Dylan McKendrick (goblinheir) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-09-17 00:02:00 |
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Though the rain hammered down on New York for days upon days, summer was finally coming to an end. The bright white marble steps of the Metropolitan Museum of Art reflected the beaming sunshine and teemed with schools and tourists alike. It was a popular spot for field trips throughout the year, and a number of students from Midtown High were its latest victims. One of those senior trips required for credit in their elective classes. In other words, one of those trips none of them really wanted to go on, but it was a good excuse to get out of the stuffy classrooms. The Midtown students were bustled inside and wrangled into a makeshift tour group like sheep in a herd. But, there were a few stragglers here or there, sucked into certain pieces of art or just wanting to escape their fellow classmates.
Mary Jane Watson was surprisingly of the former, though she was usually the later. She wasn’t really an art kind of person -- at least not visual art. Or, at least not the stuff old portrait paintings that filled pages and pages of her textbooks. Those were boring, but she found herself really enamoured with the 1800-1900 wing of the expansive museum. Eventually, the teacher gave up, and just allowed them to wander around the building, assuring them that if they weren’t outside by the designated time, detention would be in their future. MJ took full advantage, strolling through the galleries and stopping at pieces she liked. Her friends caught up with her, teasing about being Brainy Janey again, and she waved them off with a smirk and a flash of her middle finger. Let her be, it said.
She stumbled upon the room full of Monet paintings and stopped in front of one particular painting, rocking back and forth on her feet to pick up the little details that changed depending on where a person stood. Fully engaged in the swirls of colors, she didn’t notice anyone else in the room. Just the swirls changing to water lilies and back again.
Harry had been forced to contact one of Oscorp's secretaries to try and gain conference with his father on the matter of said field trip. Over the course of the week prior, Harry tried three separate times to get buzzed through to his father's office in order for that permission slip to be signed, but every day it was the same story. You know he's a busy man, Harry, the women with their plastic shine hair and crayola paint smiles would chide him. Like he was some child and not a senior ready to burst through the seams of Midtown High and explore college. "Yeah, I know," he said on the final try before hanging up. He knew what Norman would say about such a trip anyway, that art was a waste of intelligence and time. That it was far too right brain for anything that the heir of Oscorp would need in his education. Harry kind of agreed, because that made sense to him in a way.. but the options were to attend the field trip or spend the afternoon in the library hashing out an essay on the Renaissance. Senioritis made it an easy decision, and Harry filed into line with his other classmates at the last moment. A teacher chaperon - one who'd never let him get by with ease despite his family name - caught Harry by the sleeve of his Polo and hauled him off to the side for a moment. Didn't see your name on the list, Harry. Surprise flickered, as if Harry had somehow forgotten the small details, as if he ever would, and he pulled the permission slip from his back pocket. It sported a full and forged signature of one N. Osborn, and the teacher nodded before letting him slip back in line.
He made his way up the stairs at a quick step, eager to slip into the doors and hopefully escape just as quickly. Field trips, like home room, didn't hold much of an interest for Harry. The credit to his already high average was all well and good, but so many of the small things seemed like a waste of time. Straightening the black, thick-stitch cotton of his shirt, Harry wandered off in his own direction. Everyone in his graduating class might have known who he was, but that didn't mean he talked to many of them. Such things gave him the notoriety of being just another rich boy snob, but the truth ran deeper when you grew up in a house of dead silence or quick shouts. Small talk lost its appeal a long time ago. Harry tugged consciously at the topmost white button of his shirt, moving through the sculpture wing where several of the football players had plenty of crude commentary on some of the more vivid anatomy that was carved out of stone.
He was just beginning to wonder on the possibility of slipping out one of the side exits uncaught when he noticed her standing alone before the water lily painting. It was a painting that he'd seen before, or maybe all of Monet looked the same to him, but Harry moved in alongside her without a word. Admiring quietly for a second while waiting to see which of them would be forced to say something first.
When Harry Osborn came to Midtown High, Mary Jane heard rumblings of the dreamy boy with the famous father and affluent name, and honestly, interest was piqued. Not in a head-over-heels, oh my god he is so cute kind of way because that wasn’t MJ. She found it amusing when girls went all wobbly kneed and starry-eyed over the rich boys like Harry or the football players like Flash. Still, she was curious and wanted to know what the hubbub was about. And when he strolled into her AP English class that first day of school, she could, in theory, see why these girls were getting their butterflies.
But she hadn’t spoken to him yet, lost in the hustle and bustle of senior year and not trying to look interested or anything. (After all, boys came to MJ, not the other way around.) So, when he strolled over to the same Monet she was admiring, at first, all Harry earned was a sidelong glance, a small smirk, and a wall of silence. Soon, however, she realized they were playing the game of who-spoke-first, and after a moment’s hesitation, MJ decided to concede this one time. “It’s totally fascinating, his work, isn’t it?” she asked without looking away from the painting. Her voice was that low, warm, almost seductive thing, too adult for anyone else her age though it seemed to fit her perfectly. “Sure beats having to work on trigonometry problems.”
If Harry wasn't so quiet and solitary, he could have been the cardboard cut-out of a charmer. There always seemed to be a crease in his brow of worry and the inherent need to be separate even if he was what high school sociology was all about. He got good grades, but he worked twice as hard to get them. He knew that people like Peter and Gwen didn't have to try at all, which made their higher averages a little frustrating. Maybe he was a little jealous at times. It all seemed so easy for them, but he was the one with the world on his shoulders. Even now, Harry had been ready to skip out the side door to freedom and solitude rather than conform to what was expected, and he frowned up until that moment she'd caught his eye. The frown was completely forgotten after that.
He eyed the painting rather than her and his fingertips tapped a quiet song against the front of his jeans, just to keep the time. Time seemed to stretch on forever and the lilies weren't that interesting, but just when Harry was prepared to say something, Mary Jane spoke first. He glanced at her, all auto-pilot, and smiled when he quickly turned his attention back to the painting. After all, she hadn't looked away. Maybe this was a staring game now. "Not a fan of trig?" Harry asked while leaning toward the painting for a closer examination of the brushstrokes. "What do you think this is?" He lifted a hand to gesture to the center portion of the painting where the water went seemingly pink and soft. "Sunlight on the water or something reflecting off the bank?" From somewhere beyond them, a guard snapped a gruff order of No touching!, and Harry dropped his hand immediately. He hadn't touched the paint, but he'd been close. Glancing to the girl at his side, he gave her a playful little wince. Whoops.
MJ tried to stifle a laugh with little success when the guard chided Harry about stepping too close. Those men always slithered out of the cracks at museums like these. When he looked over at her, she caught his eye and rolled her own. “Way to try to get us banned from here,” she said with that same warm smirk, continuing to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t you know these guys are like hired assassins when it comes to these paintings? Creeping out of the shadows to take down anyone who comes an inch too close.” Turning her attention back to the Monet, she tilted her head as she considered his question. “Hmm. I’ll vote option one. Sunlight. Well, sunset, most likely.” She made a thoughtful sound and took a small step back again to see the whole picture. “I mean, it’s not the coolest painting, or the most interesting, but I like his technique. How far away, it looks so pretty, but up close, it’s kinda a muddled mess. I always thought it could be a metaphor for life or whatever.”
Shrugging, she finally turned away fully from the painting to look at Harry, smiling again. “And, not a fan of trig at all. Least useful thing they’ll teach us ever. I don’t think any of us need to know the cosine of a right triangle in the real world, and I totally know I won’t need it.”
There was a downward tug of his mouth that managed not to be a frown at all but rather a contemplative little twitch when she said the colors represented sunset. It made sense, Harry could easily envision such a dedicated painter sitting on the bank of a river throughout high noon to tilting dusk, getting the colors just right before the sun went down. Maybe Monet came back to the same river at the same spot for several days, or maybe he was able to capture the image once in his mind and build on it. Maybe he never saw it at all, and Harry thought that was somehow more of a metaphor for life. All the greats were able to simply envision and make it so. That's how his father was anyway. "You think life is a mess up close?" The question came gently, and he took a step back in retreat to mimic her own because Harry was in no mood to be reprimanded again.. or he was just keeping pace with the girl at his side. If the inquiry was too personal, or too philosophical, he instantly decided that he would let it fall by the wayside, raising a brow as he brought up a new tangent with a smile. "A cosine triangle might be the key to the real world.. but how do you know you won't need it? Planning on being one of these museum assassins?"
She shrugged again, easily feigning indifference. She had always been quite good at hiding home problems, and over the past four years, the young redhead had grown particularly skilled at it. All part of the Mary Jane facade, even if most days it wasn’t that much of a facade at all. “That’s what all these artists think, right? Since they’re tortured, and usually battled their own demons for the sake of art.” Mary Jane smiled at that, wiggling her fingers for extra emphasis as if the idea was ridiculous. “If the cosine of a right triangle is the key, I’ll be really pissed. And nope, not a museum assassin, even if I would be able to pull off those ridiculously stiff suits. No, I’m gonna be a journalist. Investigative journalism, specifically.” She turned to Harry again with a warm smile. “So, no, pretty sure I won’t need any of those stupid formulas at all.”
Indifference bred indifference and while Harry was very invested in this conversation, he felt compelled to turn to the painting before them again rather than stare at her while she spoke. He shrugged a little at the thought of tortured artists. "A journalist," he said finally. Harry tried to envision it and smirked a little at the idea, not because he couldn't see Mary Jane doing such a thing, but.. he was a little surprised that was her desired field. Some people had the option of choosing their own path, and Harry always found the endless options and routes fascinating. "Well," Feeling a little bold, Harry drew a deep breath and turned to look at her at last. "As an investigative journalist, I don't think you're going to have to know about Monet or Degas.. so.. what do you say about playing hooky?" It was a risky suggestion to pose to one of the brainier students, but he let the offer ride with a quirked brow. "You can say no," he quickly added, eyes going back to the painting, trying to find something of interest there. "I'm just starving and don't think lunch is until one-thirty, so..." The excuse trailed off.
The smirk earned him a pointed look because she couldn’t quite interpret it as being something good. She’d gotten that look from her parents when she told them of her plan to attend college in the city and pursue journalism, and she had gotten it from a few of her friends who couldn’t believe MJ Watson would be anything so serious. Whatever, they had no idea. He saved himself from a snappy comment, however, when he suggested they skip out on the trip. Red eyebrows raised high, she considered him for a moment. “Hooky,” she repeated, as if tasting the word in her mouth. She’d played hooky before, of course, days when she went to hang out with Flash instead of drudge through another lecture on pre-Revolution France. “You wanna get out of here, huh?” Before he could respond, however, she grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the direction opposite of where the chaperones had gone. “Then let’s get out of here, handsome.”
He thought she'd decline. Something about the pointed glance he'd received in the beginning that told him that he'd somehow given her the impression of being surprised.. which in all fairness he was. Not because he doubted her intelligence or ability, it was just a surprising field to choose, and the debate for his innocence was already building massively in his head while Harry was simultaneously telling himself to shut the hell up and just drop it. Before he could apologize or clarify or even say forget it forget it, he found his fingers snagged with her own. A tumbleweed tangle on the road to freedom and Harry couldn't have hidden the winning grin even if it cost him his inheritance just then. Ducking away from the progression of the class tour, this corridor led them in the direction of antique dresses in display cases with a glowing exit sign up ahead. "You've surprised me, Mary Jane," he told her honestly, all grin and eagerness in the tone as Harry picked up the pace. Fueled by the rush that they could get caught if they weren't fast enough, but not so quickfooted as to raise suspicion. "Where do you want to go?" He asked as they hit the side exit, the door clanging open and offering them a rush of city air with some metal stairs that led down into an alley. "I'll take you anywhere."
“I’ve got a few things up my sleeve, Harry Osborn,” MJ replied, warm as silk and with a laugh dangling in it. She sped up as he did, jogging a little to keep up with his long strides. (Mary Jane was on the shorter side, all petite and big personality to make up for her height.) She wasn’t particularly worried about being caught either, and she would make up some excuse if they did. The teachers liked her, as she brought a special sort of light into the classrooms and did well enough not to be a constant stress. The city air smelled like freedom, so unlike the stale, confining air the Met had to offer. “Anywhere?” she asked. “Surprise me, then, Osborn. Impress me.”
Harry Osborn didn't get nervous, he never had a reason to slow down or second guess himself. He knew where he was going at all times, that shining beacon of his future was full speed ahead with no forks in the road. Even if he occasionally slacked off and partied and skipped out on field trips, when all was said and done, Harry knew that he would one day run Oscorp. Until then, though, there were plenty of diversions and attractions along the way. Like Mary Jane Watson. He held the door open for her and forced it closed with a quick nudge of his elbow before his sneakers clanged down the metal of every step. This was an exit that was probably only intended for emergencies, but no alarm had gone off. It could have been reserved for maintenance, as the alley opened into a lot of employee vehicles and shipping trucks. At the other end, however, was the street, and that was where they were headed. Harry slowed his steps as they crunched across the alleyway gravel, in order for her to catch up and keep pace. When she mentioned surprising her, there was a sideways grin that said he was up to the challenge. Impressing her held much heavier connotations and for a moment, Harry had to remind himself that he didn't get nervous. Even as he reached out a hand to hail a cab, he had no idea where he would take her, what he could show her, what would impress her. His mind raced in circles until like a compass finally landing north, something occurred to him. The yellow taxi pulled up, and Harry opened the door while the idea bloomed. "After you," he said with a glance of dawning realization. He didn't really know much about Mary Jane at all, but he did know that she wasn't like the others. She didn't need to be impressed by his money or his name. If that was the case, she would have talked to him a long time ago.
Harry was right in his train of thought. Mary Jane Watson wasn’t the type to be impressed by money or status, especially with her upbringing. She wasn’t used to the flash and glam that some of her classmates were, and while she could appreciate it, they were never a priority. She leaned more towards people who liked to have a good time. And, as she followed the young Osborn through the alleyway, she decided he was just that type. At least he’d prove to be a better time than staring at some wretchedly old piece of art. She stood a little further behind him as he hailed the cab, then slipped in under his insistence, sliding across the leather seats to the other side. “Are you sure Daddy Warbucks isn’t going to be mad if he finds out about our little tryst away from the museum?” MJ asked as Harry sat down and closed the door behind him. Her parents wouldn’t care of course, but she had no idea about his own daddy issues.
Harry's problem was that he did like to have a good time, he had a tendency to party on the high school grade of things. If he was less focused on finding a thrill and more focused on his studies, he'd probably spare himself a lot of stress when it came to exams. But he'd already accepted that he wasn't the smart one of the circle. His father had certainly never praised any of his accomplishments, and Harry in turn accepted that that was because even his accomplishments were sub par in comparison to those of Oscorp. So why not go rogue? Yeah, finding an adventure in the city with a mysterious girl was infinitely more Harry's speed right now than anything the museum had to offer. "Tryst?" With an amused smirk, Harry slid into the backseat alongside her and hauled the door shut. Finding that choice of terminology interesting, even if he found it a little difficult to steer clear of any romantic connotations. "I don't really plan on him finding out, if its all the same to you, Mary Jane. We've got a good hour and half before we need to be back. Plenty of time to surprise and impress you." Finally glancing up at the driver, Harry gave a destination. "Grand Central Station."
Grand Central Station could have meant a litany of things, and MJ couldn’t imagine any of them would be bad. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise, smirk melting into a warm smile, and turned her body a little more towards him. Romantic connotations weren’t on the top of her list, and tryst was sort of a tease, but then again, why do you run away from a school trip? MJ wasn’t looking for labels though, or anything serious. Just a good time. “I can keep a secret,” she assured Harry. “Don’t worry your handsome self about a thing. We’ll keep your reputation squeaky clean.” Not that hers wasn’t, at least where the adults were concerned. “That’s the fun of it though, isn’t it? The risk.” The cab began to jet down Fifth Avenue, swerving them to and fro as the driver maneuvered through the traffic. “Do I get a hint, by the way? Anything?”
"You want a hint?" Notably amused, Harry reached beyond Mary Jane and found the strap of the rogue seatbelt, drawing it carefully across her waist for a fasten that she hadn't seemed to of bothered with yet. He considered the idea of a clue while buckling his own belt in turn, just as the driver began to weave through traffic and lights. Coming to a decision, Harry shifted in his seat to regard her, "Alright." Then he leaned in close, moving some of her hair aside so that he could drop the words with a whisper in her ear. "I'm not worried about my reputation, beautiful." Because a compliment deserved a compliment, even if his statement wasn't entirely true. Harry didn't have much of a genuine concern for what people thought of him, but he knew that he carried a lot of responsibility with the family name. And whether she knew it or not, she'd gotten her hint with that whisper.
She let him fasten her seatbelt, having forgotten about it in her attempt to pry through Harry’s mind for a clue about where they were going. His warm breath tickled her ear, and her lips curved into a small smile at the compliment. Never let it be said that Harry Osborn wasn’t charming. Quiet, sure, and a little too reserved, but definitely charming. And that wasn’t something money could just buy. “Good,” she said back just as quietly, eyes narrowing mischievously as she leaned forward. “Because I’ve heard I’m nothing good for reputations.” The cab driver eyed them from the rear view mirror with raised eyebrows but did nothing more than drove them to their destination. She didn’t know her clue was within his words, and she looked at him for a long moment before deciding to forget it. Sitting up again, she stretched languidly before turning back to him. “Tell me something about yourself, Osborn, and not something boring or dumb either.”
"I don't believe that," he said with a gentle smile. Harry's dark eyes met the driver's in the rearview mirror, and a continued stare had the driver blinking away with a more fastened state of attention on the road rather than this conversation. There was a little roll of his eyes that said he might still be listening, but Harry didn't care. "I never heard you were bad for reputations." The city blurred by them, although the early end of the business lunch hour demanded some traffic at lights. He watched the cars that they passed, the familiar monuments of the city as they began to near Grand Central. Any moment now. "Something about me?" The question was natural, but somehow a bit of a surprise. He drew a breath and glanced back to her with a wry smirk that said there was nothing boring or dumb about him. "I... adopted three dogs out of the city when I was eight, and it took a month for my father to notice?" He didn't bother mentioning that the dogs were taken to the pound afterward, and he suspected put down. It was actually a disappointing end for such an accomplishment, and Harry tried not to let the thought knit his brow before he redirected. "That's a pretty broad question, though. You could narrow it down and make it a little easier on me, beautiful. Be more direct." The cab pulled up to the sidewalk adjacent to the Station just then and the driver glanced up, inquiring if this was good enough. It wasn't raining, so why not?
MJ laughed. “You haven’t talked to the right people, then, Harry.” He hadn’t heard stories of her at high school house parties or college fraternity blowouts, which was fine with her. She didn’t care much either way because, well, she just didn’t. She was living life for herself at the end of the day. Not for her friends or her parents or the people who might judge her. Just herself. Harry’s story of the dogs set off a couple of red lights in her head; she knew all about neglectful fathers. But she managed to keep any sympathetic glances to herself because she also knew all about not wanting to actually talk about said fathers. Shrugging, she said, “Not that impressive. Kinda boring, but cute.” The cab stopped, and MJ unbuckled herself before pressing the button of Harry’s buckle and nudging him forward. “Fine, I’ll be more specific next time, but for now, we’re here. I’m holding my breath, Osborn.”
"Boring?" The word was nearly strangled him as she pushed him out of the taxi with insistence. Harry tossed some cash over the seat at the driver on his way out to the sidewalk. He gave Mary Jane a shrewd and playfully annoyed kind of glance while straightening with a stretch of his arms, taking in the sight of Grand Central Terminal. "I have a feeling you've set me up for failure, Mary Jane.. we're not base jumping off the top or slaying a dragon inside.." Harry was beginning to get the feeling that her scale for being impressed was more than he suspected. He eyed the building with a moment's hesitation, wondering what in the hell he'd been thinking in bringing her here. He could have taken her anywhere in the city, and he'd chosen the most simple.. the -- his attention strayed thoughtfully to something else. "Why don't we get a drink first?" He'd never had an issue with being refused or carded at Oyster Bar before, most of the waiters were familiar enough with him - and his money - that he doubted it would happen now. Shifting on the heels of his shoes, he glanced expectantly to her.
“Totally boring. Completely, totally boring.” Climbing out behind him, she smoothed out her dress and shouldered her bag, one hand wrapped around the strap. She caught that look and couldn’t help but smile at him then, a warm, almost affectionate thing. Oh, he was cute. “We’re not? Damn, I already tweeted about how you bought the station out for the day, just for the two of us.” She reached forward and squeezed his arm lightly in a gesture of reassurance. “Harry, I’m teasing, you know. I don’t care. Whatever you want to do.” It was true. As much of a game she played, MJ could be happy with the simplest thing, as long as the company was good. And, the company seemed good. She slipped her arm through his and grinned up at him. “You lead the way.”
"Ugh, you're ripping my heart out here, Mary Jane." The way she continued on with how totally boring it was. He gave her a critical eye that struggled for serious but failed with the barest twitch of a smirk on the outskirts of his mouth. "That story wasn't boring, that story was adorable." Just to clarify. When she looped her arm through his, he softened a little and drummed his fingers against the claimed portion of her forearm while steps led her into the massive architecture of the station. Oyster Bar was located in the heart of the terminal on the lower level, and while an early lunch time rush seemed to be crowding the restaurant to its brim, Harry recognized the hostess from previous visits and knew that she'd find him a small table somewhere. Harry usually frequented the spot by himself, and Mary Jane's presence got a double take from the hostess before the young woman put on her prime selling smile and escorted them through the bustle. "Right this way, Mr. Osborn." The ceilings were vaulted tile with golden light, and their table ended up being one off in the far corner, which Harry actually found preferable. Taking a seat across from Mary Jane, he rested an elbow against the checkered tablecloth. "I don't know if you're hungry," he considered for a moment before adding on decidedly, " you're probably not adventurous enough to eat here.. how about some wine?" The waiter approached, one that Harry knew regarded him as a regular. Glancing up at the man, Harry drew a breath and shrugged, "We'll start with a bottle of.." Then a glance to Mary Jane, her hair somehow being the deciding factor, ".. something red, and good." The waiter too looked toward Mary Jane, tilted his head as if in consideration of what the lady would like, then he nodded and headed off.
MJ honestly didn’t mind where they went, and she did sort of expect Harry to cop out of the drink. She didn’t care. So, when he brought her over to Oyster Bar and they were seated right away despite the crowd flowing through the entrance, well, she had to admit she was kinda impressed. This was way more than some boy she dated in the past could afford on his weekly allowance. She wanted to ask if she was appropriately dressed enough in her casual dress, and she wanted to say that he didn’t have to flash his money around to get her attention. (She wasn’t like those cheerleaders who fawned over him in gaggles during school, after all.) She wanted to say all of that as they sat down, but she didn’t. There would be time for that later. Instead, she placed her bag at her feet, and sat down, and looked across the table at Harry with a warm smile. “Alright,” she said with an overexaggerated defeated air once the waiter walked away. “You win. You so win.” After a pause, as if considering her options, she decided to hell with it. “You know, you don’t have to use your money to impress me, Harry. Not saying it’s not appreciated, but I’m not that kinda girl.” Another pause, and an almost nervous lip bite. “Just so you know.”
Harry couldn't help but to smile at the way she didn't require any arm twisting when it came to underaged drinking out in the open. He knew a few girls who would have at least hesitated at the notion of being glimpsed by someone they knew. Harry couldn't help but suspect that he had more of a likelihood with that than Mary Jane. It was no secret that they came from two different worlds, a fact cemented by the way she told him that he didn't need money to impress her. His expression was at once perplexed and a little amused. It was a dawning realization - that that is what she thought he was doing. Harry wasn't sure if he should have been insulted or not because he could have chosen a whole hell of a lot nicer place than Oyster Bar for them if that had been the case. This place was nice, but it wasn't niiiiiice. Thoughtful, Harry wrinkled the hem of their checkered tablecloth between his thumb and index finger, choosing to fall silent when the server returned to present their wine. The aproned man poured them both a glass before recorking the bottle and leaving it on the table between them. "What kinda girl are you, Mary Jane?"
She quirked an eyebrow at his smile before returning it with one of her own. No, she wasn’t opposed to a little underaged drinking at all. Her partycrashing nights with Flash Thompson testified to that, and she wasn’t like some of prissy girls in their class either. She was just...Mary Jane Watson, fearless redhead from Forest Hills who hardly put up with people’s bullshit and lived the life that she wanted to live. Full of fun when she wanted, and studies when she needed, and as much happiness as she could muster. Harry’s question made her pause though, long enough to take a sip from the glass of red wine. She sipped and she thought and she came up with an answer that was pretty much a non-answer. “I’m whatever kinda girl you want me to be, Harry Osborn.” Yeah, definitely a non-answer, and MJ looked at him for a moment before continuing. “People like to say I’m the life of the party, others like to call me Brainy Janey, and even others have choice nicknames I wouldn’t like to say in polite company.” Whether the last was true or not couldn’t be deciphered from her smirk, but the others were true. It was hard for everyone to pinpoint a definition for Mary Jane, including herself. “And you, Harry?” she asked, warmth in her voice and crawling through her veins thanks to the wine. “Are you more than the rumors say?”
Harry took a mouthful of wine and gave the redhead across from him an amused little squint when she said that she was whatever kind of girl he wanted her to be. To be fair, he wasn't entirely sure who he wanted her to be, mainly because he didn't know much about who she actually was. Harry Osborn knew that he couldn't count on the rumor mill for any information of substance, although he'd had to have been dead not to have heard anything about Mary Jane thus far. Life of the party, indeed. It was probably Harry's own heavy saturation in so much high school gossip that averted him from wanting to believe any of it. "I think there would have to be three of me to make even half of those rumors true.." The Osborn name was easily associated with eccentricity and lots of money, it could make imaginations fly on cloudy days. Harry took another deep gulp from his glass, effectively cutting the volume in half. Just because he could afford good wine didn't mean he knew enough to appreciate the taste. "But.." Sinking back into his chair, Harry looked at her. His smile came easier, and this version had something that all prior grins lacked, a sense of reality beneath the surface. Still charming to a fault, it would only now be apparent that before he'd actually been trying. "I guess that depends on what all you've heard."
Everyone knew of the Osborns at the very least, knew that Harry’s father was a business mogul genius and that Harry was expected to follow along in his footsteps. Of course, there were tons and tons of other rumors, ones that varied from the believable to the completely and totally outlandish. MJ sometimes fell victim to the rumor mill, too, and so she could discern a little easier between what was and wasn’t real. Still, it was fun to tease someone else about it. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said with a smirk and a shrug before taking a gulp from her own wine glass. She saw his smile for what it was, something warm and friendly, and she gladly mirrored it. She was enjoying his company. “Nothing terrible, of course. Just enough to keep the mystery alive.” Because, if anything, Harry Osborn was a bit of a mystery to her. He seemed quiet at school, and this was the first time they’d had a real conversation outside of school things.
"I'm not a mystery, Mary Jane." Although the suggestion did bring a bit of a smile before he reached out to uncork the bottle and splash a bit more wine into each of their glasses. If they were going to ditch the field trip and get drunk, they might as well do it right. Blue eyes dropped down to the glass in his hand and a silence fell between them, reflecting into the chalice of wine. To him, Mary Jane was the mystery, although he found himself uncertain of whether or not to tell her so. Instead, Harry took a sip and smiled the thought away. "So what's the deal with you and Parker?"
MJ scoffed and rolled her eyes at his question. Ugh, what was everyone’s deal about that? Flash was convinced she was totally in love with Peter, and it seemed like Gwen thought something was going on, too. She took a long gulp. “He’s my oldest and best friend. We’re neighbors, and we practically grew up together. And that’s it, despite what everyone else apparently thinks.” She fought the urge to pull a face, instead arching an eyebrow at him. She could say the same about him and Gwen. “You and Gwen Stacy are friends, right?” Innocent enough, especially given that everyone knew about Peter and Gwen’s relationship, mostly because of the way they avoided each other in the hallway.
"I was just asking," he said with a gentle shrug that defended him well. By the way Harry was knocking back the wine, the bottle was dwindling fast. He took another hard swig to intentionally delay himself when Mary Jane brought up Gwen. He wasn't going to bring up the fact that Gwen had already accused him of looking at Mary Jane in a certain way. Girls were far too perceptive, this conversation pretty much cemented it. "I've known Gwen for my whole life, the girl is like a sister to me." The rich and spoiled had to stick together, right? "I was just asking," Harry said again. Trying to diffuse the conversation with another thoughtful quirk of a smile. "Just wanted to make sure that I wasn't stepping on any toes by taking you out for a drink." The lunch hour seemed to be dwindling, as more tables were vacated. Still, the two of them were safe and hidden in their little corner. The waiter even avoided their table aside from the occasional glance. For some reason, it occurred to Harry just them how little his father would approve of Mary Jane. Another sip of wine eased that worry. "I want to show you something after this. Before we have to head back, I mean.."
Girls were super perceptive, and boys were super dumb at times, but girls were also jealous little monsters. Something that Mary Jane learned very quickly during high school. Being the type of girl she was, it was hard not to have some girls assume things or accused her of things. Which was fine, it was whatever. It just taught her how to be a little more aware, a little more guarded with everything. Part of being surrounded by silly teenage girls, she guessed. “It’s okay,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Everyone seems to be asking these days.” Which should have been telling, but MJ refused to think about it. She drained her glass and then grinned. “A secret surprise? Oh, you’re a tease, Osborn.”
Harry wasn't sure if he liked the way Mary Jane managed to avoid truly clarifying the question of Peter, and he didn't know enough about her to really determine if she was devious enough to indulge his company while dating Parker. Considering the recent break-up between Parker and Gwen, two of his friends, it made most social situations in school pretty damn intolerable. He'd never really been the shoulder to lean on or the ear for worried whispers. Having had none of that in his own life from his father, relation to sentimental things like that left Harry anxious. He felt unfit more often than not. Incapable. Good for nothing...
He downed a bit more wine and it stained his smile momentarily when Mary Jane spoke. Licking the remnants of red from the edges of his mouth, "If I was a tease, I wouldn't show you at all.. I'd just keep promising." Sinking back into the sturdy comfort of his chair, Harry considered her for a moment. "Why? Are you eager to get back? Finish your wine, we can go."
It frustrated Mary Jane that everyone and their mother suspected something was going on with she and Peter. She supposed it was par the course -- wasn’t it the cliche that best guy and girl friends got together at the end? -- and the rumor that they were together in some weird, alternate universe didn’t help much either. Whatever, that wasn’t important thing at the moment. Here she was with one of the best looking guys in her year, so she should not be thinking about Peter. So, she swallowed the rest of her wine like Harry asked, the alcohol rushing to her head in a warm burn, and she licked the red from her lips before smiling. “So, so not eager to get back. Let’s go.” She stood and waited for him to show the way.
Harry liked the way Mary Jane seemed up for just about anything, there was a fearless quality about her that might have been intimidating if not for the wine they'd just knocked back. He might have been the bad influence, but she was just as much trouble. As they stood, Harry took a step in her direction before remembering to fish into one of his pockets and toss some cash back onto the tabletop. He'd never gotten the bill, but by the slight bulk of folded twenties, it was bound to be more than enough to cover their bottle and bribe his ability to keep coming back. Catching some fingers on the crook of her elbow, Harry navigated the two of them through clusters of tables before emerging from the restaurant. On this lower level of the grand terminal, the ceiling was a polished dome with arches like that of a cathedral. "Alright, but you've got to close your eyes.." Without invitation, and before she could question it, Harry moved in behind her to slide his palms over her eyes. His steps nudged her forward before he tried to steer her slightly to the right. "Trust me."
Maybe the recklessness was from her father, a trait from an addict passed down to his younger daughter, but it was something Mary Jane had always known and always done. Deep down, she was a good girl, and she had a good heart, but trouble just came easier to her. Especially when someone like Harry Osborn pressed his influence. How could she say no to an Osborn? That was just plain rude. So, of course, she allowed him to steer her out of the restaurant and to the main lobby of the enormous terminal. People were bustling to and fro, but compared to other times, the station was rather quiet. MJ moved to look around, but before she had the chance, Harry’s hands closed over her eyes. She let out a surprised giggle before her hands moved over his. “Not even a peek?” she asked, as she stepped forward per his nudging, fingers curling over his hands. Her grin was wide, and there was no trepidation in her steps. She trusted Harry. Perhaps because she couldn’t care either way about most things, but something about him wouldn’t let her worry about where they were going or what they were doing.
"Peeking would be cheating, Mary Jane." With his hands over her eyes and the line of his body pressed solidly behind her, Harry didn't have to lean that much closer to murmur against the shell of her ear. His breath was warm from fermented fruit of the vine. When his words rustled her hair, Harry whispered a reminder to keep her eyes closed before he moved one hand to retuck that lock of red back into place. "This place is so old, Mary Jane, its got all kinds of secrets." Around them people bustled but it wasn't so crowded that they had to worry about getting knocked into or run over by hurried men with briefcases. It was that strange time of afternoon when lunch was over and everything fell into a lull, everybody got back to work in the same monotonous fashion. "There's a platform underground with a private elevator that goes up to the Waldorf Hotel. I don't think it still works, I heard they welded the door shut a long time ago, but it used to be a secret way in and out of the city." They didn't have to walk very far at all, only a few yards before Harry stopped them. The slow pace he'd adopted made the journey linger, maybe he used it as an advantage to stay so close to her. "Have you heard of the whispering gallery?"
Mary Jane listened with interest, a little impressed with Harry’s knowledge of the secretive nooks and crannies of the overwhelmingly massive city they both called home. She always liked that, when people her age knew those sneaky little getaways in a city of millions upon millions of people stacked on each other. “Look at you, Harry Osborn, the Grand Central expert,” MJ teased with a wide grin, fingers squeezing his to reassure him that she was doing just that -- teasing. She continued to move forward as he did, slow deliberate steps that made sure she wasn’t too far out of his reach. Maybe she wanted to stay close to him, too. Shaking her head, she said, “Nope, can’t say I have. Is that a clue, hmm?”
"No, not a clue. It's the answer." Once they came to a stop, Harry kept his hands over Mary Jane's eyes just a moment longer. As they'd ceased moving, he took a step back from her to bring some distance between them, and eventually his hands fell away from where they'd guarded her line of sight. Although why there was such a need for secrecy when they had barely moved away from the restaurant was yet to be seen. Unless he'd really just been looking for a reason to touch her. They were facing a corner portion of the terminal wall now, where there grooved archways swooped down vertically to join tiles.
"You see the ceiling up there?" Harry stepped alongside her so that they were shoulder to shoulder. Dropping his head back, he glanced up above them where the ceiling domed. "The acoustics let you to hear anything said against the other corner of the terminal.. even whispers sound like shouts." Without warning, he began to backpedal. The distance between them grew as he made for the opposite end of the station, suited commuters bustled in the area in between. Eventually he reached the other side, and still within view, he turned around to speak against the ceramic tiles mosaicing the corner. "I'm going to close my eyes now, you should tell me a secret Mary Jane." The words echoed for her, bouncing back from her own corner just like he'd said they would.
Mary Jane kept her eyes close for a moment or so after Harry removed his hands, savoring the sensation of him before she opened them to look at him next to her. He was really, really handsome, she decided just then, with his light hair sweeping into his bright eyes under the dull fluorescent lights of the terminal, and she could understand why the girls whispered about him in the hallways. But, maybe that was just the wine coursing through her system. Yeah, it was totally that. Before she could say anything, however, Harry moved to the other side of the terminal and, like promised, she could hear his voice clear as day. Grinning, she closed her eyes, too, stepping closer to the corner until her back bumped against the cool stone.
But he asked for a secret, and MJ balked then. She didn’t deal well in secrets -- in her own, or with others’. After a moment’s hesitation, Mary Jane turned to the corner as well. “I don’t think you’re really ready for any of my secrets, Harry,” she whispered into tiles. A second later, however, the wine pushed her a little further. Leaning her body and with her forehead pressed against the mosaic, she said, “I’m not really all that people like to think I am.” And she left it at that, even if it was true. She wasn’t the perfect burst of fiery cheer and charm everyone believed. “Now your turn, Osborn.”
He watched her from across the terminal, catching sunfire glimpses of her trademark hair on the other side of the swimming school of businessmen fish caught between them. The passersby came in spurts, and when Harry saw Mary Jane turn toward the mosaiced arch, he leaned back against his own. Bright eyes trailing high to the ceiling up above, as if he could somehow see the glitter of her voice coming down. But he couldn't, and the words just resounded around him like an echo from a well. Perfectly clear, no matter how soft she'd whispered them. For her, a sigh could be heard. A soft, thoughtful sound that somehow managed to carry before he turned to face his side of the wall. A cheek against the cool tile, fingers scratching with solemn thought against the sun-flecked texture of his hair. A secret? While his own thoughts didn't seem like much of a secret to Harry -- surely everyone who knew him well enough knew it -- Mary Jane had seemed sincere enough in her confession. "I.. wish I was someone else." Somebody who didn't destroy everything they touched. His mother had died because he was born, and now he might have fucked up things between Gwen and Peter if the truth came out, and.. eventually, he'd probably run Oscorp into the ground.
Clearing his throat, Harry straightened with the decision that they'd gotten way too solemn way too fast. It was probably the wine, it had a way of turning poems into tragedies. "I also think you're the most beautiful girl in school, but.. that's not really much of a secret." Didn't everyone, after all? "Speaking of school," although Harry was no longer whispering, he remained against his arch while checking his watch and the acoustics carried across to her with strength. Crossing the tiled floor of the terminal with determined steps, he caught up with Mary Jane. "We're cutting it close, time to go."
Not many things were on Harry Osborn's side, not even time. For although the cab ride back to the museum was barely hindered by traffic or lights, students were already filing down the museum's steps by the time that their taxi pulled up. Taking a secretive exit on the side of the building, Harry took Gwen's hand and raced with her in order to catch up with the rest of the group. It was the probably the alcohol and the frenetic giggling that made them slow, because before they were even near approaching the bus, a pair of stern hands snagged on the back of both their collars. "Mr. Osborn, Ms. Watson.. I do hope your truancy was worth your complete disregard for safety and authority. We'll be notifying your parents.."
Harry glanced solemnly at Mary Jane, swallowed once, and said nothing as they were shoved onto the stairs of the bus.