[for Peter] Want someone to show you 'round
Let's recap the last big discovery someone made on this island: Honking big space station, turned out to be filled with rejects from the SyFy original TV movie 'Zomborgs,' falls from the sky, coming within feet of hitting Yours Truly direct in the face on the way down.
At least this one isn't likely to do that, unless I do something ill-advised like go down there.
I am totally going down there.
I mean, it's not as if I have a death-wish. I wish the opposite of death. I'm a life-wisher. But I can't stay up here and ignore that there's something monumental down there, beneath our feet. Or beneath our feet if we were standing miles out to sea, maybe, I'm not clear on the exact geographic position. Which is a reason to go down there, in itself. There are all sorts of discoveries to be made down there, amongst the dangers, and while I may not be able to protect people with my fists, the way I used to, I can make an effort to do it with my brain. I have to, even, since I don't have the other.
But they don't let just anyone down there. I can get down as a scientist, easy, I have a newspaper clipping from the Tabula Rasa Times I can pull out to prove it and everything. But to go down as a scientist, you either have to be a certified capable badass, or have one with you. I'd like to think I still qualify as a capable badass, but the problem is the certified. I'm not. Secret identity.
Which means I need an escort. I considered a couple of people, but there was only ever one I was going to try first, I have to admit that to myself. Someone I figure won't spend all their time down there looking over my shoulder, because...
I have a tendency to work alone. Who'd understand that better than my clone from another zone?
Even if he is currently working with Tony Stark, and living with him, in the, holy crap, super swank home I am now standing just outside of, on the front deck, wondering if I knock or what. Pete just up and landed on the side of the Baxter Building, once, that turned out to not be the greatest idea, so I'm treading with caution.
"Um... hello?" I venture. They probably can't hear me.
"Hello," says a random British guy who appears to be hiding in the ceiling just inside the door. I squawk and leap backwards. (Gracefully.) "Do you have an appointment?"
"...no, Mr Ghost Butler," I say, stepping cautiously forward. Intercom? AI. It's Tony Stark, it's an AI. "Uh, I'm looking for Peter Parker?"
"I will inform him, Miss..."
"Jessica. Drew," I say.
Well, I guess he'll inform him. In the meantime, I will... stand around. See how many security measures I can spot from where I'm standing.
At least this one isn't likely to do that, unless I do something ill-advised like go down there.
I am totally going down there.
I mean, it's not as if I have a death-wish. I wish the opposite of death. I'm a life-wisher. But I can't stay up here and ignore that there's something monumental down there, beneath our feet. Or beneath our feet if we were standing miles out to sea, maybe, I'm not clear on the exact geographic position. Which is a reason to go down there, in itself. There are all sorts of discoveries to be made down there, amongst the dangers, and while I may not be able to protect people with my fists, the way I used to, I can make an effort to do it with my brain. I have to, even, since I don't have the other.
But they don't let just anyone down there. I can get down as a scientist, easy, I have a newspaper clipping from the Tabula Rasa Times I can pull out to prove it and everything. But to go down as a scientist, you either have to be a certified capable badass, or have one with you. I'd like to think I still qualify as a capable badass, but the problem is the certified. I'm not. Secret identity.
Which means I need an escort. I considered a couple of people, but there was only ever one I was going to try first, I have to admit that to myself. Someone I figure won't spend all their time down there looking over my shoulder, because...
I have a tendency to work alone. Who'd understand that better than my clone from another zone?
Even if he is currently working with Tony Stark, and living with him, in the, holy crap, super swank home I am now standing just outside of, on the front deck, wondering if I knock or what. Pete just up and landed on the side of the Baxter Building, once, that turned out to not be the greatest idea, so I'm treading with caution.
"Um... hello?" I venture. They probably can't hear me.
"Hello," says a random British guy who appears to be hiding in the ceiling just inside the door. I squawk and leap backwards. (Gracefully.) "Do you have an appointment?"
"...no, Mr Ghost Butler," I say, stepping cautiously forward. Intercom? AI. It's Tony Stark, it's an AI. "Uh, I'm looking for Peter Parker?"
"I will inform him, Miss..."
"Jessica. Drew," I say.
Well, I guess he'll inform him. In the meantime, I will... stand around. See how many security measures I can spot from where I'm standing.