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

[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?

[-- Ah. Fuck.

It slipped out. The brow twitch. The attitude. The inability to deal with stupidity. Sanji looks momentarily surprised at his choice of words, maybe even hiding a wince behind the cover of his hair.

.... Aaaand then, whatever grievances he might be having are burned to ash when the man tucks his chin down in lazy superiority.]

Besides, I'd win anyway.

[He raises his eyebrows slowly at that little outburst —

But he doesn't seem particularly concerned or scared by it.

He just smirks. Smirks!]

... Would not.

[:)]

[And within the span of literal seconds

Peter has gone from "okay" to "fuckin trash I'm not talking to again"]

Kid, are you shitting me right now?

[K I D

K I D]

Did you just call me kid?

Do you have the Benjamin Button disease? You can't be a day over 25!

[And yes, despite Sanji's sour grapes response, the 'kid' seems more than happy to be pleasant as he hoists up one of the boxes and starts walking, even as his side throbs with every step. You're not gonna go losing, are you?]

How old I am doesn't matter if I'm clearly older than you.

[Bless his soul for trying to keep this civil, except the bleed through is already apparent: Sanji's annoyed, and it's only the threat of getting kicked out the day he signed up for this shit that has him hauling three boxes now, stacked on top of each other, so high he has to rely on memory and the annoying sound of Peter's voice to guide him back.]

[Oh my god, you're gonna drop those, man.]

Watch the stoop steps, man.

And that definitely doesn't answer my question! Is a dude in his 20's even allowed to be self-conscious about his age? [Also, he's gonna walk a little faster. Just to see how devoted Sanji is to being annoyed and unwilling to be 2nd place in box carrying. God, would he be a nightmare at playing Monopoly? Peter's thinking yes.] Are you in your 30's? 40's? Because then I'd say you look great for someone in their 40's.

[Careful, Sanji — Miriam and Gloria are wandering these halls.

Wouldn't wanna get yourself into trouble on day one.]

["how devoted Sanji is to being annoyed"

Peter.

This is why you end up suffering 3rd degree burns]

Why are you making shit complicated? Did you really miss the basic idea behind why I called you a kid in the first place? Because I'm not gonna explain it if you did.

[That also is not answering the question. What a surprise. Also of course he keeps up, practically keeping in step with Peter, in fact. The guy's upper body strength is near comical for some supposed nobody off the streets looking to work at a shelter.]

[He looks back with a little frown.]

Alessandro, man... you really have to work on the language. Miriam will seriously string you up by your sweater laces; are you sure you want her on your bad side? [He smiles a little, looking pleasant; once they're back inside and in the kitchen area, the poor new guy has no room to curse or be crabby, because the girls are watching him with interest. A pause, and a whistle as he puts a box down over in the storage area, just around the corner and down the hall.]

... Man, you've got some crazy arm muscle there; where do you work outside of this place, anyway? Or is there some kind of super-gym I can go to, to get that going for me?

[He's not about to even remotely look buff or strong; secret identities are very important, and he's 110% better at them than Sanji, he'd bet his last 20 bucks.]

I'm only cussing so much because I don't like you, asshole.

[Yikes. That's -- brutal. Honest, but perhaps uncalled for after ten minutes of interaction.]

Don't worry, I'll look after myself.

[And you'd think being checked out by the fairer sex would at least put a smile on this guy's face but no, he either hasn't noticed or is trying his damnedest not to notice. Somewhere on the other side of the grandline, a pirate is wailing in anguish over this injustice.

Anyway, he puts down the boxes as well, following Peter's lead still. Apparently his dislike is not enough to keep him from taking advantage of the other's tutelage, though given the bomb he dropped, Sanji doesn't look like he expects Peter to play nice for much longer.]

Tch. They were three boxes, not ten -- s'not that hard. Anyone whose helped unload a moving van knows what this feels like.

[A shrug]

Anyway, go sit down or something, I got the rest covered. You're just worrying that Marcos guy straining your injuries.

[... This is almost kinda funny. It's like watching a true blue villain desperately trying to be nice while simultaneously having no clue how to turn off his asshole switch; in a totally scientific way, Peter's definitely intrigued. Peter just smiles, uneffected, because people cuss at him at least once or twice a day here. At least.]

You don't have to look after yourself here. That's the beauty of it — we all look out for each other, even when things are bleak. [He wipes his forehead, feeling the aching twinge in his cracked ribs.] And that means I'm not leaving you to do all the work, sorry.

... Besides, I can't afford to slack off.

This place means too much to me.

[So he starts back out toward the van without letting that linger too long, a chipper hop in his step, stopping momentarily to check on a pair playing Connect Four in the middle of the living space. Sanji'll notice he's actually pretty active — collects a number of boxes. And hey, is he collecting almost as many? Maybe that's just what it feels like. He's definitely not beating Sanji at box-carrying, but he doesn't seem to be in a rush to. Little conversations flower here and there as they cart these boxes, natural and friendly.

"When are you gonna get a place of your own, Pete?"
"I'm saving up, promise."

"Are we out of coats?"
"Nope, just got a fresh shipment in! Uhhh... Wash them first, for sure."

"Have you seen Jodie's other shoe?"
"I'll go check the roof."
"Pardon???"
"She has a habit of throwing them there. Don't ask."

Is he gonna go check the roof of this tall-ass building?

Absolutely.

But not without pressing a hand to his side when he feels he's in the safety of his own solitude, in the storage closet.]

Edited 2019-01-07 20:39 (UTC)

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject