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(He is so consistent. At least she can always count on him for that. She's still a bit ??? at the whole age limit thing, because, well. Zaun. But alas, not her current worry as she looks at the contents of his fridge.

Feeding a Peter Parker is harder than feeding an Isha. Does she need to add Peter to her caring routine along with Silco? Holy crap.

With a sigh, she throws out the milk before setting one of the eggs, and the turkey on the counter. Fried egg with turkey, we do what we can in this house.)

I'm not great at it, but at least it won't be lousy, okay?

[He awkwardly worms into the open chair at the table, poking his head further out of the bedspread as he watches her find out in real time that the odds are against her. This poor kitchen is sorely lacking, he can see that now that he's... like... trying to use it. Oops.]

You'll probably do way better than me.

I think I'm cursed when it comes to cooking... anything.

Don't have a lot of choice. I live in a massive balloon turbine in the depths of the Sump, so getting out of there just to find food is a hassle. Besides, if Isha doesn't eat every couple of hours, she gets impossible. Six-year-olds, tsk.

(It might be underseasoned, or a bit overseasoned. Not to perfection, the turkey is a little burnt because she put it first, but it's edible. Scrambled eggs with turkey, and she drops on the bed with a fork and the plate, and just hands it to him with no grand gestures.

Just. Eat.)

[He takes the plate, pushing around the food a bit before he finally forces himself to eat. For a metabolism like him, it's probably bad to not stuff his face. After a tick of silence, he jokes:]

... How much is the rent for a massive balloon turbine in the Sump?

Just asking, in case I can't handle the New York rent for long.

Free, doy, it's me. No one comes too close.

(Hence why her only visitors are, well, Sevika and Silco.

... But she's so relieved to see him eat. Which is why she isn't going to look, she's crossing her arms very stubbornly and pointedly looking towards the art on the wall.)

... I mean, if you want, I guess, but Zaun's crimeland, remember? You wouldn't even have time to sleep.

Then I would be super busy there.

[And wouldn't have to think about May, or all the people who have forgotten about him. He's not really being serious, of course; he could never leave New York City behind, not even for a place that could use the help... because NYC is his whole world. And it always needs a helping hand from. Well. A lot of things.

But still, the thought's kinda funny.]

You don't think Zaun could use a few Spider-people?

I've heard there's tons of us out there somewhere.

... Zaun has... Ugh, me, kinda, for the big girl stuff. You'd have to pick sides, though, Peter. Those puppy dog eyes would not be enough to stop the trenchers vs topsiders. Mine didn't work.

(Across the river, Zaun or Piltover. That's what she's always trying to tell him, she's the horror of Piltover, but for Zaun, shit's a bit different. She's a hero, as much as she doesn't want to be one.

... To be fair, her puppy dog eyes come with grenades. Course it wouldn't.)

... Besides, if you do move to my lair, you'd have a kid stealing your webshooters and playing Spiderchild behind your back.

... Don't give me any ideas for a Spiderkid sidekick.

[It's a much better think to imagine than revisiting why he's depressed today.

Little does anyone know, the loss will probably persist for both of them.

With a soft sigh, he takes a bite of his meal.]

Sometimes I worry I don't really do enough to justify the pain it causes. Days like this, can't help but wonder if maybe Jameson's right about Spider-Man being some kind of plague on the city. But then... May always had my back. Told me that I was doing good things — helping people who didn't always have someone there.

[With great power, huh?]

(Okay. She doesn't know how to help, and it's killing her, because she's kind of there, too. Not in the same wavelength, because she gives very little thought about who might be hurting if not her and hers, but.

Public figure-ing is hard. Too many voices, too many opinions, too little on what one wants to do, and why they should do it or otherwise.

Error 404, a little, and maybe she should remember sometimes that metal is cold because she is holding his face for a moment to look straight at him with both her hands on his cheeks. Listen.)

Who cares about what Jameson whoever thinks?! You're doing stuff for a reason. It's what you think.

[Oh, that metal finger is cold! 😞

But her usual kind of conviction does help. He smiles slightly, and while Jameson's words still rattle around in his head, he can't help but feel a little more comforted by where he stands. Spider-Man can't be a mistake; MJ had thought so, and May too. With a wistful chuckle, he shakes his head.]

... You sound a lot like MJ. She was always rolling her eyes at his channel.

She never takes crap from anyone.

So take it from us and don't take crap from no one. Or, you know, point me in a general direction.

(She's unfortunately not joking, as he probably knows, no matter how ludicrous that may sound and how light her words are.

With a sigh, Jinx brings her knees to her chest, chin rested in the middle as she stares at him for a second.)

You're not a mistake, okay? Even here, if it weren't for you, I'd have lost it, and you know what happens when I do. So, pat yourself on the back, hero-boy.

But I'm so good at taking crap from people.

[That was a joke! Kinda. A partial joke.

Watching her for a moment, he lets them settle in the calmness of the room. He'd had such a hard time with the quiet of his apartment -- not here as much, but at home. To sit there and know that nobody was going to knock at your door, or walk in with a hello and a smile... God, he misses May.

But there is something else. Something he feels like is important to say.]

... It's not just about saving people in the moment, you know. Helping people get the tools they need to be okay, with or without a hero around -- that's important, too.

Nooooooot your greatest talent.

(That's why she said it. Just point her in a direction. For all she says Caitlyn has rabies, she's probably twelve times worse, and she's constantly ready to shoot someone for very little reason.

... This is probably when he brings out the following argument. She sees where he's going with it.)

Is this conversation really how you wanna spend today?

[Ah... He huffs a breath through his nose, looking down at the floor.]

Probably not.

... Besides, I don't think I've figured how to use the advice, myself.

[He's sitting as a depressed lump in his apartment, instead of doing anything remotely beneficial to himself or the others in Etraya. Do as I say, not as I do? He swears he's trying not to be a big flaming hypocrite.]

It's one day, Pete. Let yourself be bummed out for one day.

(Relax, Peter. It's a deserved bummer day.

For as much as she is used being here, she jumps out of the bed to go find him something to distract himself with. Paint? Movies? He said he liked those. Whatever they are, actually. So, that's what she's looking for as she frowns, staring at his stuff trying to figure out what a movie is in his books.)

... None of these say movies. Where is it?

[... Oh.

He blinks, pointing at the cheap little entertainment center he's rigged up.]

Under the television... My uncle was a major cinephile, so we watched a ton of stuff together when I was younger. [The weird skinny book-looking things lined up, apparently! There are a few classics from the 90's and early 2000's, and he says with a little more pep:] I just Shrek the other day.

[Indeed, a Shrek DVD is there.]

Half of the words you say don't make sense. What's a Shrek?

(It's not a jab. She's legit.

Never seen this before, but she can work it out, there are buttons and instructions on the device, so she's just looking for whatever a Shrek is. Found that, opened, and after pressing a bunch of buttons, she puts the disk in and returns to sit on the bed next to him.)

There. What now?

... Shrek is a cinematic masterpiece.

[Which is the only offer of an explanation he gives her before he clicks play on his remote.

Oh lord have mercy.]

[... At least Peter seems to be feeling better.]

(Maybe watching stuff with Jinx is a bit of a mistake, because she's asking him a billion questions. How is this made. How. Why can the donkey talk. Wait, do these exist in his world? Is this based on a true story?

Truth be told, she does not shut up. She has too many questions, and this was a very confusing experience.

But when she looks at him, he seems a little better, so there's a smile from her, albeit tiny.)

You seem less at the bottom of the pit. Good.

[Peter answers every question eagerly, because he is one of these weirdos who learns every little thing about a movie and parrots it word for word — and really, Jinx? There's a talking puppet and cookie, and the donkey is what calls to you? Predictable.

As the credits roll, Peter looks over at her with some surprise.]

... I guess I am. Yeah. [And that's nice. Nice to not be at the bottom of a pit, even if the weather outside of it is hardly ideal.] Thanks for hanging out with me, Jinx. You didn't have to do that.

(Yeah, but the donkey is most of the movie. How can her attention not navigate to that? Also, why does the wolf wear that thing on his head. What is the purpose of it.

At least he didn't mind it, and for her first movie experience? Not horrible.

Her shoulder raise with the comment, because yeah, she didn't have to, but he needed her. When she needed him, he was there too.)

Yeah. My evil agenda is villainously empty, so, it's fine. Anyway. Welcome back, semi-chipper.

... Thanks.

[He's quiet for a moment, almost gentle in his contemplation.

Then:]

So, Shrek 2 when?

[jesus]

(... Bye

Now she's the one pulling the blanket over herself, disappearing completely under it. It was VERY hard to sit still for this, Peter, you gotta give a girl some time between movies, she doesn't even know!!!)

Edited 2025-06-11 22:12 (UTC)

Hey!

[He gives the lump under his blanket the most restrained little shove in the history of ever.]

... I'm not a dog, for the record; I've got object permeance.

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