[for Peter] Get me pictures! Pictures of dinosaurs!

[notaparker]

It hasn't missed my notice that Peter's been kind of terse and distant in classes, that something is up; something happened, and he hasn't taken it well. Maybe I should have asked about it, given him a chance to hash it out

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[daretodo]

There's absolutely no reason I should be at home right now, other than the thought of pushing paperwork across my desk in the Council office strikes me as a horrible way to spend the afternoon when I'm on the verge of a breakthrough with one of the upgrades on my suit. That I have no desire whatsoever to suffer through another day of inane small talk with strangers doesn't play an insignificant part in that decision, either, but that goes without saying. I haven't exactly been fit for public consumption lately, and the less time I'm forced to spend around other people, the better -- for everyone involved.

My workshop is a literal web at the moment, various lengths of wire and machinery supported in the air by a complex network of longer-lasting webbing I whipped up just special for such momentous occasions as science and the odd stargazing date with Mary Jane. I'm in the middle of weaving a particularly delicate wire through the fabric of one of my gloves when there's a knock at the front door that startles me enough that I

[notaparker]

"I'm branching out," I say, which is an unfortunate verbal reference to my run in with the local flora recently, from which I still have a mark on my forehead. My hair covers it most of the time, fortunately. "Wouldn't want to get predictable."

Maybe this was a bad idea. That certainly doesn't seem to be the best of moods. Distance, that was a great idea.

[daretodo]

"In the middle of the day, too," I note, folding my arms over my chest. I realize only belatedly that I should invite her in -- if she came all the way here to talk, chances are it isn't something I want anyone to eavesdrop on, not that there are any other houses in the immediate vicinity -- but I eventually get around to stepping aside in the doorway, leaving her with enough room to get by.

"You're right, it's like a brand new you."

[notaparker]

That'd be far funnier if I wasn't already the brand new me. Newly minted. Still under warranty, probably, although I hear sourcing replacement parts is a- okay, that line of thought is way too off-putting, carried that far.

I hesitate, and then step on past him inside. "Well, you know, when you run out of sugar, it doesn't pay to wait around," I say. "Is this a bad time?"

In your life, say. Possibly could have asked that before I stepped inside. That might have been the more sensible order of events.