primowebslinger (primowebslinger) wrote in winterdale, @ 2020-07-12 13:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: peter parker, character: quentin beck, fandom: marvel |
Who: Peter Parker and Quentin Beck (and possibly Tony???)
What: Meeting up after their network talk
Where: In Peter's homeroom after the school's closed
When: Saturday, Jul 11th, night time
Rating: TBA
Breathe.
Everything was stirring through him, colliding into an avalanche of unhinged feelings and gaping, maw barreling regret. It clung to him, pushing through every nerve in a way he couldn't shake and couldn't begin to clear his head from.
Breathe....Man. Seriously.
Since when had something this basic become so difficult? Since when did it feel like the turmoil and anger was just...eating his ability to take in actual air?
On automatic he crept back through his window and grabbed his pack. On automatic he'd grabbed EDITH too actually. When it came to tactical drones or anything remotely related to his reality back home she couldn't offer a lot. But anything from hacking networks to providing essential reconnaissance was still up her field...and honestly? There was almost, in some strange, small and actually childish way, a need for her to be there, to bear witness to what was to unfold. Some sort of resolution there.
Besides which, if Beck could use illusions again...she'd serve as a safety net to punch right through this.
Beck. Now there was a subject that elicited an entire crashing wave of conflicted, furious feelings. He'd really just gotten good at leaving them buried and numb somewhere entirely apart from himself honestly and now way too unexpectedly there they emerged, spearing out from nowhere as if they'd never even left, leaving it all just as open and gaping and volatilely alive as ever.
So there, in a swelling of shaking determination and some kind of dumb, ridiculous mantra to still stay breathing steadily Peter made his way through the city, swinging from building to building in a pitch of rushing air and clear cut adrenaline. In absolutely no time at all he was at the school.
And...boy. He was...not prepared for this. Not at all. The teen did his best to take a steady breath as he landed silently at the edge of the window near his homeroom, pausing with himself for a moment before finally shifting to carefully pry it open.
This was it. He could do this. And...besides there was no stopping now.
He crept in like a shadow, ripping off his ski mask to cautiously peer through the dark, face serious and nakedly obvious in his far too many emotions. Anger. Grief. Anguish, betrayal...deep frustration. And maybe, somewhere, a slightly unguarded, wary and needed space of hope too. A shadow of that vulnerability lingering there just beneath the surface.
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This whole thing was steadily beginning to feel like a fever dream for Quentin. It was bordering on wondering if his home was the dream because that felt so distanced at this point that this new reality was making his head spin. A part of him had thought he'd left all that behind and yet there he was, that tiny little icon popping up on social media and he'd recognize the kid anywhere, mask or not, he was sure.
Every fiber of his being buzzed at the thought of Peter being here.
Yet, this didn't seem to be the Peter he knew. Oh, very dangerously similar, but not quite. He'd set out to damage Peter, manipulate him, get rid of him, but to have won and then ontop of it all shove it all back in his face that he'd lost everything? Hell, even Quentin wasn't that bad. He didn't like getting his hands dirty, he didn't like feeling pushed into a corner where he had to fight, but Peter had, and apparently he'd somehow came out on the other end in another world.
That was going to drive him insane until he understood exactly how that happened. What could he have done differently? If he'd won it made sense why Peter was here. No doubt this one had been every bit as disappointing and annoying as the one he'd known.
It had been a gut reaction to lie, but nothing too elaborate, he didn't have his team to flesh out anything and make it too realistic. If Peter's Fury was even a tiny bit of an asshole, that extended the belief that Quentin might think he needed to be taken care of, and if Peter was still as soft and naive, then it'd stand reason that he still wouldn't stand for just killing him.
Dramatic. That was all that story was going to be, but a part of Quentin loved it for that very fact.
So, he'd stopped by the cafeterias, got himself a drink, unfortunately nothing strong, but that might be for the best anyway. The walk to his homeroom was fast, and he let himself in with the key, clicking on the light and taking in the fact that Peter was already there, looking eerily similar to the one he'd left behind.
An open window.
"Peter... You're breaking into places? I have a key, you know?" Quentin said with a smile, the friendly sort of disarming one he would have given his own even as he lied about everything. He'd apparently fed some sort of cover to Peter before, who knew how close it was to the one he'd fed Peter. He'd find out soon enough if this went his way. He gave his keyring a soft jingle before shutting the door behind him and stepping over to the desk, setting everything down and purposefully relaxing himself.
"I didn't come to fight you or anything. We both know you could beat me easily." He paused, considering, then giving a hefty shrug. "Or maybe we don't."
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If asked he would’ve sworn it had been just to see him. To know he was alive and there, physically, tangibly in front of him. Actual. An actual reality.
This whole thing felt like a nightmare. A real, tangible nightmare that he couldn’t fight his way out of. Just like the illusions that he’d been fighting tooth and nail through under Beck’s control, out in that construction site, punching and scraping and attacking but ultimately just hurting himself, breaking through concrete and struggling in some kind of web he had no real control of. Desperate and useless and trapped. That was exactly where Peter was at as his eyes met the man in front of him, as he winced with the sudden onslaught of light from the classroom.
And seeing him...it was a jolt, a great slap that had him spinning, reeling backward with the force of it, losing his breath to it absolutely.
Because there he was. There was Beck, exactly like Peter remembered him. As if nothing at all had changed.
“Beck…” His voice for that moment was breathless, shocked in the moment, conflicted in too many ways with rage and grief and disbelief. He gripped his fists, gaze turning darker then, “You’re...really alive.” He said finally, deadpanning more for the sake of himself than anyone else, the echo of it feeling stupid and pretty useless all considered.