damned_institute | Night 59: Soccer/Recreational Field

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Night 59: Soccer/Recreational Field

[from here]

It was admittedly a little better outside. The air lacked the smell of too many things not-so-freshly killed and it felt less claustrophobic than the hallways by far. Unfortunately, even the sky seemed to be glowing faintly pink, which meant Code Fabulous was still in effect. It was casting a lot of freaky shadows.

Badou was starting to think that this might have been a bad idea. Passing through the Rec Field was the quickest route to Alle's room, but not necessarily the safest one. Despite the fact that he was moving quickly with his back mostly to the wall, he kept thinking he saw shapes moving out on the field.

He couldn't be more relived when his fingers closed around the cool metal of the knob and the door eased open. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who wanted in apparently. Something fat and mangy reared up about five feet ahead of him. Badou froze. The squirrel stared. Badou stared back. You have got to be kidding me.

"You wouldn't be one of those singing---"

The squirrel bared its teeth and lunged. Badou swung the door open, throwing his weight behind it as quickly as he could. The impact nearly pushed him off his feet, but squirrel face meeting door was a pretty fantastic sound. Badou grinned. Asshole.

Maybe when he told this story, he'd say it was a bear. And that he'd punched it in the face. And that it had stayed down, because Alvin sure as hell wasn't going to let a little head trauma get between them.

Badou, on the other hand, would be all too happy to end this sordid affair. He bolted. In retrospect, he should have pulled the door shut behind him.

[RUNNING THIS WAY.]

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[From here.]

The pair burst out into the frigid night from the wrong end of the door entirely. Peter scrambled under the top of the frame, then up the wall, leaving room for Jessica to do the same. His teeth chattered, but he said nothing more about the cold.

It was now that he took the knot out of the pillow case around his shoulder, thrusting a hand inside. Out came a single webshooter, and onto the wrist it went. Peter stared at the rest, thinking deeply, then tossed it all into the snow. He didn't need his costume now. He didn't need the radio. The webshooter and the flashlight in his pocket were the only tools he needed.

"Dude, if this works...I just want to say that it's like...It's actually pretty awesome this happened. You being here and stuff." Peter's lips pursed. His teeth still chattered from behind. "I don't know what will happen if we go back but - find me sometime. Okay?"

This was awkward. But if it was the last time he'd be seeing Jessica (Jess, he wanted to call her. A real, honest to god nickname, geez), then he did want to say something. Slivers slid into his chest when he realized the same could apply to everyone else. Brainy, he thought frantically. Claire. Indy and Badou, who had just come back. Oh god, so many people. Suddenly the last conversations he'd had with each came flooding back to him, and none of them seemed satisfactory. He glanced over at his clone, eyes strangely wide. Below them the cockroaches spilled out the door uselessly, their skittering gone ignored.

This really could be it.

Edited 2011-11-08 03:30 (UTC)

Of course, she scrambled after him and didn't pause even for a second when a blast of cold hair hit her as she slipped out of the door. Fingers barely touching the frame, she flipped onto the wall above it, making a perch with feet pressed square against the cold wall beside Peter, body trembling from the weather. Her breath frosted as she exhaled but there was no reason to complain about it. She was a New Yorker, right? That was what they were used to.

So Jessica stayed quiet, watching as he began to dig through his pillow case, equipping his webshooter. She had memories of doing the same, slipping it onto her wrist and instinctively, she was staring down at her own. But instead, bare hands, spinnerets embedded deep under her flesh. In situations like this though, she was grateful for this biological alteration. She didn't move when the light thud of the pillow case hitting the ground was heard, too caught up in her own thoughts.

But when Peter spoke up though, was when she glanced over, frowning a little. "I -- ..." She hesitated, unsure of what to say. She knew. She knew that he was from the past, before the flood. That he would almost die, that she thought he had died, and the feeling of terror over losing him spread through her. She knew she wouldn't ever meet up again after Roxxon. That they wouldn't team up like this, that she would only keep a distant eye on him. But she didn't say any of this.

Instead, she was leaning over and grabbing him, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his shoulder in a hug. The tightest hug she could, refusing to let go. Her face was pressed against the crook of his neck, her body trembling against his (but whether it was from her emotions or the cold -- it was hard to tell.)

"I will. We're going to get out of this, and we're going to get out of here and you and me -- we're going to back to Queens and movie it up and it's going to be awesome, okay?"

A flat out lie. She hoped he didn't know her as well as she knew him. That he couldn't tell.

"Whoa!" He fell backwards, losing an inch or two with the shock of the hug. She was a lot warmer than he expected, but then she was clinging to him as if she couldn't stick to the wall on her own, face pressed deep in his shoulder. Her hair swallowed his cheek. Amazing that it could even get that thick. Peter had let it grow shaggy, but that was obviously failing its true potential.

And he was internally rambling about hair of all things because that was so much easier than trying to figure out what the heck this was. Really. Truly. He'd brought it up in the first place and he still didn't know what to think.

"Yeah. Awesome." Peter was solid stone, frozen for a beat too long after the proclamation. Then arms snaked around Jessica's form. He pressed his face into her hair. They remained that way for a moment. This is weird.

But it was good. He needed to hold onto the good things he had.

"Um. Okay. Hooo..." he trailed off, extricating himself from the embrace. He was flushed in the face and his heart was probably pounding unreasonably hard, even for this weather. He kind of wished they could just crawl back inside and have a movie night instead. "Well. Them evil dictators ain't gonna punch out themselves."

A long glance upwards told them of the relatively short journey they'd be making - there was a row of formerly impenetrable windows on the third floor, barred and shut. Not a problem with their powers back. It was almost anticlimactic. Maybe things would actually feel real once they were inside. And once everything stopped glowing pink. Seriously, what was up with that?

His signal was a nod, and he shot upwards in a run. Whoever got there first had the honours of punching in the window to their freedom.

Well, that was awkward.

She knew she had made him a little uncomfortable but she needed that. When he finally let go, she was so sure that her face was matching his -- red and slightly unsure. (Her heart beating in her ears, and her fingers quivering ever so slightly.) But Jessica nodded in agreement before darting up the wall after him. It was reassuring just to be able to do this again -- that week being here without her powers. She could barely remember what life was like before she got them -- but then again, that life wasn't hers so she tried not to think no it anyways.

Jessica was the one who got to the third floor windows first, tips of her fingers pressed barely against the edge of the window, sitting almost completely horizontal before she shifted a foot and straightened herself. "Well, this is it...." She mumbled, not sure why she was pausing. The windows were barred and she brought a hand up to grab at them, yank them out of their hold and then break the glass --

Except that didn't happen.

Her spider sense caught her attention before the screaming did. The buzzing in the back of her head, mixing with the shrill shrieks of some sort of animal. Her head jerked back and her eyes widened at the sight. Enormous, monstrous birds with wicked sharp beaks and talons, mottled feathers and they were heading right towards them.

"Peter, Peter, Peter -- !" Jessica was shouting as one of these birds flew towards them, claws out, determined to rip their flesh off and maybe eat it with a side of rat heads.

Of course it had been too easy.

What was this.

Peter shot a look of panic between Jessica and the bars. His hands joined hers there and he tugged again. Reared his fist back and slammed it into the glass-

"OW, SON OF A-"

Aunt May would disapprove so he put a button on it, cradling his fist in his other hand. It wasn't like he broke anything, but geez has hitting anything steel-like with your knuckles ever not made you regret your life? He winced and flapped his hand to ease the pain.

He would have contemplated the matter of the impenetrable window further if his spider sense didn't interrupt with a breaking news bulletin: birds the size of horses were descending from above.

........Fancy that. "Jess?"

Within seconds, the first was upon them. Peter did the only thing he could think of when he had one webshooter on its last health bar and only one building to cling to. With a jump Jackie Chan would be proud of him for (he hoped), the sticking duties were passed from his feet to his hands, as his knees swung high up to his shoulders. Then he kicked the thing in the chest. Both feet at once.

There might have been an eensy chance Peter would be on PETA's hit list after tonight, because he was definitely hearing birdy bones cracking with the hit. (They're hollow, duh.) He'd already slapped a cat in to pulp and punched a spider, and now he was kicking birds. He was officially a villain in an Air Bud movie. The thing screeched loud enough to pop an eardrum and shot backwards, knocking into another. Together, they began a fitful descent to the ground. The rest were still coming.

"The roof! The roof, let's go!!" Peter was already moving, wild with panic. Look, he could probably snap them in two like he just did now, if he could land a hit. But a) that would mean getting close enough to them to do so, and between wings, talons, and beaks? He wasn't liking his odds. And b) they were working with a single three story building in the middle of bupkiss nowhere. When you were used to having like thirty buildings within jumping distance at all times, fending off an aerial attack on this cow barn was going to be freaking impossible.

And let us not forget c) - the sneaking suspicion that these were the birds anonymous Skeever dude was posting about on one of his first days here. The ones that ate those poor souls unskilled in the horizontal hustle. Neither one of them had learned...

...He dearly hoped neither one had learned that dance yet. Remind him to stink eye Jessica later and check.

Edited 2011-11-16 09:31 (UTC)

[ from here (http://damned.livejournal.com/1192668.html?thread=81215196#t81215196) ]

Ugly creatures deserved death. And not even a beautiful death - just one that removed their eyesore from the rest of society. Grell glanced up from his position on the patio and saw the monstrous birds diving from the roof and knew what he had to do.

He had to kill them all.

"Oh, I do so love my work~!" he hummed, spinning on the rail to face the building. The hard part wasn't getting into range or even massacring the myriad flying rats that were buzzing around for some reason. The hard part would be keeping their nasty rotten blood from getting into Grell's hair. After all, there was nothing worse than cleaning blood out of one's hair, but when said blood wasn't even pretty? It was like a punch to the stomach after being slapped in the face. Rude. Plain and simple.

There seemed to be other shapes in the dark, but Grell wasn't so concerned about them. First, the ugly birds, then the weird whatever-they-were's hanging off the side of the building. Crouching down, Grell launched himself at the wall, heels digging into the brick as he used power and forward momentum to run up toward the third floor. He managed to just get past the first row of windows before his speed gave out and the laws of physics took over. He pushed off at that moment, flipping backwards and kicking one of those nasty things in the face before it could attack one of the--

Children shaped shadows? Well, that was odd.

Grell didn't have time to think too much on the subject, however, as gravity pulled him and the screeching feather duster toward the ground. The stupid thing even though it could claw at him and Grell smirked, pulling his deathscythe out and driving it straight through the bird's chest. A record played, but the god gave it little more than a glance before he pushed off again, sending the bird's carcass crashing to the ground while he landed neatly back onto the railing. The entire affair took no more than a few moments and Grell smiled to himself, satisfied with having eradicated at least one of the disgusting abominations.

With the carnage done, he flicked the blackened blood off his scythe and sighed, "How refreshing it is to be back~"

Jessica floundered. While Peter had gone to kick one of the birds in the chest, she was dodging the other, its beak skimming that ridiculous mane of hair she had as she dove out of the way, dropping down to the level of the third floor window again and desperately tugging at the bars, to no avail, of course.

Peter was shouting at her, but all she could hear among his words was the shrill shrieking still as she abandoned her tango with those window bars and scrambled up the side of the building. This was like fighting Vulture, if Vulture was actually a giant man-eating vulture, and she was dropped in Nowheresville, Enjoy Your Stay with three story buildings and not even enough room to do a springboard flip Olympics gymnasts would be proud of.

And she had almost made her way to the top when a figure running up the side of the building caught her attention, diving at one of the birds and... pulling out a chainsaw?

Well, she didn't question it, at least grateful for the help. But that left one more and she chewed her lower lip before turning to Peter, still hanging off the edge of the roof, waving a two-fingered salute with a "Be right back!" and then, stupidly, diving to take down the last bird, who was heading straight for her and her genetic template for whatever the hell reason. (Maybe they just looked more tasty than that red-headed man. Who knows.)

The bird was flying up and she was falling down and Jessica twisted her body, legs pulling over her head as she spurted web from her fingers, the bird's razor sharp wings getting entangled in them. In the span of a few seconds, she managed to kick it in the face -- the sharp CRAK astounding as its neck broke -- before throwing out another and to web a line to the wall, catching herself before she managed to land onto that red-headed man.

That would have been an unfortunate meeting.

The monster bird was struggling but in its attempts to get free with a head that was pulling a slinkie, flew straight into the wall above her and she winced before turning to that Guy With The Chainsaw below her. "So, uh, thanks."

The coast was clear, right?

Peter didn't make it to the roof. Instead, he was distracted by the fact that his clone was not following him. And the sound of a chainsaw. Mostly the chainsaw in fact.

The spatter didn't reach him, thankfully, but the burst of red was impossible to miss. To his horror, he thought he saw flecks of bone and innards spit out too. A voice sounded out from the carnage. "How refreshing it is to be back~"

Peter stiffened. No...

He looked down. Jess saluted him, darting off for a bird much closer to Grell than to Peter. "No-"

The bird was webbed and its neck was broken in less time than it took to reach the two without sacrificing a line, but Peter was running. He picked up the pace when Jessica landed underneath - right underneath that man and he was holding a chainsaw one-handed -

"JESS, NO!!!"

Snagging her under the arms while jumping at an angle like this was not an easy task. There should be medals handed out for the crap he had to pull, swear to god. Peter landed further down, between the first and second story and glared upwards, livid, at the shadowed figure above. He clutched his clone to his chest one-armed until she could get her own footing (and hopefully not punch him in the neck for all the manhandling), his back to the wall and sticking with the rest of his limbs.

Furious, out of breath, and spider sense already buzzing, he shouted at Grell. "What the crap are you doing here?!!"

The sound of a neck cracking along with the sight of what appeared to be a child kicking one of those birds in the face, drew Grell's attention away from the sight of the mangled body lying on the snow below. It was beautiful in a way - the motion of the bodies, the death throes of the defeated, the awkward yet successful landing that brought Grell face to face with...

Kenny's female body double?

"Ahn?" The god raised an eyebrow, looking down at the girl who had somehow or another produced rope or something to swing down from that bird to land near him. The face was unmistakable. The voice, a higher pitch, certainly, but the same lilt as that brat from the library. But the feel was different - same, but different. She had the same aura as Kenny did, and yet it was...off. After all, this girl wasn't screaming bloody murder and--

"JESS, NO!!!"

Ah. There it was.

In a blur, the girl disappeared and Grell had to take a half jump back to avoid being taken over the edge with-- Ah, that explained things. A lot of things actually. A bit unfortunate that Kenny wasn't just a nutcase with a cross-dressing, cannibalistic split personality, but it did make things more interesting - and subsequently a bit disgusting. Without realizing it, Grell had just saved that brat's life. Ugh.

"Saving you apparently. You truly have no manners at all, do you?" the death god said, emphasizing the vowels with disdain. But there were good things about this, too and so he gave up on anger, smirking as he looked over the edge, swinging the chainsaw up to rest lightly on his shoulder. Kenny and Jess had powers of their own and it had been far too long since Grell had met humans with super-human abilities that were deserving of a little loving death god care. Putting a hand to his cheek, he continued in sweeter tones than before. "And Jess, was it? You are so much prettier and far more civil than your twin, I see. You're welcome for earlier. It was my pleasure."

Jess would have clamored to a stop if she had gotten the chance. Instead she was being scooped up by the arms, tugged upwards unceremoniously in some horrible double gymnast attempt or something. They would never make it to finals in the couples ice skating championship. She wasn't going to hit the blades, she realizes he was freaking out about as they landed between the first and second floor, glowering down at the man and his chainsaw and then turning towards her twin. (He didn't have enough faith in her. Of course he didn't, with the way he shouted and freaked out like that.)

When she got the chance, she tugged out of his grasp before popping her fist against his neck, hissing angrily at him. "I didn't need to be rescued." If anything, Peter was the one who needed to. He always was. As much as she knew he hated to admit it, she was always saving his butt. At least, would be, in his future. She hung from the wall besides her genetic template, while he crouched back to the wall, she hung from the side, fingers gripping the surface and feet pressed flat against the wall, with her other hand pushing her massive hair out of her face.

(And among all of that, there went her Spider sense. She could do two plus two. Warning bells plus Peter shouting at random strangers equals?)

She squinted at the man though -- her hero, glancing between him and Peter in silence. She didn't have to be a bloodhound to be able to smell trouble, and boy, they just jumped into the frying pan, didn't they? "Thanks." She said after a moment, again. Either for the compliment or the rescue, she wasn't sure.

Silence followed that before she spoke up, still staring at the redhead.

"Who are you?"

And of course, he is treated to a typical thank you for a Spider-Man rescue. "Excuse me for giving craps," he hissed back as rubbed the sore spot.

Why did he even bother some days? Considering Grell's track record and the stark realization that he would also have his wicked Grim Reaper powers back, seeing Jessica withing feet of that chainsaw was a legit cause for panic. No one could tell him otherwise.

"Yeah, because you'd be the expert on that wouldn't you?" Peter rolled his eyes dramatically. "Is it the outside or the inside knife you stick in people's shoulders? I've always wanted to know and Titanic didn't cover that part."

Apologies to Rose and Jack Dawson should they exist within the immediate vicinity. (He was going to talk to Jessica about that tonight, too. Right. Perhaps after they were done trying to escape evisceration.)

It irked that Jessica would thank Grell and not him, the traitor. But the tone was less of gratitude now than before, so she was getting the hint. If his spider sense was buzzing, hers should be too. Though he would have thought his word alone should have been enough, but apparently not.

At least he could cut in before Grell could be a pompous jerk about introductions. "Jess, this is TweedleDimWit. Him and his buddy TweedleDouchebag were the ones who stabbed Brainy and killed his best friend for giggles. Remember?"

"If we must speak of table manners, then it's the carving knife, not the silverware, dear." The quip rolled easily off his tongue and Grell smiled, flashing a thin sliver of pearl white teeth. He knew how it looked in the dark and how a small gesture could sometimes carry more presence than a large one. An actress had to know her stage and Grell had been standing on his for over two centuries.

Unfortunately, it seemed Kenny was not in the mood to let the diva take the stage and Grell clicked his tongue at the rude introduction. "My name is Grell Sutcliffe. And unlike some don't feel the need to hide it, Kenny." Lies. A lie of a name, one that Grell knew wasn't true anymore. He'd heard the real name, seen it floating around, recognized the handwriting, stalked his prey. He knew, but now he knew something else about him, and that little tidbit was ever so interesting. Rather than reply to the jab, however, Grell leaned forward, looking further over the edge, the chainsaw silhouetted behind him to cast a nasty shadow upon the snow far below.

He could kill them. He could destroy them as he had that unnatural boy Firo in the hallway. He could kill these two and put himself out of a lot of misery and annoyance. A lot of annoyance, really. His gloved fingers rubbed against the handle of the chainsaw and Grell narrowed his eyes, not caring if the slight glow was more noticeable that way. He could kill these children and put an end to it all.

"But it isn't your time yet," he murmured just loud enough for them to hear, straightening with an agitated sigh. "Clark was an unfortunate casualty, but Brainy and I have...come to terms, if one must call it that. Besides, if you must know, it was Clark's time to die. I merely gave him..." Grell smiled at the memory of that beautiful night. Brainiac 5's tears, Clark's acceptance, the darling and tragic scene burned forever into the little bot's mind. "...A death worth remembering. Isn't that what all humans want at the end? To go not quietly into the darkened night, but burn bright as a flame for all to see?"

Grell shrugged and slid the chainsaw off his shoulder, causing the machine to disappear as if it had never existed. "You, unfortunately, have quite a few years left, so my hands are tied. How sad that I cannot wish you a bloody farewell, but such is the fickle nature of Death."

At the name "Kenny", Jessica was glancing over at Peter, raising an eyebrow instinctively. Kenny, as in South Park? As in, the guy who always dies? Real funny, genetic template. She didn't say anything though, not when Peter gave the first introduction (though her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed), not when Grell corrected him. She didn't say a word, just let the redhead -- no, Grell -- talk.

(Part of her was completely enraged that he has killed Brainiac, despite the fact that the two weren't very good friends, or friends at all. But she knew it was better not to lunge at the guy holding the chainsaw, despite how much she wanted to right now.)

When the chawinsaw disappeared and Grell finally finished his little speech or monologue or whatever that was, Jessica pressed her back against the wall, glaring down at him.

"You done?" A beat that could barely even count for one, her tone cold. "Yeah, how about you make like Death and skedaddle." She waved a hand in the ever-familiar, "shoo" gesture. A man like this, her Spider-Sense going off was right. She didn't need this and Peter didn't need this, regardless of whether he saved their life.

He cowed ever so slightly under Jessica's glance. It wasn't his brightest or best cover ever, but it was a name that wasn't his own and that was all that had been required at the time. Fat load of good it was doing him now that Grell had connected way too many dots together.

"Fickle nature my butt," Peter seethed under his breath. Okay, Grell could harp on all he wanted about how it was Clark's time to die, blah blah blah. But the thing about that was that if Grell hadn't murdered the guy himself, then would he have died? It wasn't exactly like either one was a H.G. Wells guest star, so any course correcting or whatever the term for it was, that was not happening. Baloney. Fricking baloney. As Peter had later on learned, Brainy's friend Clark was the Clark Kent. Superman. There was no way that he was scheduled to die by hidden monster or random stroke or heart attack - nothing. The only way he could have died was if Grell was waiting in that hall to make sure it would happen. Which made the so called death god a total hypocrite and no better than your average psychopath.

Peter wasn't trying to claim divinity here, he didn't know anything about lifespans or souls or fortune telling. But he was claiming sanity. Compared to Grell, he had that in spades.

Not to mention the bit about coming to terms with Brainy was cause for heads to roll. If this went on for much longer he was aiming to break that aquiline nose, chainsaw or not.

Fortunately it didn't look like things would come to that. The dismissal from beside him earned his silent approval. Peter didn't smirk or snort like he wanted to, but hopped on the bandwagon as coldly as Jessica had, waving his hand in time with hers. "Toodle pip, old chap. I bet you have a lot to reap tonight, what with that outfit dying about a century ago."

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Night 59: Soccer/Recreational Field

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i am literally the slowest person on the planet

then i will carry you on my back and we can soar at marginally faster speeds...