Day 56: Main Street (Late Afternoon)
Cripes, it was just getting colder by the minute. Peter was rattling inside his coat, feeling mighty sore that the cocoa didn't do him much good now once he left the restaurant. If he wasn't so stuffed he might have gone back and bought one for the road.
And he still hadn't used a single dime of his, had he? His nose wrinkled, and he turned his eyes to the horizon. The day was almost over. He didn't need G.I. Joe Murse to tell him that. (Nice disguise, Bubba.) If he didn't spend the money now, he might not get another chance. Yet every time he made his rounds he was literally drawing blanks on what to buy that would be worth the money. The thing he wanted the most was right out. There wasn't exactly a local chemist's shop around the corner, and even if there was? Fifteen dollars wouldn't cover the equipment he needed to make web fluid. It would get him a smoldering pair of protective goggles, and that would be it. Handsome as he looked in those, Peter would have to pass.
He needed to get up to that laboratory. The minute the basement quest was over, he was marching up there and making a freaking batch of web fluid, or so help him god - wait, spider sense? What are you doing here? Is it zombie hour already?
Then his foot landed on a patch of ice as smooth as Nick Fury's freshly shaven head, and all was lost.
"Hrrk!"
Shlumph!
His ankle twisted in a way God had surely not intended it to, and Peter was face down in a snowbank. The only saving grace of it all was that his poor, beleaguered back had been spared. (Though it stung something awful with his arms splayed out like that.)
[LASSIE SAM. PETER'S FALLEN INTO A WELL. GO GET HELP.]
And he still hadn't used a single dime of his, had he? His nose wrinkled, and he turned his eyes to the horizon. The day was almost over. He didn't need G.I. Joe Murse to tell him that. (Nice disguise, Bubba.) If he didn't spend the money now, he might not get another chance. Yet every time he made his rounds he was literally drawing blanks on what to buy that would be worth the money. The thing he wanted the most was right out. There wasn't exactly a local chemist's shop around the corner, and even if there was? Fifteen dollars wouldn't cover the equipment he needed to make web fluid. It would get him a smoldering pair of protective goggles, and that would be it. Handsome as he looked in those, Peter would have to pass.
He needed to get up to that laboratory. The minute the basement quest was over, he was marching up there and making a freaking batch of web fluid, or so help him god - wait, spider sense? What are you doing here? Is it zombie hour already?
Then his foot landed on a patch of ice as smooth as Nick Fury's freshly shaven head, and all was lost.
"Hrrk!"
Shlumph!
His ankle twisted in a way God had surely not intended it to, and Peter was face down in a snowbank. The only saving grace of it all was that his poor, beleaguered back had been spared. (Though it stung something awful with his arms splayed out like that.)
[LASSIE SAM. PETER'S FALLEN INTO A WELL. GO GET HELP.]