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tinkertank❧Dance ❧With ❧Me?
➷ Pick A Muse
➷ Post a prompt, picture prompt, or set the scene.
➷ Label who you're tagging.
➷ NO REGRETS, JUST LOVE. We can dance until we die, bb.
➷ ...Something like that!
➷ Pick A Muse
➷ Post a prompt, picture prompt, or set the scene.
➷ Label who you're tagging.
➷ NO REGRETS, JUST LOVE. We can dance until we die, bb.
➷ ...Something like that!
How bout he drops Gwen and you fail to catch her instead?
Date: 2014-05-19 09:00 am (UTC)He isn't surprised when Peter decides they need to leave; anything to get the bad guy away from his poor aunt, right? And maybe Peter's got questions, too.
It takes some effort not to wince when Peter's hand came down agaisnt his shoulder, with all that enhanced strength. When he wasn't the goblin, when he reversed the changes, he was stronger, more durable, than the average person, but it wasn't Peter's strength, or the strength he had when he allowed the transformation. So ow, that hurt, Peter. But it's only simple psychical pain, not as bad as the pain he planned to inflict, or that he'd already inflicted.
And he, too, grabs a cookie, giving May a friendly smile.] Thanks, I'm sure I'll be back here real soon. [It's said as much to her as it is to Peter, a not-so-veiled threat, before he's letting himself be led out the door.]
So, Pete, how are you holding up? Looks like someone threw you through a few buildings. [Oops, did he say that when May could still hear? Oh well] Your aunt mentioned you needed a better way to make money than those photos of yours, and I told her I've got a job at Oscorp with your name on it.
[They're finally outside the house, and he's sure Peter will drop the mask any moment now, hence why he's giving him another smile. He glances up and down the street, and there's children playing, people walking their dogs, but that doesn't stop Harry from giving Peter the same look, the same challenge he had in the house. Go ahead, attack him, do it. Just to needle him further, to make it worse, he added, his voice so amused now:] Maybe you can fill the vacancy your dead girlfriend left. She was going places, I hear.
. . . . . /ugh./
Date: 2014-05-19 09:41 pm (UTC)'Thanks, I'm sure I'll be back here real soon.' Peter would have had to have been an idiot not to hear the threat weaved into that statement, so friendly, so forthright. Sadly, he wasn't an idiot, not today and not about this. The few times Harry had been over when they were kids hadn't been so different... the milk, the cookies, picking all the raisins out and sitting on their stomaches under the bed. 'I'll be back soon' had always been implied. When you're that young, when you're a kid, it has to be. A steady thing is a sure thing.
And then, one day, just like with his parents; Harry didn't come back. Until he did.
Now the only appearance his old friend might make under a bed was the stuff of nightmares, the monster who lives in the closet, the thing that goes bump in the night, the hand lifting out of the shadows. Harry needed to be gone again. And it almost dragged a rough laugh from Peter's throat, wan, unhappy, challenging to hear him say otherwise. To promise he'd waltz back into territory Peter had marked, the one happy place left for him, this little haven with its memories like ghosts hanging on the walls, its broken pipes, its earthy-smelling couch, its kitchen with the left burner that didn't work unless you bumped it with your hip... all those little bits and bobs that made it home, with Aunt May being the most important, most vital bit and bob.
He was threatening all of that, and he'd made it so that he could get away with it.
Once they were outside, the screen door on its squeaky wheels grinding to a shut behind them, and Peter's hand was free of Harry's shoulder, his lower lip stiff and jutted up in a deep frown that touched his eyes so hard and made his body so stiff and tight it was a wonder he didn't become a part of the concrete steps, he might have told him has much. He wanted to.
But then came the right hook, directly after the left hook, still in May's earshot.
'I've got a job at Oscorp with your name on it.'
He almost dropped his cookie. Almost lunged at him. Almost did a hundred things it was Decidedly Not Cool to do in front of little girls playing hopscotch with sidewalk chalk. True, blue, lifetime therapy for your kids stuff.
Peter raked in a breath through his nose that was audible, nostrils flaring. He walked down the stairs like he was bow-legged, and had forgotten how that usually worked.
Blow Three.
'Your dead girlfriend...'
Wham.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, cookie and all, grimacing, head down, expression drawn and jaw quivering with the effort to control himself... not to lash out, not to grab him by the throat, not to tell him he had no heart and to prove it by opening a cavity in his chest... avoiding that brutality that came so natural when you'd lost, and lost, and lost and here was the person who'd taken it, taken that one thing, right in front of you, healthy, and threatening your family, and begging, just begging you to snap all of your morals right along with his nose...
It took all of Peter's willpower not to show Harry what it felt like to be thrown through a few buildings.]
I hear that Oscorp is a high-risk work place... [Gritted out, with a voice like sand, flat and gravely.] With a psychopathic jerk for a Boss. What was his name again? Test subject number ninety-nine? The Green Lantern? The Tooth Decay Fairy? I don't know Harry, I just can't keep up with all of your titles. CEO? Captain of Evil Operations? Career-Ending Opportunities manager? Chief Emotional Officer?
[Chief of Execution Operations? Probably that one.
He walked brusquely, towards the water; away from the people. Leading the way.]
Oh sorry, did I hurt your feelings? Like when you killed Gwen?
Date: 2014-05-20 02:04 am (UTC)There, I knew you had a few good quips in there somewhere. [He's laughing at that, and it's almost as if they were friends again, laughing and sharing jokes. Except the words behind the friendly, amused tone aren't friendly at all.] I bet you'd make a good Chief Emotional Officer right about now. [A beat, and he's falling into step beside Peter, just to see his face.] Or maybe you can be our new Chief Termination Officer? Wouldn't even need to interview you, I already know you're up to the job.
[He stepped in front of Peter then, a hand on his shoulder to keep him from moving further forward. The streets around them weren't so crowded now, people probably wouldn't notice as much, which was no doubt Peter's intention. Harry didn't care, he was plenty game for a rematch anyway.] Sorry, is it too soon to talk about Gwen? [He's grinning now, plunging ahead anyway.] What'd you think killed her? Your web snapping her spine, or her head smashing against the floor? [Yes, he had seen the autopsy, and he had looked forward to bringing that up to Peter, to shoving that knife in his gut and giving it a good twist.] I think it was you, if only you'd been a few seconds faster.
That didn't even make sense, homogoblin!
Date: 2014-05-21 03:31 am (UTC)His thoughts were going nowhere, in that bleak spiral that didn't make much sense. Quips, yeah; he always had those on hand. A bevy of meaningless comebacks, snappy, zingers. True-blue New York here, Harry Osborn; you wouldn't learn jokes like these in Boarding School on the Island of St. My Dad Got Sick of Me.
When Harry stepped out in front of him and grabbed him by the shoulders, Peter tilted his head up at an angle, and now the narrowing of his eyes was less like a glare and more like a squint. His hoodie pooled around his neck, and he felt small, looking at Harry. Felt like the scrawny kid he'd been when they were friends. Funny thing was? Harry looked even smaller. Even paler, even sicker than when he'd been ill. Smiling there, hair ruffled by the wind, tone chipper, like they were discussing the latest Mets game and not the death of a bright, beautiful young girl.
Maybe some sicknesses just ran too deep to be cured by a visit to the basements of Mad Scientists, Inc.
Peter might have gotten angry. It was still there, the possibility, tense in his muscles, taught in his bones. But it deflated somewhat with each word, each taunt.
Harry wanted to get under his skin, but he was already under Harry's. After all; they had that spider venom in common now. They had Gwen's death on both their hands. And they had some deep kinda wounds that weren't going anywhere, weren't healing anytime fast.
Peter stared at Harry for a long moment before reaching up to brush off one of his hands abruptly, never breaking eye contact.]
Why'd you do it, Harry? I got her involved, I missed, I messed up- yeah. You're right. It's my fault. But you threw her. Someone innocent, someone so- so good. Someone who never did a thing to you, and who didn't deserve it. What happened to you, Osborn? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you died too the minute- [It stuck in his throat, like a splinter, but he forced it out with a sour grimace,] -the minute you decided to murder Gwen Stacy. The minute she left this Earth.
Must be lonely up there on Skullcrusher Mountain.
Hey now, Harry's not the one wearing a blue and red spandex outfit
Date: 2014-05-21 06:04 am (UTC)There's no real reaction to his hand being brushed away, just a slight glance down at his shoulder. He almost laughs when the guilt tripping, the attempts to reach him start. Yes, Gwen never did anything to him. Old Harry would've cared, wouldn't have taken an innocent human life like that, but he--the new and improved Harry--he just didn't. Peter cared about Gwen, taking her away hurt him, and it was justification enough. It would be the same when he finally arranged for May's death, something he had every intention of doing once he'd given it a nice build up, hung it over Peter's head for a good, long while.]
Oh, so now it's time for the 'please, Harry, why'd you do it? We used to be friends! How could you?' bit. [Say hello to the sarcasm and the mockery, Peter. His voice is dripping with it.] Come on, Pete! What happened to me? I'll give you a hint; it starts with you. [He pointed a finger at him.] A simple blood donation, that's all I wanted, and you said no. You left me to end up just like my father. And the funny part? If you'd just co-operated, Gwen--your hope--she wouldn't be gone, and we'd still be friends.
[He knows it would've likely turned out the same, whether he'd used the spider venom directly or not, but that wasn't the point. The point was the betrayal, the selfish betrayal; Peter had been his friend, and not just any friend, but his good friend, his best friend... and he'd refused to save his life. Just thinking about it made him want to forgo this whole game and smash his fist into Peter's face right then and there.
But he'd learned at least some control, and pushing Peter's buttons was almost as satisfying.] I got a good look at the autopsy the police did, one of the perks of having all these resources. And I was right, it was you that killed her, the web that snapped her spine. You could blame me, sure, you could make it complicated, but it was all you. All because you were too slow.
Pretty soon it's gonna be a lot more lonely for you than it is for me. [What's that? A threat against Aunt May? Yes indeed, it sure is. He's practically rocking on his heels with glee now, all in anticipation of the anger that's sure to follow all his baiting.]
Blue and Red make sense. It's patriotism.
Date: 2014-05-24 04:47 am (UTC)Everything Harry Osborn seemed to now lack.
That blame. Peter could take the heat. He could. He'd been blaming himself for as long as he could remember... and for each bout of blame and self-pity came the voice in the back of his head, small but determined, that kicked him back into gear. Made him do something, made him worth something.
Why didn't they come back? Maybe you did something wrong, weren't worth it. Your fault.
Fight past it. That can't be true. There has to be more to the story... search for it.
Why do Uncle Ben and Aunt May work so hard, so many shifts? Your fault, an extra mouth to feed, unplanned, and it takes you a lot to get full. Your fault.
I'll repay them. Tenfold. I'll finish high school, graduate well, get a scholarship, go to college, support myself and then support them. I'll make it happen, we'll make it through. As a family.
He died. Uncle Ben died. Aunt May won't stop crying-- she thinks you can't hear her in the living room, but you do, and it's all on you, it's all on you for not doing the right thing. The thing you knew, you knew was right, Parker. Your. Fault.
I'll find him. I'll find the man who did it, I'll put him away. If I can't-? I'll at least do what Uncle Ben said... I'll take responsibility. I'll take care.
Gwen's father was another. Your Fault- but you can make it up to him, you can fix it, by listening, by completing a difficult promise...
When Harry re-visited his familiar old weight, guilt, 'It starts with you... YOU left me...', Peter knew to check it. He'd offered to help. He wasn't going to abandon Harry, he just didn't- he didn't want the blame for this. The sharp teeth, the wild eyes, lurking behind his complexion now. However he did that, it didn't change the fact that just below the surface there was the same predator in Harry now that there was in Peter. The difference? This predator caved to self-pity and found purpose in catering to it, rather than shaking it off.]
You're the one who decided to end up like your father; a murderer.
[Gritted out at a whisper, but it would be the only thing Peter said. Because when the blame game came back for round two, when Harry landed that second verbal punch which winded him with surprise- the web that snapped her spine. you killed her. all you. too slow.- he had nothing.
He had no way to fix it.
The purring threat against Aunt May made him see white, and the spider uncurled, and showed it's fangs.
He didn't know he'd hit Harry until he was grabbing him by his lapel, fist poised in the air to do it again, mouth open, breathing harsh. There was the faint tickle of contact over his knuckles, a ghost from where he'd brutally slammed them into his upper cheek, meaning to do damaged. Unhinged.
He'd lost enough to the Osborns. He'd lost enough by messing up.
He didn't want to lose any more. Not to him.
Not to this thing.]
Still. Spandex :P
Date: 2014-05-26 05:56 am (UTC)The old Harry would've been hurt to find this out about his father, would've been horrified by it--his dad was too busy murdering and experimenting on people to even be bothered with him, his dad was a terrible, awful human being--but not the new Harry. No, no, he doesn't care, he tells himself, doesn't care that Norman was probably involved in illicit dealings. All that matters is protecting Oscorp, so he can surpass his father. And he doesn't care about killing people to do it, either.
And then Peter's fist is coming at his face.
And there it is, finally. What he was waiting for, unhinging Peter, making him embrace all that pent up rage. Harry's head snaps to the side when Peter's fist smashes into his face, the pain worse than he expected. That might've left a mark, if he could still bruise. His lips is bleeding now, though, and he does put a hand up to his face, pulling it away to see the blood, all before he gives Peter another grin, a smile pulled out to hide the surprise that probably lingered too long on his face when Peter dropped the bomb about his dad.]
You think dear old dad was a murderer? You had to go a long way just to pull the "like your father" line there. [A beat, and a smile, as if this is all a joke. Even if he knows it's not, that it's probably true, and that Peter knows about it, Peter can use it against him, and Oscorp.] Then again, maybe he is, but he'd never do it himself. He'd get somebody else to do it. Just like I never had to kill Gwen, when I had you right there, to do it for me.
[He laughs then, and it's still very much Harry Osborn, not the high pitched, utterly unhinged Goblin laugh. He grabs Peter's hand, giving it a yank to try and free himself from the other's grasp. His eyes glint as he looks down the street, sees a group of teenagers heading toward them, but still pretty far off.] Maybe this time, you'll actually manage to be a hero. [At that, he withdraws the small, orange pumpkin bomb from his pocket and twists in Peter's grasp, bringing up a leg to shove his knee into Peter's stomach to distract him as he tossed the bomb toward the people down the street.
He doesn't care if they live or die, if Peter stops the bomb and throws it away, he just needs the distraction, the time to get into the nearest alley and away from prying eyes. Time enough to don his mask, so they'll be even.]
Like green leather is way better? From Interpol to stripper pole in one.
Date: 2014-05-30 05:04 am (UTC)Still, he didn't have time to enjoy those two steps forward. Like the saying goes: for every one step ahead, it's ten paces back. Peter might have let go of Harry's lapel, might have let his own rage subside into something more rational, more reasonable, and ultimately kinder. Even if Harry didn't deserve kindness... Gwen did. Aunt May did. Uncle Ben had. And he betrayed all of them if he sank to Harry's level.
Luckily, he didn't have to make the right decision unaided. When Harry withdrew the bomb from his pocket and tossed it, detonator on, everything went slow. Peter's senses rippled, became alert in a way that they did when he focused them all on one point; so attentive, he almost wasn't paying attention. Just reacting.
He did let go of Harry, face falling lax as he turned, arms out, poised. Not the grace of a gangly teenager, not the awkward mien of seconds ago, but something else altogether.
It didn't matter who was watching. He had a job to do.]
Either way, you still manage to be the bad guy!
[That said, he tossed his arm forward, leaning back, arching the web as it flew towards the bomb to grab it. He'd have to whip it back and hope for the best. They were close enough to the pier, and if he got a good enough height on it... fireworks. A prank gone wrong. Call it whatever they'd call it, no one had to die today.
And as Peter did just that, flung it back behind himself and harmlessly in the air, where it exploded, shocking the two girls down the street and giving Peter cause to sport a grin and wave a little- hah hah, neighborhood kid in a hoodie up to no good, nothing to see here, take your lunch money and move along- he came to the chilling realization that that was something Harry didn't care about anymore. Who lived or died, who he killed. It wasn't just atrocity fueled by temper, anymore. This wasn't a Saturday Morning Cartoon, cracker-jack box villain.
This was a cold, seriously sick individual with a lot of money, a lot of power, trust issues, and a bomb in his pocket.
This was a murderer who had no qualms with being a repeat offender.
This was--
...a distraction.
Turning, blinking, Peter's eyes widened and his lips pursed a little when he noticed that Harry was missing from his spot just behind him.
...Okay, so maybe he was a little bit Saturday Cartoon Villain. Like 25%.]
Seriously, man? You pulled a Scooby Doo? Not cool.
[Muttered, turning both ways, trying to catch movement to follow.]