Peter Parker | Spider-Man (PS4) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quipsandthwips) wrote2018-10-07 12:32 am
quipsandthwips) wrote2018-10-07 12:32 am
[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.
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.
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[Sanji hums out his assumption as he watches Peter move, knowing damn well it could be a million different things. Still, petty crime like that is a dime a dozen in this city. It's the most logical conclusion.
-- Or it would be if Peter wasn't fuckin ripped. Muscle alone isn't gonna save you from getting your ribs cracked in, but it helps. It helps a lot.]
You owe people money?
[He's careful to wrap that question up in nonchalance, an indicator that it doesn't matter what answer Peter gives him. Rather than follow him to the couch, the man stands a few paces into the room, hands in his pockets and glancing about the room. It's his first time here, after all.]
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In fact, every surface space seems to have enough room for a framed picture. One of him and his friends, Harry and MJ. One of his uncle Ben and him when he's just five or six, as he helps nail a board. There's some of May and him in FEAST, taking photos together... And the back wall has a corkboard covered in old children's drawings (PETER PARKER: AGE 8), as well as pictures of a pretty but unfamiliar couple smiling from in front of a lake.
And many more there, of Peter through the years. Seventh birthday, him on the first day of fifth grade (a major dork in his glasses, too), and college graduation. The rest of the place seems devoted to filing papers away that he's overseeing, as well as a busted up laptop and a savings jar.
... That is completely empty.
The only other signs of living here is a duffel bag, messy clothes leaking out the top. Sanji might've heard utterings about Peter's technical homelessness, maybe. If he was keeping an ear out. But if he didn't then, it's more obvious now: it's clear he lives out of that duffel more than anything, not truly settled in FEAST, and he just sleeps on the couch as is.
The same couch he's sitting tenderly on, hand curled around his side as he starts popping the first aid kit open with a grimace. What should he say? Something cautious. It'd make sense to be cautious, anyway.]
... I'm not exactly rolling in it.
So — maybe.
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[Can't pass up the opportunity to be an asshole, can he? Or maybe that's just the way Sanji talks about everything -- cruelly dispassionate, like he exists on one side of the mirror, where emotion isn't welcome unless it's a reason to be angry.
... But he heard what happened to the woman called May. Through the grapevine. Usually subtle pleas that "Sandy" be careful to not bring her up without reason to Peter. Stupid shit he wasn't going to ask about anyway, so he doesn't know why they bothered telling him in the first place.
This room tells him enough of the truth. Eyes closed, Sanji turns his gaze away from all of the photographs.]
You need a better way to protect yourself, kid.
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Him and his 1, 2, 3 whole chest hairs.]
I can handle it all just fine, promise. You can get back to your work.
Just... If you can, don't tell Gloria or Miriam? I know they worry enough as it is.
[He starts setting up the suture kit, wincing.
His shoulder hurts like hell. Landed funny on it.
Can't villains and criminals relax for just one week? Just one!]
rofl that icon, I am dying
... Sanji's not used to being wrong, either, so the detail sticks in his head like an irritating riddle. Even when the guy isn't trying, Peter just pisses him off.]
It ain't my business. [Meaning he's not saying shit so long as no one grills him. He gives a shrug, stuffs his hands back into his pockets]
How much money do you owe?
[Pretty nosy guy for someone who just declared this ain't his business]
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He stares for a moment, mouth hanging slightly open—]
10... [Okay, that seems like a good start! Oh god, Pete, what are you getting yourself into? He clears his throat and sighs, looking back down to his wound; thanks to his hyper-healing, the blood has at least coagulated. Awesome. Now to just go full-on knitting granny mode and close it up.] ... 10 grand. But like I said — I can handle it.
[He wrinkles his nose at Sanji, suspicion showing.]
Why're you asking?
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Oh.
[That’s it, huh... and here Sanji had assumed it was a real emergency, not chump change. Must be some small time crooks bothering him, Sanji guesses. No one under his family name, either. The Vinsmokes pay too well for their services and have an image to maintain.
He’s still working through a list of the typical suspects when Peter asks his question, to which Sanji responds with his usual shrug of nonchalance. And much like a cat who no longer cares for attention, the man starts for the door.] Was curious.
[grabbing his spatula, walking out the door. Bye, Sandy, I guess B|]
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Though he's thrown his arm over his eyes, he's not sure he'll be able to get to sleep; too busy worrying what may or may not come of this little unwanted meeting. Did he give anything away? Did he create a seed of doubt? What's Sanji's game?
Ugh. Maybe he shouldn't be living here. It's not like he can't find a roof to sleep on.
A groan leaves him, and he checks his phone.
MJ had sent one text —
'Still waiting for the next flight. Airports are a nightmare. U ok?'
'Oh I'm good. Same ol same ol.'
'Sometimes same ol = bad, considering what your 'same' usually is. :/
Just take care of urself, Tiger.'
'scout's honor, I'll be good.'
God, he misses her sometimes. Even more now that she's reporting in another country. With a little smile, he sends a handful of embarrassing emoticons and drops his head back again — and then he feels the faintest tingle of his spider senses: Someone approaching the office. Who now...?]
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He's going to hear a knock on the door -- two knuckles rapping sharply on wood, and then the sound of something solid being placed on the floor. Then, footsteps clicking away from the door.
It's up to Peter if he feels like catching the perpetrator, but when he opens the door, there will be a tray in his way, with a bowl of... soup of all things. A hearty combination of butternut squash and thick spices, freshly made. But wait, there's another plate, too, this time with a "simple" sandwich on top a couple of napkins, and finally a glass of water (because fuck you, no special treatment, alright?).
Honestly it's best not to ask questions. The answers probably wouldn't make any sense.]
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'... Boy, I sure hope this isn't poisoned.'
But guess who has two thumbs and eats it, practically licking the bowl?
This guy.
And then he promptly passes out on the couch, pale and jittery from the night — but full and sleepy and feeling a little better (paranoia about Sanji Vinsmoke be damned). It's much better than staring at the walls like he does some nights, tossing and turning and wondering what to do with himself.
... Now he just mumbles about butternut squash in his sleep.]
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Now to put this in the back of his mind to die.
Which might be why, besides kicking at the office door some time in the morning (hey, it's a cheap and easy alarm system for bastards who might have gotten their ass kicked the night before so they don't get caught by Gloria or Miriam looking like a beat up hobo +_+), Sanji doesn't approach Peter. Doesn't really talk to him, either. Any attempt is going to be met with an almost pitbull growl to back off, Sanji is in no mood to talk, apparently.
Though if Peter behaves and simply comes sniffing around for a meal, then... Sanji supposes he can raise a truce long enough to feed the nerd with a six-pack. Everything from hotdogs to french toast to beef wellington, assuming there are ingredients on standby and Gloria doesn't murder him for showing off.
Well, maybe not murder him, to be fair. That's the power of building up goodwill in a place like this. "Sandy" can act two shakes away from a grumpy cat if he wants, that won't stop the majority of the building from liking him.
Unless, of course... he doesn't show up for work.
Wednesday morning, 7am. Then 8am. Then 9am. The clock ticks on until Gloria has to accept that her star volunteer is gonna be a no-show for the morning. Whelp. They've run FEAST on shorter staff. It's just an annoying hiccup in the scheme of things. She takes over the kitchen, everything falls back into place...
Best believe when Sanji shows up the next day, he and Gloria have a little "chat".
If there's any surprise, it's that Sanji isn't fired on the spot. He takes his punishment gracefully enough, never backtalks, just stands there looking vaguely pale with a slight sway in his step. Eventually Gloria kicks him back on his shift before calling Peter to the side, with a request on hand: keep an eye on him.
Sandy's... acting odd.]
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Maybe this is a crime thing. When he finally shows up, Peter's studying him very carefully from afar, distracted from his own usual tasks; Miriam pinches his face when he spaces out at one point. Then Gloria nabs him. So he knows this is more serious a situation, as he saddles in to help Sanji with random helper tasks around the kitchen.
Standing next to the guy, he leans in, voice low.]
Uh. Hey. I was worried something happened. Where were you?
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... Good question, though. The strained pause means someone didn't think up an answer]
Nothing you gotta worry about. [He speaks to Peter in a strangely subdued tone, thin and quiet, and with his hoodie having been up since he started his shift, it's difficult to get a gauge on his expression]
Already told Gloria if I'm late again, I won't argue if she fires me.
[He assumes Peter would prefer that; it's the only reason Sanji brings it up in the first place. Give the guy something to look forward to if shit comes to that, y'know? Like he said in the beginning, he won't take it personally.
Distracted by what's in front of him -- a simple broth, good for stretching meals -- Sanji returns his attention to the food, grasping at the handle of a wooden spoon. And that's normal enough, no cause for concern, until the handle begins to... smoke... a few tendrils of gray rising from it like a cigarette.
The spoon is quickly discarded into the sink like it just bit him.]
-- Listen, I... got shit covered in here. Sure Miriam will want you somewhere else.
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Hey. You can talk to me. If there's anyone around here who knows what it's like to be in a crappy situation outside these walls... Y'know. [And if he notices the smoke, he's not about to bring attention to it; something's really damn serious here.] Are you — in any danger? Do you need somewhere to crash?
[He knows, obviously, that whatever's happening... it's not so simple.
But he'd rather play it more like Peter Parker.
Not Spider-Man-That-Knows-Sanji's-Background-A-Little.
Besides...
Maybe Sanji's good side rubbed off on him enough to make him genuinely worry.]
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He fuckin swears, you do one good deed in this world and everyone thinks you're their best friend. He hates it. Reminds him too much of one smoking bastard with a crooked smile and jetblack hair, whose dead in the ground now because he couldn't use his common sense when it mattered most.
Idiots. All of them. One of his hands twists itself up in his hair, underneath the hoodie, as a snarl escapes him]
Would you just fuckin back off already?
[The air spikes with that retort, to a temperature Sanji probably couldn't play off even if he wanted to -- and the panic sets in then, he made a mistake coming here, he wanted this too badly.
This always happens.
...]
I-- I need running water. A shower. A hose. Something. [Speaking quickly in a tense, unsteady voice as he abruptly shuts off the oven and takes many steps away from Peter, to keep some distance between them. The temperature has leveled but not lowered.]
Don't ask shitty questions right now. Either help or get out of my way.
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He sucks in a sharp breath, nodding back toward the stairway door beyond the kitchen.
It's a beeline, no one to question them.]
Follow me. Rooftop. I got exactly what you need up there.
[He'll start walking — pacing quickly, taking two stairs at a time. When they finally get to the roof, Sanji can see why he's leading him there: a garden sits up here, of an assortment of different plants that are slightly weathered and wrinkled (Peter will never claim to be a good replacement gardener). He leaves Sanji there for a moment and vanishes around the back of the dying tomatoes—]
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And then proceeds to blast Sanji with it, full-force.]
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Shit though, does it matter? Peter directs him to the stairs and Sanji follows him as quickly as he's able, nearly stumbling into the walls but making it to the roof all the same. Compared to the kitchen, the heat radiating off his body has more room to spread -- a relief to Sanji, dangerous to the area. He stops short upon seeing those flowers.]
O-oi, no -- we can't, not near shit like--
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You shit--!!
[Ho boy. His shock drowns out into a gurgle of betrayal, both of his hands trying to keep the spray from flying up his nose. In seconds he's drenched, clothing heavy with water and weighing down to the ground. Ever wear wet sweatpants in public? They don't like to stay in place.
It's probably for the best Sanji just falls over before his pants do.
And the entire time, smoke wafts from his body, the same sort you see upon putting a fire out, just curls and curls of it dancing into the sky. It's going to last a good minute before said smoke disappears and leaves Sanji shivering on the ground, his head hidden in his knees and arms.
... Weakly, after Peter has (hopefully) turned the water off:]
Fuck you, asshole.
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You said you need a hose. Did it work?
[Sure, he totally has burns on his index and thumb finger now, but he's done worse trying to make dinner for MJ before. Lest we forget the time he almost burned down an entire apartment complex with dumplings.]
... Uh — here — [Against all self-preservation, Peter sprays himself in the face with the hose, totally getting soaked from head to toe as well with a few seconds of patience. Then he tosses aside the hose to wander over, hugging his arms to his chest.] N-now we're even! S-so don't throw me off the roof.
Holycrapthat'scold.
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-- He should kill him, he thinks briefly.
Just one push off the roof, and boom. A broken neck. No one will know the difference -- no one who matters at any rate. It'll probably cost him his place at FEAST if anyone gets suspicious, but that's small shit compared to the clusterfuck that will result in letting Peter walk free.
Any of the other Vinsmokes would do it.
...]
Tch. You really can't help yourself, can you? Don't blame me if you get sick. [Spoken in vague annoyance. That's just par for the course when dealing with Sanji, though. If anything, there's a softer quality lurking underneath his disapproval at Peter's state of dress, and after a beat, Sanji finally pushes his hoodie off the top of his head.
His, uh... half of his face is covered in burns. Like someone shoved his face into a fire pit and left it there overnight. Doesn't seem to bother him, however, as he's already gone to fishing in his pockets and pulling out a soaked carton of cigarettes with a look of dismay, then a deep sigh.]
Didn't even give me a chance to save 'em...
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[... Oh.
If there's ever a way to make Peter's expression fade into grim concern — that'd do it. He drops down to a knee, looking at Sanji's face with an alarm that radiates in the lines of his brow and the hazel in his eyes. His voice is low and serious.]
Jesus, Sandy. What happened to you?
[On the bright side, he's not so annoying that he'd reach out for the guy's face; that's a little too personal, and he knows how it feels to be on the other end of that after a miserable fight. But god does he want to check it closer, and he is apparently bold enough to be near the guy after he could have set the building on fire with his body.
That looks bad.]
How'd-?
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[He's a good healer, this one. Kinda like you, Peter. Not that Sanji is aware of this, otherwise they'd have a few things to talk about, wouldn't they?]
The "how" isn't important. I just need to keep a lid on this shit until it's gone. [Being tightlipped as always, good luck getting any details out of him. He fiddles with some strands of hair to hide the worst of the burns before giving another shiver, curling up on himself more]
... I trust you can keep your mouth shut?
[Ha. Trust. It's a joke because he doesn't trust anyone, obviously.]
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I'm definitely vetoing that it isn't important. It someone's doing this to you, you should look out for yourself and look for help... But —
Alright. I'll keep my mouth shut. For once.
[He's not gonna pretend he has any real say over it, because they're not exactly besties like he and Harry. But he's still — something. Not a friend, maybe, but... uh. A co-worker? He thinks? He's not really sure where to categorize a villain who isn't acting villainous. Not that Sanji was always very good at it to begin with...]
Can I at least go grab some burn gel for it? And, uh. Maybe I can grab some... clothes... We can hang these out to dry up here, or whatever, while you tell me how much I suck at gardening.
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[How has Peter survived this long with that hemorrhaging heart of his? Oh, right, probably because of his GODDAMN SIX PACK, Sanji is never going to let it go--]
Fine, get whatever. Just get out of my hair for a bit. [You know cats who hiss and spit but don't actually bite and in fact refuse to move from their space on the couch because they know they can just boss you around? Yeah... yeah. Peter gets a mugger's glare for his troubles.]
... And what did those plants ever do to you...?
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