The Doorway: NPC Account (doorwaynpc) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-09-19 14:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, peter parker / spider-man (616) |
Who: Dr. Curt Connors & Peter Parker (616)
When: Friday, September 19th (afternoon)
Where: Beloit Psychiatric Hospital: While investigations at Ravencroft continue after the death of one of their doctors and the escape of Max Dillon, some of the occupants have been transfered to Beloit, Dr. Curtis Connors among them.
What: Because of his familiarity with the disease that killed Norman Osborn, Connors is approached by Peter Parker to ask if he’d be interested in heading a new research team to dive back into the very same project that turned him into a giant sewer dwelling monster. Awkward.
Rating: PG-13, TW: Mental illness facilities, etc
Martha wouldn’t bring Billy to Ravencroft, citing it as far too dangerous, but now that he was temporarily in this other hospital, he was trying to convince his wife that it would be all right for him to see his son. He missed him utterly, and while Martha diligently brought in photographs for Connors to see, he felt like if he were to meet his son again, he feared he wouldn’t recognise him at all. It was a fear that kept him up at night, that and the general sense of claustrophobia and dread that being locked in anywhere that was too small and too empty left anyone with a deep sense of. He missed his freedom, he missed his family and he ached as the weeks passed between visits, living for nothing but the next one. So when he heard that he had a guest today, which was certainly not one of his wife’s scheduled times, his heart fluttered to life. Perhaps she’d relented and meant to surprise him with a visit from their son. With confusion and some curiosity, he let the guards bring him down to a private room, completely bare of anything save a table, two chairs, and a black security camera hanging in the corner like an overfed cockroach. Connors sat down in one of the chairs and allowed the guards to shackle his legs, his arm was placed on the table and a chain restraint that was bolted into the wood was secured around his wrist. It gave him some freedom to move, but he couldn’t stand up. When the guard finished and straightened up, Connors used his shoulder to push his glasses up along his nose before leaning forward and addressing the guard. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry -- but it’s my wife, isn’t it? Is she with anyone?” The man straightened and shook his head as he walked to the door. “Sorry Doc, it’s not her -- someone named Parker?” “Parker? Peter Parker?” The guard shrugged and buzzed himself out of the room, leaving Connors alone to wait. Peter Parker. “Just fifteen minutes? You sure I couldn’t --” Peter stopped, mid-sentence, as the guard just outside the room gave him a withering look. Maybe he should have brought an ice cream cake to loosen them up. A Fudgie the Whale would have gone miles with this tough crowd. “Fifteen! Yes, thank you. I’ll just… I’ll, ah… go in?” The guard checked his watch. “Fourteen and twenty seconds to go, but on your schedule, Mr. Parker. Whenever you feel like starting.” There was only one response to that, and Peter opted for it. He gave a short nod, took a quick step, and, before he could even turn around, the sound of metal clinking directly behind him told him that the area was secure. Or, at least, if anything happened, everyone else was on the other side of the door now. Safe as houses. He looked up and over at the other man chained to one of two chairs, divided rather utilitarian by a smooth, dark table. A thumb was jabbed over Peter’s shoulder. “Tough crowd out there, huh? I barely even got to show ‘em my favorite party trick. There’s this thing I can do with…” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I’ll tell you next time. Doctor Connors, right? I’m --” "-- not Peter Parker, for one." Connors said straightening in his chair as much as the chains would allow. He wasn't particularly alarmed or concerned, if for no other reason the fact that his visitor did not seem particularly menacing in any regard. Still, there was the matter of an identity to clear up. Connors smiled, gentle and world-weary. He tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowed with curiosity. He did not receive visitors often, and quite frankly the chance to speak to anyone who wanted to see him for any reason was enough for Connors to at least entertain. "But, I'm sure you already knew that. So tell me what I don't know.” “It’s not a lie,” Peter explained. He walked forward, nudging the chair out enough to slide down into. “I am Peter Parker. Just not…” There was a loose gesture around the room, though he was trying to encapsulate something much broader. “The one who was born in this world. Usually there’s more of a cushion with this stuff, but they take their fifteen minutes reeeeally seriously here.” Peter anchored his elbows on the table. Eyes falling down to what looked like nail marks dug into the top grain. He raised his brows and turned his focus back to Connors. “You probably heard about the whole refugee situation. People getting dumped here. That’s… I’m one of them. And I knew a Doc Connors back home, too. I can’t really prove that, but I’m not putting you on, Doc.” Information about the refugees had reached him, of course, from his wife and from the News. The Avengers were not a subtle group when it came to making the papers, and there was little else that Connors had to pass the time. But he hadn’t quite realised exactly how close to home these strange refugees hit. The doctor raised his hand absent-mindly to push his glasses up along the bridge his nose but the chain stopped this arm short before he reached his face, bringing him back to the present. He looked at his wrist, closed his hand into a fist for one, brief and frustrated second and then turned his eyes back to Parker. “Then tell me.” He said, his expression neutral, if a bit hard to read. He placed his hand back down on the table. Connors really didn’t think this man had any reason to lie, as if he was trying to deceive him, he’d certain choose something less outlandish. Besides, if anyone knew his history with Parker, they’d have chosen someone else to imitate. “How much do you and this world’s Peter have in common? Or perhaps -- you know, how much do I have in common with your Connors back home? Are there undeniable similarities?" The sound of the chain clinking made Peter’s mouth droop slightly. It would be a literal snap to pry the man out of those restraints and just blow this popsicle stand, but making Connors a fugitive wasn’t going to help anyone out. Instead, Peter fidgeted with this hands, tapping out a silent little rhythm on the tabletop. “Well, the native Peter’s got maybe… two inches up on me? Little skinnier, if I’m being honest, but considering how much grief people give me over my svelte figure, he’s probably getting it way worse,” came the answer, given in Peter’s usual cheerful tone, albeit a bit more forced than usual. “But let’s say I know you’re a good guy. The Connors I know back home -- he’s a good guy. Bad luck, but good guy. He helped me out a bunch of times, and I’ve… y’know. Returned the favor when I can, as I can.” There was a small look there, subtle but pointed. Peter knew Connors was guessing at something, and he seemed like he’d be able to read a hint if it was given. There was something admirable about Peter’s energy. It wasn’t just his optimism, or his casual positivity; there was something that just seemed to resonate off of him that was pleasant. It made Connors ignore the circumstances just enough to smile a little when he mentioned the height difference, but the smile faded quickly, as remembered what Richard’s son looked like only reminded him of his own -- he wondered how much taller Billy was now, it was hard to really tell from the pictures. It was never quite the same as seeing someone in person. “So has the other myself earned me the pleasure of your company? Or is it something else you’ve come with?” He tried to sound relaxed, even a bit curious at what Parker might want, but his mood was dampened mildly by the thoughts of his family. He caught himself though, before he really started to mope, and he squared his shoulders and opened his hand towards Peter. “Not that this isn’t very appreciated, if strange company.” “It’s…” Peter shuffled the deck of words around his skull. This was the make-it-or-break-it moment. “An offer. It would have come with cannolis, but Tony Stark said we’d break those out after.” He leaned in, stopping his tapping and putting his upper body weight onto his forearms. Across the expanse of the table, he barely made it halfway. “There’s a team forming up to deal with this really nasty genetic disease. I mean, you could think of this as a stepping stone to other stuff, or maybe it’s just a chance to breathe some fresh air while working a day job again. It’s… really up to you, Doc. People need your help, and I volunteered to see if I could win you over.” A hand reached up to scratch lightly at a temple, Peter’s face screwing up faintly as he hoped that honesty was the right play here. “If you say yes, Stark’s gonna sign your paychecks. They’re probably not as many zeroes as you remember, but you’ll be the lead on the team. And I’ve been told monitored house arrest is part of the package deal. It’s, uh… slightly more invisible tethers, but never underestimate the power of being able to make a grilled cheese at midnight if you wanna, right?” Well, there were plenty of things that might have surprised Connors to hear, but none that left him quite as stunned as what Peter had just suggested. But a ticket to freedom was outside of his repertoire. It was hard not to jump at what Peter was offering. Without knowing the details, the fine print or the catch that had to lurk somewhere in the sewers beneath this appealing proposition. And he knew a thing or two about the hidden cost of what seemed like a brilliant plan, a brilliant idea. “Forgive me for being the cynic, Mr. Parker, but I’ve learned that when deals sound too good to be true, they almost always -- quite unfortunately -- are just that.” His tone was light enough though, there was no use denying that his interest had been piqued, and of course he appreciated Peter’s skill for getting directly to the point. Having a fifteen minute time limit on their little get together probably helped usher out the information, but Connors spent enough time shouldering patience when he was in his cell: he much preferred the suspense of a laboratory. “So what is it that you don’t want to tell me?” Peter slipped back a little, straightening up in his chair as he mulled over that last question. “Well…” His brows knitted, and he took a brief intermission from the doctor’s vigilant gaze to check the wall clock hanging on the right-side wall. Half of their time was just about up or this clock was a liar. “I guess the only real catch is the client. Uhm. Here’s the thing, it’s all very confidential stuff. My ability to disclose names and details is kinda hinged on papers getting signed. Thing is… I mean, for all you can take my word, which I guess depends on how trustworthy my face is… thing is that my M.O. is that I don’t go to bat for bad guys. And I’m not. Not with you, and not with this hypothetical team.” There was a pause, brief and silent. “And I need an answer before I walk out of this room. It’s one of those things. Mr. Stark explained it, but it’s, like, a novella of legal stuff that my science brain doesn’t jive with. Mostly, I think it amounts to there being a little crack we can pull you out through, and it’s gonna snap shut in under seven minutes.” Connors looked at him for a moment and then sat back in his chair, dragging his arm across the table as far as the chain would allow. He chuckled, he had to. This -- all of it -- was absolutely absurd. He didn’t know Tony Stark, well, of course he knew of him, but he’d never met him personally, and while Stark had a reputation for being a bit of an eccentric, he didn’t understand how his field of study would fit in at all with Stark Industries business model, or why the company suddenly had an invested interest in genetic defects and diseases. Or why they’d chosen to send in a Peter Parker to deliver the pitch -- or half a pitch anyway, as the other was still shrouded in secrets. “You come in here from out of this world with an offer that seems just as unlikely.” Connors said, smirking in spite of himself. The truth was though, the truth was really, that there was no way that he would turn down the offer. It didn’t matter what Parker wanted from him or what the catch was. And he did truthfully believe that Stark was one of the good guys, and he imagined that the men at the ends of whatever strings Stark was pulling thought so to, to put this offer on the table in the first place. The chance to go home though, to see his family and be a part of their lives again made just about everything worth it. There was nothing that anyone could make him do, no amount of cruel hours, grueling thankless work or strict regulations that would make him rather be cooped up in an institution with too many ideas and hours and nothing to do with either. No matter what it was came behind the bait that this man was swinging, Connors knew that he had absolutely nothing to lose. “I just have one question for you.” “I’m sure Stark coulda gotten Mike Rowe or something if he wanted, but I was free of charge and I’ve watched a bunch of procedurals before I got in here to prep.” Peter squinted, tilting his head to look up at the lone light panel above them. “Which probably wasn’t needed now that I think about it. Anyway.” A hand waved that off, and Peter raised his brows towards Connors. “Anyway,” Peter repeated. “What’s the question?” He made a solid attempt to not try to call it beforehand, but there were about a billion things it could be. Unknowingly, Peter held his breath in wait. “Where do I sign?” |