Night 59: M71-M80 Hallway
Peter lifted his head up to the intercom with a heavy sigh. Aaah, I.R.I.S. His oldest of flames had returned, singing him sweet auto-tuned melodies of emergencies and holy crap souvlaki why was everything in their room suddenly being shot up with Sailor Moon beams?!
He was leaping off the bed when it suddenly glowed an offensive pink and thanking writer-god-man for having finished his gruel and putting the tray aside minutes beforehand. The shine dimmed, but did not disappear. It enveloped the walls too, and their desks. Anything attached to the floor that wasn't a human being or a manoeuvrable object. Gingerly, Peter stuck out a finger and tapped at the wall. He felt nothing. "What is this?" He shot another look at his bed, shock-eyed. What was the purpose of that? At all?
His jaw dropped suddenly. He clutched at his chest. Nope, no boobs. In spite of the pink, it wasn't a chickifying ray.
One turn as a lady was enough to make you paranoid for a lifetime.
Speaking of which...
"Um. Okay. I better go quick - don't know what any of this means, but I don't want things to mess up too badly before I even start." There were far worse things here than ostentatious neon decorating, so he was just going to shrug it off as some grandiose...thing. Whatever, too tired of random crap to care. Peter fished out the usuals - flashlight, pillow case for liquor hauling (he would tell no one of this), and the map. Though he was pleasantly surprised to find his radio had come back home, nestled snugly by the wad of pens in his desk. When did that happen? Did the son of Shelob return it in the dark of night?
...Unlikely. He stuffed it into the pillow case and pretended not to glance around the room for stray spider silk.
He paused at the closet, the doors already pushed aside before doubts weighed in. In all likelihood, Jessica wouldn't have her costume. Peter didn't know how or why they decided to give spontaneous wardrobe upgrades (downgrades? His suit wasn't exactly new, per se), but he was certain she hadn't been here long enough to get one. Showing up in his jammies might out both her and himself as both irreparable nerds and spider-freaks.
And there was the niggling feeling he didn't want to admit to. The last time he had worn the suit, he had been beating Indy to death. Peter's lips thinned. He fished around for the webshooter, and shut the doors with a solemn click.
"Have a good one, Brainy. Be careful." Peter waved, flashing a grin at his roommate that he felt more in his face than in his chest, and whipped out the door.
[To here.]
He was leaping off the bed when it suddenly glowed an offensive pink and thanking writer-god-man for having finished his gruel and putting the tray aside minutes beforehand. The shine dimmed, but did not disappear. It enveloped the walls too, and their desks. Anything attached to the floor that wasn't a human being or a manoeuvrable object. Gingerly, Peter stuck out a finger and tapped at the wall. He felt nothing. "What is this?" He shot another look at his bed, shock-eyed. What was the purpose of that? At all?
His jaw dropped suddenly. He clutched at his chest. Nope, no boobs. In spite of the pink, it wasn't a chickifying ray.
One turn as a lady was enough to make you paranoid for a lifetime.
Speaking of which...
"Um. Okay. I better go quick - don't know what any of this means, but I don't want things to mess up too badly before I even start." There were far worse things here than ostentatious neon decorating, so he was just going to shrug it off as some grandiose...thing. Whatever, too tired of random crap to care. Peter fished out the usuals - flashlight, pillow case for liquor hauling (he would tell no one of this), and the map. Though he was pleasantly surprised to find his radio had come back home, nestled snugly by the wad of pens in his desk. When did that happen? Did the son of Shelob return it in the dark of night?
...Unlikely. He stuffed it into the pillow case and pretended not to glance around the room for stray spider silk.
He paused at the closet, the doors already pushed aside before doubts weighed in. In all likelihood, Jessica wouldn't have her costume. Peter didn't know how or why they decided to give spontaneous wardrobe upgrades (downgrades? His suit wasn't exactly new, per se), but he was certain she hadn't been here long enough to get one. Showing up in his jammies might out both her and himself as both irreparable nerds and spider-freaks.
And there was the niggling feeling he didn't want to admit to. The last time he had worn the suit, he had been beating Indy to death. Peter's lips thinned. He fished around for the webshooter, and shut the doors with a solemn click.
"Have a good one, Brainy. Be careful." Peter waved, flashing a grin at his roommate that he felt more in his face than in his chest, and whipped out the door.
[To here.]