The strange boy isn't there as quick as Micah might expect--but he's there. Today, he's not dressed in his usual alien camo gear--he's traded it out for a black hoodie, a black hat, a 'TEACH THE CONTROVERSY' t-shirt (with a picture of the devil burying fossils!), blue-jeans, gloves, and a backpack. But when he knocks on the van door... the hat is pulled down, hiding his face--a ski mask. Of course.
But at least he's not wearing the goggles.
"Hey," Peter says, shortly after knocking: "I'm here. Uh. I got your text..."
Micah is actually in the back of his van where he is /supposed/ to be when working, today. Hearing the knock and familiar voice, he opens the back door a crack to peek out, all mussed auburn hair and green plaid button-down. "Oh, hey...uh...Spider. I finished your rope-deals." He disappears for a second, returning with a pair of red and black gloves in hand. Micah must have decided that the kid isn't going to try to murder him, because he finally jumps down out of the van.
Peter blinks, stepping back. He seems a little... different, today. Less *absurdly* energetic; a little more cautious and meek. But at the sight of the gloves, he immediately perks up, clapping his hands together. "Oh, man! You--they actually work? And everything? I--oh man this is going to be *awesome*," Peter says. "How much do I owe you?"
The kid's relative calm is /immensely/ reassuring to Micah. He had been considering all of this a Really Bad Idea. "Psshh, yeah, they work!" he replies, as if them /not working/ shouldn't be an option. "Check it." Micah slips his right hand into one of the climbing gloves, the nylon weave stretching to fit snugly. He holds the hand up to show the palm, which is coated in rubbery nitrile for protection of the palm and fingers, as well as slip prevention. There is a visibly different material stitched at the bases of the third and fourth fingertips, as well as the centre of the palm. A rectangular metal unit sits inside the wrist.
"You just extend the wrist, to get your hand out of the way...otherwise you end up with yourself stuck to...uh...yourself." Not that Micah learned that from experience or anything. "Then touch the middle two fingers to the palm there." He demonstrates, aiming at a discarded can on the sidewalk. Zip! He's gotten better at hitting what he aims at! "The trick is gettin' stuff to /come back/ right." He pulls to try to bring the can over. It lands at his feet. "But that's more user error than anything." He takes a moment to disentangle himself from white ropestuff and can. "Oh...I think the parts ran just a hair under $150. Almost all of it was in the propulsion unit. Gloves were cheaper than expected."
A moment after the *zip*, and Peter's just staring--open-mouthed. It's absurdly easy to tell, even *with* the mask. And then... he's almost *shoving* the two hundred dollars into Micah's other, ungloved hand. "Ohgodthat'sPERFECT," Peter exclaims, and if Micah doesn't put up a struggle, he's *rapidly* seizing hold of those gloves, sliding them onto his own hands--giving them a steady flex, stretching them out across his fingers. "Ohmanohmanohman..."
He spins--*THWP*--and fires. The line misses the sign post he was aiming for. Peter narrows his eyes... and swings up the opposite hand--*THWP!*--*SPLAT*. The stop-sign makes a metallic 'WHUNK' as the cord attaches to it... and Peter immediately pulls, causing it to bend toward him.
Micah doesn't resist Peter's tech-grabbiness, chuckling instead at his enthusiasm. He stuffs the bills in his pocket without comment, watching the kid play with his new toys. "Whoa there, Spidey. Easy on the public property. You gotta promise not to get yourself--or /me/--in trouble with these things. Nothin' too crazy. And you're gonna have to do a lot of practicin' with these before you go all X-Games with 'em, okay? If I have to see you at one of the hospitals I work at, I'm gonna be /pissed/."
Peter narrows one eye at the sign-post as it makes a low creak... and then he releases. *TW-A-A-ANG!* It snaps back into position, the cord loosed from his hands. When Micah mentions practicing--and not getting him in trouble--Peter immediately turns, straightening. "I--right. Yeah, yes. I'm not gonna... go crazy with this. Not yet." The urge to fire these things at the buildings overhead--to start swinging like a maniac--is almost palpable. But he's resisting it. "And--I won't use them for evil. I promise."
"I'll only use them for good. And for... *AWESOME*."
"Okay then, Strongbad. You got my number in case you need mods for those after you've given 'em a test drive for awhile. Propulsion units are only a little awkward if you're trying to get end range wrist flexion." Micah illustrates by bending his wrist in, palm toward forearm. "But that's a weird position to do anything functional in. I tested out the fingertips on there, and they don't seem to mess with haptic perception too much. I was able to pick correct change out of a pocket with 'em on. But you could always cut the first, second, and fifth digits down to three-quarter length glove fingers. Just gotta leave the third and fourth alone on account of the activation circuit... Circuit seems to work well. Doesn't set off randomly usin' your hands for pickin' stuff up or whatever."
"How *did* he type with the boxing gloves?" Peter continues to flex his *own* gloves, peering at them as Micah talks. "Oh, right," Peter says, almost absently. "ADJUSTMENTS, right--to fit--yeah." He wiggles his fingers when Micah mentions the haptic perception. "Right--um, I might--I mean I'm not gonna cut up your awesome gloves or anything," Peter adds with an unseen blush, "but I might try to see if I can... um, make some variants of my own, eventually. Like, ones that are just the wrist mount and contact points, so I can carry them less conspicuously..." He holds the gloves up. "But these are *totally* cool! The material, too--It's... grippy!" Then: "I... I have to go. I'm going to test these out--*carefully*," he adds, "and, uh, I'll call you and tell you how well they're working, and if I need any adjustments, or..." He's squirming in place, clearly *chomping* at the bit to start experimenting with these things.
Micah grins, a warm, lopsided grin, at the kid's fidgeting. "All right, I can tell you wanna go play with the new tech. Have fun. /Safe/ fun. I'm not lookin' to be contributin' to the delinquency of a minor or any of that." He waves Peter off. "Have a good night. /Safely/."
And with that, Peter--grinning ear-to-ear under his mask--*darts* off. Not jumping, just running. He's, uh, trying to practice being less inconspicuous. Even in the mask.
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