[ peter reaches out to take the slip of paper; there's a moment of silence as he reads it, the corners of his lips quirking as he holds it out towards villanelle to allow her to read it. ominous and creepy: two of his absolutely least favourite things. ]
If we're talking about the original inhabitants of Beacon, I always assumed they'd died: the planet originally had at least one sun, the plant life is green and bears resemblance to plant life from Earth — although how any of it's still alive is beyond me. [ he'd considered symbiotic relationships, but there had been nothing to back that passing thought up, he wasn't a botanist and without access to a lab as well equipped as, say, tony's or reed's, there's little chance of figuring the how out. trees might be able to last decades, but smaller plants? not so much. that said, the temperature of the planet should be much lower, so whatever the details of beacon still being inhabitable actually were, they're apparently not anything that makes logistical sense. ] Sure, we're managing to exist in a fashion without sunlight, but we're apparently already dead. Most of the other groups brought to Beacon have ended up being reset, either through — failure or through madness and—.
[ he'd been about to say murder, but what if it was just madness? (with a side of murder.) what if the hallucinations they'd experienced recently weren't strictly the result of the spirits, what if they were part and parcel of beacon? the fingernail scratches on the stairs spoke of desperation, whatever the cause; imagined or otherwise. ]
—Point is, the resets keep happening, right? So maybe they're not entirely unrelated to whatever happened here originally or just a means of figuring out how to stop the World Eaters — assuming you're right and this is the Ghost-of-Beacon-Past... [ or maybe it's wildly off base. who knows!
he glances over at bruce, as he heads in the direction of what would have once been the trapdoor. maybe it is there, given the peculiarities of the bell and the stairs. he weighs up his options: they're not in any immediate danger, not so far as his spider-sense can tell, but with the gross wall-ooze, he's disinclined to trust it's working as advertised. (flossy the magic spider, you did him poorly, thanks.)
there's a temptation to squat, to crawl along the floor on all fours and see if he can feel any vibrations in the floor that indicate where the noise below them is coming from, but— god, couldn't he have just woken up in the suit? couldn't there be a convenient place to slip off and slip into something that's weirdly way more comfortable than it looks; a convenient something something and "oh you know that peter, runs off at the first sight of danger". no? no. apparently not.
so instead of crawling across the floor, he does squat; places a hand on the floor — if the sound's audible, whoever it is can't be that far beneath them, quirks of sound travelling aside. the question is how far does whatever the space below them extend for — the entirety of the floor? ]
no subject
If we're talking about the original inhabitants of Beacon, I always assumed they'd died: the planet originally had at least one sun, the plant life is green and bears resemblance to plant life from Earth — although how any of it's still alive is beyond me. [ he'd considered symbiotic relationships, but there had been nothing to back that passing thought up, he wasn't a botanist and without access to a lab as well equipped as, say, tony's or reed's, there's little chance of figuring the how out. trees might be able to last decades, but smaller plants? not so much. that said, the temperature of the planet should be much lower, so whatever the details of beacon still being inhabitable actually were, they're apparently not anything that makes logistical sense. ] Sure, we're managing to exist in a fashion without sunlight, but we're apparently already dead. Most of the other groups brought to Beacon have ended up being reset, either through — failure or through madness and—.
[ he'd been about to say murder, but what if it was just madness? (with a side of murder.) what if the hallucinations they'd experienced recently weren't strictly the result of the spirits, what if they were part and parcel of beacon? the fingernail scratches on the stairs spoke of desperation, whatever the cause; imagined or otherwise. ]
—Point is, the resets keep happening, right? So maybe they're not entirely unrelated to whatever happened here originally or just a means of figuring out how to stop the World Eaters — assuming you're right and this is the Ghost-of-Beacon-Past... [ or maybe it's wildly off base. who knows!
he glances over at bruce, as he heads in the direction of what would have once been the trapdoor. maybe it is there, given the peculiarities of the bell and the stairs. he weighs up his options: they're not in any immediate danger, not so far as his spider-sense can tell, but with the gross wall-ooze, he's disinclined to trust it's working as advertised. (flossy the magic spider, you did him poorly, thanks.)
there's a temptation to squat, to crawl along the floor on all fours and see if he can feel any vibrations in the floor that indicate where the noise below them is coming from, but— god, couldn't he have just woken up in the suit? couldn't there be a convenient place to slip off and slip into something that's weirdly way more comfortable than it looks; a convenient something something and "oh you know that peter, runs off at the first sight of danger". no? no. apparently not.
so instead of crawling across the floor, he does squat; places a hand on the floor — if the sound's audible, whoever it is can't be that far beneath them, quirks of sound travelling aside. the question is how far does whatever the space below them extend for — the entirety of the floor? ]