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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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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[He smiles a little more, before rushing off to go to his thing — and of course, that includes pit-stopping and explaining to Gloria that Sandy's just having a hard time, and it's not something he can go into; they all know around FEAST what it's like, to be having a rough patch that goes unspoken. So knowing that, they can move on with things as usual. Suffice to say, by the time he's back, he's got band-aids around his two burnt digits and a kit snuck in under a few layers of folded clothing.
Triumphantly appearing in the middle of the soggy rooftop, he announces boldly:]
Alright — strip down!
[And then he tosses the man a towel.]
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I'm burning this later.
[He announces, casually, while towel drying his hair first to soak up the water still trying to drip down his neck and face. Sanji has never professed to like Peter, exactly, but never has he judged the other man so scathingly as he does now.
What a nerd.]
Also, no, you're gonna give me my clothes and then fuck off to the other side of the roof while I get dressed.
[Wowza, is Sanji shy? ... Or is he just an asshole?]
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[He tosses Sanji his pile, in that case, and turns away himself.
So he can start dragging his own clothes off.
No problemo.]
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... Whelp. Peter's fault if he looks.
Because there are burns covering Sanji's entire body. Torso, arms, legs, everywhere. Just as bad as the one on his face, but strangely enough, many of them seem to be in the middle of healing. The worst one -- a burn cut across his back like a wound -- earns a wince as he yanks off his hoodie and T-shirt, then quickly shoves on whatever offering Peter had gotten.
The two of them are about the same in height and body type, at least. That'll make maneuvering less awkward. Once he's got on some pants and feels a lot more presentable, the blond heaves a sigh of relief and glances over his shoulder]
You finished over there, Thor?
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Also... Sorry about the nerdy math shirt he let you borrow, by the way. You should have seen it coming.]
Yeah, I'm good!
[Why is his outfit just normal flannel and not a dorky math shirt? Luck of the draw, curly-brow. He's re-approaching again, motioning for him to take a seat as he squirts some of the burn gel on a gauze pad.]
Lemme get some of this on that burn. I know a thing or two about first aid.
Comes with working here; I've treated a few too many people, y'know?
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That right, huh.
[He sounds only vaguely interested in Peter's first aid skills, though rather than let the thread of conversation die, Sanji instead folds his arms and sits down as instructed, humming in his throat]
You normally get beat-up hobos at the door?
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He chuckles low in his throat as he begins to carefully administer the gel; he's a particularly light touch, thanks to his hyper-awareness, and is the polar opposite of a butterfingers. Thank you, weird-sticky-hands.]
Sometimes. I've been stabbed once, but that was sort of my own fault for ignoring, uh — common sense. [Or spider-sense. But if he hadn't stayed in the guy's way, he would have stabbed one of the workers next to him, and that would've tore Peter up for a while. Worse, if that person had died. He blows out a little breath, puffing his cheeks.] When you're out on the streets, you deal with some of the best of humanity — but also some of the worst. Some stumble in after getting beat by teenagers. Some get into brawls over turf. Some... fight themselves, uh, if you know what I mean.
It's important I know how to help each one, either way. So I took a few courses, stocked up on kits for FEAST, had some volunteers learn how to administer basic stuff. People need to feel like they're in good hands.
[He pushes back some of Sanji's bangs to focus on a spot further back on his temple.]
It's what May would've wanted.
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Though for whatever reason, his agitation isn't enough to propel him away. Peter pushes at his bangs and the man only frowns before his expression smooths back into a stony quality]
Tch. Knew you were a boy scout.
[... Mm. But that name. Glancing to the side, gaze avoiding Peter's. After a beat of quiet:]
Your aunt, right?
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Yeah. I'm sure by now you got some kind of — um. Secret meeting with someone in FEAST, to tread carefully, but it's alright.
She raised me since I was six, so... more like a mom, I guess.
[Done with his handiwork, he begins re-packing the kit.]
After she passed away a few months ago during the Devil's Breath epidemic... I took over this garden. [He motions to it, sighing, shoulders dipping.] But I've been doing a pretty bad job at keeping it going. Because anything food-related ends disastrously for me. But I'm trying, y'know?
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By that point, the epidemic had made its mark on the city and then just as quickly blown over... for the best, to be honest. Sanji can only imagine what kind of interest his father would have taken in such a powerful drug.]
Yeah, Gloria told me to keep my mouth shut. [Lost in his thoughts, his response is a distant mutter. He reaches up and drags a finger through the gel on his cheek] Told me you suck at gardening, too.
[Eh, perhaps not said that harshly, but--]
You're probably overwatering them. Plants are really damn resilient normally, so loving 'em too much kills the whole shitty bunch. Gotta treat them like fussy teenagers. [Making a vague hang gesture at Peter]
Cut off the dead leaves, water 'em once, then leave them alone for a couple of days at least. If they're not perking up, you might have a pest problem instead.
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