Well, that's new. In some ways, I like to consider Peter Parker part of my family. It's... not a description that holds true all of the time, because I haven't really known him for that long, mostly just got to know him a little better through Mary Jane, and she's been gone long enough now that I've felt that connection wear away just a bit. But family doesn't have to be super close, I guess. My family back home was pretty tightly-knit, and everyone looked out for each other, but more and more I'm starting to learn that this isn't necessarily the norm, so when I think of Peter as family, it's more because I can't think of any other way to justify the way I get totally freaked out whenever something happens to him, or the way I keep on trailing after him even when he's in a mood, or the way that I work extra hard in his courses because I want to feel like he can be proud of me for something. Some people might call it trying way, way too hard, but here's the thing: I don't. Not for everyone
( ... )
I am not being saved by a teenaged girl. That's the important part to remember. Anyone could've walked on out here and distracted the three of us idiots from playing a round of Pin the Hammer on the Spider, but that it's someone who's in my corner by default...
Well, it doesn't exactly hurt my chances.
I needed a convenient excuse to start heading east, anyway, and Claire's small enough to fit in my pocket, and what's the definition of convenient if not something you can fit in a pocket?
...possibly something less creepy, actually, now that I think about it. Moving along.
"Sure thing," I say eagerly, navigating my way through Thor and Bucky to grab my lonely messenger bag, the two of them barely keeping back their laughter, though whether they think I'm funny or Claire is, I'm not entirely sure. "Sorry, guys, gotta go! Minds to shape, dreams to inspire, questions to answer-- You know how it is."
I'm probably making an idiot of myself. Probably. There's a part of me totally doubting whether or not Peter actually needed for me to swing by at all. Maybe his greeting was bright because I'd interrupted something fun, maybe I'd almost caught the three of them doing something that they wouldn't want others to know about (although what that could be, I can't say). For all that I've been able to turn around in a pinch, however, pulling myself together when New York's about to fall to pieces, in front of the three of them, I'm just a silly teenaged girl with a goofy look on her face. I give them one last wordless wave, and Thor another entirely too amused look, before I turn to follow Peter, jogging a little to catch up with the distance he's already made.
"Okay, uh..." I turn to Peter with my still partially false smile, all nerves and no understanding. "'Minds to shape, dreams to inspire'? Seriously?" Just putting it into words makes it that much harder for me to keep from laughing
( ... )
"Deny? Me? I'd never deny. I'm a truth-teller. I live for honesty of all kinds."
Yeah, okay, I'm laying it on a little thick, but that's not new. I've always been a lousy liar; but the trick, I've found, is to just keep talking and hope I distract folks for long enough that they don't look too hard. That's not the case, here, though, because the truth is both simple and easy to share.
"I'm gonna be late," I say matter-of-factly. I specialize in quick exits -- it's part of my considerable charm, or so I'd like to think -- but I was scrambling, before, trying to find an opening to tell the God of Thunder and a piece of living history that I had to leave. "Less of a running from and more of a running to."
"You're a rambler," I sigh, laughing if only because I've done that a few times myself, bumbling about with my words until people figure that I've tripped so much and so often that I couldn't possibly, especially with this face, be capable of pulling a big lie over anyone's heads. (Sometimes I wonder what people would think if they knew that I've taken up entirely different identities before, and also escaped the hold of one of the creepiest and privacy-invasion companies ever.) "But okay, I'll buy it this time. I guess. That you were worried about the God of Thunder being enraged over the fact that his house does not take precedence over the education of children and young adults everywhere."
After I pause, I take yet another glance over my shoulder (I swear, I'm going to develop a crick in my neck), and shake my head in... admiration, I guess.
"So wait, big tall blonde? Is the God of Thunder? Thor? Actual Thor?"
"Allegedly," I say quickly, lifting a hand in protest. Look, I believe in God. I pray. When you live my kind of life, you definitely learn the value of praying. Why I have so much trouble wrapping my head around gods, plural, is beyond me, but I just do.
"He is, allegedly, the God of Thunder. And, I mean, he definitely pulls it off, the guy's huge, but... Anyone can say anything about their background, you know? It's kind of hard to do a real check on that sort of thing."
"Allegedly," I nod, agreeing with him on the correction. Don't get me wrong, I... you know, I used to go to church every Sunday, and even through my busy high school schedule, I usually managed to make it every other week. I'm not the best at praying. I haven't been the best at hoping, for some time, and I think it's always a little harder to keep the faith when you notice that time after time, you're the one getting the short end of the stick in so many ways. (Even worse is when your family gets that short end, and I feel like that's been happening pretty often lately, to say the least.) But I think I still believe in there being something greater out there. When I'm on the last straw, I still look up, I still... hope that someone out there is watching, listening, with the intention of fitting things all back together. "And possibly self-proclaimed. Although, then again, it's not like Thor's anywhere near omnipotent in Norse legend, so... could just be a really fancy title for what he's capable of doing
( ... )
"I am so not the guy to ask," I reply, shaking my head. I try not to analyze my faith, largely because I don't believe faith is there to be analyzed. That's the realm of science, where I am, admittedly, more comfortable. I pray, because sometimes I have to pray, to believe there's someone up there to hold onto the shattered pieces of my life for a few seconds as I get my bearings, but it's not something I can really think too hard about. I don't question my motives.
"I'm sure you could find someone who'd know the answer, though. 'Specially 'round here."
"Maybe you're not the guy to ask, but you're definitely a guy to ask," I point out with a raise of my brow. It's not really like I'm expecting for Peter to, I don't know, inform the entire way I think about gods and religion and faith, things bigger than us. And, while I hate making generalizations, I think it's pretty fair to say that people who are that heavy on science and reasoning are a little less prone to throw all details to the wind and claim that a higher hand has a direct role in them all. "It doesn't really hurt to hear another person's opinions on stuff like this, right? If you're able to kind of keep a distance and not get totally worked up when your opinions are different."
Tilting my head back and forth, I pause for a second before I add a little remark. "Though, not gonna lie, if it weren't for the huge disparity in height, I'd be tempted to poll Thor himself on what makes him a god. From the look of your little encounter back there, though, maybe that wouldn't be a terribly great idea."
"Um, yeah, I'd advise against asking the alleged god why he's an alleged god," I say with a cough of disbelieving laughter, shooting Claire an equally as incredulous look. That it's something I'd do doesn't matter; I've got near-professional experience at ticking people off. "That's just not gonna end well for anyone."
"You mean humble and self-aware gods don't actually exist in the world?" I reply in turn, exaggerating the statement for all that I know that Peter means it, that he's just offering advice that'll keep me from getting smitten- smote?- by the blond guy twice my size. "I would've thought that with the whole pantheon business, that the gods would've at least learned to respect each other, and maybe people a little more consideration for the support."
Pressing my hand to my mouth, I stifle a laugh. "Then again, ideally we'd say all of that about politicians too, wouldn't we?"
"Ugh," I say, pressing a hand to my face for a moment, then letting it fall back down to my side. "Don't even remind me of politics."
I'm exaggerating, of course. As disastrous as my last trip to the podium proved to be, I still don't feel sorry for the content, so much as the delivery. But with elections just around the corner, it's a bit of a sore spot all the same, and even if I'm joking, it takes some effort to keep it that way. By all rights, I didn't expect to still be here, five months later, and the fact that I am just makes me wonder why Mary Jane couldn't try the same.
But that's a dangerous line of thinking, and I steer my thoughts away.
"Seriously. Anything else. I will engage in a lively conversation about cheese, if you want, but not politics."
I can't really say, with any level of certainty, what Peter's thinking about right now. What I can tell you is that he's fidgeting a little more than he usually does. I can also tell you that it takes a lot to really get him to lose his cool, so even with him joking and trying to toss everything to the side, there's a chance that he's a whole lot more upset than he's letting on. Politics might be a sensitive spot to him, after what happened at the last election, all the promises he made, and for all that both him and Tony Stark talked about how change naturally takes time, sometimes even decades or centuries, it can't feel good for the progress to be going as slowly as it is
( ... )
"Mozzarella!" I say without missing a beat, throwing my arms out to the sides, though I'm careful to not hit Claire in the head. There are very few people with whom I'm willing to have a serious conversation nowadays -- and willing shouldn't be confused with will. Burying my grief has gotten me a lot more friends than airing it out for everyone to see, and while Claire is a pretty sweet kid, she's still just that: a kid.
Well-meaning, maybe, but not someone I'm going to be confessing all my secrets to, all my doubts. She gets the same side of me as everyone else: a little nerdy, a little annoying, a little unassuming. I don't share my business, even if she occasionally tries to get me to spit something out.
I never do. I barely admit things to myself these days, let alone to a teenage girl. You can imagine how much I tell Jessica, then, though she knows me a lot better than Claire could ever hope
( ... )
Okay, okay. Clearly, this isn't something that he wants to spend too long dwelling on, and I get it, I really do. If anyone tried to pin me down and get me to talk about my dad, or Sylar, or what I could do back home... well, they'd have to be someone I was pretty close to, and even then, it's pretty clear that there are times when I still put up a lot of resistance. So, I let it go. I mean, if Peter ever wants to climb back on that horse, he'd find a way, right?
Right.
"Unless you're a vegan. I'm pretty sure they have all of the ingredients here to make pretty bitchin' vegan pizza," I counter with a purse of my lips. "But then again, I always thought that a vegan life sounded... pretty sad. I mean, I guess I can understand going vegetarian if you're worried about your health, or organic if you're worried about pesticides, or free-range if you're worried about the conditions animals are kept in, but I still don't really see what's so wrong about drinking milk that won't do the cows much good, anyway."
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Well, it doesn't exactly hurt my chances.
I needed a convenient excuse to start heading east, anyway, and Claire's small enough to fit in my pocket, and what's the definition of convenient if not something you can fit in a pocket?
...possibly something less creepy, actually, now that I think about it. Moving along.
"Sure thing," I say eagerly, navigating my way through Thor and Bucky to grab my lonely messenger bag, the two of them barely keeping back their laughter, though whether they think I'm funny or Claire is, I'm not entirely sure. "Sorry, guys, gotta go! Minds to shape, dreams to inspire, questions to answer-- You know how it is."
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"Okay, uh..." I turn to Peter with my still partially false smile, all nerves and no understanding. "'Minds to shape, dreams to inspire'? Seriously?" Just putting it into words makes it that much harder for me to keep from laughing ( ... )
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Yeah, okay, I'm laying it on a little thick, but that's not new. I've always been a lousy liar; but the trick, I've found, is to just keep talking and hope I distract folks for long enough that they don't look too hard. That's not the case, here, though, because the truth is both simple and easy to share.
"I'm gonna be late," I say matter-of-factly. I specialize in quick exits -- it's part of my considerable charm, or so I'd like to think -- but I was scrambling, before, trying to find an opening to tell the God of Thunder and a piece of living history that I had to leave. "Less of a running from and more of a running to."
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After I pause, I take yet another glance over my shoulder (I swear, I'm going to develop a crick in my neck), and shake my head in... admiration, I guess.
"So wait, big tall blonde? Is the God of Thunder? Thor? Actual Thor?"
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"He is, allegedly, the God of Thunder. And, I mean, he definitely pulls it off, the guy's huge, but... Anyone can say anything about their background, you know? It's kind of hard to do a real check on that sort of thing."
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"I'm sure you could find someone who'd know the answer, though. 'Specially 'round here."
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Tilting my head back and forth, I pause for a second before I add a little remark. "Though, not gonna lie, if it weren't for the huge disparity in height, I'd be tempted to poll Thor himself on what makes him a god. From the look of your little encounter back there, though, maybe that wouldn't be a terribly great idea."
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Pressing my hand to my mouth, I stifle a laugh. "Then again, ideally we'd say all of that about politicians too, wouldn't we?"
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I'm exaggerating, of course. As disastrous as my last trip to the podium proved to be, I still don't feel sorry for the content, so much as the delivery. But with elections just around the corner, it's a bit of a sore spot all the same, and even if I'm joking, it takes some effort to keep it that way. By all rights, I didn't expect to still be here, five months later, and the fact that I am just makes me wonder why Mary Jane couldn't try the same.
But that's a dangerous line of thinking, and I steer my thoughts away.
"Seriously. Anything else. I will engage in a lively conversation about cheese, if you want, but not politics."
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Well-meaning, maybe, but not someone I'm going to be confessing all my secrets to, all my doubts. She gets the same side of me as everyone else: a little nerdy, a little annoying, a little unassuming. I don't share my business, even if she occasionally tries to get me to spit something out.
I never do. I barely admit things to myself these days, let alone to a teenage girl. You can imagine how much I tell Jessica, then, though she knows me a lot better than Claire could ever hope ( ... )
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Right.
"Unless you're a vegan. I'm pretty sure they have all of the ingredients here to make pretty bitchin' vegan pizza," I counter with a purse of my lips. "But then again, I always thought that a vegan life sounded... pretty sad. I mean, I guess I can understand going vegetarian if you're worried about your health, or organic if you're worried about pesticides, or free-range if you're worried about the conditions animals are kept in, but I still don't really see what's so wrong about drinking milk that won't do the cows much good, anyway."
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