Disclaimer: I own Spiderman's soul. No not really. Marvel has that honor.
Author's Note: Thanks to those who reviewed! You make my day! I hope this doesn't become boring, so if it starts lacking something PLEASE speak up. I really appreciate it! Thank you all so much, and I'm so glad you read this. - And I really apologize for writing so much more on Patty, etc right now. I'm trying to set things up, and I swear y'all will wonder what the hell I'm thinking if I don't start the stuff now. So please hang in there. It will start getting interesting soon. Thanks!
Chapter 3: Morning Glories
A curtain of short auburn hair hid the face of a very unhappy young woman. She muttered to herself as she stared into a mirror through her hair curtain, and grabbed a brush off her desk without looking. The brush's bristles raked through her hair, smoothing it out somewhat. Silver stayed prominent by the left side of her face, giving her ghostly morning complexion a bit of glow. But she still looked like she belonged in a grave rather than standing in her room now.
Her steps were unsteady and floppy as she reached her closet. She disappeared inside, and emerged in a pair of relaxed jeans and an off-the- shoulder dark red long-sleeved shirt, and a light grey thick-strapped tank top under the first shirt.
The young woman slouched and dragged herself and her backpack to the kitchen table, where she let her backpack drop listlessly to the floor. Her sneakered feet shuffled across the tiled floor until she could reach the kitchen counter. Hands worked slowly to find the frosted flakes and pull them to the counter and pour some of the little flakes into a white bowl. As they sat, she plunged a large spoon in the middle of the flakes and shuffled to the fridge, where she threw the door open and captured the milk. It was just a pour away that her cereal was drenched in the alleged moo-juice. Then it was back into the fridge for the milk, and the door closed on it. She grabbed her bowl and spoon, and began stabbing at the cereal with her blunt weapon. Flakes broke in half and crumbled, and then were sucked into Patty's too-tired-to-form-words mouth. The young woman plopped down at her family's table, beside her backpack, and lazily ate her cereal. It was only 7:15 now, and she didn't need to be at classes for another hour and fifteen minutes.
Dr. Tournell practically waltzed into the room, so pleased with the night before's work. He grinned at his only daughter and clapped her on the back. "Quite a night, eh Patty?" His eyes glimmered as he began boiling a pot of coffee. His hair was combed, his attire was nice, and he was ready to go.
Patty muttered into her spoonful of frosted flakes, and glared up at her father. "Honestly. Why the fuck do you drink coffee if you're this damn perky without it?"
Her father sighed. He had gotten used to Patty's language. The training and shots had seemed to endow her with a small bit of Tourette's Syndrome. Oh, yes. He had noticed her growing irritability, her muttering and facial twitching. Dr. Tournell was a scientist, after all. Who would think he wouldn't pay close attention to his own work?
Patty rolled her eyes. He expected some other response to his comment in the form of a question. "Yeah. It was some night. Some night that kept me up until 4 o'-fucking-clock in the morning!" She slammed her hand on the table while her other spooned some frosted flakes into her mouth.
Dr. Tournell winced. Though generally calm, cool, and collected, Patty was lately getting more and more prone to outbursts and spurts of anger. Could there have been an uncalculated side effect to what his experiments? No. Dr. Tournell would never miscalculate. He would be right. Patty was fine, just going through some stress. "Yes, I'm sorry, honey, but who has time for time when you've got science?" He smiled sunnily and poured some coffee into his large mug.
Patty growled. "Well, Dad, I happen to have other things to bother with. I, unlike you, do not have a lifetime to dedicate to science, and I sure as hell can't give you my entire life for your science experiments!"
He sighed. "Pumpkin, I know. But we're so far into this. There's no going back now."
"I know, dad. I know..." Her voice was distant for a moment, as if it came from a completely different Patty. Vision blurred and staring into space, Patty suddenly shook her head and shoved a spoonful of flakes into her mouth. "Well, I have to finish this. I don't want to collapse from fatigue today." She muttered vilely and downed another spoonful of cereal.
But both Tournells knew very well that Patty would never collapse from fatigue. She had too much in her. There was so much strength, stamina, and science running through the young woman's blood that there was no way she could ever give up and plop down.
Dr. Tournell nodded with a grunt, and sipped some coffee. And so ended the discussion in the Tournell kitchen.
Peter stretched his arms lazily, the blaring of his alarm clock piercing through his right ear and scrambling inside his brain. His right hand slammed on the "off" button, and he looked to his left. Mary Jane was sleeping still. Her hands were tucked under her chin, and her earnest face was tilted towards him, calm as an angel's. His heart throbbed at the sight of her. It nearly swelled with love and passion, such feelings he wasn't sure he could feel before. But here they were, racing in his throat and causing his hands to quiver. It was for Mary Jane. It would always be for Mary Jane.
Finally, the collage boy sighed. Though he would wait eternity for her, time would not. He had to get dressed and ready for classes now, as it was 7:30 and his first class started in an hour.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped down, clad only in a pair of white boxers. Peter meandered to his closet and pulled on a white collared button-down shirt and khaki slacks, and dark brown shoes. Brushing his teeth as he walked, he drifted to the small kitchen of his humble apartment. He spat into the sink and tossed the toothbrush to the side, and opened a cabinet. A box of cheerios looked him in the eye, and he grabbed it.
The small wheat o's plunked into his dark green plastic bowl, and protested as Peter drowned them in milk. To top off his cheerio massacre, he stuck a spoon in beside them, cutting a few innocent cheerios in half. He was oblivious to their screams, however, as he grabbed a slightly dirty glass from his other cabinet and filled it to the brim with milk. Soon, the milk jug was in the closed fridge. He grabbed his cereal and milk, and plopped down to his modest table and dug in.
Author's Note: Thanks to those who reviewed! You make my day! I hope this doesn't become boring, so if it starts lacking something PLEASE speak up. I really appreciate it! Thank you all so much, and I'm so glad you read this. - And I really apologize for writing so much more on Patty, etc right now. I'm trying to set things up, and I swear y'all will wonder what the hell I'm thinking if I don't start the stuff now. So please hang in there. It will start getting interesting soon. Thanks!
Chapter 3: Morning Glories
A curtain of short auburn hair hid the face of a very unhappy young woman. She muttered to herself as she stared into a mirror through her hair curtain, and grabbed a brush off her desk without looking. The brush's bristles raked through her hair, smoothing it out somewhat. Silver stayed prominent by the left side of her face, giving her ghostly morning complexion a bit of glow. But she still looked like she belonged in a grave rather than standing in her room now.
Her steps were unsteady and floppy as she reached her closet. She disappeared inside, and emerged in a pair of relaxed jeans and an off-the- shoulder dark red long-sleeved shirt, and a light grey thick-strapped tank top under the first shirt.
The young woman slouched and dragged herself and her backpack to the kitchen table, where she let her backpack drop listlessly to the floor. Her sneakered feet shuffled across the tiled floor until she could reach the kitchen counter. Hands worked slowly to find the frosted flakes and pull them to the counter and pour some of the little flakes into a white bowl. As they sat, she plunged a large spoon in the middle of the flakes and shuffled to the fridge, where she threw the door open and captured the milk. It was just a pour away that her cereal was drenched in the alleged moo-juice. Then it was back into the fridge for the milk, and the door closed on it. She grabbed her bowl and spoon, and began stabbing at the cereal with her blunt weapon. Flakes broke in half and crumbled, and then were sucked into Patty's too-tired-to-form-words mouth. The young woman plopped down at her family's table, beside her backpack, and lazily ate her cereal. It was only 7:15 now, and she didn't need to be at classes for another hour and fifteen minutes.
Dr. Tournell practically waltzed into the room, so pleased with the night before's work. He grinned at his only daughter and clapped her on the back. "Quite a night, eh Patty?" His eyes glimmered as he began boiling a pot of coffee. His hair was combed, his attire was nice, and he was ready to go.
Patty muttered into her spoonful of frosted flakes, and glared up at her father. "Honestly. Why the fuck do you drink coffee if you're this damn perky without it?"
Her father sighed. He had gotten used to Patty's language. The training and shots had seemed to endow her with a small bit of Tourette's Syndrome. Oh, yes. He had noticed her growing irritability, her muttering and facial twitching. Dr. Tournell was a scientist, after all. Who would think he wouldn't pay close attention to his own work?
Patty rolled her eyes. He expected some other response to his comment in the form of a question. "Yeah. It was some night. Some night that kept me up until 4 o'-fucking-clock in the morning!" She slammed her hand on the table while her other spooned some frosted flakes into her mouth.
Dr. Tournell winced. Though generally calm, cool, and collected, Patty was lately getting more and more prone to outbursts and spurts of anger. Could there have been an uncalculated side effect to what his experiments? No. Dr. Tournell would never miscalculate. He would be right. Patty was fine, just going through some stress. "Yes, I'm sorry, honey, but who has time for time when you've got science?" He smiled sunnily and poured some coffee into his large mug.
Patty growled. "Well, Dad, I happen to have other things to bother with. I, unlike you, do not have a lifetime to dedicate to science, and I sure as hell can't give you my entire life for your science experiments!"
He sighed. "Pumpkin, I know. But we're so far into this. There's no going back now."
"I know, dad. I know..." Her voice was distant for a moment, as if it came from a completely different Patty. Vision blurred and staring into space, Patty suddenly shook her head and shoved a spoonful of flakes into her mouth. "Well, I have to finish this. I don't want to collapse from fatigue today." She muttered vilely and downed another spoonful of cereal.
But both Tournells knew very well that Patty would never collapse from fatigue. She had too much in her. There was so much strength, stamina, and science running through the young woman's blood that there was no way she could ever give up and plop down.
Dr. Tournell nodded with a grunt, and sipped some coffee. And so ended the discussion in the Tournell kitchen.
Peter stretched his arms lazily, the blaring of his alarm clock piercing through his right ear and scrambling inside his brain. His right hand slammed on the "off" button, and he looked to his left. Mary Jane was sleeping still. Her hands were tucked under her chin, and her earnest face was tilted towards him, calm as an angel's. His heart throbbed at the sight of her. It nearly swelled with love and passion, such feelings he wasn't sure he could feel before. But here they were, racing in his throat and causing his hands to quiver. It was for Mary Jane. It would always be for Mary Jane.
Finally, the collage boy sighed. Though he would wait eternity for her, time would not. He had to get dressed and ready for classes now, as it was 7:30 and his first class started in an hour.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hopped down, clad only in a pair of white boxers. Peter meandered to his closet and pulled on a white collared button-down shirt and khaki slacks, and dark brown shoes. Brushing his teeth as he walked, he drifted to the small kitchen of his humble apartment. He spat into the sink and tossed the toothbrush to the side, and opened a cabinet. A box of cheerios looked him in the eye, and he grabbed it.
The small wheat o's plunked into his dark green plastic bowl, and protested as Peter drowned them in milk. To top off his cheerio massacre, he stuck a spoon in beside them, cutting a few innocent cheerios in half. He was oblivious to their screams, however, as he grabbed a slightly dirty glass from his other cabinet and filled it to the brim with milk. Soon, the milk jug was in the closed fridge. He grabbed his cereal and milk, and plopped down to his modest table and dug in.