"Okay, so say this again except, make it sound sane."
"I need you to loan me three hundred dollars for a camera."
Harry leaned against his locker, giving Peter a look that said everything one needed to say when asked for a loan for three hundred dollars.
Peter pleaded with Harry, desprate for the money. He didn't need all three hundred for the camera. The camera he had in mind was only a hundred-fifty dollar's, still, not the cheapest camera but one that was of good quality. He needed the other one hundred-fifty for materials to repair Spider-Man's costume; he wanted to be back out there as soon as possible. And very last of it was reserved for a med-kit, or at least some peroxide and bandages. And maybe a little burn cream. Sitting down was nightmare.
"I'll be able to pay you back real soon Harry, honest!" Peter said again. Harry remained stone faced. Okay, I'm going to give him one last shot, then, I'm going Puppy Dog Eyes on him! "Harry, as a friend, you owe me!"
"How so?" Harry snorted.
"Well, I spent three days by your bedside in the hospital when I could have been-ahem-making up with Gwen, making out with Gwen, excelling academically, and lets not forget, making out with Gwen." Finished Peter as he locked eyes with the un-desiring heir.
Harry finally conceded, reaching into his white sports jacket and producing his wallet with a sigh. He opened up the leather billfold and produced two one hundred dollar bills and two fifties. "Take it! Just be sure to pay me back before summer break, all right?"
Peter smiled, taking the money from his friends and pocketing it with a big, wide smile. "No problem. Ah crud! I need to get to Mr. Connors class! See you later man." Peter rushed away, waving as he hurried to class, brushing past a giggling group of girls.
Gwen considered herself a good person. Sure she could be a little snarky and mean at times but over all she was a good, sweet little girl. Gwen got along with most people at school, aside from Flash and his crew who, despite having developed a small amount of respect for her boyfriend, still enjoyed picking on Peter and anyone smaller or smarter than them. Which was everyone.
There was only a hand full of people that Gwen truly hated at Midtown High. People like Edna Wong or whatever her last name was. Edna always gave her and MJ the dirtiest looks on Earth yet never talked to either of them, nor did she have any classes with the two other girls. The only reason that Gwen even knew her name, even if it was inaccurate, was from talking to Felicia.
The other person she hated was the lunch lady, a woman who looked somewhere in the range of one hundred and five hundred. The lunch lady was slow as Hell and always saved the crustiest part of the Mystery Meat Surprise, the "Surprise" part typically happening in the bathroom excluding a few incidents with other members of the student body in gym class, and slowed down to inhuman speeds whenever it was Gwen's turn in line.
Today was just as bad. Gwen had been standing right in front of the lunch lady for nearly three minutes and she had yet to even bother picking up the ladle to dish out the soup, or brackish water with bits of an unidentified semisolid substance floating on the surface, and just looked at Gwen right in the eye.
Part of Gwen wanted to snatch up the ladle and beat the old bat over the head with it and the other half was almost ready to agree upon the action. Gwen chewed on the inside of her cheek, staring down the old lady, as she tapped her foot impatiently.
"Will you please hurry, it up! I'm starving!" Gwen finally barked at just a few decibels below a shout. And that was when the old lady fell backwards like a stiff board tipping over.
The line fell deathly quiet. Cautiously, a bug eyed Gwen peered over the bar to see the prone, slowly cooling body of the lunch lady. Gwen straightened up eyes wide mouth clamped tightly shut, and most of the color completely gone from the blonde-turned-raven haired girls face. Her limbs like dry timber, she clutched the empty tray and walked quickly to the table that Peter, MJ, and Harry always sat at during lunch, which was thankfully, far away from the lunch lady's still warm corpse.
After what seemed like an eternity, Gwen plopped down next to Peter, letting her tray smack and bounce on the hard, plastic, oddly smelling table. "Hi guys, you okay?" She asked in a rapid, high-pitched tone that she always fell into like a black pit every time she became stressed, as the corners of her mouth, which was forced into a smile, twitched and spasm.
The three parts of the Quartet examined Gwen most cautiously, taken back by her sudden appearance and strange facial expression. Peter, of course, was the first to speak.
"Uh, Gwen, sweetie, are you okay?" the teenage science nerd queried. "You seem…uh…freaked."
"FREAKED!?" Shrieked Gwen. "I'm not freaked! Nope! Nu-uh! I'm fine, really!"
"Then, why didn't you get any food?" Harry pointed out sticking his spork at Gwen empty tray.
"Uh…wasn't hungry?"
"Bull!" MJ rebutted. "All you could talk about in Geometry was how hungry you were. So, what's the deal?"
"THE LUNCH LADY'S DEAD YO!"
Lunch ended most abruptly thereafter with the police being called, the cafeteria marked off-limits and class started up ahead of schedule much to the annoyance of the student and faculty body alike. When questioned in regards to the lunch lady's death, the students said that she was standing still and then fell over, mercifully neglecting mention of one Gwendolyn Stacy.
After school as Peter, Gwen, Harry and MJ filed out the door, trying their best not to be trampled, Peter acted his newly acquired weird and aloof self and abandoned her, MJ and Harry for something or other. Gwen didn't really understand him as he simple muttered and did a lot of gesturing before darting off. Harry left to do whatever it was Harry did. That left MJ, and Gwen to, walk home, or at least halfway there, when they when then part ways and continue alone, or at least as alone as one could get in New York.
The two young women brushed through the crowd of flesh chattering about every little thing that was on their minds. Once more, Gwen was thankful that MJ was a little gun shy about approaching the topic of the lunch lady.
"It's nice to see things between you and Pete have warmed up." MJ said as she pulled her sagging backpack back up onto her shoulders.
"Yeah, but I haven't completely forgiven him for running out on me." Gwen replied with just a hint of bitterness in her voice. "Peter's going to have to do a lot more than sweet talk and homework to fix this little screw-up."
Mary Jane frowned. "Don't be to hard on him. You know his life has gotten…a little tougher lately."
Gwen looked to the side, avoiding MJ's gaze for the briefest instant before jerking her head back toward her friend with her face crumpled in disgust. "EW! What the Hell is that stank?!"
Mary Jane followed suit, as did nearly everyone on the street. Covering her nose and mouth with her hands MJ cursed, fighting back her gag reflex. "Smells like something died! Oh, sorry."
"It's coming up from the storm drain." A black woman that stood at the edge of the street said.
"A cat or something probably just crawled into it and kicked the bucket." Gwen said with a shrug. "Come on, let's get going."
Gwen and MJ pushed through the crowd and into the more productive area of the sidewalk, which was still teeming with people and the feint stink of the dead…whatever it was still hung in the air for a sort distance before being replaced be the "normal" odor of the city.
Gwen cleared her throat and started conversation back up with her red headed friend. "So, you're feeling better?" She asked.
"Well, the doctors said that I had some minor lung damage, but nothing severe. And my memory's a little spotty, but nothing to bad." Said Mary Jane.
"I can't believe that you got attacked by a mutant!" Gwen said excitedly.
MJ bit her bottom lip, trying to recall what had happened in the store. "I…wasn't really attacked. It was more like…cross fire between him and that spider guy they've been talking about. Did get rescued by him though." MJ added with a vague hint of pride.
"That makes two people I know that have been saved by him!" squealed Gwen.
MJ cast Gwen a wry look. "I've known you for a long time, and I've only heard you make that sound when you have a crush on someone."
Gwen stopped dead in her tracks, slack-jawed and wide eyed. "Oh my God! I can't believe this! You're right. Oh crap! I was bashing Peter for running out on me, and here I go and do something like, a million times worse!" cried Gwen, slapping a hand over her face.
MJ rolled her eyes and patted the faux-raven haired girl on the shoulder. "Relax Gwen. Everyone's eye is bound to wander. Besides, a crush doesn't mean anything. I mean, I have a crush on Heath Ledger, but there's no chance in Hell that I'm going to get to date him."
Gwen looked at MJ with a cocked eyebrow. "He's dead."
"Well, um…I wouldn't date his clone."
"Yes you would."
"Okay so I would!" she huffed, tossing her arms in the air. "My point is that a crush on someone is not like cheating on your boyfriend."
Gwen just sighed and shrugged uncomfortably. She looked up at the street sign and stopped. "This is where we part I guess."
Mary Jane nodded and enveloped Gwen in a hug. She pulled back, keeping her arms on Gwen's shoulders. "Cheer up! It's no big deal." Mary Jane released her friend, turned away and followed a separate street before being completely obscured by the crowd.
With a heavy heart and balled fist, Mary Jane Watson stood before her small home. It was more, worse off than the other houses in their neighbor hood, small and squat with peeling paint on the walls that might at one point in time been a decayed brown, dingy windows and a decidedly rotten looking wooden porch.
Mary Jane wanted to cover her hears and run away crying. The sound of shouting and screaming of drunken, slurred voices billowed from the ugly walls like a drum. "Couldn't they just shut up for once?" MJ ran away from the screams, her feet carrying her down the dirty sidewalk as fast as they could, to her sanctuary.
"I'm walking down the line that divides me somewhere in my mind along the borderline of the edge and where I walk alone!" Peter sang along with the small, rather crappy radio that was placed on top of a formally dusty crate that was located in Peter's personal secret lair. Or, it would be a secret lair if it wasn't a run down, abandoned warehouse that was hidden within a maze of other run down, abandoned warehouses along the Bay.
The warehouse was empty for the most part. Most of the larger metal containers had been moved out a long time ago, probably before Peter was in middle school, leaving behind only a hand full of larger, wooden crates and dozens of medium sized wooden crates.
The windows, were boarded up, broken, or caked in so much dirt and soot, very little sunlight got through. Rats made had found that the larger crates, made perfect rooms for nests and roaches, well they settled anywhere.
Peter had found this place last year and enamored by it for reasons unknown to even himself, turned it into his own private retreat. He had moved in small pieces of discarded furniture, mainly lawn and beach chair's that people had thrown onto the curb for one reason or another. Peter found that with the application of soap, warm water and a liberal application of duct tape on some places, that they were good as new.
Besides the chairs, a few small tables made out of broken crates were arranged in a circular pattern around Peter's main "living" area. With a few sheets of cheap sand paper, cheap handsaw, nails and a hammer, Peter had recreated the pieces of shattered wood into rather ugly looking tables.
Thankfully, he had been able to pick up smaller, very colorful, children's picnic bench tables that parents had tosses to the curb. Once again, soap, warm water and duct tape came to the rescue ensuring a far more stable surface.
Using what little money he had been able to collect, Peter had purchased a cheap am/fm radio to listen to while in his Fortress of Crapatude, which he had recently renamed the Spiders-Web.
Scattered across the various makeshift and plastic tables was an assortment of colored thread, sewing needles, adhesive bandages, and a rather badly damaged Halloween costume.
Peter cursed as he pricked his thumb for the twelfth time with the needle. He was getting better! Peter didn't bother sucking on his thumb he just brushed his thumb along the outer edge of his index finger, just in case there was any blood. The pain quickly dissipated and if he was bleeding, it stopped just as quickly. Something as small as a pinprick, healed up in four seconds tops for Peter. The pain wasn't really a problem. Being Spider-Man had given his pain tolerance a good raise from the number of times he accidentally smacked into the side of a building while web slinging, getting clipped by the very lucky (or unlucky depending on your view point) punk with a baseball bat or two by four on the arm or shoulder. Which hurts like Hell.
Peter went right back to stitching up the large, gaping hole in the back of his costume, his biggest worry at the moment using a deep black spool of thread. The young hero mused getting a portable electric sewing machine for out here. It would make costume repair a heck of a lot easier and less painful.
He continued to sing absent, mindedly along with the song while his fingers busied themselves with sewing. His mind dealt with other matters that had been bugging him for the past week or so, only rearing its self whenever he was preoccupied and not prepared to think of such matters.
Why did the Vulture attack that hotel and kill all those people? Was it just some freak power trip? Maybe, but it still seems…odd.
Peter's train of thought was cut off by the sudden intrusion of the very loud and obnoxious voice of DJ Sunny "The Wildman" Jones who spoke in a very disgusting and annoying way typically called "puking" because of the stretching out and rapid repeating of random words or syllables making it sound like he was puking.
"Hey, hey! That was Green Day with Boulevard of Broken Dreams! Next up I got some Saliva for yeeeaaahhh!"
Peter snorted with smirk on his face. "Yeah, no kidding."
"It's Weight of the Worlllllllld. So you crazy kids in a couple of minutes. Enjooooy."
Peter bobbed his head in time with the song, until it reached its second verse during which, Peter began to feel rather uncomfortable. He began to loose focus on his stitching. His palms began to sweat and goose bumps rose upon his skin. With a grunt of frustration, Peter dropped his costume and needle on the table and hit the off switch on the radio.
Massaging the bridge of his nose, the brown haired teen sank down into his chair, is limbs limp and his eyes clutched tightly shut.
Well, here it is, the first chapter of the new story arc! And I got it up before March! If you are expecting loads of explosions and brutal battles for this one, you will be sorely disappointed.
I felt that the two choices for songs mentioned in this chapter fit the tone of the Spider-Man mythos very well. Tell me what you guys think.
Next Chapter- Mary Jane arrives at one of the few places were she feels truly safe, the home of her Aunt Anna. Peter tries his hand at photography. Meanwhile, Captain George Stacy prepares to confront a certain part time super hero over very important matters.
Get a Hair Cut and Get a Real Job Part Two: Attack of the Killer Lens Cap
See you then!