trans_9 | Life outside the diamond is a wrench

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Life outside the diamond is a wrench

Today, the sensoriums are decked out like a baseball field, enshrouded in conifers. A storm rumbles overhead and while there may not be any vampires hanging around, Supermassive Black Hole could quite possibly be playing in the background. And Peter Parker, decked out in a Meatship Mets jersey, could quite possibly be dancing his way up to the plate.

"... and now Parker steps up to bat," he commentates peppily to himself, "It's been a tough start to the season for the young Forest Hills leadoff. The coaches are attributing his bad form to an unfortunate case of abduction but at only twenty one, he's certainly got pluck."

From the mound a pitching machine groans into life and spits out its first ball. There's a resounding crack as he drives the ball squarely down centerfield, his spider-strength powering the ball way off into the trees.

"We caught up with Parker after the game for a few words on his magnificent opening punt post-game." he continues, "'Well, what can I say Kent? After the last few misfires we decided to keep play simple this time around. I just play to my strengths, Kent. I've got a good arm and as my uncle taught me, with great power comes great responsibility...'"

So, anyone up for a game of metabaseball? Somebody has to shut him up.

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Wyn hears 'Supermassive Black Hole' echoing through the corridors of the meatship. She has to investigate now. There's really only one place it could be coming from, unless someone's picked up an iPod and speakers she doesn't know about, and she takes off at a ~~sprint~~ very brisk walk for the Sensoriums.

She pokes her head through the door the music's coming out of, taking in the thunderclouds and the music and the baseball field, and laughs quietly. "Oh, that's amazing."

... what? She saw the movie. Just to laugh at it. Honestly.

"Heeeeeeeeeeeey Batter, batter, batter, batter, swing, batter! He can't hit, he can't hit, he can't hit, he can't hit, swing, batter!"

Jaime'd climbed on top of the dugout with a box of crackerjacks.

And Peter only saw it because he empathises with girls who love men who sparkle. Not that he'd ever admit that to Tony.

He turns to the sound of her voice, and thinking she was referring to his home run, quips, "Thanks. I don't even work out."

... Just as Peter misses his latest pitch. He drops the bat and flips Jaime a facetious look.

"No mid-tempo Disney pop on my pitch! It puts me off my game. You have to sing something, at least make it 'Say Hey Willy Mays'!"

"The entire point is to put you off your game," Jaime points out. "That's what the fine art of heckling is all about. But you don't like Disney? I think I remember some Hannah Banana songs--my sister watches those shows like every day, and thus they're permanently, and painfully, imprinted on my consciousness."

"You don't sparkle, either." Wyn points out. "... not that I'm suggesting you start. OD'ed-on-glitter-lotion is not a good look for anyone." She enters the Sensorium and walks up to the fence behind home plate, plantsuit shifting into a pair of black skinny jeans and a bright blue t-shirt.

"Hey, I'm cool with Disney as longs as the animals still talk, it's just those mouseketeers freak me out."

Of course, he's forgotten the pitching machine is still running, and a ball bounces soggily off the side of his head. He gingerly puts a hand to it.

"Was Hannah Banana in Bananarama? Was it like some freak coincidence that they were all called Banana and so they formed a band based on that name? Because that would be awesome."

"It does seem a little conspicuous for vampires to go around leaving glitter snail-trails," he muses, swinging at the next ball, before offering her the bat, "I'm not sure who'd ever follow a glitter trail. A peckish Hansel and Gretel, I guess. You wanna go?"

Jaime winces sympathetically when the ball conks Spidey, but the dude's still standing--and talking. He figures he has superpowers, with that get up, so maybe it didn't really hurt him that much.

"I have no idea. All I remember is vaguely wishing for a rusty coat hanger to poke my ear-drums out while I was curled on a fetal position on the floor. Like, a half hour of every day was a total blank, where I'd wake up after having my brain blinded with pain and bad writing, and then have the vague desire to sell my soul to the mouse."

"Oh it's so good to hear that sweet snarky voice." She leans against the dug out, in her own baseball uniform. The hat twirling on her finger as she watches Peter. He looked happier than the last time she saw him, but it was probably because he didn't have to worry about so much here.

"Hope you don't mind if I crash your little ball game Spidey. Figured it was time I saw the other Avenger on board."

That or mush for brains. The jury's still out.

"Yep, that sounds like one of their shows."

Happier, maybe. A little more boyish, definitely. He tries very hard to quash the squee at finally running into someone on this damn ship that he actually recognises.

After a tiny yelp, he regains composure and tosses her the bat, "Carol, with flattery like that I'd let you crash my bike. Into me."

Jaime finishes his crackerjacks and makes a good toss of the empty box from the dugout to a wastebin, then climbs down from as high as he is using the fence to kick off of.

"Speaking of teen girls shrieking at the top of their lungs, uh, I think we got off to a bad start. I really was a little...off balance when you met me, and frustrated, and I kinda lost my temper with everyone in general. So let's try this again."

He holds out his hand.

"The name's Jaime. I also go by Blue Beetle--and it's nice to see other people know bug themes are hip, by the way."

Wyn nods. "Yeah, real vampires are much more subtle." Is that sarcasm? Probably. Wyn's only met one vampire, and he played up the Dracula thing for all it was worth. (He thought it was hilarious. Other people were a bit less amused.)

"I don't know how." she says, hands in her pockets. "I was just investigating."

She catches the bat easily and shoves the hat onto her head, causing her hair to be pushed back from her face.

"You're in rather good spirits. Not that I'm complaining about that. You always do have a more optimistic look on life. More than the rest of us." She shouldered the bat, and placed a hand on her hip. Giving him a flirty smile.

"You still owe me a date, by the way."

"It's no biggie. Whatever dimension we're supposed to be in, there's something fundamentally wrong with it if people aren't losing their rag with me."

Pushing his mask up to rest on the bridge of his own, he grins, "Peter Parker. Proportionate strength of a spider. Figured I owed him a little deference, even if my hand did swell to the size of a grapefruit."

Then, he returns the gesture.

"That's debatable. I mean, Drac's still wandering around in periodwear." Touché.

He holds the bat a little closer, "Well how 'bouts you investigate the flying balls with the business end of this stick?"

Double take. Bwuuuuuuuuuh?! Stay cool, Iceman.

"Only 'cause if I don't offer the comic relief this place would be deader than the audience at one of Eddie Murphy's more recent efforts."

He scratches his head the back of his head nervously.

"I'm sorry, but when was this asking out of you, and had I just been rough-housing with the Hulk?"

Not the most tactful of moves there, Iceman.

"Heh. I sort of inherited the name myself, but there is a blue beetle invol--"

The second he touches Peter's hand, something horrible happens. There's an explosive--defensive--discharge of blue energy, knocking them away from each other, and against Jaime's will, the armor starts to form over his body, as the scarab shrills an alarm in Jaime's head. Its scanners aren't active, but when something is close enough to touch...

"Scarab, what are you doing?!"

"I said real vampi-- oh." Much as she'd like to deny it, Wyn can be a bit of a dumb blonde sometimes. Not realizing that she's talking to Spiderman? That counts as a blonde moment, as does trying not to immediately launch into fangirl mode.

"Um. Yeah, this isn't going to end well." she mutters, reluctantly taking the bat and stepping up to the plate.

"You were helping me get some important information. No Hulk, or any psychical or mental damage." She frowned a bit. This wasn't sounding good. "Oh I see. Trying to worm your way out of it huh? Well Parker, it's not going to work. Not on me."

A deep feeling of unease sweeps over Peter at the touch, too, but its his spider-sense that spurs him into action.

"Great," he replies, rolling back onto the balls of his feet, "Just once I'd like to make a buddy who wasn't nutso."

"No, no!" he replies hurriedly. He grins stupidly, for lack of anything more composed to do, "I didn't mean it like that that! I mean... I actually asked you? I mean... I mean... really?"

It sounded awfully outgoing for the mild-mannered photographer.

"I'm not crazy! My clothes are!"

He clutches at his head, as energy crackle from the prongs at the back of the suit, but doesn't discharge--Jaime is refusing to let the suit have any more control than that through sheer force of will.

"Scarab, I thought we were through the 'shoot first, explain to Jaime later' stage!"

The scarab shrills:

"A parasite? And it's a threat--you're afraid it's going to steal your host--me. Look, stop. Calm down, okay? Just calm down and I'll listen, but you have to calm down first."

The crackling energy subsides.

Hey, it's not like his expecting to be recognised without his costume. The whole 'you're a comic book archetype' schtick hasn't yet been properly explained to him. He's just doing the terribly Spiderman-like thing of assuming everyone knows what the hell he's talking about.

Peter jogs over to the pitching mound and takes a ball from the machine, "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you."

Of course, for a man with the proportionate strength of a spider, that's not all that easy. He reaches bag and lofts her a ball at what he thinks is a moderate speed.

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Life outside the diamond is a wrench

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