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Peter Parker
30 December 2011 @ 07:42 pm

Mayfield | Downtown | Day

[Our hero is not much of a hero without heroic threads designed for hero-dom. So, Peter is standing in the general store, looking for thread to sew himself a not-so-Halloween-costume. Hell, he did it when he was 16, he can certainly do it again. ...Though it HAS been a while. Last time he tried this he was in college. He's made a few suits since then, but... usually the missus gave him a hand there. Or, y'know, he found it during an alien-sponsored tournament of heroes and villains on another planet designed to solve the greatest ethical question ever asked.]

[He's not so lucky this time. Is lucky the right word...? He's also having trouble finding someone to help him at the moment.]

Excuse me? Store clerk person? Little help...?

Or a lot-le help, whichever gets me outta here faster.

Peter Parker
04 December 2011 @ 04:35 pm

A | 460 Stone St | Day | Open to passersby or housemates

[Peter's eyes snap open. He's lying in bed in his Mayfield house, in that still-unfamiliar bedroom. He's under the covers, the blanket wrapped tightly around his side, fabric digging into his skin a little. He freezes, panicking, remembering his condition. He takes a few slow, careful breaths, noting how easily they come, which is so different than before. He cautiously sits up and looks down at his side, then gingerly removes the blankets from around him. He opens up his pajama shirt and almost cries. His wound isn't there. It's not healed -- there's nothing there. He removes his shirt and examines himself just to be sure and he looks like he's o-- OHGODWHATISTHAT!?!?

.......No, wait, that's... lint.

There's no scar... he's fine. No, better than that: he's alive. Was it all... was it all a bad dream? 

The sound of a doorbell makes him jump. When he opens it, a strange package is on his doorstep. Curious, he prods it with his foot; when nothing happens, he steps back inside, comes out with a shoe and throws it at the box. Still nothing. And now he's afraid to get his shoe back.] 

[That's where you might see him: in pajamas, shirt askew, one shoe in his hand, Poker-Facing at a nondescript brown box.]

B | High School Classroom | Day | Open to all high school students, teaching staff

[Settle down, young Mayfielder. Peter's about to start his first day as your science teacher. Spit out your gum.]

[Peter is standing in a classroom, feeling uncomfortable and wearing a tie. He's leaning against the blackboard, tapping his fingers on the wall behind him, facing the empty classroom. After the bomb event, he's seeking as much familiarity as he can as he shakes off the PTSD of the horrific past few days. Being in a classroom again reminds him of his old job back home, and it's a welcome distraction from the flashbacks and trauma. Besides, he hasn't actually ever "taught" a class, and seeing what happened to Bucky has made him afraid of being droned.

The bell rings! Students file in, finding seats in the classroom and eyeing Peter suspiciously or in curiosity.]

[Other faculty are more than welcome to pop in too.]

Peter Parker
26 November 2011 @ 02:36 pm

A | Stone Street | Exterior

[When Peter shivered and reached over to pull the blanket over him, his searching fingers slapped cold floor tiles and what felt like dirt. What followed was a sequential restoration of his senses: first his legs registered a cool surface through his pajama pants, then his back reported a lack of cushioning supporting his frame, his neck ached in response to its stiff positioning, and his brain, instantly ticking off each report, concluded that he was not in his bed in his room, but was actually sprawled out on the floor of the downstairs bathroom. His eyes flicked open and he sat up. How did he get here? Coughing, he looked around and noticed dust and crumbling debris all around him. When he stood up and squinted into the darkness, he attempted to go upstairs and figure out what was going on. But there were no stairs to climb. He was standing in the only floor remaining of his home. The outside air swirled the dust around him, just barely illuminated by the dim early morning sunlight. Peter stumbled back and slapped his cheeks to check he was awake. He was.

But his house had been destroyed. And so had every single building in sight. Now he stands, hands on his hips, having no idea what to do next.]

B | Streets of Mayfield | Headed Uptown

[You'll see Peter, in pajamas, gingerly stepping through the streets. He feels so much like he's in the middle of... not exactly a nightmare, but one of those unusually dark dreams. The dreams in which there isn't so much of the gripping terrors or surprising freak-out moments, but more of a persistent dread, a constant atmosphere of wrong. This wasn't the way things were supposed to look or be, but it was like his feet were glued to a railroad track or amusement park ride and all he could do was keep going forward, taking it all in before the ride slowed to a halt.

He doesn't have a clue what's going on, but he did overhear the phone call regarding DA members congregating at the high school. He's not really a member, per se, but he was at the meeting, and he figures there isn't much else to be done. Hell, maybe he'll find answers there. Or a pair of shoes.]

Peter Parker
25 November 2011 @ 03:46 pm

[locked to house members] A | ACTION | 460 Stone St

Peter is squatting in front of the kitchen table, where a large turkey is steaming slightly. Peter squints suspiciously and slowly, slooooowwwwlllly prods the turkey with a serving spoon, then jumps backwards, arms over his face, cringing. When he realizes he hasn't been melted, attacked, poisoned or transfigured into a Native American, Peter lowers his hands and frowns, scratching his chin in thought. His "family" might find him jotting down a note on a piece of paper and sticking it into the turkey attached to a salad fork. The note says "Gobble At Your Own Risk".

B | Phone | Unfiltered

So, that's it. Fresh turkey, delivered to our home, devoid of razors, anthrax, laxatives or the souls of small children. And we're supposed to pop on a dopey grin, wave to the cameras that must be around here SOMEWHERE and exclaim, "Golly, I sure am thankful for this cleverly-disguised detainment facility and the wonderfully-unnerving residents making me feel right at home! Gee WILIICKERS!" Boy. I just can't wait. 

Well. In an attempt to avoid, y'know, horrific consequences, I'll play along. So, hey. Mayfield. I sure am grateful for this house to trap me in, a job I was forced into, this new family full of kidnapped, time-displaced weirdos and especially for the gift of sarcasm, which is all that keeps me sane. Spank you very much, Mayfield, because I know you enjoy spanking me. Using cactuses, for that bonus sadistic rush! 

...Cacti, I think.

C | phone | filtered to Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, Captains America(s)

All right. So what did you make of this turkey business? I'm gonna defer to your opinions, since you've been here longer and also because Thanksgiving is practically the discovery of the United States, which effectively makes it Captain America Day. Just don't fight over it, there's plenty for the both of you.

Have there ever been "harmless" events here?

Peter Parker
18 November 2011 @ 12:32 am

A. Downtown | Neutron Diner | Interior | Early Evening

[Peter sits at the bar inside of the small-town diner. Girls in rollerskates zip past him, serving the other six or seven customers in the restaurant. On the jukebox, Bobby Day's "Rockin' Robin" plays, and he can feel the vibration of the drum beats and the taps of drone feet through the floor. Peter just shakes his head, struck by the time bubble he is trapped in these days.]

You still serving pancakes? 

[The waitress shakes her head and points to the sign: Breakfast served until 3.]

Nuts. Really wanted some pancakes. Well, what else ya got? [Glancing over, he sees a man happily swallowing what looks to be a steak bomb, covered in lettuce and some kind of colorful mushrooms.]

Actually... bring me one of those, that looks good.

[When the sub arrives in front of him, Peter happily takes a bite out of it.]

B. Streets of Mayfield | Early Evening

[You see a man standing outside of a house, which to your knowledge he doesn't live isn't his. He stands next to an open mailbox. He is pulling things out of the box, staring at them and clearly getting very agitated, and then throwing them on the ground. Upon closer inspection, you see he's... not actually holding anything, at least not that you can see.]

Peter Parker
14 November 2011 @ 07:48 pm

[A | High School | Interior]

[After looking at the mysterious photographs scattered around his home, Peter felt he knew even less about what's going on, if that was even possible. Those pictures showed him smiling, with arms around those strangers his family members, or reading the newspaper, as if nothing is wrong at all, and he had been living there his entire life. He had no recollection of any of these events, or even the people in them! Stranger still were the photos of him in a classroom, at a chalkboard. He could make out a few small heads in the corners of the shot: students at their desks. He was a teacher here? Did the masterminds of Mayfield know he was a teacher in the real world? How did they know that?

Still, with no other leads, Peter decided to check out the high school and try to find some answers. On his way there, a kid walking by greeted him as "Teach". He had never met the boy in his life. Or had he?

Now, you see him standing just inside the main entrance, looking at the lockers and hallways with obvious confusion.]

[B | Library | Interior]

[Desperate for answers, Peter sought out the only place he could think of that could give him some background on this nightmare reality: the library. Instinctively, he extended a wrist to fire a webline, but caught himself. The buildings around here seem to be on the lower side anyhow. He headed downtown, passing chipper face after chipper face. Even the dogs were all well-groomed and well-mannered. 

Now, he looks up at Mayfield Public Library. He smirks and says darkly, to no one in particular: ]

Anyone know where I can get a library card?

Peter Parker
13 November 2011 @ 03:05 pm

[460 Stone St | Interior | only for family members]

[If the other residents of 460 Stone St enter their home, they will find a stranger tapping at the walls with a furrowed brow, pressing his hands against them and removing them slowly as if he's expecting something to happen. You can either slooowly back away from the crazy dude, or fire an interaction at him.]

Peter Parker
13 November 2011 @ 12:31 pm

Hey all! Hope you're enjoying your Mayfield adventures, and any rp-ing you've done with me.

Just wanted to give a real quick run-down of the Peter you're dealing with here, since there's like twelve different versions of me out there in the world. This is just a general FYI, if you were interested. If you're not, skip on by! This is only to help if you need it, and reduce any confusion if there was any.

1) I am not movie Peter Parker (neither the Tobey one or the Garfield one). Principally, this means I'm funny and cool (not so much adorable or pitiful. ...Well, maybe a little. Your mileage may vary.) It also means a couple of minor things: Doctor Octopus, (both) Green Goblins, and Venom are all very much alive and vile, I never had that stupid emo hipster phase and I never stole that guy's pizza.

2) I am not Ultimate Peter Parker. So, I'm not like 16. I'm 25. I never lived with the Human Torch or Iceman (nice guys, though. That Fantastic Four Hothead's a bit of a... hothead... but we're best bros.), I refrain from saying "What the WHAT?!" and while I DID die, I got better, and he... er, didn't. (I hope that's not a spoiler at this point...but sorry if it was!)

3) There is no One New Day. F. THAT. NOISE. My marriage was never sold to Satan, my Aunt was never shot and my rogues gallery didn't expand to include super-powered crack heads, celebrity stalkers and pessimistic Asian guys. My point in canon is wayyy before all that. Last thing Peter knew, he was living at Avengers Tower with Mary Jane and Aunt May, helping out Tony Stark in the labs from time to time and poking Wolverine from far away with a yardstick until he snarled and went all "Snikty-snikt, bub bub bub". And a Civil War was brewing in the horizon...

4) The Spider-Man Musical... ............................is a thing that Peter is unaware of. It hasn't even been conceived of yet.

...Do with that what you will.

Peter Parker
13 November 2011 @ 02:05 am

A. [Action | 460 Stone St | Outside]

[When Peter woke up, yawned, kissed his sleeping wife on the shoulder, clambered out of bed and walked towards the bathroom with his eyes shut... he immediately toppled down the stairs and landed on his face. Jumping up with alarm, his brain clicked awake, synapses firing, as he quickly listed the Wrongs in his situation. 1) He had just fallen down the stairs. There are no stairs outside his room. They are supposed to be down the hall. 2) He fell down the stairs. Peter did not fall down stairs. He had the agility of an arachnid and the danger sense of a spider. Why didn't he see that fall coming and... not do that!? and 3) this was not his living room.

After he darted back up the stairs, he began to say his wife's name but froze, shocked, when he realized 4) he didn't know who the heck that was in his bed and 5) she had slept through him tumbling downstairs like a drunken elephant but yelping like a toy poodle. Peter stopped mid-sentence, turned, opened his closet, removed a strangely old-fashioned set of clothes, changed out of his strange flannel pajamas (in the bathroom, because who the hell is that lady!?), walked outside and sat on the grass of the well-maintained lawn, stunned.]

...Oh God. I really did it. This is... really happening. Its obvious what's going on here. Why else am I in this weird house in someone else's clothes?

I got drunk off of that wine cooler and cheated on Mary Jane.

...I really hope she was at least attractive. I'll still feel horrible, but at least I wouldn't also feel like an moron.

B. [Phone]

[The line is quiet for a few moments, as if the phone is being held at a distance, before a hesitant voice begins to speak into it.]

...Hello? Uh... the operator there doesn't seem to be of much use, and I can't seem to get through to my family with this stupid thing. Not totally sure anyone's even listening to this, but... Um. Time for drastic measures.

I'd like to order a pizza please?

Peter Parker

You know, I never did get used to that whole "driving" thing... so much slower than... you know, swinging.

Not sexually swinging, of course. The uh... velocity and momentum kind. 

...Though I bet sexual swinging is faster than driving in New York traffic anyway.

But yeah, fire your feedback away! Constructively, of course. I'm happy to fix X, Y and Z if I can, but I'm gonna go ahead and ignore "Whoa bro, you suck".