Disclaimer: We are not Marvel.
#3:The Osborn Prince
The last few years had seen many inexplicable events plaguing New York City. Be it mutated humans badly in need of psychotherapy, gods and wannabee gods inflicting property damage, mad scientists building doomsday weapons, the rise in masked men and women in garish costumes threatening both public safety and discount fabrics alike, and a swarm of pety crooks, most citizens came to the concensus , (however reluctantly), that the pros outweighed the cons of living in the area.
Local news was a bit more engaging, at any rate.
But, as one man would find out, nighttime alleyways had a tendency to fit in the latter category.
Even in the dark, that man could be identified by a distinguished lab coat, a far cry from the paper sleeves and goggles in chemistry class. The second most noticeable thing about him was his posture; downright hunchbacked and leaning on a green cane for support.
Slowly, carefully, the man walked down the alley, eyes straining in the darkness, his bald head turning from side to side, as if expectin something to come after him from any direction.
When three masked men suddenly blocked on his path, that something merely became certainty.
"You've come for me, haven't you? I told her I don't know how he survived!" he said to the masked men.
"What you babblin' about, gramps?" said one, before stepping forward. The trio of crooks wore dusty leather shirts with equally poorly-maintained jeans. Their masks looked like they'd hastily bought them from a costume shop.
"Give us the money!" another one pulled a knife on the old man.
"You can't!" their victim backed away a little. "This is the Don's turf! Do you even know who I am?!"
"*&^% The Don! We make the rules here!" the third attacker yelled.
"Rule #1..." echoed a voice echoed through the alley. "There are no rules!"
The thugs searched for the source of that voice, which revealed itself by webbing one of them to the ground. Spider-Woman clinging lazily on a wall.
Something in the old man's labcoat beeped. He was stunned, as if seeing something familiar, yet he regained enough focus to take a small device with a green screen flashing "Match" on it.
"Impossible," he mumbled to himself. "That can only be his..."
One of the attackers attempted to grab the old man as a hostage, but found himself on the receiving end of a shove from Gwen. Then she jumped forward, webbing him down at the same time.
The second thug tried to stab Spider-Woman, but she stepped aside and tripped him over, webbing the third as she went. Finally, being in a generous mood, she graced the second one with his fair share.
"W-who are you..." the old man could barely speak. "How do you..."
"Just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman!" she swung away, wondering if that catchphrase was maybe too cheesy as the old man frantically searched for his cellphone.
In a very well-lit hall, Emilia stood near a table. Two people sat behind her.
One of them, a man roughly in his thirties, hair too short-cut and white to be the product of age, wore a stylish black suit tailored to perfectly fit his form. His sneaky little smile, even though appearing a touch lightheaded, radiated confidence.
The table's other attendant was a younger man, roughly Gwen's age. His neatly-pressed green suit would have given him a far more dignified air had he not lacked the matching jacket. His topwear thus consisted of a white shirt with a black bowtie. He had his black hair mostly styled to the left side, some of it escaping the meticulous combing.
On the table a special medieval-themed chess set was displayed. The older man reached for the first white pawn as Emilia approached the two, whispering something in the younger man's ear, to which he nodded to in apparent agreement.
"My, my. I thought this game was between me and Harry here, Mrs Osborn?" the older man said with a hint of a laugh.
"Please, Mr Kingsley. Surely it is not above my station to wish a word of luck to my son?" she replied.
"Sounds like cheating, but who am I to complain? Are you ready?" he asked.
"Of course, uncle Roderick," he smiled, but in a more sincere and friendly manner than Kingsley had.
As the match began, Emilia's phone rang, quietly standing near the window as she spoke so as not to destract from the game.
"Yes? Of course, I knew that."
Their game started. Though Kingsley had the initiative of a white king, he took each turn slowly, planning the next step with utmost precision. His opponent, however, took no more than five seconds to execute each move.
"How did you know I was gonna do that thing? Is it in my face?" for some reason Roderick pointed to his nose.
"No, uncle, it's just..." Harry mumbled.
"No, no one does," Emilia continued.
"If you want to feel safe, stay at home and lay low for a month. I'll make sure a secret stays secret."
The match progressed, with more and more of Kingsley's pieces being put outside the board. Kingsley found all of his moves countered five turns in advance, as if everything he was going to do was predicted from the very beginning.
"Oh come on, this isn't even in the books yet," Kingsley almost resorted to slamming the desk. "No, no, I'm a professional. I don't get upset by little things like losing."
"Then what do you get upset by?" asked Harry.
"Faulty air conditioning. And bunnies."
"Bunnies?"
"They're terrifying," he said, with a completely stoic expression.
"Osborn out," Emilia said before hanging up the phone.
As she ended her call, the match had already reached its conclusion, with the white king cornered into a checkmate. Not a single black piece was lost.
"Faster than usual," said Roderick after checking a stopwatch. "Very impressive. But Mrs Osborn, surely he should come up with his own strategies?"
"Everything we have we get imprinted from others, then we improve upon it," Harry answered that one himself. "Is that really such a bad thing?"
"One day, my young friend, you will be the one imprinting on others," Kingsley said, before leaving. "But if you never find yourself, what will you offer them?"
Harry lost himself in thought, trying to come up with a response, when Kingsley had already left the hall.
"Let's see..." Emilia said. "Next you have on your schedule, a course in upper management starting in 10 minutes. The tutor should arrive soon."
"Why do we keep inviting uncle Roderick?" Harry spoke with mild curiosity.
"Building up connections, of course. When you enter the big scene, they will become all the more important."
"It doesn't seem like that one worked... Honestly, mom, how am I going to get by around these people?"
"Just remember..." said Emilia. "You are an Osborn. And the Osborns obey no one."
She put her hands on Harry's shoulders, her firm, cold touch was enough to make Harry shiver involuntarily.
"One day, it'll all be yours. The world that your father and I built together will one day belong to you."
She talked with the same proud confidence one would use to declare a war.
"Mother will see to that."
Gwen and Mary Jane walked past a shopping district filled with places to buy all sorts of things, from everyday appliances to small trinkets, and a surprising amount of purses. A single videogame shop stood defiantly amongst the others, MJ literally holding Gwen back from storming it, knowing that otherwise they could kiss the rent goodbye. Their money was needed elsewhere.
"At last, we've arrived," MJ announced with a flourish, as she approached the double pink doors of a fashionable clothing shop.
"This is against everything I stand for! I am not walking in there. I'd rather fight a tentacle monster than those prissy pink perfume peddlers."
"I'm sure you would... but we're here on business, let's go."
"Fine, but you're doing the dishes this week," Gwen grumbled.
The interior was everything the outside display promised, and much more..
The pink walls, dizzying display of mirrors, and flower-draped tables were complimented by the soft lighting. Radiating a sense of, (depending on one's perspective), shining fabulosity or a war crime against the concept of subtlety.
Being of the latter mindset, Gwen closed her eyes, banking on her Spider-Sense to guide her through racks of dresses, which to her felt like wading through a tangle of creeping tenticles, ready to smother her in a heartbeat. By contrast, Mary Jane all but swam through the rich displays of fabrics.
"Can't you make your own dresses?" moaned Gwen desperately.
"It would take too long, and I can't reveal any of my Runway designs yet. So we'll have to come up with something here," MJ searched through the dresses.
"For what?"
"Oscorp just called in for someone to be the face of their new ad. I think it'll earn us some bucks before we hit big." said MJ, pulling out a long black dress.
"Okay, so you wanna make a big impression, what do you need me for?" Gwen complained.
"Because I miss your company, silly," she teased, retreating to try out the dress in question. Gwen reached out for her smartphone to play a game, only to remember that her smartphone went to Valhalla, leaving her an old, (and more importantly), gameless Nokia for company.
"So, how do I look?" MJ asked as she came out of the changing room. Wearing the aforementioned black dress, a backless dark red halter top and skirt extending passed her knees, with a pair of black high-heels and purple gloves to complete the look.
"I, I didn't know you're that kind of model?" she laughed. "Just need a whip and you're good to go."
MJ glared, then sighed with a hint of audible frustration..
"Gwen, this is serious! This could be a big opportunity for me. Modeling for something so influential... why, my name would be sure to get attention if I get this. Can you take this seriously, please. Just this once."
Her bemusement died off as she saw the look of desperation, on a young woman that took things in stride, literally in some cases.
Gwen inwardly berated herself for being an idiot, while running over to give her best friend a hug.
"I'm here for ya, MJ. Honestly you look great, way better than I could. I can't promise I won't crack a few jokes, but you're one of the people I can count on one hand I take seriously. It's the world around me that's a bad joke. You'll do great!"
Mary Jane rested her head against her shoulder, taking in a little comfort from the contact. Gwen brushed off a damp spot on her cheek. Wether from tears or MJ's drying makeup, she couldn't tell.
They gave a final squeaze, then separated, Gwen standing at her shorter height, MJ brushing a pocket comb through her hair.
"Now then..." MJ laid a critical eye on Gwen's usual hoodie-based attire.
Oh no... she's not... she can't possibly...
"Can't look as good as myself? A possibility to be sure, but nevertheless, I can't have you show up at an official meeting like this..."
She waved a hand at Gwen's casual clothes.
"Dressed in such a state."
The next few hours could only be described as terror beyond mortal comprehension. Suffering on such an unimaginable scale, that nothing in the sum total of the universe would see its likeness that would match in sheer, unrelenting brutality, before or since those two hours at the shopping center. The changing room, the makeup, the toenail-painting... those fleeting glimpses of hope as she stared longingly at the checkout line, that MJ would be satisfied with the image at last, torture upon torture piling on Gwen to no end.
An eternity later, the results of that dark ritual revealed Gwen in a a shining white dress, consisting of a top held up by capped sleeves, a skirt slightly shorter than that on MJ's dress, white knee-high boots(Gwen threatened to wreck the store over the thought of wearing high heels), and three pairs of gold-painted bracelets instead of gloves.
But that wasn't all; the look of her face was radically changed into a chiaroscuro contrast of black eyeliner, dark red lipstick standing out against her pale complexion, her already blonde hair further lightened with a layer of bleeched highlights.
"I will remember this, Mary Jane Watson..." Gwen growled in her best impression of the Shocker.
Their next destination was the silvery tower of Oscorp. When they entered through the shiny rotating doors, they witnessed a hall of truly gargantuan proportions. Everything was clean, pristine, and shiny to the point of insanity. The silver statue at the center showed a man at his prime. His perfect posture exhibited great fortitude, untouched by the same "force" that made the coat appear to be waving in the still air.
"In memory of Norman Osborn." read Gwen from the engraved pedestal.
Many floors above, two trenchcoat guards were just passing along through a corridor on their business. A man in blue jeans and a black hoodie quietly walked behind them. Comically large sunglasses concealed his eyes, a white face scarf covering the rest.
His trailing was not entirely quiet however, At one point they heard footsteps behind themselves and drew their tommy guns, only to see no one in particular behind them. To their credit, they did notice an opened door on the side.
"Intruder?" one of them said.
"Intruder." agreed the other.
They entered through the open door, in a laboratory. Passing by a random cardboard box, they searched under the tables and behind shelves of various devices and weapons.
"Hey check this out," one of them found a gray remote.
"Don't touch..."
Before the other could finish his sentence, a big red button was already pressed. A device resembling a steel broomstick with handlebars and buttons responded to it. The flames of its jet engine lit and it flew into the sky, through a window that it naturally broke.
"We are so *&^%ed," keenly observed one, before throwing the remote out of the window.
"Come on, let's scram before Mrs Osborn gets here."
The two ran off to parts unknown. If they'd not been so hasty, they might have noticed the room was missing its cardboard box.
Soon after, Gwen and MJ reached the audition room. It was a studio of a decent size, with camera crews on one end and a classic green screen on the other. Roderick Kingsley occupied the director's seat, calmly and gently telling candidate after candidate...
"We're going to have to call you back..." he sighed, after a model made a smile more appropriate for a horror movie trailer. The model in question left, uttering curses in French. Gwen took note of Kingsley's sly expression on his perfectly chiseled face, looking like a mannequin.
"Who's the possibly secret vampire?" she whispered to MJ.
"That's Roderick Kingsley, one of the most famous fashion moduls... ever!" MJ's eyes lit with firey excitement that she could barely contain, let alone keep her speech to a whisper.
"He'll be sponsoring the Royal Runway... oh, this is an opportunity of a lifetime!"
"I know, but please, contain your..."
When the hushed conversation came to Roderick's attention, he Abandoned the director's seat and approached the two ladies.
"Ah, you must be Mary Jane Watson," he said, offering her his hand.
"You've... heard of me?" she tentatively returned the gesture and shook hands, the blush that colored her face at that moment nearly matching her hair.
"Why yes, you're quite an aspiring name. Looking forward to seeing you at the Runway," he returned to his seat.
"What brings you here?"
"Actually... I'm here to take part in the audition."
"You are? Wonderful! Let's see who's next on the list first."
After checking the list, finding names of D-list actors starring in shows he'd never heard of, Kingsley simply tossed the list aside.
"No one, then," he sprung from the seat. "Well, let's see what you've got and we'll call in for the day. I'll make up an elaborate and tragic excuse later. Everyone, at your spots!"
The crew hurried up to their designated places. Mary Jane took a deep breath and stepped towards the green screen.
"Nuh-uh!" Kingsley suddenly said. "Not in that fashionable dress. We're advertising military stuff here! We need something better!"
Gwen snickered behind the scenes.
"To the changing room!" he exclaimed.
After a very irresponsible amount of time in the changing room, MJ appeared in front of the greenscreen, wearing a black suit of armor. It seemed to be made of mostly kevlar, with scaled shoulder and knee pads. Though it didn't obstruct movement, the size and shape of it would make it difficult to determine the gender of the one wearing it.
A closer inspection revealed it to be a mere promotional lookalike, made of rubber and plastic.
"Are you sure about this?" MJ asked sheepishly.
"Come on, tigress, show them what you got!" Gwen couldn't stop laughing through the words.
"Ok, starting now," said Kingsley. "First of all, pose!"
MJ faced the opposite of the camera, put her arms on her waist, then turned her head to give it a smile.
"No, no, no," Kingsley waved his arms in sheer disapproval. "We're trying to sell... combat stuff here, be fierce!"
"F-fierce?"
She clumsily assumed what she thought passed for a battle stance, just in time for Gwen to laugh very loudly.
"You're gonna conquer them for real!"
"Hmm... give her a weapon," soon after Kingsley said that, a plastic lookalike of a rifle was brought on the scene. "Now, point that thing at the camera and... scowl or something."
Mary Jane pointed the gun at the camera. Unfortunately, nobody made it clear to Mary Jane that the rifle had a front end.
"Not at yourself, jeez, that'd be some dark advertising."
"Excuse me while I get some popcorn," Gwen walked out in a corridor, without a real plan on how to get popcorn. Fortunately(or not), that was derailed by a bump into someone else.
The "someone else" turned out to be a hooded figure, presently searching for his sunglasses that the bump caused him to drop.
Aren't you supposed to warn me of danger? Some help you are, Spider-Sense...
"I'm sorry about this..." he said, taking a closer look at her.
"No way... Gwen?"
She paused, hearing her own name. Then she squinted her eyes a little to recognize the half-masked face she saw.
"It's me, Harry," he said, pulling the attempt at a mask down.
Harry? Harry Osborn? How in the love of *&^%...
It was then that Gwen Stacy felt her mind completely shatter into tiny pieces of stray thoughts. If not so stunned, she'd have seen an equal expression on Harry's own.
But I thought... I'd never...
Failing to pick up the little pieces of her mind, all she could think to do was to ask a simple question.
"What are you doing here?!"
Ironically-synchronized, Harry asked the exact same thing.
"I was just here with MJ to do a thing, but then you just show up like that after all these years and..." she caught her breath. "Let's... let's get outside and talk."
"Yeah... good idea," Harry put the sunglasses back on. "Have to be quick about it, I'm almost certain I'm being watched."
They went outside the building, walking along the streets, particularly the least overcrowded ones. Harry took time to look behind, searching for anyone in a trenchcoat.
"Why didn't you call?" he asked.
"Why do you think?" she retorted. "Every time I tried, your press-secretary hang up on me, when I try to visit the receptionist doesn't even notify you, and..."
Gwen quieted down a little.
"Then I lost my phone. Hehe... that one keeps happening to me."
"Oh," said Harry. "That's why I couldn't reach you. I tried to call, but no one responded. Besides, mom barely leaves time for calls anymore."
"How come?"
"Ever since dad's been gone, she's been... overprotective," he glimpsed back again, just in case of coats. "She'd schedule the entire day for me, never let me out of sight, make me meet weird people, and so on..."
"At least she gives a *&^%..." Gwen sighed. "Must have been nice."
They stopped momentarily at a nearby store, Harry buying a couple sodas for himself and Gwen.
"Still a potty mouth as ever, Gwendolyn," he tossed her a can, which she caught.
"So if your mom regulates every bit of your time, what are you doing here?"
"Are you kidding? Living. At least a little. I'm not a momma's boy, you know?"
He drank his soda, coughed after a few swallows, and finished in a gulp, while Gwen finished her's in one take.
"So... so what have you been doing since that incident in the labs?" he asked.
Boy... where do I even start?
She wanted to tell him everything. Get it off her chest. She wanted to go on and on about what happened to her father, her mother, her mishaps as Spider-Woman, everything. But ultimately, did not.
"Not... much. Just, been living with MJ, trying to earn stuff here and there."
"Earn how? You have a business or something?"
"Pfft" Gwen bursted into uncomfortable laughter. "Business of eating ramen noodles for life."
"A job then?"
"More like... *&^%, already used the ramen joke."
"But... I don't understand. Your dad was the Chief of Police. What happened?" Harry spoke with genuine concern.
Once again, Gwen wanted to just spill the beans and be done with it.
Ask yourself, would he even understand? What would that rich boy know of what you went through?
"Can we... do something else?"
"Hmm... ah! This is around the time when I go to the Shriek..."
Back at Oscorp, Roderick Kingsley continued his struggle to get anything out of the current situation. By then, MJ produced a somewhat fierce pose, facing the side of the camera while holding an orange grenade. That was, an actual orange with metal bits shoved in it to make it look like a new experimental weapon.
"Hmm... I like this?" Kingsley hesitantly said, then turned to one of his assistants. "Do I like this?"
"I... don't know?" the poor assistant replied.
"Why are you so indecisive?!"
"So... are we done yet?" Mary Jane said, still naive enough to beleive those above her had an idea of what they were doing.
"Now that I like it..." Kingsley grinned. "I crave for more! Let's do enough photos to fill a magazine! No, two! No, six!"
Mary Jane had no choice but to send her mind to a happy place, full of money, ice cream, and attractive men and women in various states of undressing... Just as a phone rang to the tune of Green Hill.
"Nobody reach for their pockets," said Roderick. "This here is mine."
He answered his tiny, yet very stylish blue phone.
"Yes? Oh, hello. Yeah, she was here. Of course I didn't tell her anything, what kind of a groom you think I am? Yeah, yeah, I'll pick up the milk."
He hung up the phone.
"Now... where were we?"
Far away from MJ's troubles there was a place full of it's own. Where functional would be the optimist's description, rundown by everyone else. What used to be a two-story house became a two-story shack with broken windows, paint rubbing off the walls, and a single logo above the door saying "Shriek", with half the letters one good shove from falling off.
Turn back. Turn back now. Just do it.
"That's... the Shriek?" said Gwen. "Why can't we go to the Technodrone instead?"
"Because this is the real deal. Hardcore." Harry hurried to the entrance door.
A big burly bald bouncer wearing dirty jeans and a t-shirt stopped them before the entrance.
And "big" in this case means big enough to cosplay the Hulk.
"You. Wimp. No get in," he spoke as if forcin the words out of his mouth through a swollen tongue.
That solves that. Now just to turn back and...
"Yes, Mac, I get it," Harry casually took a thousand dollars out of his pocket. "Here."
"Dollar. Good wimp. Girl with wimp?" Mac monotoned.
No.
"Yes," said Harry.
"Go in," Mac stepped to the side.
Before Gwen could voice a very vocal objection, she was dragged inside by Harry, via the time-old method of grabbing her hand.
The inside of the club could arrange a duel with the abandoned theater from Gwen's last adventure, and have a fair fight at that.
The walls had no cover aside from cracked brick and half-hearted attempts at paint, to the point Gwen suspected that was some kind of a bizarre artistic choice. The squabbling and breaking of bottles matched the loudness of death metal played in that loosely-named club.
The "customers" matched it too. There was only so much of leather, piercings, or weird technicolor haircuts Gwen could take. Especially with how much it clashed against her dress and how many snickers and laughs she got from others who also noticed her in that dress. She wanted to sit behind a table, but the closest non-broken table was... occupied.
How does she do that with a sledgehammer...
Upon erasing that from her memory forever, Gwen sat behind a bar stand.
"What ya havin'?" asked the bartender, who really needed to change his shirt three weeks ago.
"A... never mind, you probably don't have it."
As much as Gwen didn't want to admit it, the loud buzz passing as music around there, the uninventive cursing, and the general overly rebellious spirit of the place felt all too natural for Gwen. Even without drinking anything, she allowed herself to be lost in the atmosphere.
Until the loud echoing laughter of several people snapped her back. She tensed up, assuming they were laughing at her. It only then occurred to Gwen that she wasn't alone.
Where is Harry?
That question proved easy enough to answer. The laughter from before contributed a lot. But even without that Harry was visible enough on what passed for a dancefloor.
"What the *&^% are you doing?" Gwen grabbed him by the hand this time, dragging him to the bar stand.
"What?" Harry said with pure innocence. "They seemed to like it."
How do I put this in the most polite manner possible...
"They think you're a total joke."
"Whaaaa?" Harry looked back at them again, as they continued to snicker in his general direction. "I thought they were just being friendly..."
"I don't think this qualifies as friendly. Have you listened to what passes for music?"
Harry unexpectedly grew bold. "I know it's awesome! Hey, if nothing else they've got taste. At the Gates, Nile, Atheist, Cynic, classic Death over here. Some Celtic Frost and Venum. Not a huge fan of Black, but I'm not here to judge."
"You call this crud music? Sounds like... wait, you're into Death Metal?"
Harry shrugged. "It's not exactly love at first listen, but it grows on ya. Hey, just because I'm rich and a bit out of touch doesn't mean you get to be rude and assume things about me."
Gwen very heavily resisted the urge to facepalm.
"How many times have you been here?" she crossed her arms.
"A... few times. I only sat behind the tables though. I want to be more proactive, you know?"
"So you've never interacted with anyone here until now?"
Harry scratched the back of his head.
"No..."
The urge was too much, Gwen hit her head as hard as she could on the bar stand, without accounting for her super strength, it did more damage to the bar than to herself.
"Hey, stop wreckin' my bar!" the bartender voiced his opinion. "At least drink something first, like everyone else!"
"Good idea," Harry said. "I'll have... Le Pin."
"The what?"
"You know, Le Pin. It's good wine?"
"Don't have it. Here, we pour vodka."
"Hmm... I guess... I'll have that?"
"I'll go get it," with a smirk, the bartender disappeared in the back.
Hearing what Harry was about to do, Gwen sprung her head from the broken stand.
"Harry, you can't take it. Have you even drunk anything like that before?"
"How tough can it be? I've been on some high-class meetings with really alcoholic stuff. I'm not some wimp," after voicing his slight annoyance, Harry left the bar stand.
I don't mean in alcohol dosage...
Sigh. Why do you even care?
"He's a friend," Gwen whispered.
A very distant one at best. Just let him humiliate himself and be done with it. You know how this life is like. He'll be running away from it before you know it.
"Maybe you're right," she whispered again.
Harry approached a table not too far from Gwen, so she kept her ear close to what was going on there. A man with a massive red mohawk sat there. Harry joined him.
"The *&^% do you want?" asked the man.
"Me, just making some friends. You know, I am a big fan of friendship. It's pretty magical."
Harry's... conversational partner almost spilled his drink from what he just heard.
"What do you think this is? Some *&^%ing high school?" he took a good look at Harry. "Didn't get enough "friends" there, or did you stuff your head in a toilet one too many times?"
"No, no, I was quite popular in high school. Perhaps the most popular kid. Well there was Flash, but he didn't have my last name. Or my riches."
In that moment, the mohawked man sounded interested.
"Riches?"
"Y-yeah!" upon seeing that he finally caught some interest, Harry got excited. "I am very, very rich!"
"How rich are we talking?" he eyed Harry's pockets.
"One of the richest men in the world. So that would be... stupid rich!"
"You don't say..."
Gwen, who had been listening in to the conversation and watching it occasionally, noticed the mohawked man's hand slip into Harry's pocket. She moved in to grab that hand so fast, to an outside observer it would seem like teleporting.
"Hey what the *&^% are you doing?!" he yelled at Gwen.
"You tell me, grabby hands," she took Harry's wallet out of the hand of its would-be-thief.
"But... why?" Harry asked.
"Why do you think?" she gave him the wallet back and dragged him to the stand again. "The thugs here would giftwrap their own grandmas for booze."
"He seemed nice..." Harry mumbled.
I can't believe it. He's more socially clueless than I am. I am officially dethroned as princess of socialy awkward dorks.
"Harry, when people insult you and make fun of you, that's not seeming..."
Before Gwen could finish, her Spider-Sense buzzed in.
"The *&^% you think you are?!" the man from before swung his fist at Gwen. A reflex earned from countless battles as Spider-Woman made her backhand him without turning around, with force that sent him crashing into the table he just sat behind.
"Oops..." Gwen saw that the table broke in half after such abuse. The man whose kinetic energy inflicted that on the table attempted to get up, only for the table to break some more and make him fall again.
Why do spiders have to be so *&^%ing strong?
"Here's your drink," the bartender returned with a massive glass of presumably vodka.
"Harry, don't..."
That time Gwen was interrupted by Mac the bouncer walking in. His eyes first laid on the unconscious mohawk owner.
"Who?"
"Her," everyone pointed at Gwen.
Mac glared at her with the intensity of a rabid bulldog with roughly the same intentions. At the same time, Harry's face smashed the bar stand, his hand still holding the now empty glass.
Great, what else gonna happen? Will the Hulk burst through the wall?
"Yes, yes, I'm walking out," she lifted an unconscious Harry, carrying him over her shoulder and holding him there with both of her arms.
"Not. Yet," Mac stared at Gwen, breathing heavily enough to outmatch the loud music.
I can't fight him without my mask and with this... baggage. I have to get to the exit somehow. Which happens to be exactly behind King Kong over here. *&^% my life.
The other... guests encircled them, chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" in a unified chorus.
"I am walking out of here. And you get to keep your teeth. Deal?" Gwen spoke in an unflinchingly cold tone, matching the look of her face.
In response, the bouncer tore his own shirt off, revealing a badly scarred yet muscular torso, and a scorpion tattoo on his chest.
So, I'll take that as a no?
Kay, new plan.
"Come on, kick me. I dare you. Wimp," she said, mockingly.
"Mac. No. Wimp!"
In a roar he rushed at Gwen, much to the delight of the crowd around them. For such a massive man, he executed a kick with unprecedented speed and precision, enough to splat a normal human right against the wall behind Gwen. But she was no normal human.
It took but a simple lean to the side for Mac's other leg to trip over hers, sending the big guy straight into the bar stand, which collapsed in compliance with the three strikes law. Gwen managed to slip behind the wreckage and happily head for the exit.
But then Mac got on his feet.
"Girl! Fight!" he punched his fists together.
It would be so easy. One punch and he'll fall down. Then another will shut him up. A couple more will break his bones. And then...
"Never again," Gwen whispered.
Mac lunged at her again with open arms, just seconds away from grabbing her.
This is very noble and all, but what are you going to do now?
Her mind formed a plan. She picked up the nearest small object, a broken table leg, then tossed it at the rampaging brute. The action made him confused just long enough for Gwen to use the shoulder not occupied by unconscious Harry as a means of bumping Mac right into the large crowd behind him.
"Hey, what the *&^%!" one not very thoughtful person shoved Mac off themselves. Naturally, Mac answered with a speeding fist, that switched the attention of everyone from Gwen to the bouncer's new target, thus allowing her to slip away unnoticed.
I am so not stepping foot into this entire district again. That was... far too close.
When Harry woke up, he found himself lying on the couch in Gwen's apartment, with Gwen herself sitting behind a chair typing something on her laptop.
"What happened?" he asked in a tired, groggy voice.
I carried you while you took a nap.
"You passed out from poisoned vodka, so I had to drag you out through some adventures," she mumbled with annoyance.
"Sorry. I thought I could take it..." Harry lowered his head.
"You can't. For *&^%'s sake, Harry, you couldn't be any more out of your element if you were in space."
"I know..."
"Then why try doing something like this?"
"Because..." Harry suddenly shouted. "Because I don't want to be some isolated golden couch potato!"
Gwen was taken aback, without even being able to say "what".
"Mom thinks I'm some kind of a prince above everyone else. I just... look. I have so little things in common with other people. Even you. I don't want it to be this way," Harry continued.
"So that's what it was about? But why them? You'll never be accepted with those... people," Gwen spoke, a delayed response.
"Yes, I know..." Harry clumsily got up. "I better go now,"
"Now? Don't you need some rest?"
"Why would I? I feel fine,"
If Gwen was a robot, she'd need Ctrl + Alt + Del at that moment.
But... but... how? The *&^% they put in there is enough to down Thor! He should at least have a hangover or something...
"Where's the door?" Harry asked.
"T-that way."
Harry promptly left without saying anything else. Gwen closed the door behind him, then immediately pulled her dress down, before rushing to the wardrobe and tossing it there.
"Freedom at last!" she raised her arms.
Mary Jane came back soon after, with a frustrated face all but saying "Don't ask."
Nevertheless...
"What happened, MJ?" asked Gwen.
"Kingsley is a... a... dishonest scammer! Hours. After hours. Of hell. Who knew modelling business was so exploitative?" MJ strode to her room.
"But you did get paid, right?"
MJ said nothing.
"Right?" Gwen repeated herself.
"No. Some stupid contract clause..." Mary Jane crashed on the couch, her face drowned in a pillow. "What's worse we blew quite a lot of money on those dresses..."
"Fine. I guess dollar menu it is, until the Runway," Gwen sighed.
"Until the Runway..." MJ mumbled through the pillow.
"I'll go get some fresh air," said Gwen, changing to a much more comfortable costume.
Great. *&^%ing fantastic. This whole thing was a *&^%ing waste of our *&^%ing time.
She swung from building to building, without paying much attention to the act. Her instincts, her Spider-Sense, were enough.
Should have so seen this coming. Sure, model for some of the richest guys on the planet, they totally didn't get this rich without screwing people over, and while we're in the fantasy land, the sky is made of *&^% unicorn wishes!
Gwen made a leap from one roof to another.
Now it's yet another month of those disgusting Burger King milkshakes!
"Help!" she heard a faint outcry.
Oh what now?!
Down on the street Gwen saw a man being cornered by a familiar sight - another man in a bad terrorist mask knockoff. That man held a knife, until he didn't, thanks to Spider-Woman yanking it away with a web line, then without as much as saying a word, webbing him to a wall.
"I'm going to be straight with you," Spider-Woman landed in front of him. "I'm in a very bad mood. So if you so much as displease me, I'll leave you to the police naked with obscenities drawn on you with a permanent marker. Are we clear?"
"Y-yes..." he whispered.
"Hey, your voice is kinda familiar," she pulled the mask off him and saw a red mohawk. "What? You?"
"Please don't hurt me! Being knocked out hurts!" he desperately shouted.
"And now you've displeased me."
That evening, a couple rookie police officers showing up on the scene learned a lot of new words, drawn on some uncomfortable places, as Gwen swung away in somewhat of a relief.
But... at least Harry is out of... that life. And for that matter, so am I. It's the little things in life that get you going.
Meanwhile, Harry quietly opened a door to a hall. He took near-silent steps, watching everywhere to make sure no one noticed him...
"You missed your upper management class," Emilia stood right behind him. "And your karate class. And your..."
"I get it, mom..." Harry said in a defeated tone.
"And what are you wearing?" Emilia pointed at his jacket. "This is beneath an Osborn."
"I'm sorry," he hanged the jacket on the nearest clothing rack.
Emilia placed both of her hands on his shoulders, turning him in her direction. With a cold stare, her eyes faced his.
"Repeat after me. You are my son and heir."
"I am your son and heir..." he repeated meekly.
"The world will be yours," she tightened her grip.
"The world will be mine..."
"Because you are special."
"Because I am special..."
"Good. Now go to your room. I'll let this slide once, but if I see you doing this again..."
Harry, too weak to do much else, silently nodded and left. When he did, Emilia approached the clothing rack, putting her hand in the pocket of Harry's jacket.
It initially seemed as if she didn't find anything from there, but then she snapped the fingers on her other hand, from which a small device revealed itself.
"Let's see how you're progressing," she smirked.
The End.