think you're an idiot," he soon adds. "I think you're brave." "Brave? Or desperate? I don't know. Kind of wish I had the grades to go to MIT with you guys. But I got so distracted with Ivan my last year, I just couldn't pull it off. I wouldn't take it back. I just. Well, things are what they are now." She lets go of his arms when he tugs away and clasps her hands in front of her, chin lowering as her head hangs. "So, B told me about her classes. How are yours? You enjoying campus life?" "--it also helped that we had Stark pushing behind us. I don't think," Peter admits, "we would have gotten in if he hadn't written letters of recommendation." He grins, crookedly. "--weird. Really weird. You get a lot of stares. A lot of... strange conversations. Some *incredibly* weird questions. Somebody asked me," Peter admits, his crooked grin broadening, "if I molt my shell like a cicada. It's really weird, being... like, I'm sure there are other mutants there that *aren't* obvious? But being the freaky looking ones..." He laughs. "It's going -- well enough, I guess." "Yeah, super rich, powerful men pushing us toward success. You guys got the nicer one. Dresses up in a metal suit, saves people. Mine is crazy and eats people when he doesn't take his meds." Rasa shakes her head slowly. There's a small noise in the back of her throat, then she changes the subject. "I think I asked you that once, and then asked if you could save your molting for me. But... I don't know. I might have also dreamt it. Glad someone else had the idea to ask. Because. Well, I feel like it's actually justified curiosity now. But it's good for the most part? I mean, they aren't mean, right?" "I *do* molt, just not all at once," Peter explains, still grinning. "And yeah -- we talked about it. B likes to use some of the moltings for arts. It's not a bad question, just... not the sort of thing you might ask someone right from the get-go. Though, actually, I think I remember pestering *you* with questions when I first met you, and found out about how your power works." He seems greatly amused by this, only to add -- at that last bit: "Some of them are. But, man, after you've been through some of the stuff we've seen... somebody writing 'FREAKS GO HOME' on the side of your dorm? That's almost *welcoming*." Peter laughs; the laugh even sounds genuine. "I'm used to it, anyway. I used to get bullied a lot, before Xavier's -- before I even *looked* like a freak. It was hard, back then -- but now?" Peter shakes his head, reaching his hand out to touch Rasa's sleeve -- to recurl his arm around hers. "It bugs me a little bit, but... you -- Jax -- all my friends back at Xavier's -- B, Shane, Ivan, *everyone* -- helped me realize how awesome I am. All the mean people in the world will never be able to undo that." "Yeah. Graffiti doesn't really seem to hold a candle to people storming the campus, killing people, zombies... fight clubs, being eaten... you know." Rasa shakes her head and sighs, her breath curling hotly in front of her face. "Shit. The words suck, but... yeah." Her words failing her, she looks up and over their shoulders at the stores they are passing. She only looks down again when Peter latches on. She shuffles a little closer, a smile relaxing her lips. "I'm glad you know you're amazing, Peter Parker. Because you are. Your heart is huge and warm. Keep protecting that." "You want to know a secret?" Peter leans forward, then, as they walk -- and presses his mouth against her hair. Careful not to make skin contact, if he can help it -- but still managing to press a chaste kiss against the side and top of her head, as they walk. "*Everyone* is amazing," he tells her, his voice soft. "Including you." Rasa reaches a glove covered hand over to squeeze Peter's hand when he presses a kiss to her head. "Thanks, Peter. You really do belong with the optimists."