WHO: Peter Parker and Norman Osborn WHERE: At some nearby convenience store WHEN: Sunday, March 6th, evening WHAT: Peter's out getting snacks for movie night and Norman is STALKING HIM. Seriously, like legit stalking, and it's creepy.
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It was a Sunday night and Peter wasn’t really going anywhere. Matt and Maya were back in New York, leaving Peter and Felicia to amuse themselves in Texas. For some reason or another, she’d canceled her plans for Cancun, but all the better. Peter had talked MJ and Harry into joining them for movie night, and Peter was on snack duty, because what was the fun of movies if you couldn’t smear food all over someone else’s face, right? Right.
Peter had almost completely forgotten about that drama with Norman, intent on having fun that night. He went to the convenience store down the street, his iPod tucked in his pocket and one earbud on, wiggling to the music while he pulled things off the shelf. Checking out, Peter took the receipt from the cashier, turning away and still grooving, singing, “A kiss with a fist is better than none---”
It was almost distracting enough to make him run into Norman Osborn, who’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Smiling blandly, he reached out and plucked one of the buds from Peter’s ear. “Hello, Peter. Fun night?”
“Holy sh---!” Peter jumped back, automatically crushing his bag against his chest. There was a crunch as a few Oreos cracked in the package. “Hiiii, Mr. Osborn. Uh. ...What up?”
“Oh, you know.” Norman reached out and plucked a copy of Ink magazine from the stand. A muscular man covered in tattoos glared out from the cover. “Picking up a few things, doing some late-night shopping...” He trailed off, searching Peter’s expression. “The proposal. I take it you’ve read it.”
“Um. Yeah. About that.” Oh, Peter had rehearsed this. He had. In his head, he was totally suave and confident. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Osborn, but I have to reject your generous offer.’ Like James freakin’ Bond. But right here, right now, he clammed up. “I, uh. I read it.”
“Good! I trust that I can have a signed copy in the morning? I’ll swing by your room, no need to clutter your day; I have lunch planned with Harry.” He didn’t sound excited about it. “I tell you, Peter, if he had just one tenth of your genius, I’d be secure about OsCorp’s future.”
“That’s great, I didn’t sign it,” Peter blurted.
Norman tilted his head slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“I, uh. I didn’t sign it.” Peter laughed involuntarily, making everything he said come out kind of flippant. “I have this natural aversion to voluntary slavery, and the whole thing is pretty ‘oooh we can do whatever we want with you’ so I couldn’t sign it, every time I tried I heard this little voice in the back of my head going ‘Don’t do it, Peter’, so I, like … didn’t.”
Norman’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to understand him. “Two and a half million in compensation isn’t enough? I assumed, given your family’s financial situation it would seem like plenty, but if course when taking it in comparison with what OsCorp takes in... clever. I’d be a poor businessman if I didn’t try to give you a lesser deal. I’ll double it.”
...Oooh.
No, wait, that probably came with a lot of really unfortunate caveats. Norman’s creepy businessman thing practically oozed Disney evil and Peter wasn’t exactly a little mermaid up in here, so he answered lamely, “The little voice in my head doesn’t understand … numbers.”
Oh, yeah. So James Bond right there.
“Does the little voice in your head understand ‘financial security’ and ‘protection’? Or, ‘health care’ for your specialized condition?”
“Um... no.” Maybe Peter was taking this concept too far. “I’m really sorry, Norman, I just can’t do it.” While he spoke, he was backing up toward the door, hitting the glass and pushing it open. “It just … can’t happen, so. Uh. ...Okaybye.”
Norman dropped the magazine. His hand snapped out and grabbed Peter’s wrist. “It’s in your best interests to reconsider.”
“Whoa, dude, bad touch.” Peter snatched back his wrist.
Norman blinked once, and smiled. “You have until tomorrow to sign the document, Peter.”
“If you say so.” Peter was pretty sure that was the only time he’d ever seen Norman blink. Like, ever. “I’m going now. I have movie … girlfriend … things to do.”
Norman watched him hard for a moment, then turned away. He picked up a Snickers bar from the rack of candy in front of the cash wrap. “Use protection.”
“I... yeah.” With that, Peter backed out of the door and ran the hell away.
But it was some very manly running away. Don’t judge.