-Accents-
It started with an innocuous comment.
"You sound like a little girl," someone yelled from the streets below as Peter swung past. Peter made an affronted noise, raising his currently unoccupied hand up to his throat like he was clutching his pearls.
"I do not," he muttered to himself, whooshing between a set of skyscrapers and huffing. "I didn't even do anything to that guy," he complained to the open air, whisking around a sharp corner to his left. First that parking garage dude, and now some rando on the street?
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"Do you think my voice's recognizable?" he asked Ned, flopping down onto his bunk bed. Ned blinked up at him from where he was hunched over on the floor, constructing the front half of the New Hope Imperial Light Destroyer. He tilted his head, pondering for a moment.
"Kinda," he admitted, wincing slightly. Peter groaned, rolling around so that he was lying face down on the comforter. Ned tapped on his chin thoughtfully. "You're kinda high pitched and your voice cracks a whole bunch."
Peter threw his pillow at Ned's face, the latter barely managing to stop the projectile from destroying his latest Star Wars creation and crying out indignantly, throwing the pillow back onto the bed.
Peter waved him off, smooshing his face further into the bed. He tried saying something, but it came out muffled. Ned ignored him, and Peter exhaled heavily, turning his face to the side. "Well, I can't do anything about it," he whined.
Ned's eyebrows furrowed slightly, hands slowing with the thin, grey Lego piece still in his grasp. "Don't you have, like, a voice modulator?"
Peter rubbed tiredly at his face. "Yeah," he agreed reluctantly. "But it makes me sound like a robotic thug Vin Diesel or something."
Ned's eyes lit up and he dropped the Lego, turning to face Peter fully. "Can I hear?" he asked eagerly, a hopeful and excited smile dancing on his face.
Peter squinted at him but gave in, limply sliding off the bed and onto the floor like a wet noodle before wearily picking himself up onto his feet and stumbling over to his closet. He swung open the door and leaned down past the hamper to the small cupboard below it, digging past his old clothes to his Spider-Man suit tucked in at the back. He only took the mask out, leaving the rest of the suit hidden away.
Ned clapped his hands excitedly, dropping them at Peter's chastising glance and looking surreptitiously to the door. They waited in silence for a few moments before Peter came back over, plopping down on the carpet and leaning against the bed frame. He pulled on the mask, receiving a soft chime in greeting. Peter hummed. "Karen, can you turn on interrogation mode?"
'Of course, Peter,' Karen replied easily. There was a momentary pause, then: 'interrogation mode on.'
He grinned under the mask, narrowing the wide eyes of his goggles. "I'll be your worst nightmare," he threatened, voice coming out boomingly dark and gravely. Ned shrieked, a sound that was both terrified and delighted.
May's voice filtered in from the kitchen. "Boys, what was that?" she called.
Peter hastily whispered for interrogation mode to be turned off before ripping the mask from his face. Meanwhile, Ned started to stutter out a response. "N-nothing Mrs. Parker, um - w-we were - um - watching po-" Peter slapped a hand across his mouth, glaring back at Ned's wide eyes.
"-Poltergeist!" Peter finished loudly, dropping his hand from Ned's face. The latter grinned sheepishly.
"Alright you two, just keep it down," May called back, voice sounding quieter as she entered the kitchen. Peter looked at Ned pointedly, heading back over to the closet and rehiding his mask.
Ned piped up in a still animated whisper. "That was so cool!"
Peter let out a small laugh. "I guess so, it's just not really great for the whole gig on a regular basis, ya know?" he sighed. Ned nodded sagely. Peter rejoined him on the carpet, reaching out and grabbing a couple of larger Lego pieces. He fiddled with them. "I don't want someone to realize who I am, though," he admitted.
Ned made a noise of affirmation, then gasped, whipping out his phone. He tapped on it rapidly for a few moments before shoving the screen in Peter's face.
Peter leaned back slightly, squinting to make out the too close words. "Accent training?"
"Yeah!" Ned burst out, taking his phone back and scrolling through it. "It's like - you know how some actors aren't actually from wherever their character is? So they have to, like, mimic the native accent?"
Peter's eyes widened, and he broke out into a wide smile. "You're a genius, Ned!" he exclaimed, scooting over so that they could both look down at the phone.
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Two weeks later, Peter leaned sluggishly against the table, resting his chin on his hand and facing Ned. They were in the back of the cafeteria - just him, Ned, and MJ. "This isn't panning out like I thought it would," he admitted drearily, clicking open a new tab on his laptop.
"And how, exactly, did you expect things to turn out?" MJ questioned bemusedly. Peter shrugged.
"More easily?" he tried. MJ snorted.
"Is it the program?" Ned questioned, twisting his fork in his noodles.
Peter shook his head, sighing. "It's just slow going, I guess," he begrudgingly admitted, tapping on another key.
"Well, what'd'you know so far?" Ned asked.
Peter chewed on his lip for a moment, brushing his thumb along the space key and struggling not to let a flush rise to his cheeks. "'Ello mate, ow ah you," he said choppily.
Ned's noodles shot right back out of his mouth, splattering across his tray and a bit on the table. MJ scooched her book further away. "That's gotta be like" - he broke into a fit of laughs - "cultural appropriation or something," he wheezed out.
Peter frowned at him, failing to hide his blush. "Yeah, yeah," he snapped with no real heat behind it. He thunked his head down onto the table. "Should I just give up?"
MJ shrugged. "I think it'd be pretty funny to hear you do that on patrol," she noted.
He squinted at her. "Thanks, MJ."
Her lips twitched up slightly. "It's what I do," she replied.
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Peter laid down alongside the edge of a roof, one foot hanging off the side and arms pillowing his head. "Karen, you know of any faster programs to learn an accent," he asked idly.
'I do know of several programs, but it's unlikely that they are faster paced than your current one. Would you like to try a voice modulator instead?'
Peter bolted upright? "A what?"
'A voice modulator,' Karen replied smoothly.
"I have those?" he questioned, voice pitching.
'Yes, Peter. You have over five hundred different voice modulator options as well as voice translator variants for all widespread languages.'
He spluttered. "Why didn't I know about this?!"
'They were unlocked alongside the web shooter combinations,' was all she said.
He threw his hands up. "But, like, I got the hang of a whole bunch of web combos while I was stuck in that government storage place, right? So why didn't I hear about this stuff too?"
There was an awkward pause. When Karen spoke again, the AI sounded almost embarrassed. '... you didn't ask.'
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Fine, Karen, fine. I see how it is, just" - he huffed - "can you give me a British accent?"
'Of course, Peter.' There was a small click. Peter waited for a moment longer before testing it out.
He tried saying one of his usual phrases - "Don't worry, I'm here to help," and, sure enough, it came out through the mask as undeniably British. He let out a little whooping laugh, which came back with a vengeance when he heard how even that was somehow filtered by the modulator.
He didn't wait a moment longer, already hyped to test it out in public, and, since he was already geared up, now was the opportune time to do so.
He leapt off the roof, letting himself freefall just long enough for his stomach to swoop and his limbs to feel oddly floaty before he flung his arm out and shot a web onto the building across from him, twisting sideways once he gained some upward momentum and attaching another web to the lip of a roof on the opposite side, continuing on like he was on some kind of forward going pendulum as he made his way down the streets.
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Spider-Man a Spy?
J. J. Jameson
Yesterday afternoon, multiple citizens reported spotting the resident menace, Spider-Man, once again prowling the streets. However, it was not his usual crimes that had been brought to attention by witnesses and a variety of recordings of the masked vigilante. Instead, it was his voice. Yes, he is indeed normally recognized for having a squeaky voice reminiscent of a prepubescent teen, but this was not the case as of last reported. Instead, he had an indisputably British accent, still male but much deeper as well. Some have theorized that there is a different person under the mask or that Spider-Man is wearing some kind of voice modulator. We at the Daily Bugle refute these ridiculous claims and instead suspect the most likely - and concerning - theory: The Queens' Menace is a foreign spy.
"What the f-" he shot a glance at May - "frick," he finished lamely. She raised an eyebrow at him, taking a sip of coffee from her wide brimmed mug.
She tilted her chin at the newspaper, giving it a curious look. He shrugged helplessly. He still hadn't exactly gotten around to telling her about the whole Spider-Man gig, so his level of distress at the article would probably seem unreasonable.
"It's nothing," he muttered, folding the newspaper back up with a bit more strength than necessary, causing the corners to crinkle.
"Uhuh," she replied, dubious, swirling her little spoon in her mug for a couple of seconds before taking it out and clinking it against the edge, letting the excess droplets tap off. "You got anything coming up with school or the internship?" she asked, switching topics.
Peter started to shake his head, then paused. "Mr. Stark's invited me to come with him and Pepper to this gala thing in a couple of weeks. Said it'd be a good opportunity to 'network,'" he explained, giving air quotes to the last word. May nodded encouragingly, eyes bright. Peter sighed. "I'm gonna take it that you agree?"
She snorted. "Duh, Petey. This is great!" she exclaimed, setting down her cup to stand. "You've only got one more year of high school and then bam! College! It never hurts to have connections or to start early with it."
Peter nodded in acquiescence, grabbing a muffin from the box of just over a dozen that was between them. He peeled off the paper from it slowly, chewing on his lip. "Alright," he decided, taking a small bite out of the pastry. "I'll let Mr. Stark know."
May smiled widely, raising her mug in cheers and heading back into the kitchen. "You should probably start heading out, Pete," she called. He checked the time and did a double take.
"Shoot," he flustered, almost knocking the chair back in his haste to stand. He flung his rucksack over his shoulder and beelined for the door. "See you later, May! Love you!"
"Larb you too!" she shouted back.
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"So when were you planning to let us know about you being a spy," MJ monotoned, idly flipping a pen between her fingers. "I can't believe you've done this," she finished dryly.
Peter squinted at her. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he muttered, turning back to face the hall as he, Ned, and MJ meandered towards their class.
"It'd be pretty cool if you were, though," Ned mused to his left.
Peter snorted. "Except the fact that Jameson's making me out to be a spy against the United States. Literally a traitor, dude."
Ned hummed affirmatively. "Except that."
"You gonna stick with the accent?" MJ questioned.
Peter shook his head. "Not that one at least. I'll probably just go with something a bit deeper than my normal voice."
The bell rang.
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If he was going to give up the voice modulation tactic - or at least the accent part of it - he decided he may as well have one last bit of fun with it.
He pulled his mask on, grin ever present behind the spandex, and leapt up into the air. He shot off a web onto the lip of the roof to his left, pulling himself up and then flinging himself off so he looped low before letting loose another web that sent him arcing back up above a busy intersection.
He continued for a couple of minutes, heading towards a normally crowded area, and perched himself on a street lamp next to a group of pedestrians. He cleared his throat.
"Я Человек-Паук, здесь, чтобы привить свои русские идеалы и патриотизм в жизнь американских граждан," ([I am Spider-Man, here to instill my Russian ideals and patriotism into the lives of American citizens]), he declared, barely withholding himself from peals of hysterical laughter at the incredulous looks he received in response. He didn't savor the moment for too long, twisting his wrist up and curling his fingers to shoot off another string of web to a high leveled building to his right, pulling himself up and away from the growing mass of pedestrians.
He continued his patrol as normal, the only difference being that he let everything he said be translated into smooth Russian. His cheeks hurt from the grin splitting his face in two.
He crept along the edge of the brick wall, staying far above eye line as he turned the corner of the alleyway. One man, dressed entirely in black and his lower face covered with a surgical mask, was waving a knife around threateningly at an older fellow. "Gimme the cash, old man," the perp sneered, taking a warning step closer.
Peter sprayed a web at his knife wielding hand, causing the guy's arm to fly left with the momentum and attach to the dumpster there. "Ты хороший братан? Ты выглядишь как-то застрявшим," ([You good bro? You look kind of stuck]) Peter joked, hopping down into the alley.
"What the fuck're you sayin,' man? Lemme go!" the wannabe mugger shouted, straining fruitlessly against the webbing. Peter shot him finger guns, much to the man's very vocal outrage, and approached the older dude.
He walked the civilian out of the alleyway with a comforting hand on his shoulder, receiving a quiet "thank you" in return, to which Peter inclined his head.
Peter turned back to the criminal, wagging his finger like a reprimanding school teacher. "грабить стариков это большое нет нет," ([Robbing from the elderly is a big no no]) he informed.
The guy looked just about ready to bash his own head into the side of the dumpster. Peter beamed.
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Spider-Man: Russian Spy or British Linguist?
J. J. Jameson