[From Author to Reader: Yay, fan girls! Otto in the shower! Fan boys, too, I have no problem with that. They're all a little OOC, it makes writing about them easier. I didn't know how to reproduce Mac's way of speaking in the cartoon but I found it very fitting that he had a strange voice, hence the accent. Please don't flame me! I also apologize if you do not like my take on the arms. It's just one of those things about the whole fused to his body thing that I contemplated and found annoyingly overlooked. Uh...I don't own Hellraiser, but Nathan is an OC, however brief his appearance. I also still do not own Spider-Man or anything related to it.]
Quinton couldn't wait to continue the conversation he'd started last night. He knew Otto was up to something and he was going to find out what. However, that morning, as on many other mornings that week, Otto stayed in his room. That arrogant bastard must think he's too good for us. As he made his way into the kitchen, he bumped into Mac Gargan. He pushed past him, still feeling insulted from the way he was spoken to last night and willing to take it out on anyone.
"Were yah up last night?" Mac asked.
"I thought I heard someone in the house. I was checking it out."
Mac just stared at him. "Uh, yeah...Do what'cha like, but next time yah see Ock, be a little more quiet. All that bangin and screamin woke me up."
"You pussy, I barely made a sound!"
"Don't'cha dare call me names," Mac growled. The two men glared at each other, each waiting for the other one to throw the first punch.
"Okay, break it up." Max Dillon pushed between them on his way to the refrigerator. "Is Otto up yet?"
"No. As usual." Quinton paused. "You didn't hear anything weird last night, did you?"
"Nope. Slept like a baby." Max took a swig from the orange juice carton.
"Ug, now we gotta get more," Mac winced.
"More what?" Max asked.
"The orange juice. Yah got'cha amoebas in it."
Quinton laughed. "If only Otto had been here to hear you say that."
"Why?" Mac looked puzzled.
The door opened and a timid face peered around it. It was Nathan, one of Wilson Fisk's household employees. "I...I'm sorry breakfast is late..."
"Yeah, whatever." Max turned to the others. "I'm going to go wake up Otto. He's less likely to bite off my head." He picked up the carton, raised it to Mac in 'cheers' gesture, and swigged from it again. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call an ambulance." He walked away with Mac glaring at his back. Feeling a bit too lazy to climb the stairs, he used the magnetic energy left over from the storm to fly up them. It was barely enough to hold him up, much less carry him quickly, but it worked just the same. His friend had been very secretive as of late, and more difficult than usual. In fact, Max was surprised Fisk was still willing to put up with his crap. About a week ago one could have called him fiercely independent, but now he was just touchy and reclusive. It was something to do with a new project he was working on. Five or six nights ago, when it had just been the two of them hanging out in the TV room, Otto had mentioned a life changing discovery he'd made. They had both been a tiny bit drunk, so it was most likely a slip on Otto's part. He'd never mentioned it again, and Max hadn't told anyone. "Dr. Octavius?" Max had opted for the polite formality because Otto responded better to the prefix 'doctor.' Probably something to do with his ego.
Otto opened his eyes, winced, and closed them again. His head hurt like a bitch. "Just go away!" He sat up a little, shifted the arms around, and collapsed on his other side. Fisk had designed a bed especially for him, with an indent for the back piece and the arms, but Otto had never been able to sleep on his back, even as a child. He'd turned the offer down. Mostly he just slept on his stomach, now.
"Come on, buddy. It's me, Max."
"I never said I didn't know it was you."
In the hall, Max tried the knob but the door was locked. "Fisk wants to talk to us."
"About what?"
"Let me in and I'll tell you." Max heard something crash and was a little concerned until the door opened. One of the tentacles had knocked something over on its way to unlock the door. Otto hadn't budged. His back was to the door and as soon as the tentacle had completed its task it fell back to rest with the others, part of it hanging limply over the edge of the bed. "You sick or something?"
"Long night," Otto muttered without looking at him. "What does Fisk want?"
Max stared at the melding of flesh, metal and bone on the man's back. The spine-like apparatus practically nailed into his flesh looked like something from Hellraiser. "I actually don't really know." One of the tentacles lifted its head and seemed to glare at him. Max shrugged sheepishly. "But, hey, while you're up, you might as well come downstairs, right?"
He used the tentacles to push himself into a sitting position. "Jerk." Otto tried to sound angry but there was still an undertone of laughter. He was careful to keep his back to Max as he stood up and sought out his dark green trench coat. "I don't suppose I could get you to wait in the hall."
"You're not going to lock me out and go back to sleep, are you?" Max crossed his arms and smirked at Otto's back.
Otto paused. "I'll change in the bathroom."
Max nodded. "Mhm, that's what I thought."
Otto grabbed some black jeans, bundled them and the trench coat against his chest, and went into the bathroom. When the door was closed behind him, he stood in front of the mirror and fingered the angry looking cuts on his chest. The largest one, from just below his throat to just above the harness, looked especially irritated. If any of them scarred, that one would. He disrobed and stepped into the shower to clean the cuts up. The arms shied away from the spray a little, hissing in his head. It wasn't that they couldn't get wet, it was that they didn't like too. He reached out to turn off the water and then decided to wash his hair first. He didn't know if Max was still out there or not but if he was, he'd be suspicious if heard the shower and Otto came out with dry hair. It was a nitpicky, paranoid little thing, Max would never ask questions about something like that, but he didn't want to risk it. He tipped his head forward into the spray and closed his eyes as the water ran down his face. The hot water threatened to lull him back to sleep but he wouldn't let it.
When he was finished, he turned off the water and gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do next. He dried himself off as best he could so he wouldn't drip on the floor and stepped out of the tub. He planted both the bottom arms firmly on the floor, held on to the curtain rod with the top two, and carefully adjusted them until they were supporting their own weight. "God I hate this," he muttered as he pressed a button on the side of the harness. The part around his waist opened and he bit his lip, feeling the weight of the arms pulling at his spine. He dried the pale, burn scarred skin underneath the harness thoroughly before closing it around his waist again. He sighed as the pressure was taken off his spine and slowly relaxed the arms. He hated it but it was something he had to do. The alternative was a skin infection or something just as bad under the harness, and the arms were causing enough problems without that. His newest discovery had made him wonder, though. If I could get the arms removed, would I do it? They hissed and turned to glare at him all at the same time. "Don't worry my pets," he crooned. "I wouldn't harm you." He patted one of the triangular heads and heard it sigh in approval. As he dressed, he continued to speak to them. "What shall we do today? Run the blood samples, perhaps?"
Now, the tentacles, unbeknownst to their creator, were a tiny bit concerned with where this whole thing was going. However, they had agreed to wait and see what would happen, because so far it had been beneficial.
Otto put on the trench coat, buttoned it up to his throat, and left the bathroom. Just as he suspected, Max was still there. Otto was faintly annoyed that this man was fussing over him so much lately. They were friends, yes, and he was concerned, but there was a line. "Do you know how hard I had to work to get away from my mother?"
Max wouldn't let his sarcasm affect him. "We both had overbearing mothers."
"Like mother, like son," was Otto's snappish reply.
"If I hadn't stayed, would you have gotten up?"
"Most likely not," Otto admitted.
"Exactly." Max cracked his knuckles and they sparked a little. "I've filled my quota for the day by getting you up. I won't press the food issue, but I will recommend it."
"I'll eat later. I have work to do."
"Like what?" Max hoped he would talk more about the 'life changing discovery.' His interest was genuinely piqued.
"Top secret. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Otto winked.
Max smiled. "Fine, then. Kill me."
Otto gave him a sideways look through the dark glasses. "You'll find out when I'm done. I don't want the full impact to be lost." They went downstairs and paused at the bottom. "When does Fisk want to see us?"
"Not until later this evening."
Otto nodded and turned to go down a second flight of stairs hidden behind the main stairs. He had a lab under the house, a state-of-the art lab, just as Fisk had promised.
Max watched his retreating form and shook his head. It was a beautiful day, Fisk had a pool, and Otto was holing up underground. All well, not my problem. He shrugged and returned to the kitchen.
[From A to R: Hope you enjoyed that. You're not supposed to know what Otto was talking about or why he was cut up, but you'll know when I am ready to reveal, so sit tight.]
Quinton couldn't wait to continue the conversation he'd started last night. He knew Otto was up to something and he was going to find out what. However, that morning, as on many other mornings that week, Otto stayed in his room. That arrogant bastard must think he's too good for us. As he made his way into the kitchen, he bumped into Mac Gargan. He pushed past him, still feeling insulted from the way he was spoken to last night and willing to take it out on anyone.
"Were yah up last night?" Mac asked.
"I thought I heard someone in the house. I was checking it out."
Mac just stared at him. "Uh, yeah...Do what'cha like, but next time yah see Ock, be a little more quiet. All that bangin and screamin woke me up."
"You pussy, I barely made a sound!"
"Don't'cha dare call me names," Mac growled. The two men glared at each other, each waiting for the other one to throw the first punch.
"Okay, break it up." Max Dillon pushed between them on his way to the refrigerator. "Is Otto up yet?"
"No. As usual." Quinton paused. "You didn't hear anything weird last night, did you?"
"Nope. Slept like a baby." Max took a swig from the orange juice carton.
"Ug, now we gotta get more," Mac winced.
"More what?" Max asked.
"The orange juice. Yah got'cha amoebas in it."
Quinton laughed. "If only Otto had been here to hear you say that."
"Why?" Mac looked puzzled.
The door opened and a timid face peered around it. It was Nathan, one of Wilson Fisk's household employees. "I...I'm sorry breakfast is late..."
"Yeah, whatever." Max turned to the others. "I'm going to go wake up Otto. He's less likely to bite off my head." He picked up the carton, raised it to Mac in 'cheers' gesture, and swigged from it again. "If I'm not back in ten minutes, call an ambulance." He walked away with Mac glaring at his back. Feeling a bit too lazy to climb the stairs, he used the magnetic energy left over from the storm to fly up them. It was barely enough to hold him up, much less carry him quickly, but it worked just the same. His friend had been very secretive as of late, and more difficult than usual. In fact, Max was surprised Fisk was still willing to put up with his crap. About a week ago one could have called him fiercely independent, but now he was just touchy and reclusive. It was something to do with a new project he was working on. Five or six nights ago, when it had just been the two of them hanging out in the TV room, Otto had mentioned a life changing discovery he'd made. They had both been a tiny bit drunk, so it was most likely a slip on Otto's part. He'd never mentioned it again, and Max hadn't told anyone. "Dr. Octavius?" Max had opted for the polite formality because Otto responded better to the prefix 'doctor.' Probably something to do with his ego.
Otto opened his eyes, winced, and closed them again. His head hurt like a bitch. "Just go away!" He sat up a little, shifted the arms around, and collapsed on his other side. Fisk had designed a bed especially for him, with an indent for the back piece and the arms, but Otto had never been able to sleep on his back, even as a child. He'd turned the offer down. Mostly he just slept on his stomach, now.
"Come on, buddy. It's me, Max."
"I never said I didn't know it was you."
In the hall, Max tried the knob but the door was locked. "Fisk wants to talk to us."
"About what?"
"Let me in and I'll tell you." Max heard something crash and was a little concerned until the door opened. One of the tentacles had knocked something over on its way to unlock the door. Otto hadn't budged. His back was to the door and as soon as the tentacle had completed its task it fell back to rest with the others, part of it hanging limply over the edge of the bed. "You sick or something?"
"Long night," Otto muttered without looking at him. "What does Fisk want?"
Max stared at the melding of flesh, metal and bone on the man's back. The spine-like apparatus practically nailed into his flesh looked like something from Hellraiser. "I actually don't really know." One of the tentacles lifted its head and seemed to glare at him. Max shrugged sheepishly. "But, hey, while you're up, you might as well come downstairs, right?"
He used the tentacles to push himself into a sitting position. "Jerk." Otto tried to sound angry but there was still an undertone of laughter. He was careful to keep his back to Max as he stood up and sought out his dark green trench coat. "I don't suppose I could get you to wait in the hall."
"You're not going to lock me out and go back to sleep, are you?" Max crossed his arms and smirked at Otto's back.
Otto paused. "I'll change in the bathroom."
Max nodded. "Mhm, that's what I thought."
Otto grabbed some black jeans, bundled them and the trench coat against his chest, and went into the bathroom. When the door was closed behind him, he stood in front of the mirror and fingered the angry looking cuts on his chest. The largest one, from just below his throat to just above the harness, looked especially irritated. If any of them scarred, that one would. He disrobed and stepped into the shower to clean the cuts up. The arms shied away from the spray a little, hissing in his head. It wasn't that they couldn't get wet, it was that they didn't like too. He reached out to turn off the water and then decided to wash his hair first. He didn't know if Max was still out there or not but if he was, he'd be suspicious if heard the shower and Otto came out with dry hair. It was a nitpicky, paranoid little thing, Max would never ask questions about something like that, but he didn't want to risk it. He tipped his head forward into the spray and closed his eyes as the water ran down his face. The hot water threatened to lull him back to sleep but he wouldn't let it.
When he was finished, he turned off the water and gritted his teeth, knowing what he had to do next. He dried himself off as best he could so he wouldn't drip on the floor and stepped out of the tub. He planted both the bottom arms firmly on the floor, held on to the curtain rod with the top two, and carefully adjusted them until they were supporting their own weight. "God I hate this," he muttered as he pressed a button on the side of the harness. The part around his waist opened and he bit his lip, feeling the weight of the arms pulling at his spine. He dried the pale, burn scarred skin underneath the harness thoroughly before closing it around his waist again. He sighed as the pressure was taken off his spine and slowly relaxed the arms. He hated it but it was something he had to do. The alternative was a skin infection or something just as bad under the harness, and the arms were causing enough problems without that. His newest discovery had made him wonder, though. If I could get the arms removed, would I do it? They hissed and turned to glare at him all at the same time. "Don't worry my pets," he crooned. "I wouldn't harm you." He patted one of the triangular heads and heard it sigh in approval. As he dressed, he continued to speak to them. "What shall we do today? Run the blood samples, perhaps?"
Now, the tentacles, unbeknownst to their creator, were a tiny bit concerned with where this whole thing was going. However, they had agreed to wait and see what would happen, because so far it had been beneficial.
Otto put on the trench coat, buttoned it up to his throat, and left the bathroom. Just as he suspected, Max was still there. Otto was faintly annoyed that this man was fussing over him so much lately. They were friends, yes, and he was concerned, but there was a line. "Do you know how hard I had to work to get away from my mother?"
Max wouldn't let his sarcasm affect him. "We both had overbearing mothers."
"Like mother, like son," was Otto's snappish reply.
"If I hadn't stayed, would you have gotten up?"
"Most likely not," Otto admitted.
"Exactly." Max cracked his knuckles and they sparked a little. "I've filled my quota for the day by getting you up. I won't press the food issue, but I will recommend it."
"I'll eat later. I have work to do."
"Like what?" Max hoped he would talk more about the 'life changing discovery.' His interest was genuinely piqued.
"Top secret. If I tell you, I'll have to kill you," Otto winked.
Max smiled. "Fine, then. Kill me."
Otto gave him a sideways look through the dark glasses. "You'll find out when I'm done. I don't want the full impact to be lost." They went downstairs and paused at the bottom. "When does Fisk want to see us?"
"Not until later this evening."
Otto nodded and turned to go down a second flight of stairs hidden behind the main stairs. He had a lab under the house, a state-of-the art lab, just as Fisk had promised.
Max watched his retreating form and shook his head. It was a beautiful day, Fisk had a pool, and Otto was holing up underground. All well, not my problem. He shrugged and returned to the kitchen.
[From A to R: Hope you enjoyed that. You're not supposed to know what Otto was talking about or why he was cut up, but you'll know when I am ready to reveal, so sit tight.]