The barista on the other side of the bar gives the Parker kid a long, suspicious look. Peter, meanwhile--a goofy, lanky looking fifteen year old teenager with a thick pair of Buddy Holly glasses--tries to put on his best 'I'm-100-percent-harmless' look. The barista doesn't seem to be buying it. So he repeats the order:
"You want a grande with a shot of espresso."
"Uh-huh."
"*And* two energy shots."
"...uh, yeah..."
"And this is for *you*."
"Well, um..."
"I ain't contributing to a cardiac arrest, kid."
There's a few flashes from the entrance as the door swings open, and a blonde woman walks in, followed by a veritable wall of a man in a dark suit. The woman is dressed far too nice for the neighborhood, in what appears to be an actual Dior suit of navy blue, and her hair pulled back in a serviceable, yet fashionable ponytail. Talking on her cell phone, she seems unaware of others in the coffee shop as she carries on her conversation. "I don't really care, Gene," she says as she moves towards the counter, pausing behind the young man ordering. "I'm serious. I want to do a piece on this YouTube kid. What are they calling him? The Man-Spider? See if you can dig up any witnesses, find out what neighborhoods he's seen in most...what? Hello? Gene?" She frowns into her phone, glancing at the teenager. "Too much caffeine is poison," is her sage advice to him on the matter. "You should try an herbal tea -- hello?" she's back on the phone. "Gene? Yes. Yes. Good. I'll talk to you tomorrow." The phone is clicked off, and she pockets it, offering a smile. "You should try an herbal tea," she repeats. "There's plenty of those that will give you energy without fibrillation."
"Look, I just--I, um." The flashing photography--the sudden presence of lots of people--it all seems to put Parker on edge. He's looking everywhere, as if it's all just too much for him to take in. But then he turns back to the barista, grumbling: "Just gimme a coffee, please," he mumbles, fishing in his pocket for the five dollar bill. An instant later, and the woman's behind him on the phone. The kid immediately perks up--the mention of herbal tea doesn't catch his interest, but the other thing...
"Spider-man," he corrects, his voice just on the other side of a mouse-ish squeak. "His, uh, name. That's what they call him. 'The Spider-Man'."
"Coffee's up," the barista announces, pawing it over to Parker, who accepts. "And don't bother the customers with that insect-man nonsense."
"SPIDER-man," Parker immediately fires back, voice indignant. "*ARACHNID*! Totally different class from inse--annghmright thankyouforthecoffeesir," he finishes, the last phrase somehow managing to melt into a single word as he snatches the coffee up.
"Spider-Man," Alison repeats, looking the young man over carefully. "Right. I knew it was something like that." She offers a bright smile, and touches him lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you. I should have just asked a teenager in the first place. You guys live on YouTube more or less, right?" The barista's attitude gets a sulky frown, and she steps forward. "Just give me a chai," she says, batting her eyes. "And Mel over there," she indicates the large man now occupying (or rather, seemingly consuming it with his bulk) a table, "will have a black coffee. And can I get some of those blueberry scones? They look wonderful." She glances at the boy. "Would you care to join me? Perhaps you can tell me more about the Spider-Man." She turns back to the barista with a wide smile. "You'll notice, sir, that /I/ am asking /him/ about the subject." She leans forward with a friendly smile. "So I'd appreciate it if you didn't hold it against Mister...?" she glances at the boy.
"Uh, Peter. Peter P--wait. Are you?" Peter adjusts his glasses, peering at Alison. There's a certain directness to the boy's stare--it's almost rude! "Waaaaaait... I've seen you somewhere--"
"Hey, you want to talk to the kid, I won't stop you," the barista responds, fetching her order. "Just saying. He'll talk your ear off about stuff like that."
"MAN-Wolf!" Peter exclaims, promptly jumping briskly into the air. "And The Living Vampire! I--uh, oh, right, sure, I guess, I mean, I just read a lot about him, it's not like I know *everything* about him, I mean it's all online and everything if you look carefully but I guess I follow this stuff pretty closely and--"
"There's a reason he ain't allowed to have more than two orders a day," the barista informs Alison, sliding her the tea and blueberry scones.
Alison laughs as the boy recognizes her, and wrinkles her nose lightly. "Oh, heavens. Don't tell me you're an actual fan of those?" She giggles, and fishes out a platinum credit card that she hands to the barista. "I'm sure Peter is just a very energetic young man," she says smoothly, taking the cups when they're placed on the counter. "I find it refreshing." With coffee cups in hand, the plate of scones is left to sit, and the blonde turns wide, pleading eyes on Peter. "Would you be a darling and grab that plate for me?" she asks, not really waiting to see if he complies before she's moving off, still talking. "I was so young in those movies. Barely older than you are."
Peter hardly thinks twice to snatch them up. He also doesn't seem to think twice about continuing to talk: "Oh, yeah, I mean, my uncle and I watch a lot of those every Saturday night. We call it 'Terribad Movie Night'. I mean," and now he blushes, color rushing to his cheeks as he balances the scones in one hand and the massive cup of coffee in the other, "not that your movies are terribad! I mean, we call it terribad but that doesn't make the movies terribad and I'm sure he totally wasn't thinking when he rented those movies for terribad because they weren't... uh, I like your hair," he concludes.
Alison's laugh is a merry peal as she hands Mel his coffee. The huge man gives Peter a good eyeballing before he decides the threat posed is minimal and tucks into his coffee, grabbing up a scone. "My hair is a mess today," she says. "That's why I've got it pulled back. And those movies are /awful/," she says. "I did the best I could, but hack scripts can only be polished so much." She gestures for Peter to take a seat as she settles herself. "Which one is your favorite? Mine was always 'The Werewolf by Night.' I dated Ryan after the movie wrapped. /Terrible/ idea." She indicates that the scones are fair game, and sips at her tea. "So, what is your story, Peter? You're still in high school, yes?"
"I, um. The Living Vampire," Peter confesses, mumbling into his own coffee cup as he shifts into a seat. He seems rather uncomfortable; for a bit, he's pretty much squirming in his seat. "Ryan--? Oh wait, was he the werewolf?" Peter's not good with names. The moment she indicates those scones are up for grabs, one of them disappears--the kid eats *fast*. It's gone in an instant; there's just a trace of crumbs on his chin. "Mmmmrphfnmph..." Swallow. "Mmrph. Yeah. Uh, high-school. 9th grade." The coffee's steaming hot; Peter doesn't seem to mind. It's probably got enough sugar in it to give an elephant diabetes. He gives it a rather solid gulp, before blinking: "You said you were looking for..." His voice drops a hint, as he looks about--as if sharing some secret: "*Spider-man*, right?"
"That was a fun one to do, actually," Alison says with a bright smile. "I spent so much time covered in fake blood, but it took forever because we kept cracking up on set." She leans forward, eyes widening as Peter inhales the scone. "Wow. You were hungry. Have another." She sips at her tea, and taps the table thoughtfully with a manicured nail. "Well, not looking for /him/," she confesses. "He seems a bit hard to pin down, judging by the videos I've seen." She smiles, and leans back. "But, I would be interested in talking to people who've seen him, or who are fans." She leans forward again, sharing the conspiracy space once more. "Between you and me, I've got it on good authority that the Bugle is wanting to do a series of op-eds on him, and I want to get the drop on them."
The next scone disappears just as fast as the first one. He's... fast. Really fast. Hands like little lightning bolts. It's so fast that it looks kind of like a magic trick! "Oh yeah," Peter says, before swallowing: "Weeeeell... um, he showed up about a month or two ago--just spray-painting spiders all over the city! People on the internet keep giving him challenges, like 'spray-paint that billboard down on main', and sometimes he just goes ahead and does it. All the internet videos are really grainy though. I mean, nobody can even tell if he's a he! Maybe he's a she. Or, somebody else said maybe he's, like, made out of spiders, and he wears the mask and clothes because if he took them off it'd be total 'MONSTER-CITY' under there."
The mention of the Bugle seems to make him straighten, blinking wide-eyed and owlishly: "Really? Oh, that'd be... like, really cool, I think..."
Alison watches the boy eat with amused fascination, nudging the plate towards him idly. "Sounds kind of reckless," she says, reaching out to save one scone for herself and picking at it. "I mean, whoever it is, they could get hurt doing that. Some of those places seem kind of out on a limb, so to speak." She breaks off a corner of scone, and nibbles at it, chuckling at the spider idea. "That...would be quite a story, if it were true," she admits, dusting a crumb from the corner of her mouth daintily. "I'd definitely ask him to be on the show in that case." She lifts her eyebrows at the response to the information about the Bugle, and leans forward with a quixotic smile. "Which is cool? Jameson running his vicious little op-eds, or my getting the drop on him?"
Scones disappear like they're going out of style. He's polite enough not to grab the tray and devour it whole, at least--but man, can the kid eat. He doesn't look like he's some sort of street hobo--the clothes are nice, his hair is freshly cut, and he doesn't look like he's not eating... but puberty must have given him the appetite of a wild tiger. "Mmrphrmph... Jmmnh... Jameson? Who's that?" Peter asks. "Oh, is he one of the Bugle reporters? Nono, I mean--like, the whole idea of you getting a drop on them. Wait. Are you a reporter too? I thought you were an actress!" Apparently, he's completely oblivious to the fact that she has a morning show. Well, most mornings he's in school.
"J. Jonah Jameson is the owner and editor of the Daily Bugle," Alison supplies. "You're probably more familiar with their website, which is run by Glory Grant. It's much less stuffy." She smiles, and exchanges a glance with Mel, who looks dismayed at the rate which the scones disappear and excuses himself with a non-intelligible grunt. "But to answer your question, I am a reporter, kind of. I have a talk show." She fishes in her pocket, and extracts a card. It has a sparkly shot of her, and the logo 'Alison!' in script along the bottom. "It's kind of like a cross between Oprah and Good Morning America," she explains with a little note of pride. "It's on during the day, though, so you might not have seen it."
Mel returns with more scones, and some cupcakes, which he thumps down in front of Peter. He pointedly takes two cupcakes and a scone, and returns to his seat.
"Oooooh... oooh, right, yeah. *Those* guys. I remember now. They did a small piece on the Spider-man. Something about 'public nuisance', and 'dangerous influence on children', and... and, yeah. They sound like jerks," Peter states, sounding as if he's taking the whole piece as a direct attack on *him*. He looks quite interested in the card, accepting it hesitantly--but he looks *far* more interested when the cupcakes arrive. His eyes practically bulge. There's a moment where he looks up at Alison, as if for some visual cue concerning permission--once given, he's devouring them wholesale. It's actually quite remarkable--he eats like a pig, but scarcely makes a mess. His hands move like little darting machines. Between chews--rather rudely!--he says:
"You know, if you want to get in contact with him, I *totally* know how. A bunch of people on the forums were talking about doing it, but nobody's had the nerve." He sounds quite proud of this fact; like he's managed to sort the whole thing out himself. He even lifts his head up a bit defiantly, as if to snub his nose at all those 'nerveless poseurs' on the forum!
"You do?" Alison seems amused by this. Or maybe it's the way the food is disappearing. Whichever, she's watching the boy intently as he eats, taking in what he's saying despite the food being shoveled into his mouth. She doesn't seem alarmed by his appetite -- one would think she's been around teenage boys before. "That's a pretty big claim. How exactly would you go about getting his attention?" She leans over, then, and runs a hand into one of Mel's pocket, extracting a digital recorder. "You don't mind if I record this, do you? Just for my own use." She flashes a megawatt smile at the teen. "I promise not to make you famous unless you ask."
He looks at the digital recorder between chews--for a moment, those eyebrows knit together, gears grinding as he ponders the wisdom of allowing himself to be recorded. Then--promptly--he shrugs. "Sure," he says, spitting a few crumbs out on his hand--blushing--and snatching up a napkin to clean it up. Another swallow, followed by a gulp of coffee. Then, more firmly, in a 'deeper' voice: "Sure. So, right. This guy--he runs around the city 'tagging' things with this spider graffiti, right? The way it works is you post an image or a place--some place *impossible* to get to. Like a billboard, or the top of a high-rise apartment, or the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse... and if he takes the challenge, a few days later, a photo'll pop up of his tag there."
Peter shrugs: "So really, it's easy. Just post a challenge somewhere and wait there. If it's hard enough, he'll probably show up. Heck, if the police *really* wanted to catch him, that's all they'd have to do. But they probably got better things to do."
The recorder is clicked on smoothly as Peter gives his permission, and Alison smiles. "Thank you," she says, and leans forward -- a rapt audience for Peter's lecture on Spider-trapping. "My building is pretty tall," she admits. "And there's a billboard on the next one over. That's a good idea." She brightens, and leans back. "Does the challenge have to be particularly difficult, physically?" she asks, sipping her tea again. "Always up high or out of reach? He's not reckless enough to try and get around security people or police officers, is he?" Mel shifts, and Alison /twinkles/ at him before turning her attention back on the teenager, watching him carefully as he responds.
Peter blinks, as if this thought hasn't even occurred to him. His nose wrinkles at the thought: "I guess it has to be... physically challenging? But none of the places he's tagged so far really had any people in them. Someone posted that he should tag the Xavier institute but he never responded to that. Another guy was like 'tag the mayor's desk!' but he didn't do that either. So--I guess he just doesn't want to, you know. Get into a *lot* of trouble. Or hurt anybody," he adds, though that last part sounds a little meek. "But, yeah. Really high up places. *Crazy* high. Somebody even said he might be a mutant."
There's a certain shyness to that last statement, like he was reluctant to tack it on; as if he was testing the waters to see what Alison thought. It's almost spoken in a whisper.
"So, physically challenging, but no threat of being captured or detained." Alison makes note of this, and her mouth purses at the list of places suggested. "Yes, well, the mayor's desk is extremely high risk," she confirms. "So I can understand his not wanting to do that. And Xavier's....well, that has its own problems, not the least of which is that it's not in the city limits." She speaks with authority on this subject, her demeanor cooling a bit at the suggestion. "He's better off leaving both places alone." The sudden shyness gets a raised eyebrow, and Alison smirks a bit. "And? Would that be a bad thing?" She leans forward, and extends a hand to the room in general. "And please, think about where you are before you answer."
There's more than enough reminder of the mutant-friendly policy to illustrate the point. A girl with pupiless eyes blinks her way through websites on her computer; another girl sits reading a book that sits balanced impossibly on one knee, pages turning carefully. Even the barista shows his mutation, the tattoos on his skin writhing where they peek out under his shirt sleeves. Yep, Mutants abound, tonight.
The boy's response to that last question is almost violent. He snaps back, eyes as wide as saucers, nearly spilling his coffee--the cup is jostled, right up to the edge, and begins to tip--just as his hand blurs forward to catch it and place it right back where it was.
"N-no! No, I mean--that's, you know, that's totally not a bad thing! It'd be, uh, pretty cool, I guess," and now his eyes are a little shifty, glancing around the room--settling on those oddities. The tattoos, the pupiless eyes... He clears his throat, before adding:
"It's just, um, you know," he says, his voice creeping down a bit lower. "On the forums, some of them were saying a bunch of stuff like that, and, uh, saying how if he was, it'd be like... cheating. Or something. Somebody was even talking about, you know, trying to catch him. With that new law. The mutant law that the mayor put out? Try to trick him into, like, getting in trouble with the police." His left hand is opening and closing, now, clenching at the edge of the table. "You... wouldn't do that, would you? I mean--try to get him in trouble..."
Wow. Good reflexes. The blonde woman seems impressed by the sudden catch. "Cheating." Alison seems amused by this, or possibly annoyed, if you were to gauge it by the look she gives Mel. "Of course they think that." She shakes her head, chewing the inside of her cheek briefly as she regards the boy. "I kind of think he's too smart to be caught like that, even if he is a bit cocky. Mutant or not, he seems to be careful about what he takes on." She leans forward to place a hand on Peter's arm, a warm and comforting press of skin. "I promise you that I have no intention of getting anyone into any trouble," she promises him. She sounds sincere, and her expression matches the earnestness. "I just want people to see how.../spectacular/ some of these things he does are, and maybe get people thinking about him in a different light."
His cheeks burn brighter than apples. The hand on his arm seems to make him wriggle; he's not exactly sure how to respond. "O-okay," he mumbles, down into the coffee cup. "I mean--not that I could stop you if you were doing any different... I guess I could, like, post something where he could see it, warning him--but, nobody knows if he's reading what, or..." the words trail off. He's hesitant to even look her straight in the eye. "...but I don't think you're trying to do something like that."
"You don't have to warn him," Alison says, sitting back. "Like I said, I'm on his side. Let Jameson and his bunch do the other side of things." She smiles, and frowns as Mel clears his throat. "Oh, shoot. I have to go," she says with a touch of regret, and motions for her card to be handed back as Mel hands her a pen. "Here," she says, writing something on the back. "Do not give this out, but it's my cell number. If you hear of anything that might be interesting, I'd appreciate your giving me a call." She flashes a bright smile. "Or if you want a tour of the studio or whatever." She stands, then, and brushes invisible crumbs from her jacket. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Peter. Thank you very much for the advice."
"Ohthat'sfine," Parker quickly responds, words again blurring together into a near-incomprehensible mush. "I mean, thanks! I totally will. Call you, I mean. I mean, if I hear of anything. Interesting." He's still babbling as he accepts the card; it disappears somewhere into his jacket. "And I totally won't give it out. It was really nice meeting you too!" When she's up on her feet, moving to go, he mumbles to himself: "Uncle's not gonna believe this..."
Alison flutters fingers back in Peter's direction. "I know I can count on you," she says brightly. "I hope to hear from you soon." She pauses at the door, and wrinkles her nose. "If any of these guys ask you what we were doing, just tell them you're interviewing for an internship," she advises, and there's another flutter of fingers. "Good-bye, Peter!" Then she's pushing out the door, ignorning the flashes of light that greet her. And, when she is gone, so, too, are most of the photographers, and the coffee shop slowly returns to to its quiet, pre-papparazzi state. Not that anyone noticed to begin with. It is New York, after all.
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