ArchivedLogs:Sewer Beasts and Hors D'eouvers

Sewer Beasts and Hors D'eouvers
Dramatis Personae Tatters, Peter	2013-03-25 Tatters has a meeting with Peter, catches up on THINGS.
Location <NYC> Evolve Cafe - Lower East Side
Tucked down an alley, this out of the way coffeeshop is easy to miss if you don't know what you're looking for. Unassuming from the outside, its inside makes up for it -- spacious, with abundant seating and plenty of plush couches and cosy armchairs along the room's edges. The coffee is good, the prices are cheap, and there is a definitive alternative vibe to the room, from the music they play to the art that hangs on the walls. The real draw to this place, though, stems from its client base -- one of the very few businesses in the city that is welcoming to mutants, Evolve has become widely popular as a hangout with that crowd, and it is quite common to see them among clientele and employees both. At night, the thump of music can be heard from above, coming from the adjoining nightclub of the same name that sits over the coffeehouse. Peter arrives. It's been a while since he's gone and properly /city-fied/ himself, but he knows the way; now that he's (moderately) well rested and (mostly) healed up, he's comfortable slinging his way along buses and trains until he reaches Evolve. At which point, the door jingles mid-day as he steps in. He's got on his red hoodie -- big, awkward looking glasses -- blue jeans, a t-shirt that says 'TEACH THE CONTROVERSY' with an image of a turtle carrying four elephants on its back (which carry a plate with what looks like islands on it?) on its back, and two very /unusual/ looking wrist-watches. The latter aren't likely to be easily noticed. At once, he's scanning the mid-day crowd, looking for -- well, Tatters is pretty hard to miss. Tatters is sitting in an armchair, near the window, with a netbook on her lap. She's wearing her Nice Jacket (which isn't /all/ that nice, but is tactically kept out of the sewers) and is drinking somethind probably delicious from a mug. And there's a backpack around somewhere probably. She looks up when Peter arrives, and raises a hand in a half-wave. Not so much waving him over, because he might actually want to /buy/ something, but you know. Acknowleding his presence. Peter has had /enough/ coffee, thank you very much. Actually, the staff here probably recognizes him; there /might/ be a picture of him behind the counter with 'DO NOT SERVE THIS PERSON COFFEE' scribbled on it. The boy makes a quick b-line straight for Tatters in that armchair. Lugging his own backback behind him (streamlined, held in place by a few tightly wound nylon cords; it's more or less just a hardy /sack/ he carries on his back -- since jumping and spinning and flinging makes carrying a bigger, bulkier backpack a bad idea), he thumps himself in a nearby chair besides Tatters. Looks around, to make sure no one's spying on them. Then, clears his throat and speaks, rather quietly: "Thank you for saving me from a giant green sewer monster." "No problem." Tatters deadpans in response, smiling politely. And then follows up by blinking in confusion. "Wait, hold on. That guy wasn't /giant./ The green sewer monster and the giant sewer monster were different things." She keeps her voice at a conversational volume, but isn't trying /too/ hard to keep it down; the fact that she stomps around the sewers fighting monsters is hardly a secret, and after the bloodspider deal hardly /anyone/ thinks she's just a crazy homeless person anymore. Hooray for coming up in the world! "I -- yeah, I guess you're right. He just /looked/ big," Peter says, before adding: "Actually, he didn't look so big after you took his arm off." Peter, unlike Tatters, /is/ trying to keep the volume down. Not everyone knows about his night-job, after all. He squirms a bit in the chair, but tries to get himself to stay calm. "But, um, I was talking to -- my friends, right? Back at the school -- and we were thinking, um. Like, we should... work /together/. Be, like, a team." Peter's eyebrows crumple together as he stares off toward the shop's counter. Like he's not quite sure yet what the point of this would be. But then: "...I think that... thing... works for Norman Osborn." This is confessed /much/ more quietly. "Um." Tatters blinks, bemused by the suggestion, giving Peter a blank look. "Work together how? I mean, you've got like, /school,/ and my day job involves stomping around in the sewers. There's not a ton of, like, overlap." At his subsequent revelation, though, she frowns and wrinkles her brow at the younger teen, taking a thoughtful sip of her beverage. "I was meaning to, like, ask about that actually. How /did/ you like, end up getting chased around the sewers by a creep with grenades? He called you a thief, did you steal something? I mean, I don't /care/ if you did, but it sounds like this wasn't, like, a random encounter." "I dunno," Peter answers to the first question, eyebrows still knitted together in an attempt to apparently /stare/ the coffee counter to death. But in response to the second question: "I got caught by the blood monster. It injected me with a syringe full of weird black goop. I went berzerk, broke free, blacked out, woke up to /that/ thing trying to eat my face." Peter rubs at the bridge of his nose, then. "Pretty sure it was referring to this time when I..." He looks around the room, then. Whisper-soft to Tatters: "...kinda broke into Oscorp and stole a bunch of stuff. You know, that place you went, to save those dudes...? I, uh. Stole the address from Oscorp. And, uh, other stuff." Red-faced blush. But really, Peter figures it doesn't count. Oscorp are the BAD GUYS, right? /Right/? "Oh, so /that's/ what that crap does." Tatters makes this comment mostly to herself, and makes a /further/ mental note not to inject herself with any of the aforementioned black goop. "Oh, so...you think this guy works for Oscorp 'cause you stole from them once and he called you a thief?" She does not sound particularly convinced by this. "I mean, even if you don't steal from a /lot/ of people, he was, like, a crazy guy in the sewers who wanted to eat you. You might be reaching a little." "No," Peter says, and he keeps talking in that whisper-soft tone, staring off and away from Tatters. "That's not why I think he works for Oscorp." Deep breath. "...when I was in the hospital, Norman Osborn visited me. He was visiting /all/ the kids who got kidnapped by the bloodmonster. I guess I was the last one they found? And he came by, and... look, I know, okay? That green thing in the sewer -- he works for Osborn. And I think he's up to something. Something /terrible/." Peter doesn't say which one -- Osborn or the Goblin -- he's talking about. But then, he does a double-take. "Wait, what do you mean 'that's what that crap does'?" Tatters shrugs, and answers the second question first. "Uh, the bloodmonster had a ton of, like, empty syringes around and was clearly sticking 'em in people. I didn't know why. I mean, I /still/ don't know why, but goop that makes you Rage Out makes more sense then, like, goop it was trying to get high off of or something." She quiets for a moment before she addresses the first point though, frowning. "Right, that seems more legit then. /Do/ you know anything? I mean, like, I assume he sent Giggles after you to keep you quiet about something else you might've found or whatever. And then...creeped on you in the hospital to drive the point home? I have no idea how much sense that makes." Frown frown frown, ponder ponder. And she takes another sip of her drink, grimacing. "Do you... have any of it left?" Peter asks. "It, um -- it made me a /lot/ stronger. Also, uh..." Eyes go all >_> <_< -- "...gave me a new power." /VERY/ quietly. But he gets a bit more introspective at Tatters' hypothesizing. "I don't -- I mean, I don't know anything /important/. But when Giggles -- I mean, Goblin -- when he found me, he mentioned he had been looking for something else, but he'd take me instead. Maybe --" Peter looks at Tatters, now. "The shadow lady? I heard you worked with her in the sewers... or maybe the blood monster?" "Dude." Tatters just gives him a look, raising her voice slightly. "I found you like, FOUR DAYS after the bloodmonster was over." Quieting again, she just shakes her head. "That crap knocked you out for /four days,/ I wouldn't give you any more of it even /if/ I had any. There's no way it's healthy. And I mean, I assume Bloodsy's what happens if you do too much of it. And Bloodsy was crazy, stupid, uncoordinated, and popped like a friggen water balloon. You don't want to be that." Tatters gives him a Stern Look, using Carnage as a lesson about the dangers of drug abuse. A moment later though, she shrugs and shakes her head, turning back to the other subject. "And, um. Giggles was four days late for Bloodsy. I guess he /could've/ been hunting Nox, 'cause sparkler grenades?" Her face goes hard at this prospect, unconsciously shifting slightly towards her bony, spiked warface. "Goddamnit, Nox is going to his friggen /party/ too. Whatever, I got this, if things go south I can always punch a bitch. But I'll let her know." She nods a serious thanks to Peter, still looking angry. Curiously, she didn't look angry down in the sewers -- at least, not when there weren't bugs in her way. But she looks angry now. She sits quietly for a moment, left eye twitching slightly, then sighs and asks another question. "And you said you think Osborn's up to something. Why? Besides, like, him just generally being a guy who gets Up To Stuff." Peter's hands promptly fly up a moment after Tatters' mentions BLOOD CARNAGE WATER BALLOON. "OhGod, man, no not to /use/ the stuff I mean holy /crap/ it almost /killed/ me! And--I /ran/," he adds, a little reluctantly, hands dropping back to his lap. "I mean, there were people there, and they were in danger, and -- and I don't know, I guess it was that stuff, but..." He squeezes his knees, peering at his shoes. "...I think, uh, I think whatever it is, it needs to be analyzed. Figure out where it came from. How this thing had it." The hardening of the war mask gets Peter's nerves up; Peter straightens at the sight, blinking owlishly. The mention of the party -- wait, TATTERS is going? -- AND Nox? And -- oh, /jeez/. "Because he helped -- um, you know Jax? I think he went with you? His kids got taken away by child services. Osborn was on the news, saying how it's all a bunch of crap. And he's right, but -- but why is /he/ saying that?" "Meh." Tatters sighs and calms herself, but shakes her head. "The fight kinda trashed the place, and the police took whatever'd be analyzable. Maybe they can figure something out." This is not /entirely/ accurate, but Tatters has a relatively solid theoretical grasp of how Secrets work, and suspects that this should probably stay one. She follows it up with a shrug, too. "And man, don't feel bad for bolting. Unless you've got hidden lasers or something, I dunno if you could've actually taken /on/ Bloodsy, and I assume you would've, like, gone straight for help if you weren't all hopped up on whatever-the-frig." Sitting back and taking another sip of her drink, Tatters shrugs again and gestures with her mug. "And man, yeah, the guy's pretty sketchy, and is obviously milking this crap for the publicity. But do you think he's got /nefarious schemes/ beyond just being a disingenuous creepbag?" "He works with a green monster who patrols the sewers looking for secret things and eating teenagers he comes across," Peter says. "And --" Peter shivers just a little bit. "-- man, I wish I could explain it. Just being in the hospital room with him... I, uh, I got this danger sense thing, right? It's just this -- unusual sensation -- when I'm in trouble. It's how I avoided getting grenaded the first time. When the Goblin threw it -- it just went off like /nuts/." He looks to Tatters, pointedly: "When I was in the hospital room with the Osborn guy? It was going nuts too. Not the same way. Not like 'ohgod grenade'. But... but this was worse. I can't think of any way to describe it. It's like... like, I felt like he was about to /eat/ me!" This is a /bit/ louder than Peter means to project. One or two people look his way; he sinks back into his seat, then mutters to Tatters: "I was really scared when I was down in the sewers fighting that green monster all by myself. But -- and I know this sounds incredibly dumb, but -- I was way /more/ scared when I was in a room with Norman Osborn. And I have absolutely /no/ idea why." "Well, you were, like, stuck in a hospital bed then for one thing. Feeling helpless'll make things way scarier." Tatters shrugs, sips. "Also, man, guy's probably a scary dude. But there's not I can do if I don't know, like, what he's up to. I can't just go hassle Oscorp 'cause they seem sketch! I mean, there's /loads/ of sketchy dudes in the world, there aren't enough hours in the day to hassle all of them, and I'd have to pick up hassling as a full-time job." Tatters grumbles, then glances up at Peter with a half smile. "I'll try and, like, keep an eye out, though. Ask some questions when I get the opportunity. I dunno what you expect some homeless chick to do about corporate sketchiness, though! I can't punch corporations, they're not /people./" She pauses, suddenly thoughtful. "I guess they're monsters sometimes thought, but still! Can't punch them. They're, like, unpunchable." "No," Peter agrees, and he looks thoughtful again -- staring at his shoes. Like they're somehow going to help with this. "No, I'm not asking you to, like... do anything. I don't know. Just -- he's dangerous, I think. And -- you're going to his party. And, um, you saved me, so I -- just wanted to tell you. To be careful." BLUSH BLUSH BLUSH. Then, more sharply: "Don't tell him anything... important. Like, /anything/. I mean I guess you wouldn't /anyway/ but I just don't want you to get in trouble because you totally beat up that bloodmonster and then you saved me from /another/ monster and I don't want him to get at you or any of your friends." "I blew up his clown. He's probably /already/ mad at me." A grin creeps across Tatters' face. It's a genuine one. "And thanks. I'll try to be careful! I'll just keep quiet, and if he asks I'll tell him that I'm, like, not used to that kind of environment, and that I try and keep it at arms reach in case it blows up in my face." "Yeah..." Peter trails off, before adding: "I dunno, maybe after all this blows over... I mean, I haven't found out if Xavier's does summer breaks yet -- but, like, um. Maybe we could..." Uh-oh. "--y'know. Fight crime? Together?" Oh, jeez. Under other circumstances, someone might take this as an awkward attempt to ask someone on a date -- but Peter sounds 100% serious. Fighting crime is a THING for him. Tatters frowns as the CLEVER ONE LINER flies cleanly over Peter's head. She'd spent practically all week thinking that one up! It's such a luxury to be able have the opportunity to figure out one's one-liners in advance, and she'd been making good on it. Aaaand, at Peter's query she /blinks./ "Um. Dude, you realize that my job mostly entails wading around in the sewers for most of the day, right? Most of the time there /aren't/ any monsters that need punching. It's not really fun and glamorous." This isn't /quite/ true either: in the summer, it'll be warm again and the Hounds will be awake. But there's no way she's dragging anyone else into that mess. /That/ makes Peter's nose scrunch. "...wait, most of the time? Wait, wait," and now Peter's mind is backing up, going all the way back to the /beginning/. "Wait, what /are/ you doing down there? Why are you -- wait, holy crap, I remember now you were all like 'not another monster' -- holy CRAP are you saying -- there are MONSTERS in the SEWERS and you FIGHT THEM?" A bit... louder than he intended. Also, by the way he says it, it's clear that Peter's not horrified; no, quite the contrary. He's /indignant/ that he ain't getting in on any of this sweet, sweet monster-fighting action. "Yes." Tatters looks serious. "Because dude, sometimes crazy carnivorous sort-of or used-to-be-people /happen/ and when they end up in the city they inevitably, like, get chased down into the sewers and end up eating homeless people, and predictably the police don't do jack about it. As one of these homeless people, I kinda take issue with this so I've started patrolling around and hitting things with stuff if they get too bitey. Because friggen no one else does." She pauses for a breath, and rolls her eyes. "And we've had a friggen bunch of 'em lately apparently? I got like, concussions on top of concussions. Thankfully the only thing going on this week is a friggen party I /think./" Peter is just /staring/ at Tatters. Slack-jawed shock. For a long while, he is rendered, well, /speechless/. But then it comes out: "You. Fight. Monsters." Slowly, enunciating each word. And then: "Tatters. Tatters. /Tatters/. Let me. Help you. Fight these. Monsters." The amount of excitement Peter is experiencing right now is reaching critical levels. It is taking every ounce of willpower he has not to /explode/ into a frenzy, scoop Tatters up, and proceed down with her into the sewers to fight ALL the monsters /RIGHT FRIGGING NOW/. Tatters sighs, leaning forwards to place her mug back on the table and then reaching up to scrub at her eyes. "Yes, I fight monsters. I can get away with it because I can, like, put myself back together after I get mauled or eaten or whatever. If I didn't, I would be /dead./" She gives Peter a super serious look. "Or, I wouldn't be dead because I hopefully wouldn't have, like, put myself in that position anyways but you know what I mean. You're probably kinda sturdy but I'm /pretty/ sure you don't regenerate which means if you get something bitten off it is /gone forever./ You should not be fighting monsters." "I should totally be fighting monsters," Peter says, /strenuously/ disagreeing. "Because fighting monsters is /awesome/ oh my God /Jax/ fights monsters why are you trying to discourage teenagers from fighting monsters?!" BREATHE, PETER. "...okay, I guess, I mean I don't grow stuff /back/ but... I just want to help," he says, and it has the sound of a puppy who just got KICKED. "Like, um. If you ever need help? I am /crazy/ strong," he quickly adds, "plus I can like dodge MURDER-DRONES -- and I can basically fly." BEAM. Peter's resume, in summation. "Peter, would you like to go and ask Jackson how many of his friends have been shot or blown up or whatever in the past, oh, couple of years? Because I am /pretty fucking sure/ that he does not want to be doing what he is doing." Tatters' face has begun to harden again, if only slightly. She looks very serious. It is serious time. "/I/ don't want to be doing what I'm doing. I'd love to move /out/ of the friggen sewers. To go to school! I think Xaviers would take me, I could learn some Bio and actually get a handle on my body, I could do /all/ sorts of shit that doesn't involve trudging around the sewers poking around for things that will try and eat me." With a sigh, she leans forwards and squints down forlornly at her (empty) mug, then sits back again and looks up at Peter. "We're not doing this because it's fun and exciting, we're doing it because /someone/ needs to and we're the only people in a position to. It's a responsibility thing. If you wanted to help I could make a friggen list of boring, tedious friggen things you could do to help, but you don't /want/ to do that you just want to fight monsters because apparently killing things is /awesome./" Tatters grumps, and forcible softens her face. "I'll tell you what, if you want to spend a day on patrol with me sometime -- in the dark, in the sewers, /quietly,/ for hours -- you're welcome to. If you want to /help,/ I'll try and figure out something you can do." Peter gets all sullen when Tatters brings out the BIG GUNS. But he listens, at least; and when she finishes, he bristles -- but does not bark: "I'm... I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like -- I /do/ want to help. I don't want to like -- /kill/ anything. I just want to help people." Then, a little softer: "I'm really strong, and fast, and can like sneak in and out of anywhere /super/ quiet and sneaky. And I want to use that stuff to help people. But everybody's always telling me 'no, dude, its TOO DANGEROUS'. And you're off -- doing it. Dangerous stuff. And nobody's telling /you/ it's too dangerous. And, I mean..." The thought trails off. "...I just want to /do/ things, you know? With the stuff I have. I want to help people. I don't care if it's tedious. I just want to /do/ something. You should go to the school," he finishes, peering at Tatters. "I mean, you could take a break, maybe? Like, um, for a semester. Maybe someone else could do the patrols? A couple of people. For a while." "I /tried/ taking a break, after I got pulped by a dragon. I was gone for /a day/ and the bloodspider moved in and ate like a dozen people." Tatters makes a face, and raises her hands in frustration. "It's like it knew! Augh." Sitting back again, she closes her eyes for a second, then opens them and looks back to Peter. "And seriously, man, people try and tell me that things are dangerous all the time. And if I told them 'but it's so /cool/ and I feel left out,' they'd, man, I dunno." She shrugs, and waves a hand vaguely. "There's a difference between 'I want to do this cause it's awesome' and 'I feel like I /have/ to do this because I can't just, like, hand the job off to someone else in good conscience or whatever. Which means I can't hand this job off to you, in good conscience. And, like...you'll know that kind of thing when you see it because it feels /shitty./ It feels like terrible friggen looming guilt, that if you don't go do the thing it'll be /terrible./" Frowning, she blinks and grumbles, shaking her head. "Ugh, and I don't mean that, like, you shouldn't try and help with stuff unless you're feeling terrible about it -- you don't need some tragic friggen backstory to be a cop or a firefighter or in the coast guard or whatever. But still, there are reasons why people don't want to get you involved in their dangery crap. It's a thing." "No I know and I guess I just get /excited/ about actually /doing/ something with my powers sometime, and I mean, I don't mean to make it like this stuff isn't /terrible/ because it totally is, you shouldn't be in a sewer fighting monsters you should be in /school/ learning stuff," Peter says. "And, like, I know you wouldn't... I mean, I wouldn't be able to do whatever you're doing down there, probably. Not on my own. But maybe..." Peter's thinking, now. "I mean -- seriously I'm not just saying this 'cuz 'Oh Jeez I Wanna Fight Monsters' -- I mean -- maybe if I came with you a few times -- you showed me the patrol -- maybe when we get our next break, I could get some of the others to help me with it? And you could take a break. You /did/ save my life," he adds, before also adding: "And like, you seem really strong and stuff, but /dude/." Flat-out Peter-stare: "I can bench-press a car. I bunk with a kid who can control a swarm of /bees/. Down the hall? Twins with gills and teeth that make dentists /scream/. I think we could cover you for, like, a while." "Yes, because Jackson wouldn't /kill/ me for sending his kids out on friggen Monster Patrol." Tatters eyes Peter, with a snort. "And I'm sure you're all pretty /dangerous,/ but you only need to get, like, blindsided by something once to get mauled in friggen half or something. Like, I could /probably/ take a bear in a fight, but I don't wander the friggen woods picking fights with bears. And I can /fix/ myself, but if I keep doing that one'll take off my /head/ at some point and I /need/ that. If we had a bear problem, what I'd /want/ is a friggen helicopter and a tranq rifle or something. What I'm doing is like a last resort kinda thing: I'd like to find a better way of doing it in general, and I'm /certainly/ not going to sub out for some teenagers without, like, a safer or more reliable way of going about it." "Well, I mean, just for a /week/ or two," Peter mumbles, although it sounds a bit less insistent now. "There /is/ a guy at school who heals crazy-fast, I remember... like, I don't think he can actually die. But, uh, I think it'd probably be hard to convince him to go down into the sewers and help you." Peter gets a frowny face. "Maybe we can think of... something. I dunno. There has to be a way to keep monsters from eating people in the sewers that doesn't consist of you just whapping them all the time. You should at least get, like, a /break/ now and then." But then, he's getting up, and... "I know this sounds kinda dumb, but -- after you get back from the gala, could you email me? Just so I know that Norman Osborn didn't eat you. Or anybody else. Although I guess Norman Osborn eating somebody at a party /would/ probably make the news." "Yeah, that's what I'm looking for too." Tatters grins, and nods understandingly at his request. "And nah, that's nod dumb at all. /Probably/ the only danger'll be boredom and, like, hors d'eouvers that seemed like a good idea at the time, but we are kinda going to a party with a bunch of people who probably don't like us very much. I'll totally shoot you a thing to let you know who made it out alive." "Okay. Thanks," Peter says, and he's /locked/ in thought now, turning this over in his head -- the matter of monsters in the sewers and methods Tatters might find to get a /break/ from fighting them. "I appreciate it -- um, if I find anything else about Osborn before then, I'll tell you," he adds, and then: "Good luck fighting... sewer monsters. And, at the party. Don't die!" And then Peter is off, hopping toward the exit!