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for wheatcakes: post aunter nonsense
Oct. 21st, 2019 09:58 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lost_first[ When he walks through the blue door, his thoughts are entirely on Peter. Peter the man. Peter the... Spider-man, of all things. Which is why he's not surprised that he does not end up in his rooms on the Jolly Roger. Oh no, he's much too busy being surprised at the fact that he's on a rooftop in the middle of Midtown, because there's a lot to be surprised about when you're a centuries-old pirate who grew up on an island paradise hellscape.
The first thing is the noise, and he's glad he's nowhere near the edge of the building, because if he was, he's not sure that even he would be able to keep his footing. His hand grasps at some manner of cord of cabling, one that feels as if it is made of nothing short of metal, and he steadies himself, adjusts the the cacopheny as he looks out.
It is mid-day, unsurprising given that that is what it'd looked like when he'd landed on this rooftop. And behind him is some manner of large painting, a great big picture talking of a smiling woman and some manner of food in a cup that she's clearly enjoying. He doesn't know what 'yogurt' is, but he fully intends to try it if it can make a woman that joyful.
His wounds remind him of their existence: the lines on his arm, the bite across his middle, the bruising from Sebastian's last attempt at life and his fall from the glass box onto the pavement. He pushes them aside, however, to start planning.
He knows... one person here. One man. Peter. Spider-man. But even from here, he can see more people than he even knew existed at one time. A veritable sea of human beings. How in the world is he going to find Peter? For that matter, how exactly is he going to make his way down from here?]
...well, at least I have the knife still.
[ It's something, and he tries not to discount advantages when he has them.]
The first thing is the noise, and he's glad he's nowhere near the edge of the building, because if he was, he's not sure that even he would be able to keep his footing. His hand grasps at some manner of cord of cabling, one that feels as if it is made of nothing short of metal, and he steadies himself, adjusts the the cacopheny as he looks out.
It is mid-day, unsurprising given that that is what it'd looked like when he'd landed on this rooftop. And behind him is some manner of large painting, a great big picture talking of a smiling woman and some manner of food in a cup that she's clearly enjoying. He doesn't know what 'yogurt' is, but he fully intends to try it if it can make a woman that joyful.
His wounds remind him of their existence: the lines on his arm, the bite across his middle, the bruising from Sebastian's last attempt at life and his fall from the glass box onto the pavement. He pushes them aside, however, to start planning.
He knows... one person here. One man. Peter. Spider-man. But even from here, he can see more people than he even knew existed at one time. A veritable sea of human beings. How in the world is he going to find Peter? For that matter, how exactly is he going to make his way down from here?]
...well, at least I have the knife still.
[ It's something, and he tries not to discount advantages when he has them.]
