"True! But where do you fit it? I always keep mine in my pouch that comes with my uniform. How small is it? Or is it built-in?"
"Its been quite a lot lately, save for the normal thefts and crimes. Makes me edgy though. How’d you know I was here?"
"It’s built in. When I was sixteen I didn’t really have the foresight to build pockets into the costume."
"Well, with it being quiet, I’ve been trying to keep an eye out. When things are quiet its never good. As for how I found you, well, ‘Unca Tony’ keeps tabs on you Young Avengers. You are kinda our responsibility, after all."
No judgements. Okay. Taryn gave Spider-Man a little half smile as she listened to him, preparing herself for the catch. He has jumped on another dumpster, and the one with the men was out of earshot, so she decided that it wouldn’t hurt to give him some information. She’d heard next to nothing about this particular superhero, and only recognized him from the telltale spider like getup. So she didn’t know if he was more of a vigilante type or a go-to-the-copper type. She hoped it was the latter, but she has a couple more questions to help herself figure it out.
“Help me how?” she asked. And then the one she usually only asked in her head, but found useful this time. “And why would you want to help me?”
Years of practice had made Taryn learn how to give information without giving too much away. With this case she decided to tell him as much as she had told Flash. “My parents experimented on me and tortured me to turn me into a mutant super soldier for their cause. I ran away. They’ve been searching for me ever since.” She paused, her voice shaking a little. “I’ve been too active around here. They’re closing in. Sending people over to find me..” She crossed her arms over her chest, to make herself seem smaller. She wished she could just turn invisible. No one would get to her then.
"However I can. And because its my job. I wouldn’t be a very good superhero if I didn’t, now would I?" It was rare that Peter heard those sorts of questions. Clearly the lady wasn’t a local. Still, she was clearly in trouble and in need of help.
His damsel senses had been tingling even before she started to explain the situation. As she went on, though, it became clear that her problems were far worse than angering some mob boss. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m an Avenger, after all. I know big, strong, guys like Captain America and Iron Man. I can take you into protective custody at Avengers Tower until we can get this all figured out, alright? Trust me, if we can track down your ‘parents’, they’ll face punishment for their crimes.”
Hopping off of the dumpster, he approached Taryn and slipped a hand around her waist. The other aimed for the top of the buildings, preparing to fire a webline, “Hang on, little lady.”
Smoke You Out || Spider-Man & the Enchantress
"I know someone who would disagree," a teasing lilt lacing the words, flaunting her knowledge with little remorse. A finely groomed brow rose higher on her forehead, wondering if it would benefit her to immediately divulge what she knew to the hero. The Enchantress had long since realized that caring was not an advantage, that there was little merit from trusting anyone other than oneself; for who else could be afforded the responsibility of handling something as fickle and fragile as trust? The luxury of having comrades - of friends - only meant that they could be used against you.
"You won’t need help," the statement said as though the web slinger had expressed the thought aloud. "I don’t want to hurt anyone, at least, I don’t wish to wound anyone who doesn’t deserve it. I am not Loki." The spell caster’s tongue ran across her teeth lightly, as though able to taste the bitter taste that the words left on her tongue. The news of the Trickster’s assault on the city had reached her (naturally), never having been sure of how to view the incident though aware that he had made a name for himself among the citizens of New York. "You wouldn’t need a discount if you chose to just take it,” the fingers of her hand curled in toward her palm as though grasping some unseen object, as though responding to her own comment.
"I like destruction,” the confession emerging on the tail end of the soft sigh that passed parted lips, “It’s my one control in a world full of variables, I’ve missed it, for it is far easier to destroy than to create.” A hand reached out toward the cracks that had sprouted in the wall, like ivy that wanted to commandeer it and claim it as its own, brushing the pattern with her fingertips before the appendage returned to her side, curling gently against the fabric of her long coat. “Would you like that? If I said you’re what I wanted,” It was neither a confirmation nor denial, the goddess finding the idea itself ludicrous, acting in a manner similar to a cat that would bait its cornered prey, silent laughter dancing behind concealed irises. “You can’t say that I haven’t offered, darling.”
"I don’t know what you’ve heard, but what Cap and I have is a totally platonic bromance." The statement was a little strange, but then Peter had gotten used to his more cerebral villains making lots of vague, cryptic, comments. Rather than dwell on it, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind to be reviewed later when he wasn’t in danger. Or, at least, mortal danger. Ah, the glamorous life of being a crime fighter.
The next comment from the Asgardian sorceress was… disturbing to say the least. Sure, the webhead liked to babble, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t said that in his out loud voice. While Peter wasn’t sure if Amora could read minds, he had no interest in taking chances. In the past, the wall crawler had teamed up with various psychics. The experiences had left him deeply worried about his odds in a fight against someone who could know exactly what he was thinking. And so, over the past few months, he had developed a counter measure.
Making a conscious effort, he changed his thoughts or, rather, the language of them. Peter had always wanted to learn a new language, maybe become a bit more cultured as a result. Of course, it had occurred to him that an immortal like Amora or a wealthy and worldly woman like Psylocke would probably know French or Spanish. Thus, it was essential to communicate via a method that no villain would bother to add to their repertoire.
And MJ had said he was silly to learn Klingon.
Peter gasped, his words dripping with sarcasm at Amora’s revelation, “No! And here I thought your love of interior decorating was simply spiraling out of control! I like the ‘burnt out crater’ theme you’re going for here, but not everyone can appreciate your eye for demolition.”
He did his best to ignore the last comment. Amora had offered, very clearly in fact, and Peter would have been lying if he said that he hadn’t considered it at the time. A decent person would have rejected her offer out of hand, but Peter hadn’t always been one of those. Serving the Enchantress would give him everything that he had ever desired. A house, if not a freaking castle, money, every meal a feast, able to afford whatever clothes he wanted, whatever cars he wanted, maybe do some traveling and see places that he had always wanted to see like Hawaii, Italy, and Australia. Peter could have almost anything. All it would cost him was his soul.
"Not particularly," Peter finally said. "In case you forgot, I’m a happily married man. Leash and all. I think that concludes the ‘hero/villain seduction speech’ section. How about we skip the big fight and go straight to the part where you return the paintings you’ve stolen and quietly surrender. There’s a nice, four star, cell on the Raft with your name on it. I’ve never been, but I hear the braised endive is scrumptious."
Taking a steadying breath and attempting to calm the constant pounding of his heart, Spidey put his game face on and prepared to attack a literal goddess.
"Yes. Because I would trade my actual bed for your floor. Good thinking there, Einstein."
"I hope you have some evidence to support your claims. Why would I get black out drunk? I’m a very happy Spider-Man. I’m married to an amazing woman and no one’s trying to kill me in particular, or at least no more than they are any other day. Everything’s coming up Spidey."
"Blacking out is also a symptom of your condition, drunkard."
"Okay. Now I know you’re talking nonsense. I don’t often drink, and even then it’s rarely to the point where I’m apparently leaping across rooftops saying I’m Venom. I think you just decided to sneak in and mess with me.”
"You are not allowed to go out anymore. I had to chase you across rooftops. Shit, Parker. You tried to tell people you were Venom."
"Kaine, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Dork." he smirked. "You manage to leave any kinda food in the fridge for anyone else, or has it been wiped clean yet again? You know you’re not the only person around here with a stomach, right?"
"Hey, Spider-Manning around the city takes a lot out of me. Can’t do everything a spider can without building up quite an appetite. Why do you think they spend all their time sitting on webs waiting for the food to come to them?" He rolled his eyes. "I think Natasha left some chicken kiev in there."
✦ :Fatal flaw
After losing several friends and allies, Peter has made a vow that ‘no one dies’ when he is around. An unreasonable and unrealistic demand to make of himself, Peter is bound to put himself in serious danger to keep it.