quipsandthwips | [PSL] The Vinsmokes vs. Spider-Man

[PSL] The Vinsmokes vs. Spider-Man

[Peter Parker is doing fine.

Let him re-phase that: he's adapted and adjusted accordingly. Look, it hasn't been easy. Deciding to remain friends with MJ and still finding himself without an actual job or home to speak of doesn't beat losing both his mentor and his last surviving family member. There are empty spaces in his life that he tries not to linger on too long — but god, he misses May's smile, her voice, her kindnesses. It had taken so long to accept Ben's death... and now it's, just... it's hard. It's easier to just be Spider-Man for a while.

Crime doesn't sleep, after all. So yeah, homeless. That's no biggie. He's been there before. He mainly just works at FEAST with the homeless (he relates, and the new head honcho Miriam knew Peter was on the streets somehow, so he makes his keep there by volunteering. He, um. He gets to sleep in May's old office. It's... nice. There are still pictures and stuff hanging up that nobody had dared move.

So he's only sort of homeless now.

Anyway. Not important. What is important is keeping tabs on the villain activity around here. With most of the villains locked up aboard the Raft (not gonna even think about Dr. Octavius right now, because it still hurts too much), it's mainly these little obnoxious crime families and gangs; Kingpin had been the leader of all the gang activity before his arrest. And now it's this crime family. The Vinsmokes. Hard to get them arrested, and they've got so many secret strings being pulled all over. It makes for a real pain in the ass to deal with. He hasn't gotten a chance to catch the head honcho with anything criminal yet, but boy oh boy has he busted soooo many drug deals, weapons manufacturing, stolen goods deals — and so on.

Most of the grunts are easy-peasy. The literal family are all a bunch of super-powered heathens like him. Cool. He's gotten, like, three of them locked up on the Raft... only to have them somehow bought out, or released for shoddy police work, or something or another. Now there's just one locked up, but it's only a matter of time before Daddy Vinsmoke does his magic.

Ugh. He hates it.

2:30 a.m., and he's down by the docks and sticking against a nearby wall as fake money exchanges hands.]

Hey, do those work on any vending machine?

I'm dying for a bag of Doritos right about now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You're a dumbass in a suit!

[Oh Sanji makes short work of that case, kicking it to the side once its in range -- and then looking vaguely surprised by Spider-man's follow up when the asshole tries to punch him in the face.

Huh. Not too bad. It connects, enough to give the Vinsmoke a bloody nose for his troubles.

It also means Sanji pivots on the air, leg coming to swipe for the other man's ribcage. Has this guy ever been hit by Sanji's kick? Breaks boulders, dude, so try not to explode like a bloody piñata if it hits.

-- Also yes, the case explodes and rains down dollar bills. At least someone is winning here.]

[... Uhh.

He forgot how fast you were.

That is to say, the foot connects with full-force against his left-hand ribs, and a white explosion of stars hits him for a second before he twists himself around mid-air. He's pretty sure those are gonna be — augh — heavily bruised for a few days. But if there's one thing he has that Sanji doesn't, it's extra long limbs.

AKA his webshooters. He shoots one from his wrist, catching the front of Sanji's shirt and jerking him forward—]

Says the—

[And then promptly yanks him into his awaiting feet as he pencil-dives straight up into the air.]

—dumbass in a suit!!!

[Ignore the strained pain in his voice. Thanks, bud.]

Edited 2018-12-21 04:42 (UTC)

[Ah, well.

That wakes him up.

It's a different sort of pain from the jab to his face, the kind that steals his breath and keeps a retort out of his lungs, jesus fuck that hurts. Coughing up a mouthful of blood, his feet lose traction in the air. If not for that web still connected to his shirt, he'd probably fall to the ground.

-- Or, y'know, he could instead just grab ahold of that foot that so unkindly jabbed him in the stomach, while the temperature in the air starts to spike. The look in Sanji's eyes? A tad too wild suddenly, more than happy to pay some of that pain back at his opponent.

It might start to get hot in a second.]

[-- Until the singing of police sirens creeps up on the silence, cutting through Sanji's temper and his adrenaline. Ah... bastards got here faster than expected.]

Tch.

[Immediately he redirects his efforts to the web, roasting it with a well-timed flame, shoving Spider-man off of him, and then letting himself freefall to land safely on the ground below. He carries himself well for someone who just got kicked brutally in the stomach. Wipes the blood off his mouth, readjusts his suit...]

A shame. Thought I'd be babysitting you longer tonight. [He's already rolled another cigarette between his fingers, and only spares his men a guarded stare before preparing to walk away -- from both them and his fight.]

I'd take a look at those bills if I were you. Don't look stupid in front of the cops.

[Yeah, those bills that fell out of the case? Same as the bills in the truck -- they're all monopoly bills.

As in, from the board game.

:)]

Man, I gotta figure out where you get those powers.

[It's mostly to himself, more than anything, as Spider-Man holds his ribs and squints after Sanji, wondering if he should try to web him up or not (and man, abandoning your goons — that's cold). Ultimately he turns to the truck in question and holds up a singed monopoly bill. Was this — part of the gig? Was this just to mess with him? Were they doing a deal with Hasbro? Spider-Man has never been so vexed in all his eight years.

Regardless, he feels... suspiciously duped.

His shoulders droop, as the cop cars appear over the hill.]

.......

Man, I sure hope Jameson doesn't catch wind of this.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THIS SPIDER-MAN MENACE? OH, NOBODY LISTENS TO J. JONAH JAMESON WHEN HE SAYS THIS GUY IS A JOKE. DID WE FORGET THE STATUE OF LIBERTY INCIDENT? HOW ABOUT THE TRUCK-TIPPING THAT LEFT A WHOLE CARGO OF ORANGES ON THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE? EVEN IF WE PRETEND ALL OF THE SERIOUS OFFENSES AREN'T AN ISSUE, YOU CAN'T DENY ME THIS: SPIDER-MAN IS NO BETTER THAN A COMMON PRANKSTER OFF ONE OF THOSE TUBEYOU CHANNELS! WHAT'S THAT, JARED? IT'S — SHUT UP, I SAID IT RIGHT!

THE POINT IS THIS, MY DEAR LISTENER:

SPIDER-MAN IS SETTING UP MONEY LAUNDERING. AND HE'S TRYING TO PUT MONOPOLY BACK INTO THE SPOTLIGHT. WAKE UP, AMERICA: MONOPOLY IS JUST AN EXCUSE TO TEAR APART PERFECTLY GOOD FAMILIES—

[Peter clicks off the radio with a sigh, from where he's sitting on the couch of his 'room'. Room being a... strong word for it. He just sleeps in the FEAST office his aunt used to work from, but hey, a home's where the heart is. Or something like that. He'd spent a better part of the day icing ribs that are a whole slew of colors now, and he lifts his shirt for a moment to give them a once over.

Yesterday was a mess.

Stupid Vinsmoke drama. Ugh.

Give him at least another week before you come at him again, huh?]

[But today, we'll just — keep going. Always keep going. Ignore Jameson and his stupid anti-Spider-Man radioshow, ignore the way it hurts to breathe and lift his arm, ignore the fact that he hasn't heard from his best friend in months with no luck... Blah blah blah. Pity party, table for one.

Achingly crossing the room, he picks up a framed picture of him and May with a little smile.]

"When you help someone, you help everyone."

... Miss you, May.

[He's gonna do right by her, though. Time to get to work in FEAST.

Usual morning routine, and he's even getting a small wage for it. Granted, it's easy to do when you live in the upstairs office area, but it absolutely counts. Miriam's in her own office, doing the usual head-honcho number tallying (just recently hired, and thank god, because Peter can't handle being Spider-Man and doing FEAST), and he gives her a wave before he makes his way downstairs, toward the kitchen.

Maybe to snag a roll or something, before helping move new boxes of charitable goods in and out of the place. Hopefully he doesn't look too obviously strained by it, this week.]

[Shelters like FEAST -- especially generously funded shelters -- never sleep. Soon as the front doors open, there's the usual crowd of volunteers taking their morning shifts, and along with any homeless who wander in looking for a meal or a place to rest, it doesn't take long for the place to get busy. Always with a soft, friendly atmosphere, but busy nonetheless.

So new faces? Aren't completely out of place here. One such gentleman will be very slowly edging himself through the front door, in fact, dressed casually in sweats pants and a sweater, blond hair mussed over his eyes. To say he looks nervous is a stretch, but he's not exuding confidence, either. More like he's taking note of the surroundings, silent unless someone approaches him.

That doesn't happen just yet, leaving him to continue his explorations until he finds himself wandering into the kitchens. Good bit of luck, that. From one of his pockets, he fetches out a piece of paper, letting it fall limp in his hand until he eventually approaches the only guy who looks like he knows what he's doing]

Oi -- uh, hey.

[With a polite nod, the man holds up the paper -- a For Help flyer, specifically looking for kitchen help]

This is FEAST, right? You guys looking for chefs?

Edited 2018-12-21 05:54 (UTC)

[This song practically playing in his head as he heads down the stairs, out toward the front doors, where a truck full of boxes is due to pull up any minute now.

New day, new me! New day, new stuff to focus on. Everything's great, Peter! Just think of those self-help books you have in your office (that are overdue, as is everything I've ever needed to borrow or pay for).

He stuffs the bread roll into his mouth and nearby runs into the familiar figure—]

[A record skips in his head.

He stares at Sanji, bread clutched firmly between his teeth.

(So you're probably wondering how I got here.)]

[He slowly takes the bread roll out of his mouth.

Just tell him you don't have room. Tell him you're full-up, Pete.]

Uh — yeah! Yeah, actually. Did you... wanna volunteer?

[Dammit, Peter.

Even seedy crooks have their good sides, right? Martin Li founded this place, years before he bombed the Osborn rally. Dr. Octavius had a lot of good sides to him, too, before he broke people out of prison and poisoned half the city. So it stands to reason someone who avoided hurting the general public would also have a nice side to them, right?

He's not here for Spider-Man.

Can't be.

... He'd never know, right? Peter's careful about that kind of thing.]

I mean, we start with volunteer work, but you can move up the ladder if you're good.

[The... staring is a touch unnerving, and the man's brows give a suspicious burrow all the while (still curly, by the way, just significantly more hidden by the cover of his hair). It isn't until Peter answers him that he relaxes back into place, folding the piece of paper before unceremoniously shoving it into his sweat pants.]

That's fine. I mean -- volunteering's the best I can do right now. Busy and shit.

[Mmm a potty mouth, this one. Shooting Peter a loose grin, he gives a shrug]

You the boss here? Got lost wandering around, heh. Couldn't find the office, or... wherever I'm supposed to go.

[Oh yeah, there's no hiding the curliness from Peter Parker, Spider of Men. But you know, it helps that he's actually taunted that eyebrow many a-time during his... usual work gig. Clearing his throat, he waves him to follow, taking him through the big gymnasium where the bunk beds are stacked up.]

I'm not the boss, no, but I guess I'm kind of, uh — the right hand man. I guess. Miriam's the new head of FEAST; short lady, gray hair, kind of old-school and too serious to throw puns at. But she's got a good heart and a good method of handling pocketbooks.

[The shelter folk here are just milling about their usual morning. A mom helps her kid put on shoes donated by the charitable city-goers. Mr. Hodges sits in front of the TV and gnashes his teeth, mumbling about demons — he'll come back to him in a bit, it's just his thing sometimes — and a few people are sitting with crossword puzzles with some earnest intensity, like they're defusing a bomb together.

It's an interesting place, to be sure. He always likes being around.

They're all part of New York City, too, right? Gotta protect them, too.]

Here, I'll... lead you to the kitchen. Gloria works in here in the mornings for a few hours before she heads off to her usual place of work, so she can boss you around until you get good footing. The only thing you do is fill in a form for volunteer work. [He's so damn relieved that it's easy to chatter about this, instead of looking like a deer in the headlights. Blame it on the years of helping May here. As they walk down the hall, pictures of the volunteers spring up; the most prevalent people in them seem to be an man of Chinese descent in a suit, and an older woman with red hair and kind eyes. Neither of which are... uh. Around anymore.] Oh! And Gloria's got a sharp mouth when it comes to slackers, so you better be on your toes; I put up the help wanted signs for her not too long ago because she kicked the last person out of the kitchen.

You ever get kicked by someone with a size 7 shoe?

It's like getting stabbed in the butt by a blow dart.

[... He jokes in intense situations.

Even if it's not obviously an intense situation. Sue him.

... Gloria's awesome, though. Started out homeless, now works her butt off with a job outside of here.

She's really someone to look up to, even at her younger age; Pete's proud of her.]

[Following along as Peter chatters, Sanji doesn't interrupt once, just nods at all the appropriate pauses with a vague smile on his face. He seems the be the quiet sort -- or perhaps more accurately, very watchful, taking in the experience as they wind their way towards the kitchen proper.

-- The mom helping her child does get a particularly soft look out of him, though.

As for the quip, he does offer up a breath of a laugh, shaking his head]

Size 7? No. Maybe a size 9.

[Just breezing right along with the joke, ha ha ha, then arching his brows in Peter's direction]

Should I be concerned you know what a blow dart feels like?

[He grins. More times than I can count. But he's not Spider-Man right now, so the answer is a definite:] Just metaphorical. Please don't throw darts at my butt to fill the void.

[... He's admittedly skeptical about this whole thing, and more than a little concerned under the guise of his carefree, friendly nature; he's gonna not make a big deal out of this, sure, but he also is getting his concerning feeling that this could be some kind of... trap. Or some way for the Vinsmokes to target FEAST. The thought of May's legacy being put into danger is an unsettling one.

But what if he's genuinely trying to be kind? Be better than his usual?

Mr. Li did the same thing; he loved this place, thought it was the best part of him, and yet...

And yet he left it behind to become a terrorist. A criminal.

Peter swivels around as they stand outside of the kitchen, still smiling a little.]

Oh, I'm Peter, by the way. [He holds out a hand.] Peter Parker.

[And I know who you are, Sanji Vinsmoke.

But... he wonders if he's going to be so bold with his identity here.]

Alessandro. [without missing a beat, he takes that hand and gives it a firm shake] Nice to meet ya, Peter.

[Though the moment he gives out his name, there’s a good-natured grimace of embarrassment at the mouthful it is. Yep that name is painfully Italian, proper accent and all]

I mean, no one calls me that shit except my sister, but she swears it sounds more professional. [A grin is offered Peter’s way, a smooth seque that... doesn’t really tell Peter what his nickname is, does it? Not matter. It couldn’t be because he purposefully left out that detail or anything.]

Anyway, it’s through this door that I meet my new slavedriver, eh? [Hey he’s just going off the vibe Peter set up here. Not that he actually looks concerned about it. There’s some level of mischief in his gaze now, like Peter set him up for an interesting challenge.]

Well, assuming I don’t get kicked out in the next five minutes, it’ll be nice working with ya.

[So painfully Italian, Peter just spiritually felt a beautiful bouquet of fresh breadsticks grow from the middle of an Italian restaurant's table, just from Sanji's reply. His more put-on smile grows just a bit more, because, well...]

Oooh, yeah. Gloria's gonna work you into shape. So here's some rules:

[Is he counting them off on his hands? Yes.]

One! Don't call her ma'am or miss or anything other than her name — she hates that. Two: don't ever talk ill about wheatcakes, or she'll make you do nothing but that as your chef gig for morning meals. Three, she's not short — so says her, which means you can't mention that she's definitely short. And fourth and most importantly...

[Wow, this sounds like it's gonna be sinist—]

Cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough.

[— lord but Sanji— ah, sorry, Alessandro actually starts to laugh at Peter’s follow up, what the heck man, you’re kinda a charming dweeb.

But of course he grows serious — or simply tries to be after he quiets, never mind the amused bend to his lips]

Right, right. Well my mom taught me a lady is always right. If she says she’s not short, she must be a giant.

[Is Sanji really... being normal and not criminal? This is such a turn. Peter's nearly gobsmacked by it, but he's learned over the years just how to play things cool. So he gives him a wink and a nod before he makes his way across the lunch area — if only to watch Gloria and Sanji interact at a distance, through the big open window they use to serve plates to people.

Top secret spy, Peter Parker, over here keeping an eye on the scene.

What? He's the right-hand man. He's clearly making sure Sanji isn't fucking this up, and not just trying to eavesdrop on them in case the guy really is here for nefarious purposes. As he goes, he helps carry in and out the supplies, of course — by the time he's wandered by for the 20th time, he sits down, wincing and pressing a hand to his bruised ribs. Eh. Maybe one's cracked. No, wait, there's two cracked. What are you even made of, Vinsmoke?]

Just... need a minute. Phew.

[No problem. He'll rest among the homeless; his people!

Literally, he's homeless, so it's his people.

He's talking to one of his homeless buds, Marcos, whenever Sanji decides to wander up on their interesting choice of dialogue.]

— No, no, I'm fine! Honestly, it was just a mugging gone bad. They were really, really mad when they opened my wallet and saw moths fly out of the space where money goes, you know? And it was a wooden bat, not even metal. Total amateurs. I just ice them.

["YEAH WELL, if you want me to fuck someone up for you, I'll totally do it!" Marcos responds, and he totally seems like someone who would look for these specific muggers RIGHT THIS MOMENT even though he has no clue what they even look like. Then again, his compulsive 'come at be bro' temper is why he ended up kicked out of his apartment by his parents when he was 16 and ready to fight anyone on the street.

... He's gotten better, in recent years!

But not much.

He's still a good egg, though. Under the other stuff.]

[Listen, if there's one thing Sanji knows how to be, it's charming towards a lady. Peter gave him all the hints to get his foot in the door, and so the other will hear him following those instructions to a T: not a "Ma'am" or a "Miss" escapes his lips, just a series of nods and gentle quips (which probably gets a Look outta Gloria), along with his general work history.

Turns out he's been cooking since he was a kid, according to him. Learned from his mother. Specialty is whatever strikes his fancy, and while he admittedly needs work on large-scale meals, Sanji wastes no time in insisting his skills will qualify him for the job. Give him a day, a week to prove it.

-- Which turns out won't be necessary because Gloria isn't looking for Gordon Ramsay, alright? Just a chef who gets to work on time, does whatever she says at whatever moment she needs, and won't give everyone in the shelter diarrhea. If he manages that, he gets to stay.

So congrats to Alessandro! Looks like he scored himself some work. The volunteer forms are shoved in his direction before Gloria unceremoniously dismisses him, having better things to do than babysit their newest chef through the paperwork. If he needs help, go ask Peter.

And it's wandering out of the kitchens and into lunch room proper that Sanji overhears the conversation, arching a brow at both Marcos and Peter's discussion]

Heh. You got your ass kicked -- that happen often?

[Voice kept neutral except for the vaguest hint of amusement. He pats down his sweat pants before nodding in their direction]

Anyone got a pen I could use?

[Ah—

Quick, Pete, think something up.]

Oh, you know. I'm not much of a fighter. And New York'll be New York. We have enough muggers to make a Mugger City somewhere. [He reaches into his breast pocket, wincing at both his dumb joke and the ache he feels when his arm shifts. From it, he pulls a pen and hands it right on over.] Which would be a great way to keep them all occupied, because they can mug each other in a never-ending loop...

Anyway, it's no big deal. Nothing that requires health insurance, anyway.

[Thank god, he can't afford another visit to the urgent care; the last one for his dislocated shoulder really set him back, on top of his rent and student loan payments... Guess at least he can make payments still with what little he makes now.

Marcos looks a little more concerned, though, brow wrinkled.

"Yeah, well. People who can't throw their weight in a fight has no business walking out there at night! Call someone here and they can go pick you up and bring you here, cuz."]

I'm really fine. Seriously! And I'm good to get more boxes, too. So I'm gonna just — do that. [He points at them, good natured.] You guys behave yourselves and I'll be right back with kitchen donations to sort through. Okay?

[Marcos huffs, arms crossed. "You got it, chief."

But after Peter leaves, the young man's expression relaxes, and he turns away to his own devices. "... That guy needs to listen for once. Actin' like I don't notice him sneaking off in the middle of the night to god knows where... Hey! New guy! Go make sure he doesn't pull a dozen muscles!"]

[The pen is taken without comment, Sanji content to let Peter ramble out his tale. Dude's not wrong. New York's not exactly known for its charity in certain circles, ironic as that is to think in a goddamn shelter. There's an arched brow when Peter very clearly retreats in his eyes -- probably tired of this Marcos guy prying -- but he's not about to interfere in someone else's life.

The other guy's right. If you can't keep your shit together, don't go out in the streets unprepared.

Mouth pulling into a line, Sanji shifts his weight and keeps his expression bare as the muscles in his stomach pull and twist with pain. A souvenir from last night, tch. Which is why he nearly balks at Marcos like he's a fool for asking Sanji to participate in straining muscles that don't want to be moved.

... He'd also rather not lose face on his first day in the place, so after an amiable nod, Sanji finishes up the section he'd been writing up and pockets the paperwork for later, turning on a heel and following after Peter.

Lucky him that Peter hadn't been moving all that quick, so he's not hard to find. Before the other can even get a good grip on whatever box is in front of him, Sanji comes up, nudges one of them with his foot until it's pushed away from the others, and then lifts the whole thing up on his shoulder.]

How many we bringing over?

[How many times does he have to pretend he doesn't want to throw up because he's sore?]

[Oh, hey, he was just busy wincing as he picked up a really big box of supplies. He stares in surprise for a moment — and nearly expects a I know who you are, Spider-Man villain dialogue. C'mon, can you blame him? A popular mafioso's son waltzes in and uses a fake name, you can only imagine he's up to something, even if your bleeding heart begs you not to think like that. He clears his throat, looking at the full van before smiling very sheepishly at Sanji.]

... All of them.

[God save their souls.]

We go through a lot of supplies here.

[He hefts it up, his ribs screaming in protest. And then gives pause.

When he looks back at Sanji, it's a sort of... mischievous, knowing look.]

... Bet I can carry in more boxes than you.

[Oooof course it's "all of them", Sanji should have known better than for the universe to cooperate when he's in pain. Only barely does he hold back a put upon sigh. Common sense and all; you don't start complaining on your first day of work.

So he's already bending down to pick up another box for the sake of efficiency when Peter drops that quip with that look, and quick as a bullet:]

Ha! Dumbass.

[Voice dripping with unparalleled disapproval]

You expect to beat anyone after getting your shitty ass kicked with a bat?

no subject

no subject

1/2

no subject

1/2

2/3

no subject

no subject

1/3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/2

no subject

1/2