Peter should've been there.
Harry Osborn looked around the room, for a brief moment, with that thought still fresh in his mind. Nobody had seen his glances to the right and left sides, which he was relieved for. But even that thought alone made Harry feel like dirt, as he simply went about and smiled, watching Gwen Stacy hit the next pool que, gaining an edge over Mary Jane Watson. MJ sneered at the board, but playfully stuck her tongue out at Gwen, before readying the stick for her own turn.
"Damn! You're gonna have to pull off some pretty sick moves to beat that one, party girl.", Flash snickered, leaning against the wall of the local McFarlane's Tavern, where the group had chosen to celebrate their last night before studies began.
"Losing faith in me, Flash?", Mary Jane questioned, readying herself for the next shot.
"And here I thought we had something special."
"Please,", Gwen noted, with a smirk.
"The only thing special to Flash Thompson is his big, bad football trophy."
"Hey!", Flash protested, before pausing, and eventually looking away.
"...Well, it is shiny."
"...And to think, he's still housebroken.", Mary Jane responded, which caused a laugh out of both her and Gwen.
"Ladies, as much as I'd love to see you continue to pummel our friend, here, into an emotional oblivion... I'm the one keeping score, so let's keep the game going, shall we?", Harry asked, trying his best to keep his laugh hidden at the way the girls had gotten to Flash.
"Liz, you sure you don't want to join in? It's no fun beating the tar out of just my roomate.", Gwen asked, a mix of playfulness and politeness in her tone, as Mary Jane took her shot.
"...I think I'm fine where I am, thanks.", Liz mentioned, before looking over at Harry.
"Too bad Flash was the only one willing to come with you, tonight. I feel like we've been overcrowding you guys."
"On the contrary,", Harry responded.
"I couldn't think of better company if I tried."
Mary Jane snickered, at that.
"Don't look now, but I think someone's had a few too many.", MJ noted.
"What? Can't a guy be nice?", Harry asked.
"Not when he's hanging out with the crowd that used to trip him in the hallways every chance we got,", Mary Jane continued.
"I'm still shocked you accepted our invitation."
"Yeah, well... it's history.", Harry responded, a bit coyly.
"Speaking of history...", Gwen began.
"Has anyone seen Peter on campus?"
"Who?", Liz asked, confused.
"You know who I'm talking about.", Gwen stated.
"Peter Parker. The guy who graduated with top honors in our class."
"Parker?", Flash asked, seemingly disgusted.
"Why the hell would you want that bookworm hanging off of us?"
"He's not a bookworm, Flash.", Gwen shot back, a bit annoyed.
"He's just... shy."
"Yeah, Flash. Leave him alone.", Harry stated, a bit annoyed himself.
"The guy's had it rough lately as it is. He doesn't need you trashing him every chance you get."
"Well, excuse me, Harry-boy.", Flash stated.
"I just don't see why we need to bother with him in the first place."
"I'm with Flash,", Mary Jane noted.
"The guy's got the sociability of a rock. He'd just sit in the corner the whole time, anyway. I mean, Liz didn't even know who the guy was, for god's sake."
"I still don't know who you're talking about," Liz mentioned.
"Peter Parker.", Harry corrected.
"My roommate."
"Oh.", Liz stated.
"...He's the guy Flash used to swirlie, right?"
"Good times. Good times...", Flash stated, with a grin.
"Look, he's a nice guy. I'm sure if you all gave him an actual chance...", Harry argued.
"Yeah.", Gwen agreed.
"What real harm could it do, anyway?"
"I'm sure he's got nothing better to do, on a night like this..."
...Okay, It's official. This is the craziest thing I've ever done.
That's the only way Peter could think of it, the moment he leaped off of that building and fired the concentrated stream of webbing that protruded out of his wrist. Gaining momentum, He arched his legs up, leapt off of the line, and fired another, quickly turning it into a continuous routine, as he sailed along the uncrowded skies above Manhattan. It had been weeks since he had last done this, so to say he was out of practice was nothing short of an understatement. But even so... despite the fact that he repeatedly found himself nearly crashing into skyscrapers, getting hit by water towers, and being pestered by oncoming birds, Peter had an indescribable feeling about this, whenever he eventually got the hang of it.
It was like... he was free.
The world beneath him was but a blur, as he, quite literally, vaulted into the air, going into a backflip high above Times Square. From the citizens below, he was so high up that even the slightest sense he was there would've been insignificant. Throwing his hands out to his sides, he let out a silent yell of exhileration, and adreneline, before sailing downwards in a continuous spin, the red and blue of his uniform making him out to be nothing but a bizarre looking cloud to the inhabitants of the buildings he was now between. Finally deciding the time for fun and games would need to cease, Peter threw out both arms once again, and fired two webstrands to his sides. Instantly, he flipped a final time, before yanking on the line and swinging back up above the traffic he almost collided into, upon his fall.
He couldn't see it for himself, but under the mask, a wide grin was on his face for the first time in weeks. He felt like he was ontop of the world again, just like when he had performed infront of that studio audience for his stuntshow. But upon remembering that, Peter's grin faded, as he casted out another line and swung at a safer, slower pace. Having fun, right now, was the last thing Peter felt he should be doing. He had taken in plenty of it during his days as a, quote-unquote, "celebrity". And the result of having that fun led to an ego. An ego that probably, in the long run, ended the life of the only man who ever cared enough about Peter to make him forget he had never knew his actual father. Ben
was that father, to Peter. And now he was dead.
Now, the fun and games were over. Peter had a responsibility to maintain. And even though he was going about it in, perhaps, the most bizzaire way possible, He knew it was at least good enough of a start. Leaping into strange, insect inspired pose in mid-air, Peter threw himself towards the nearest wall on purpose. Upon impact, his hands and feet tackling the brick first, Peter concentrated as hard as he could, feeling the prickling sensation that surged throughout his limbs. And moments later, the concentration payed off, as Peter clung to the wall as easily as he could walk.
Okay,, He began thinking, looking out at the city.
How exactly did I plan to go about doing this, again?
And that's when it happened. A scream, almost as if perfectly enqued with Peter's confusion, errupted from the nearby neighborhood, around the block of where he was clung to. Crawling across the wall, in a hurry, Peter surveyed the scene ahead, as it unfolded infront of his eyes, mirroring off the lenses on his face. A young woman treked over and above numerous amounts of garbage, weakly trying her best to get up. Her lip quivered, in the spaces that it wasn't bruised in, as she scariedly looked back, widened eyes fixated on a group of oncoming gang members. Peter's head went up, in alert, as he began to grow angry from the sight.
Now was the time to put that new sense of responsibility to the test.
Firing a silent webline, Peter swung into the darkness above the scene, as the woman was grabbed from her scalp and forced up, one of the gang members towering over her with a switchblade in hand.
"Please... I... I said I ain't got none this week! You gotta believe me!", She pleaded, blood trickling down her nose as the gang surrounded her.
The member closest to her, unamused by her woes, simply held the blade to her neck in a threatening manner, making sure she wouldn't give him trouble, before telling her exactly what she was in for. "Not my problem, girl. You gonna have to take that dribble to th' big man himself."
"But I told him! He wouldn't... he wouldn't listen!", She screamed. "Please! I got no where else to go! I got a daughter to raise! Please don't do this!"
"SHUT UP!", The thug yelled, growing angrier with every word she spoke. "You had your chances. He gave you plenty! Now you just lost 'em. Your time's up, little girlie. Ain't nobody comin' to help you now..."
"Excuse me,"
The thug paused, as did the others, as the seemingly out-of-nowhere voice boomed into the area. The thugs turned, looking around, before they finally caught a look at what hung above them. Upon spotting the figure, all of them responded with the same reaction: A dropped jaw, a pair of widened eyes, and a set of looks that were so priceless that Peter had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.
"I'm not usually prone, or very good at any kind of big and dramatic flair, so I'll just go with the typical,", He began, suspended from a webline above.
"Leave her the hell alone."
The thugs were quiet, as they simply stared at the webbed individual like they were witnessing a set of UFO's. For a short moment, he contemplated whether or not this would actually require effort. Then his eyes shifted to the guns in their hands. And for the first time in his life, he began to realise how dangerous what he was doing actually was. But admist his thoughts, he noticed the thugs began to back up, wordlessly, as he suspended closer.
"Um... yeah. Pretty much like that.", He stated, rather obliviously confused.
"Glad to see we can all going about being coopera-"
Then, the thugs screamed, darting back into the alleyway as they scurried for the streets, blindly trying to escape whatever they were facing, in their eyes. Peter, on the other hand, simply blinked.
"-tive. Oh, crap."
Dropping from his line, Peter twisted upright, and fired another, swinging into the air in persuit of the thugs he had scared off. He knew what he did was weird. But he didn't actually anticipate anyone being scared off by it. Now, he had another problem entirely: Making sure the thugs didn't get away, to harm someone else. Above the beaten woman's head, Peter threw out a friendly wave, before continuing on.
He... didn't really know why, truth be told. But it just seemed right, in a sense. After all, upon further recollection, Peter shrugged it off, thinking that if it could work for Christopher Reeve, it stood a chance of working for him.
Swinging over the alleyways across the street, Peter crawled down, leaping from wall to wall in a seamless manner in the hunt for the individual thugs. Spotting them ahead, Peter watched as they split up between two corners. He felt like mentally slapping himself on the forehead, as he realised he could be in for alot more than he bargained for. But nevertheless, Peter flipped up, and fired twin weblines, allowing him to swing back and slingshot above the corner.
Luckily, by the time he landed on a wall located on the opposite side, he realised he had cut off part of the fleeing gang.
"Okay, really, stop. I have the proportionate agility of a spider. You have... reeboks.", He noted, sarcastically, realising for the first time that he was even bothering to speak aloud to the thugs.
"So just surrender, and everything'll be-"
Peter's head shot up, as the thugs began running in the opposite direction, once again. Annoyed, Peter finally decided to resort to a new tactic. Throwing up his arm, he shot out a concentrated webline, blanketing the thugs in a sticky and nearly unbreakable net of his own fluids. Which grossed them out as much as it grossed him out at the thought.
"Ew,", He mocked, before leaping over the stickied thugs and firing another line.
"I bet that's gonna be hell to get out of your hair."
As Peter swung up and over another building, he began thinking about what he was doing. The actions he was taking, in trying to capture these guys. Instead of quietly getting to the point, like he guessed every other vigilante in the city did, he was busy mocking them. Perhaps, in a way, he was getting payback against them for all of the years he had been mocked as a timid, book-loving teenager at Midtown High School. Or, more likely, it was to hide the slight moment of fear he had felt when witnessing the guns.
Upon further thought, Peter managed to come to a conclusion.
...Yeah, I'll go with that.
Leaping over a rooftop with one hand, Peter spotted the other thugs, and decided to really get creative with his tactics. Landing on a wall, and sticking to it, Peter twisted an unseen dial on the belt of his costume. Suddenly, the thugs all paused, as they found themselves overlapped by a strange, red light. Looking around at the concrete below them, they were horrified to discover that black webs covered the ground.
"JESUS!", One screamed, viewing this. "What is this?! What the hell is this?!"
"I'll tell you one thing..."
The thugs looked up, horrified, as a figure leaped out at them.
"That's really not gonna matter in a couple of seconds!"
The thugs began to ran, practically tripping over one another, but it was too late. In moments, they found themselves, and the entire street around them, covered in thick webbing that spanned across the intersection they had fleed to. Cars stopped, upon approaching it, but no horns were heard, as the passengers merely stared. The thugs struggled to get free, but to no avail, as their captor crawled next to them, almost as if amused by their predicament.
"Oh come on, fellas. Don't fret. I've probably done you guys a favor, anyway...", He stated, before leaping up and firing another line out.
"If it wasn't me that got you, it would've been something alot worse. Like, I don't know... Global Warming!"
Shaking his own head at what had come out of his mouth, Peter swung off into the night, as he heard police sirens approach the scene in the distance.
Good god, who inspires my material? Leno?
Making his way to the inner city, and to the Chrystler building, Peter dropped off of his line, and landed on one of the building's famous gargoyles. Perching himself upon it, content, He looked out at the city with a brave new face, and an even greater confidence than before. Not that that would've been particularly hard to accomplish.
"Well. That wasn't nearly as bad as I predicted.", Peter shrugged.
"Still pretty bad. But, screw it. I've got college to start tommorow morning."
