ArchivedLogs:So Many Bad Ideas

So Many Bad Ideas
Webshooters for EVERYONE.
Dramatis Personae Ivan, Peter	2013-03-05 Peter gives Ivan webshooters! And they discuss /terrible/ ideas.
Location <XS> Gymnasium - B1
For a mutant school, this is a pretty standard gym, even if its sturdy construction to handle mutant powers is less standard. Still, it is designed along normal lines; setup for a basketball court, standard equipment -- punching bags, rubber mats, standard assortment of balls, weight training equipment, the usual fare. It is large, and as well-appointed as the rest of Xavier's tends to be. 'ivan meet at gym will be awesome!! - p' The note is taped to their door. He drew little spiders in the place of dots on his i's and !'s. Peter's been busy. Ever since his arm got busted, he's been playing around with his soldering tools and cartridges. Buying unusual hobby kits; disassembling things, reassembling things, and generally needing to carry a jug of vinegar with him everywhere he goes (more than once, he's had to call upon Ivan to DEGLUE both of his hands with a spritz of vinegar). Now, as Ivan arrives in the gym, he gets to see Peter's TOP SECRET project. Peter's in the center of the gym. As Ivan steps in, he waves. He's not wearing his WEB-SHOOTER gloves. But it looks like he's got on... two wrist-watches? Two fairly big, cumbersome looking wrist-watches. And a basket full of tennis balls at his feet. And then... He grabs the basket with one arm, slings it around, and *THROWS* the tennis balls up into the air -- sending over a dozen soaring up toward the opposite wall, releasing the basket to let it arch and spin wildly behind. And then -- THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP THWP -- like soft, automatic gun-fire, he's thrusting his wrists in the direction of the tennis balls -- tiny 'spurts' of greyish webbing flinging out to hit them, *PASTING* them to the wall they were heading to -- splat, splat, splat -- he hits all of them except three. And just as the basket is about to hit the floor, he THWPs -- webbing it with a *cord* and yanking it back to him, setting it down at his feet. When he turns back to Ivan, he is grinning, and there is something *frightfully* excited in his eyes: "I BUILT YOU A PAIR." No sounds come from Ivan's direction for a good few seconds. He's standing still to watch the show, dressed in the usual converse sneakers, jeans and a green shirt with two stripes across the chest and an upside-down black star on top of them. Some of Peter's excitement manages to carry over to /his/ face, too, though admittedly the second-hand joy is a bit lacking in terms of vigour. That is, until the last sentence manages to properly process. Immediately the boy moves again, steps bouncy and eyes wide and directly toward Peter, looking about ecstatic as a your standard Ivan gets. What where how when. Peter proceeds to unstrap the wrist-watches from his wrists. They aren't /really/ wrist-watches; they're bulky leather straps with what *look* like wrist-watches mounted to them -- but they've been heavily modified and soldered, with two 'canisters' mounted on either side of the 'watch' -- and a small, yellow, flattened 'cord' running from the watch to the palm -- with adhesive on the back to 'tape' it there, two prongs -- 'contact' points -- at the end of it. He immediately moves toward Ivan to help him put it on, nattering away as he does: "Okay, so, BASICALLY, you curl your ring and middle finger in like this and hit the contact points simultaneously. Now, this model is kind of tricky because it'll fire even if you just /grab/ something, so you probably went to turn it off when you're not using it..." Peter flips a small lever on the watch, causing it to 'power down', then flips it back on, causing it to 'power up' with a gentle, near-imperceptible whirr... "But otherwise it TOTALLY works like mine." Ivan is visibly intrigued. He holds perfectly still as the is outfitted with the wrist watch-looking devices, save for maybe slooowly leaning forward onto his toes in anticipation. The inventions are stared at with utmost concentration, and he gives a quick nod to acknowledge having understood. No grabbing anything unless it is turned off. Gotcha. He then stares at his own fingers and somewhat cautiously attempts the described motion, yet never quite touches it down onto the end of the cord. Simple enough. Then, he looks up at Peter again. Now what, now what. "Now," Peter warns -- because any GOOD friend knows perfectly well they should take any number of safety precautions! -- "no swinging, 'cuz I'm pretty sure I can only do that right on account of my powers. BUT," he adds, and then he's plucking up a tennis ball -- holding it in front of one of the web-shooters, about three feet away. "Go ahead! Try to web it and yank it out of my hand." Peter, beaming. Like this is the easiest thing in the world. Ivan's hands are held out in front of him as though his very limbs were things completely unfamiliar to him, all of a sudden. He's still pretty stoked but a look of concern slowly creeps across his face as he lifts a hand and angles it- slowly. So very slowly. In the seconds it takes him to even try and properly aim it becomes increasingly obvious he has /no idea/ what he's doing, and after he sticks out his tongue in concentration and activates his new toy, something else becomes even more obvious; Ivan's aim is the most unfortunately terrible thing in the world. THWP. The tennis ball lives to see another day unwebbed. Peter's face, however, gets the brunt of it. Ivan's excitement promptly washes off of his face entirely. To Peter's credit, he does /not/ freak. He does, however, get *SPLT'd*. There's a moment of silence as the long string of greyish goop makes contact with his face, covering his left eye, nose, and a portion of his mouth. Then, silently, there's a bit of shuffling -- and he produces the vinegar spritzer. *SPRITZ, SPRITZ*. /Pull/. He spits out a mouthful of goop mixed with vinegar -- an obnoxious chemical stew of flavors. "Nngh... *SPT*. Okay," Peter says, and now he takes Ivan's wrist -- GENTLY -- still spitting -- and moves it to point at one of the tennis balls on the FLOOR. AWAY from their faces. "Aiming is not your strong point. But, uh, you can --" *SPIT* "--/practice/!" THWP. Ivan's excitement seems to have trouble returning to his guilt-ridden face, shoulders sinking. There are even a few teeny tiny spiders that come inching down from his neck and sleeves in what almost seems to be disappointment in the abilities of their ride. His movements as his wrist is grabbed come a little hesitant at first, but it isn't long before he forces himself to draw in a deeep breath and /focuses/ again. This time, the projectile goop hits the ball, albeit with help. Though contained, a modicum of happiness returns to Ivan's face. "... Better?" "Yes!" Peter exclaims as the web strand hits the ball with a signature *SPLAT*. "Yes, /much/ better!" Not to mention much less /foul/ tasting. "It's a little weird at first, because you're basically aiming with your wrist instead of your hand, but -- oh, if you tap it REALLY fast twice, you'll just get a big 'splurt', but one long tap will give you the string. Also..." Peter natters on. But point is, it's not long before Ivan is firing away with WEB-SHOOTERS as Peter tosses up tennis balls into the air for him to try and hit -- and yank out of the air! He is likely missing 9 times out of 10 (PERHAPS MORE), but Peter is persistent, and has put aside three cartridges for Ivan to practice on. "I wanted to field test these things," Peter explains as he throws another tennis ball up for Ivan to fire at. "Because I'm gonna make a third version, with a few more changes I've been experimenting with -- but I need to make sure I can produce the /basic/ functionalities, first. And I figured -- since I'll be making a new one /anyway/, you can totally have this one." There IS a lot of missing. But you know what, that 1ish out of every 10 that Ivan does hit? That wasn't an accident or anything. He meant to do that! And it WORKED! Over time his disappointment seems to lessen, making place for determination instead. It cements itself further with every tennis ball he /does/ manage to hit. The yanking them out of the air part still seems problematic and there's a point at which Ivan manages to gloop all of his fingers together for a little while, but... one thing at a time. By the time Peter mentions the a third web-shooter version and throws up another tennis ball, Ivan's aim seems to have increased at least a /little/. THWP. Then an unimpressive, meek little *splt* of a graze as it spins, letting momentum tumble it to the ground. Ivan stands tall, accepting this as nothing but a success. Then he eyes Peter, confidence renewed, to ask brightly, "Will you use them to be a hero again?" When Ivan hits, Peter seems to swell with excitement; even if he doesn't *quite* manage to yank them into his grip -- whatever thrill Ivan manages to subdue, Peter makes up the difference. When Ivan asks about using the webshooters for HEROICS, Peter briefly shuffles, blushing as he bounces the next tennis ball off the ground. "Um, yes," he admits. "The changes are --" He looks shiftily from left to right. "-- in response to some of the problems I hit when I was in the fire. I need to be able to lower people more easily -- maybe even make nets, although I'm still working on that. I don't know if it's possible -- the bio-adhesive is really amazing, though -- you can do all /sorts/ of strange things with it. Also I'm going to improve the costume and mask, a bit. I was thinking -- um, maybe I can experiment with layers of your spider-webs." BRIGHTER blush. Ivan steels himself for this next tennis ball, even if the ratio of hits to misses promises very little. Nothing more than a nod is given as a response to Peter's suggestion of the spider-web layers. Experiment all you want, it's what it's there for. Aaand then... lo and behold, a real gosh darn miracle-- this time the subsequent SPLAT is a lot more satifying sounding, and Ivan goes one further, attempting to pull it back toward him! But aiming is /hard/, man. He only just manages to duck out of the way as the yellow blur /zips/ past his face, lifting both his arms to cover his face while keeping his palms clear of contact. HHGH. He looks /terrified/. Then he looks amused. Then he THROWS UP HIS ARMS because ALMOST is infinitely better than nothing! (Also not getting hit in the face is nice.) Peter *CLAPS*. Just once, but he can't help himself OH MY GOD YOU ALMOST CAUGHT IT. "Oh man," he says, "can you imagine like the whole school with these things? I'm not gonna give them out," he quickly adds, "'Cuz I don't have a ton of cartridges left, and I'm not sure where I'm gonna get more -- but that would be /nuts/." Then, with some hesitation: "Actually, I know where to get more cartridges. And I've been thinking about it -- a lot -- about going back there. Not /just/ for the cartridges, but for more... intel." He licks his lips, then looks back and forth through the room, before edging up toward Ivan -- tennis ball in hand. "Have you ever heard of 'Oscorp'?" Ivan just looks ready to do more web-shooting for a moment, making a convincing argument for past lives and him having been a golden retriever in one of them, arms dropping back to where they're supposed to be, if a little stiffly. Aiming is hard work. But he is easily distracted from the tennis balls and frowns when he is asked a question, raking his brain for an answer. Finally, the sheltered teen gives a confused shake of his head, peering at Peter in attempted urging to explain further. "They're, uh, a weapons contractor. I think they might be terrible," Peter adds, before bouncing the tennis ball -- regardless of whether or not Ivan attempts to web it, Peter's firing his *own* web-shooter with a low THWP, grabbing the basket of tennis balls and tugging it over to him with a quick yank. "It's where I got this bio-adhesive paste in the first place... and a bunch of information for --" Sneaky eyes to the left, then to the right. "-- well, anyway, the point is just that... they're scary people. Who work with even /scarier/ people, who kidnap mutants and do horrible things to them. Like, tests, and putting them in cages, and..." Peter takes in a breath. "The police won't -- /can't/ do anything about it. I've been thinking about breaking in again. They might expect me this time around, but they won't expect /these/," Peter says, lifting one of the webshooters. Then, another tennis ball. BOUNCE. Whether or not the severity of the situation Peter describes travels all the way through to Ivan's brain is... hard to tell. He twitches an eye when the first tennis ball bounces off the floor, swallowing back the urge to go after it. No. Bad Ivan. It is listening time now. The ball rolls. Sad, abandoned and alone in Ivan's peripheral vision. "Do..." He starts slowly, absently, concentration waning but eyes still on Peter's face, "... you think you will get hurt?" When yet another tennis ball bounces off the floor, Ivan's attention snaps to it and he lifts an arm to aim for it as it reaches the highest point in its arc upward. He misses, but undeterred, manages to graze it as it bounces up a second time. Delightful. Peter snorts at the question. "Dude, I can dodge /bullets/," Peter says, but this has the smack of false teenage bravado more than a genuine lack of concern. Also, Peter cannot /actually/ dodge bullets. "And they didn't have any guns there. Not when I went." He leaves out talk of murder-drones, though. "But I'm running low on cartridges -- and I want to see if I can find something to implicate them, or maybe more information about what they're up to -- and they're /bad/ guys," Peter adds, as if this last bit was the most important bit. Then, rather hesitantly: "I just wanted someone else to know I was going, because..." He doesn't finish that thought. Instead, he bounces another tennis ball. There is no 'because'. Ivan decidedly ignores any implication otherwise. When another ball goes bouncing, another miss follows. He looks like he's about to try /again/, but then... doesn't, freezing. Something seems to occur to him mid-thought, and when he turns to face Peter again he perks up curiously, the smallest of hesitant smiles on his face before he looks almost /pleading/. The look a puppy might give its owner when they're on their way out the front door. Peter blinks at that pleading look. Eyebrows crumpled. Hey, he's not trying to shoot the tennis ball anymore, and why is he LOOKING at him like that, what's with the puppy-dog eyes, and... and... oh. Oh. OH. "OH," Peter exclaims, and his hands are immediately lifting into the air. "Oh, man, I -- I don't know, I mean -- oh man if something /terrible/ happened to you I'd go /bonkers/," Peter admits, but now his eyebrows are crunching together and he's actually /thinking/ about it. He doesn't reach for another tennis ball. Not yet. And then, he asks: "...can you communicate with bugs? Like, can you use them to spy on things?" Peter's considering. This is a /terrible/ idea, and he's totally pondering it instead of dismissing it with all the force at his power. Ivan considers an answer, before veeery tentatively giving a one-sided shrug, answering reluctantly and quietly, "Not... very much." His smile fades, and a tiny bit of sadness enters his features. "I can-- stay behind a little bit?" He seems unsure of his wording, brain struggling to start the Talking again. "/Safe/. Just in case. If you are alone, no one will know if you are not okay. Or okay. One of these." "Yeah, I was thinking... like, you could be my back-up plan," Peter says, and now his eyebrows *pinch* together. "Like, if I send a message, you tell all the bugs in the building to go NUTS. Maybe start biting and freaking people out. Or chewing through wires. Or, or," and Peter just kind of suddenly realizes: "Or you could just wait for me and help me get back home." The thought of Ivan getting in trouble clearly disturbs Peter, though; despite the fact that /he's/ planning to plunge headlong into it. Ivan is not left unaffected by similar ideas, but whatever drives him to want to go along seems still firmly anchored in his mind. "-- Yes." He replies, unspecifically as to what he is agreeing with, but no less determined. Then, simply, "We will need a plan." Just like that, he turns and walks toward the door again, hands in front of him, gesturing mildly in accordance with whatever plotting seems to be going on in his head. Forgetting, apparently, that he's still wearing Peter's invention. "Right," Peter nods, "a plan." He acts like he /planned/ to have a plan. Nevermind the first time he did this, he did it with absolutely NO plan. But, yes. Plan. He and Ivan will create one. He's soon hopping after Ivan to follow -- mumbling to his back: "Uh Ivan be careful the webshooters are /still/ on...!"