damned_institute | Day 29: Music Room

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Day 29: Music Room

Quatre was thankful that his "name" wasn't called to be visited, but there was always the next shift. He knew he probably should have hunted down his comrades to see if they were safe this shift as well and if they could think of a plan to escape. It was strange being in captivity, Quatre had never been caught by OZ and when one of the remaining White Fang factions had attempted to assassinate him, the action had resulted in the deaths of many innocent politicians and bureaucrats; people who had families and who had honestly been hoping to do the best with the peace that Quatre and so many like him had tried so hard to obtain.

There were a few things that could completely take Quatre's mind off even the most horrible of facts, one of them was music. So when the nurse mentioned that he could go to the 'Music Room' he couldn't help but want to at least look in the room. There was an assortment of instruments for him to choose from. There were no classical pieces to speak of, but Quatre considered the fact that an attentive enough patient could use a number of the pieces of a piano to kill someone. That and you couldn't really use headphones on a real flute.

He ran his fingers over the electric keyboard before sitting down to it.

He had once told a good friend, Noin, that he played what he felt and at the moment his anxiousness was overwhelming. If he played at least a little bit of it, it might release from him, might take some of the pressure from his heart.

That, and it would be reassuring to be doing something he loved to do. He placed the headphones on his ears, trying not to allow his emotions to affect any of the patients that might enter the room after him, and started to play.

The sound was dulled, probably for safety reasons, but that was probably for the best. If anyone spoke to him he would be able to hear, even if he let the music that his fingers played with electrical sound take him away from Landel's prison walls.

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Even if Jameson had only visited to chew Eddie out, it still seemed strange to Peter. The man always insisted that people came to see him rather than the other way around - if that wasn't possible, then he wouldn't have bothered. He'd only really seen his boss out and about at the ceremony that had been honoring his son, and he suspected that had to do with a mix of pride and wanting to take the credit for how well Junior had succeeded.

As Brock continued to explain, Peter just found himself further bothered by it. The only part that sounded right was Jameson saying he was better than Eddie (his own arrogance was coming out there, but it was the truth) - why would he lie? Maybe just to irritate Eddie or something, but it still didn't seem to fit.

Thinking about the other version of him that Logan knew, he had to wonder... But he kept those thoughts to himself.

"He doesn't have a hard-on for me," he responded with a sigh, rolling his eyes. "He's just saying it how it is. I am better than you." It was probably a bad move, considering how decently their conversation had been going thus far, but Eddie had started it, and Peter wasn't just going to take that without some sort of response.

Oh, so Parker grew some balls since they last really met, was that it? Brock didn't remember the kid standing up much for himself before, especially not at the Bugle (well, not without his symbiote pal backing him up). If he wanted to talk crap, he was totally game:

Brock's eyes narrowed. "You cheated! You were always cheating with those photos, whoring yourself out and collecting. And second, you were just taking pictures, you don't know the first thing about properly centering the subject or proper lighting or anything!"

There was more where that came from. He personally suspected that the only reason Parker got the job was because he kept getting pictures at all: he swore that trying to get actual good pictures of the superhero was just as easy as trying to get pictures of unicorns. Only Brock had, several times, because he really had been good before meeting Peter Parker. He bristled. What really annoyed him about Parker was how he took it for granted, his whole gig at the Bugle.

"Also, if you're going to even keep pimping your own pictures out like that," Brock hissed, resisting the urge to stab a finger at Parker's chest, "you might want to start taking more flattering angles. I still stand by what I told you the first time I met the real you."

Maybe it was just him, but Peter felt like they had been through his argument before. Eddie ended up falling back on the same tired argument, which meant that Peter wasn't all that inclined to fight back. It didn't help that the blond described it in such a tasteless way. He did what he had to support himself -- in the grand scheme of things, was it really that bad?

Then again, with someone else trying to compete, they obviously wouldn't stand a chance. Still, Eddie could have always tried to get a better job somewhere else, rather than becoming fixated on the whole Spider-man thing.

It was kind of creepy, actually.

"My pictures look fine," he responded, though he wasn't quite as into the debate as Eddie was. "Better than fine, really. Maybe if you started selling pictures of yourself when the symbiote's out you'd have some better luck. It'd work easier than doctoring a picture, at least." It was a low blow, but it wasn't like Eddie hadn't taken his share of cheap shots.

Brock snorted like he was offended. And he was, really, because obviously Parker couldn't be expected to have the imagination to realize that with the symbiote, a guy didn't even need to scrape out a living anymore. Not when he could just take what he wanted. Who would stop him? Obviously Landels had put a damper on things, but aside from that. Being a Host to this Other, and being given this gift wasn't just something you whored out. Parker might not care, but Brock sure did. And the symbiote was special, wasn't just some cheap trick to rake in some extra dough.

"Yeah, well, I'm just sorry I made the mistake of using your crap as stock," Brock snapped back. "But it figures you'd just think about the small details. Photography," he said with another derisive snort, "If you want to play Average Joe, be my guest."

Peter didn't really get why Eddie had to keep making a point about how he didn't know a thing about the art of photography or whatever. He'd taken a class or two about it. Maybe he wasn't that well-trained, but what did the lighting matter so long as the picture came out looking good? Most of the times they were just black and white, anyway, which meant that any artistry was probably lost.

Brock didn't seem all that much like the artsy-fartsy type in the first place, but then again, who was he to judge a book by its cover? He didn't look like a crime-fighter, either.

"You still used my picture to try to get ahead. If you thought it was all such crap, I... don't think have done that. And you should have known I'd notice, but I guess you just weren't thinking, right?" He usually didn't get so sharp-tongued when he wasn't in costume, but Eddie already knew who he really was, and their little rivalry always set Peter a little more on edge than usual.

"Yeah, well, things are different now," Brock said.

While he still stood by his reasons for having to doctor that photo, he had the proper perspective now, like someone had forced his eyes open. There was a lot to be said when you found out that you were even smaller than insignificant in the universe, and that out of all the humans out there, he had been chosen. Okay, so he'd been second choice, but he could deal with being second. But for a guy who'd been pretty up close and personal with the symbiote, Parker just wasn't seeing the big picture the way they could. It was sort've depressing, actually.

Brock almost felt sorry for him. But then he remembered what Parker did to him, did to them, and any pity he felt evaporated. Screw Parker. If he wanted to run back to his fake little bubble of normalcy, than he could have it. Being normal was for chumps. It just frustrated Brock to no end whenever he thought about Parker - which was more than was probably healthy - and saw a lot of wasted opportunities.

"Different. Right." Peter sighed, bringing a hand up to the back of his neck as he sent a slightly paranoid glance around the room. Everyone else seemed to be involved in their own conversations, at least, so their little fight probably hadn't raised too many eyebrows.

"About that," he continued, since Peter knew perfectly well what Eddie had meant by things being different, "how did you get it? Did it... find you after I got rid of it?" Honestly, Peter didn't know all that much about the symbiote. Even though it had been making a home in his body for a few days, he hadn't had a very direct connection with it, and had only worked off of its influence. Eddie seemed to have something different going on, and part of him was curious to know how it worked.

That was right, Parker hadn't exactly been there for their bonding. Or in much of a state to be aware of it. Brock briefly debated just going "screw you" into Parker's face just because. But then he thought about it; it wasn't like there was anything to be hide, and the only thing he could get out of denying him the whole story was just a petty satisfaction.

"I was right there," Brock said after a moment, his voice quiet. For something that was a big part of his new life, he sounded almost detached from it. Looking back on it now, it was like watching it happen to someone else, someone who was weak and disgustingly human. "I was there in the church, and I saw everything."

He'd seen what a good population of New York had been trying to figure out - Spider-man's real, civilian identity. The face and name that could probably have sold for millions and given him an early retirement. It had all clicked into place, everything, and he'd been stunned by it as he watched Parker wrestle with something black and alive by the tolling bell. The whole Peter-Parker-is-Spider-man thing had distracted him so much that he hadn't really paid much attention to the symbiote at the time - until it started dripping down from Parker onto him. And that had been when the cold - colder than anything he'd ever felt before - began to set in.

Brock shrugged. "We bonded, pretty much right after you rejected it."

He'd prayed for God to kill Parker, but he'd got the next best thing, which, he figured, was good enough. Maybe it was God's way of saying do your own damn dirty work by giving him the tools, putting him on an equal playing field. He didn't know. All he knew was he wasn't sure if he even wanted to kill Parker these days. Hurt him, sure, he was always up for that, but killing? No, that was too permanent, and his Other wouldn't allow that anyway.

"You were there?" Peter couldn't censor himself in time to stop from blurting it out. That had been one of his harder moments... Having to pull and tear at the blackness only for it to slap back into place, until he figured out its weakness and then the pain just got worse. Eddie had been there? It felt strangely violating to know that.

Forgetting that, what were the chances of that happening? For Eddie to end up in the same church at the right time? It was almost like it had been planned somehow, but Peter didn't know what to make of that. Maybe it had been the symbiote's doing somehow.

The way Eddie spoke about it still disturbed him. "We bonded" -- he was acknowledging the symbiote as its own entity. Maybe it was, but didn't Eddie realize how screwed in the head he sounded? Then again, all of the baddies he'd gone up against usually ended up with some sort of personality disorder, and he wasn't sure why it surprised him anymore.

Considering he had known all of them before the crazy had set in, though... That was what made it hard. He realized he probably needed to say something. "Guess that makes sense," he managed lamely.

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Day 29: Music Room

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