maskormenacelogs | (open dreamshare log) (muffled twilight zone playing in the distance)

[ You're floating in the air, looking down at a city spread out beneath you like glittering coral on a reef. No: the city floats above your head looking down at you. Or: there is no up or down, no horizon, no skyline. Only steel and concrete edifices jutting out -- and in -- every direction. Glass-walled skyscrapers rear up straight and proud or twisted in on themselves, sometimes corkscrewing in pairs, double helixes that taper off into the night.

You think there might be gravity, but you're not sure if you're standing on the top of one building or the underside of another. Wherever you are, you're not alone as such. There are smoky, indistinct shapes walking past you in the streets, and the flow of traffic hums faintly in your ears. Though you don't see any cars, only blurred outlines and blurrier headlights that reflect off every shining surface.

Besides the headlights, there's a dizzying array of neon signs, so bright that it's as good as daylight:

If you see something, say something: It's your responsibility.
Need pest control? Call the Sinister Six at 1-800-BUG-B-GON!
Aunt May's House of Wheatcakes: Open 24/7
Always Wear Clean Underwear
That's when you hear a voice from thin air.]

Aw, man.

[ You turn around to see Spider-Man standing there on the side of a brick wall -- or possibly in the middle of a brick paved street. He's holding one of those foil-lined fabric bags used for keeping pizza boxes warm, and doesn't appear to notice the bird flying around his head, although it's a pretty thing, feathers gleaming green and purple. ]

I have to get these to the Daily Bugle in thirty minutes, or Jonah will kill me. No way I'll make it in time.

[ He gestures to a building that must be the Bugle that's rotated about sixty degrees from your perspective, roughly forty stories stories tall and helpfully identified with its name in giant letters across the top, the logo of a roaring tiger pacing behind. He's right, it is some distance away -- whatever that means right now. Maybe there's a shortcut? ]

Edited 2014-11-01 22:42 (UTC)

[ Her first thought is something like "whoa, he stole that guy's pizza!" Because Freddie kept up with superheroes here, she kept up with who saved the world when. It wouldn't do Tattlecrime any good if she gave somebody a wrong byline or misidentified somebody in a costume or something like that. And why would Spider-Man have any sort of pizza? Wasn't he a superhero? Superheroes didn't deliver pizza.

But Spider-Man apparently did and she could help! Somehow. (Why was she helping anyway?) ]

Don't you have a car or something? You could get there faster that way.

I don't have a car. My last one tried to --

[ Right on cue, the roar of a motor as a car comes careening sideways out of the nearest alleyway, slaloming on the brick. No mere blur, this: it's a dune buggy decked out gaily in Spider Man's colors, blue with red-and-black trim on the wheel wells.

Two more things Freddie may notice at this point: first, that there's no driver, and second, that it's racing towards them full tilt without any sign of stopping. ]

-- kill me. Run!

[ Because of the dream logic, Freddie is absolutely not questioning the idea of a killer car. Instead, her eyes simply widen and letting out a quick little ] What the- [ she follows Spider-Man's lead and starts to run.

She doesn't notice that her pace is quickening, her steps are getting wider, that she's essentially keeping pace with Spider-Man even though she knows that, on a good day, he's probably faster than her. ]

What did you do to it?! [ because yes, the fact that his car is trying to kill them is obviously Spider-Man's fault. ]

[ They're now running on the same plane, specific orientation undetermined and likely to be mere arbitrary designation. If this weren't a dream, Spider-Man would explain that he was speaking metaphorically, and the completely non-sentient car had been weaponized by the Terrible Tinkerer. (He would also still have the pizza, but that's long since disappeared.) Since they are in a dream, the explanation that comes out is: ]

I sort of abandoned it in the Hudson River? -- I didn't know it had feelings!

[ He throws a glance back at the car. Somehow it hasn't caught up yet, but the dark shape is getting closer, hood lifted to reveal a gaping red maw and tendrils reaching out --]

Or tentacles!

[ This is all perfectly normal to Freddie, who's still running from the car, looking back to spot the red maw and tendrils. Oh God. This was the thing that ate bodies. This was Spider-Man's cannibal brain eating friend. Or, at least, this was Spider-Man's cannibal brain eating friend's car.

But it was Spider-Man's car? Maybe it was both of their cars! ]

Your car's going to eat us! [ she can't help but yell out, running faster and faster, despite the fact that she was wearing heels, that she was wearing a tight skirt. ]

This way!

[ Spider-Man ducks into a narrow alley way -- more of a tunnel -- that cuts across their path, hand outstretched to pull her in after him.

They barge through a fire exit and find themselves inside a gallery. It's filled with people. No, with wax figurines. If this is the famous Madame Tussaud's, it's overrated -- or else the celebrities of Spidey's world are too different from Freddie's own. The redhead in the mermaid cut wedding gown certainly looks like she could Be Someone. So do the quartet in blue jumpsuits, and the motley bunch in costumes led by a man whose only concession to superhero fashion is a very tight t-shirt. What about that frail old lady with grey hair in a bun, though? Or the woman in bland office clothing with a bland office bob? At least the guy with the Hitler 'stache has made a personal style choice.

Spider-Man heaves out a breath, leaning over with hands on knees. ]

We're okay. It can't find us here.

Edited 2014-11-09 00:23 (UTC)

[ Freddie follows him, grabbing his hand as they're yanked in the gallery. And almost instantly, Freddie finds her eyes drawn to the wax figurines. If this were her world, she'd be a bit worried. There would be people in the figurines or the wax poured over people or something macabre like that. But this wasn't home. So she wasn't worried.

She walked down the hall, doing a little twirl partly to see all the figures. But it's the redhead that catches her eye. Freddie can't help but look over the wedding dress (it looked great) and then compare her hair to the figure's. Redhead pride, after all. ]

She's beautiful. [ It's said as a statement of fact, albeit one with a little jealous undertone. Because she was. This girl was a stunner. ]

[ Spider-Man pads over to join her, reaching out as though to touch the perfectly coiffed hair. It's been almost four years since he's seen Mary Jane. Not any Mary Jane -- there'd been a couple back in the City -- but his. His best friend, the woman he was going to spend the rest of his life with --

(for just a moment, dark streaks appear on wax cheeks, like running mascara)

-- not his any more. He drops his hand. ]

Doesn't do her justice. And neither did I.

[ Clearing his throat: ] We should get moving.

If we must, [ Freddie says with a sigh, casting one last glance back at the redhead. Reaching up to her own hair, Freddie pulled one of her curls out, straightening it between two fingers, as if comparing her hair to the other woman's. With a siiiigh, Freddie let go of the strand of hair, which bounced back into its curly place. ]

The only question now is where to?

There must be a back exit somewhere around here.

[ Spidey moves to the edges of the room, looking for another doorway out. Abruptly he stops and smacks himself in the forehead. ]

I'm such an idiot. I dropped the pizza! Now I'll definitely never make it in time.

Don't worry, [ Freddie said, with a small smile. This is perhaps the most caring she's been...well, ever. ] We can go back and find the pizza. If you hurry, I'm sure we'll make it there in time.

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shutterbugged - 2014-12-01 23:15 (UTC) - Expand

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redhairring - 2014-12-02 02:41 (UTC) - Expand

[ In the air she dances in open armed pirouettes. Skyscrapers rise up from the ground to catch her with glass segmented glass catching the warped light of sun high above her. She dances sideways up the drastic incline of the building without talent, under the sun and smiling. The warmth is idiopathic she feels it in her skin and in her hair where it whips behind her in the wind in her building momentum as she basks, moving up the side of the gleaming edifice. She moves and moves until the only sound breaking up the vacuum of the absence of noise from the city below breaks the spell. ]

Do super heroes do runs for the Girls Scouts too?

[ Bader stands on the side of the building, especially pale in the sun with her dark hair cascading down off her shoulder with the implication of gravity. The smile breaking across her face lacks all its usual dry humor and irony with no pointed canines marring an even, pearly grin. ]

Only Thin Mints and Samoas. Who even bothers with the other ones?

[ The change from night into day doesn't perturb Peter at all. Headlamps and streetlights just wouldn't do justice. ]

Has anyone ever told you you have a lovely smile?
Ow!

[ The bluebird -- because that's what it is, despite its current color -- is apparently not impressed by his line. ]

I didn't mean it like that!

Edited 2014-11-02 23:49 (UTC)

This is a nightmare, right?

[ He's not so much standing next to him as he is floating beside him, in armor -- as always -- and his head's looking at Peter with the kind of look that's full of judgement. This had to be some kind of nightmare. ]

Why don't you just...I don't know, swing your way there? [ dream logic, maybe? ] Are you sure he'll be happy to see you?

Where would I swing from? [ Spider-Man asks him with head tilted, tone one of genuine curiosity. ]

We're in a sewer. There's nowhere to swing from.

[ And as he says it, it's true. No transition, no becoming; just the dank, dark tunnel with water (ish) flowing around their ankles, smell thankfully absent. There are still lights reflected on the surface, though, and shadowy people-shapes that belong to neither Spidey nor Iron Man, forms indistinct. ]

Nowhere to run, either.

Edited 2014-11-02 23:55 (UTC)

[ Wasn't that weird? He paused, looking around. His scanners didn't pick up anything, and if he reviewed his tapes, he'd always been in the sewer, or maybe that's just as far back as the tapes went. It didn't seem to matter. ]

Messy place to be, in the sewer. Why are we here? We could get out at any time.

[ What was this? He knew, actively knew he was asleep. Extremis often offered the sort of awareness that other people didn't quite have. Taking in information, his brain was active enough to recognize that. But it wasn't...taking in the information that he should, in this place. He didn't see the city above. ]

It's not that hard to leave.

[ There's something strange going on with space here. No sewer tunnel could be this vast, ceiling arching up into darkness beyond the range of Iron Man's lights, river of slime vanishing to a point in either direction. And yet it feels cramped, like they're in a tiny junction with barely the room for two of them. ]

It's not about being able to leave. It's not having anywhere to leave to.

[ Peter sounds more like his waking self -- which is to say, irritated at Tony -- if not entirely lucid. As if to demonstrate, he holds the pizza bag out at arm's length and gives it a shake. Fabric tumbles down from his hands, fluorescent orange turned darker and given a metallic sheen, black replaced by gold.

It's the Iron Spider suit, hanging limp from his fingertips, an almost forlorn expression on the empty mask. With a snort of disgust, he drops it in the muck, watching as it floats away. ]

But you're right. Ending up here was the result of a string of bad decisions. Well, that and a really bad fall.

[ When he looks back at Tony it's through the cracked golden lenses of the suit he gave him. ]

[ His mouth thinned. That was an expensive piece of equipment, and just like Peter was annoyed with Tony, the inverse was true as well. But as soon as it was gone, he was looking at it, wasn't he? Sure, he'd hated to do it. Hell, if he could have gotten away with just letting Peter go, he would have.

Could he do that? No. Not just for his pride, or for the fact that Peter had betrayed his trust, but because of the fact that it was public that he'd signed on with him. The moment he rescinded that was the moment he'd had to make sure that he didn't escape his grasp. Did Peter even know how that looked? How much people thought he'd let his persona opinions get in the way of what was right? ]

Particularly when you started to run.

[ He said, simply. Tony didn't see registering as a bad decision. Oh, the reactions were awful, but that wasn't the heart of the problem. The heart of the problem was that he'd left, and that he'd gone back on his word. ]

You can't go halfway and try and turn back.

[ There was a reason he'd committed so fully. ]

So you think it's better to double down on a mistake instead of admitting that you made one?

I wasn't asking for special treatment.

[ Tony may not have said that part out loud, but they've had this argument often enough that Peter can rehash it in -- well, in his sleep. ]

I just wanted human treatment, for all of us. To not compromise on common decency -- that'll shouldn't have been too much to ask. I wanted to talk things through, but you, you threatened my family!

[ Finger brandished under Tony's nose, mouth open to say more -- what, precisely, Tony isn't going to find out, because that's when the sound of voices floats from further down the tunnel. Voices raised in anger, in scorn; explosions, the meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh, and one more voice, this one whimpering in pain.

Peter flinches. ]

[ It's not an unusual view for Norman, but the familiar weight beneath his feet isn't there. Or it wasn't, but immediately after Norman acknowledges the glider's lack of presence he feels it again, shifting his feet to steer. He's maskless, but his face takes on a look that is both familiar and abnormal; his skin has a greenish tint to it, his ears pointier than normal, and his eyes, normally so piercingly blue, are a haunting yellow that makes them seem as if they could see right through you.

He looks at Spider-Man with his teeth faintly bared, squinting at him as if Spider-Man were standing in the sun, hard to see.

Very idly, he reaches to swat at the bird flying around Spider-Man's head, sending it smacking into the glass window of a skyscraper. It's still alive, though dazed. ]

You do keep interesting company.

No!

[ Spider-Man lunges, catching the bird in his hands before he twists to land on the glass. From this angle he has to crane his neck to look up at Norman, warped perspective making him tower overhead as he hovers on his glider.

The lights around them are going dark in fast succession, like everyone in this impossible city has decided to go to sleep at once, but Spider-Man himself is crouched in a bright patch, like there's a spotlight positioned behind the Goblin's head and aimed at him. He throws up an arm to block it out, cradling the bird (now blue, now lavender and straw-gold) to his chest with the other. ]

Leave her alone. She's just a kid! All she wants to do is help out, and you want to destroy her to, what, boost your ego? Fill a quota?

[ There's a cloudy reflection underneath his feet, in washed out shades of blue and red -- but from denim jeans and canvas sneakers, not reinforced spandex. ]

Still sentimental to a fault, I see.

[ The shadows cast across Norman's face make him a dark silhouette outlined by a bright, blinding halo, and his face looks even more monstrous with every movement it makes that the light exaggerates.

He could turn, try to take out the last light and plunge them in a comfortable darkness, but Norman doesn't. As good as the darkness might be for Spider-Man as a learning experience, there is a power that comes from being the one thing standing between him and the source of light. Norman looks at the bird and doesn't see any person reflected in its eyes or hear them in its faint, dazed cheeps; it's just an animal, and a useless one at that. Norman is surrounded by enough of those. ]

You can't even begin to know. Is it concerning to you, Spider-Man? Is she important to you? Special somehow? Well, don't worry. I haven't gone out of my way to destroy anyone yet.

[ Not yet. He feels no harm in boasting that truth, because Norman does find it to be a truth from his perspective. Any "hers" in his equation are useful pawns to a point, but whether they survive or are destroyed by the process is their own choice.

The reflection catches his attention. His gaze lingers, and he moves just a little bit closer to see if it becomes clearer. ]

Awfully dark around here, isn't it?

[ Spider-Man refuses to flinch away, from the light or from Norman. ]

I don't see it as one.

[ He wishes he could blame the flutter at his chest on the bird, but it's taking everything he has to hold his ground. Some part of him understands that this is in his head, that the real Norman Osborn is somewhere else, probably up to something worse than a few petty taunts. If anything, that half-awareness makes him furious. He should be past this. It's just background information -- hard-won insight he can use to help Rose, keep the similarities between her and Sally and Gwen inside his head only. He may fear for her, but he's not afraid.

So he tells himself. But the quaver in his voice isn't all from righteous conviction. His fingers twitch, as if in muscle memory. ]

Everyone is special, Osborn. They're not just pieces on your chessboard -- maybe if all your screws weren't loose you'd understand that.

But I am not letting you hurt her. She doesn't need your darkness.

You don't see a lot of things, Spider-Man, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. The whole idea of darkness is that things can hide from you.

[ In his own dreams, Norman is himself in ways that he cannot be in the daytime; some man-like creature identical to Norman except the green tint to his skin, the long fingers and canines that look like they could rip through skin like paper. Yet, Norman's expression is calm. Not kind, exactly, but it approximates that emotion; a look of gentle pity that he might use on a creature deemed sad, lost, less human than himself.

He sighs. ]

Just listen to yourself. Do you believe that? Everyone is special? [ The derision in his tone just then is almost violently offended, like he's going to reach out and snap Spider-Man's neck for the implication. But he doesn't move. ] You have to know that you can't stop me.

What would you trade for her?

(open dreamshare log) (muffled twilight zone playing in the distance)

OPEN

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