[ whilst bruce takes his time in approaching the building, peter is a little more hurried. there's no tingling of his spider-sense at the base of his skull, no vague beginnings of a headache that tell him he's in immediate danger so as far as he's concerned, it's fine.
his first month, he'd spent more time than he'd ever admit to on the roofs of various buildings in beacon, waiting for something to happen. waiting for someone to emerge and to admit to setting this whole thing up. truthfully, there was still a rather large part of him that hope this was still something to do with arcade, a bizarre version of one of his murderworlds created in tandem with kraven to—
to what? break him. maybe. that was what kraven had wanted, wasn't it?
which is to say: he recognises the roof, intimately. it's beacon's. he pauses and his attention shifts towards villanelle: he doesn't recognise her in the sense of knowing who she is, although he thinks he recalls seeing her on the shore this month, and at the feast (the pink is rather noticeable.) ]
Yeah. [ the question, really, is if they died in the first place: as far as his experiences are to be trusted, there's no way of really knowing. the longer he's been here, the more inclined he's felt to believing they are dead, as much as — as much as he wants to find a way back home to may and to mj.
still: there had been no tingling of his spider-sense at the feast. no uncomfortable headache warning him of incoming danger or harm (or at least, none beyond the usual, the constant mild headache he's had ever since finding himself wherever this is in the multiverse.)
so: ] —We didn't die again. [ is what he answers, glancing at her. ] I don't think. [ a beat. ] Listen, I don't know if this is a trap, but there's got to be a reason we're here, right?
no subject
his first month, he'd spent more time than he'd ever admit to on the roofs of various buildings in beacon, waiting for something to happen. waiting for someone to emerge and to admit to setting this whole thing up. truthfully, there was still a rather large part of him that hope this was still something to do with arcade, a bizarre version of one of his murderworlds created in tandem with kraven to—
to what? break him. maybe. that was what kraven had wanted, wasn't it?
which is to say: he recognises the roof, intimately. it's beacon's. he pauses and his attention shifts towards villanelle: he doesn't recognise her in the sense of knowing who she is, although he thinks he recalls seeing her on the shore this month, and at the feast (the pink is rather noticeable.) ]
Yeah. [ the question, really, is if they died in the first place: as far as his experiences are to be trusted, there's no way of really knowing. the longer he's been here, the more inclined he's felt to believing they are dead, as much as — as much as he wants to find a way back home to may and to mj.
still: there had been no tingling of his spider-sense at the feast. no uncomfortable headache warning him of incoming danger or harm (or at least, none beyond the usual, the constant mild headache he's had ever since finding himself wherever this is in the multiverse.)
so: ] —We didn't die again. [ is what he answers, glancing at her. ] I don't think. [ a beat. ] Listen, I don't know if this is a trap, but there's got to be a reason we're here, right?