trans_9 | Schnappy Schnaps

Entry tags:

Schnappy Schnaps

Be afraid, be very afraid. There's a Spider-Man on the loose. He has a camera and he's not afraid to catch you without your make-up on.

Why hadn't he thought of this before? He swings all across the ship, from city to obs deck, pod caverns to medbay, snapping anything and everything that looks vaguely photogenic.

"Aw man, Jolly Jonah's gonna be paying my bills for years!" he chatters to himself exuberantly, "Waitasec! Screw Jameson, I'm National Geographic now, baby! Do the NG guys get dental?"

He snaps the almighty panoramic of the bleed from the obs viewplate, "Maybe a book. I can write. Can I? I don't know, maybe. It doesn't look that difficult. They have word processors, right? I'm gonna need an agent..."

If you can hear him, run.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Spider-man isn't the only one running around snapping photos - Batman's at it, too, but for a very different reason. Now that Terry finally got the suit back, he's taking advantage of it, and using its recording capabilities to gather information. Fly-overs of the city to build a map, covertly taken mug-shots of his fellow crew mates... whatever info may coming in handy later.

But for all the sneaky photo-taking he's been doing, he probably won't like it if someone starts doing the same thing to him.

While he doesn't have the ninja chops that the bats pride themselves on, (it's the yap) he's the best part of a decade into his trade and he can websling with remarkable discretion.

There's a blur of red and blue as he swoops past Terry's spot in the city, the ktch! of the shutter and a flash. Yeah, those kind of give him away.

Well that and the shout of, "Lemme see those pearly whites!"

A few months without the suit had left Terry a little rusty. Spider-man was quick enough that Terry didn't have time to throw his arm in front of his face, like he normally would for anyone trying to film Batman.

The flash bulb did a number on the various filters set up in his mask to help him see in various levels of dark, so he not only had to blink the normal spots in his vision away, but also wait for the screen to adjust back to normal. When his vision was back to normal, he spotted the red and blue costume. He growled under the mask.

"HEY!" He shouted, and with a slight flick of his wrist readied a batarang. He did not like being photographed in the suit, even if he was on an alien spaceship, and he was all to willing to destroy cameras that got his image.

"A howdy to you too!" he calls back, already barrel-rolling from one webline to another, "People in this city... so polite."

He gives Terry a jovial wave before his line pulls him down between the buildings. He knows more than anyone that you ought to make a hasty retreat after papping a super.

Of course, Terry isn't the most polite person on the planet, but he's at least decent to most people. Not people that take his photo, though. And especially not journalists. And he was more then willing to track down people that photographed the batsuit and rough 'em up a little. And you know what? Spider-man isn't the only person who navigates through buildings all night long.

His lip curled up in a sneer under his mask, Terry took a running start and jumped for one of the buildings, scrambling up the side of it with the aid of the suit's claws. Fortunately, it was a shorter building, and he did this sort of thing regularly. He sprinted across the rooftop, and when he got to the edge, dived off, deploying his wings and jets, scanning around for the red-and-blue blur that'd snapped his photo. He didn't really intend to hurt Spidey, of course, just make it very, very clear that photos of Batman were not allowed.

Echoing off from the left, a jovial falsetto, "♪Heartbeat, increasing heartbeat! You hear the thunder of stampeding rhinos, elephants and tacky tigers. This town ain't big enough for both of us, and it ain't me who's gonna leave!♪"

There he is! Swooping across Terry's trajecty a good distance beneath him.

Edited 2010-02-03 05:18 (UTC)

Dustin doesn’t realize the danger until it’s too late.

Not at all photogenic by any normal standards, the scruffy, mild-mannered, fresh-out-of-bed genius staggered onto the Observation Deck. The look in his bloodshot emerald eyes says volumes about his current mood; mostly it says that he needs coffee. What made Dustin assume that there was coffee on the Obs Deck is a mystery to anyone.

Regardless, he’s there now, overcoat draped over his shoulders and a fancy-looking thermos tightly clamped in his hands, and he’s spotted the odd man in web-patterned pajamas at the other end of the room. Dustin stood stock still, staring at him like the gunslinger that he was (albeit a very grumpy gunslinger without his guns). His groggy brain registered first the identity of this man; then it noted the camera.

”…This will not end well.”

The whistle of prairie wind, the soft bounce of a tumble weed. John Wayne stance, his fingers rap cautiously against the camera. Somewhere, Ennio Morricone is playing.

Like Han Solo before Special Edition, you betcha he's shooting first.

Ktch!

Dustin reflexively brought his arms in front of his face—too late to save himself and his retinas, unfortunately. The flash was burned into his vision, his overcoat was on the floor, and the heavy metal thermos was still flying through the air, but with that guy’s reflexes it shouldn’t pose much of a threat.

By this point Dustin was only concerned with knowing where his opponent was, and if he came bearing caffeine. All would be forgiven in that instance. Until then, Dustin cautiously poked his eyes out from behind his thin arms and took a careful glance at his surroundings, looking absolutely tortured.

“What do you want from me?”

Oh, that was going to be one sweet action shot. A quick webshot tethers the thermos to the ceiling, converting it into a very nice chandelier. Though he is a New Yorker and sure enough, there's a pot of joe perched by one of the fleshy sofas.

Peter stuffs the camera back in his belt pocket before Dustin can contemplate going into it-girl-getting-papped-on-a-bad-hair-day mode, "Eh, nothing really, unless you've got a quote for the blurb. I'm thinking 'Spider-Man's keen eye never fails to find that diamond in the rough [sic] and writes with all the wit and panash of Woody Allen. The Annie Hall of photography books.' How's that sound?"

Dustin’s nose finally picked up the scent of raw coffee, and instantly nothing else mattered other than getting some of that in his body. The scruffy man wandered blindly towards the steaming pitcher, absently waving his hand at this ‘Spider-Man’ fellow.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he muttered, raising his thermos to place it on the table. Dustin registered that the thermos was no longer in his hand. “I know you reporter types—‘Your work is fantastic, much thanks to your editor.’ Now get me my coffee mug back before I shove that camera down your throat.”

"I'll leave that part about my editor out if that's okay with you. The man's a jackass," he climbs up to the ceiling and fishes the thermos free, "You sure are cranky in the mornings. Well, you were cranky last time and that was at like afternoon tea so I guess you're cranky most of the time. I think it's the caffeine. Got you wound up too tight, you know?"

Dustin couldn’t help but nod, a cynical smile splitting his scarred cheeks. “That doesn’t surprise me. Gary used to bitch about his editor, too. I’m assuming it’s a job requirement.”

The messy-haired man inelegantly snatched away his silver vacuum flask, which he proceeded to fill with nearly half the pot. He added only a sprinkle of sugar before replacing the top.

“You have no idea,” Dustin muttered, gently nursing his steaming beverage.

"I hear you can major in it at ESU," he shoots back, fetching his own mug.

"Hey, if there's something I've got ample experience in, it's getting wound up too tight. I mean, when I first started I was always getting caught in this webbing..."

But seriously, you're talking to your Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Neurotic, here.

“Heh,” Dustin sniffed from behind his oversized travel mug, thick brow amazingly able to travel to the midline of his forehead. Why he wasn’t attempting to bite this man’s face off for messing with the Dart is a mystery to the both of us—even after Spider-Man gave him an offering of caffeine, Dustin still should’ve been sore at him. Either he was too exhausted to deal with him (likely), he actually enjoyed his company (highly unlikely, though he did remind him disturbingly of Gary), or he didn’t find him as enough of a threat to bother with (most likely).

In any case, the mild-mannered Assassin was being unusually agreeable.

“Please, dear god, no puns,” Dustin rolled his eyes as he took another sip, “You’ll make my ears bleed.”

Clearly it's Peter's insatiable personality that gets him out of these near-death scenarios.

"It's their own fault for looking at me funny."

Yeah, that one's a new low.

That gets an eyebrow raise. Perhaps more coffee will drown out the absurdity of that statement without Dustin having to inquire further about it. Yes, that’ll do nicely. Dustin took another sip and pretended that he hadn’t heard him.

“What newspaper did you work for?”

…Was that genuine interest he was expressing? No, it couldn’t be.

Somewhere, the devil is skating to work.

"The Daily Bugle in New York. Buncha hacks."

Except Robbie and Betty, of course. Okay, so the only real hack in the building was Jonah. It was sod's law that he was the one running the damn show.

Another amused “hmph” escaped over the edge of Dustin’s travel mug (which was by this point permanently glued to his lip).

“Now, were the pajamas a job requirement, or were you just that guy who liked abusing Casual Fridays?”

Spider-Man and Dustin Silver, sipping coffee by the open windows of a meatship screaming through the Bleed itself. It’s moments like these that make this mun smile.

"Naw, these are my dancing threads," he shoots back, punctuating it with a little charleston and some jazz hands thrown in for good measure, "What do you do? Y'know, when you're not busy looking for your next caffeine hit..."

Dustin rolled his eyes. It was true, after all—he was such a druggie.

But it was still a question worth answering. “Freelance crime fighting, if you must know.”

Another sip.

“I did patents on the side.”

Goliath's first instinct is to get that camera and crush it.

Then he remembers that pictures of his clan used to float around tabloid magazines all the time and that with all things considered, secrecy is the least of his problems right now.

He crosses his arms, obstinately not posing. "If you write a book, I will read it."

"You'll be sorry you ever said that," he replies amusedly, getting a snap of the towering gargoyle while he was still amenable to it.

Could you really imagine reading a book penned by Spider-Man? It would make Ulysses look like a weekend supplement, and only make half as much sense.

"Got any good ideas for a title? So far I haven't come up with anything better than Ohm be trippin'!"

"I will pen many complaints if there are factual inaccuracies."

Don't knock Ulysses. Goliath loved Ulysses. Also, congrats Peter, you are now in possession of THE ONLY clear shot of any gargoyle that was not taken on one Halloween or another. And is that a half-smile? Well snap, it is.

"Perhaps something with a little more allegory. 'Once More Into the Bleed' has a certain ring to it."

"You can make it out to my editor, J. Jonah Jameson at the Daily Bugle. I'll be sure to pass it along."

It'll go in the Nice guys that are totally misunderstood chapter. The rest of the shots in there will be self-portraits.

"I like it, I like it," he replies tapping his chin, "get the Shakey crowd's attention..."

By the time it makes it into their hands it is far, far more likely to have evolved - or de-evolved - into Once More I Soiled My Breeches.

Edited 2010-02-03 02:06 (UTC)

"I'll use colorful adjectives. Would it be more or less effective delivered in person?"

"You know, I think despite the initial shock he'd still be more pleased to see you than me," Peter muses, "He might even have the courtesy to ask before he tries to stub his stogies out on your arm."

"He will have to understand if I take offense if he doesn't."

Yes, Marco had heard the sound of running commentary as he was heading towards the Media Room to kick some futuristic game's ass. But, unlike any sane person, he wasn't running.

Oh no. Thanks to some of the other crewmates, Marco knew Spider-Man was on board - but he had yet to meet him. And that sounded very much like it could be the man himself, and there was no way he was not going to go and see.

So he quickly followed in the direction of that voice, possibly to his doom, and said, "Maybe you could write a picture-book."

He always makes time for the Spider-Fans, "Well, duh. What kind of books have you been reading that don't have pictures in them?"

Peter's reading list includes the TV guide and anything by Dr. Seuss.

"It's a travesty, I know, but for some reason people keep writing them," Marco said, wearing a massive grin. He was talking to Spider-man! Spider-man! "You should see the one my friend wrote. Eesh."

Ah, Dr. Suess. Classic reading man, classic reading.

But, as fun as the making-fun-of books conversation was, there was something Marco just had to ask. "Hey, you've met Batman here, right?" he said, and intense and somewhat sly expression crossing his face. "...who do you reckon would win, in a fight between the two of you?"

Marco was so going to prove Jake wrong.

"Dude, there are countless book burnings out there that are just dying to be exploited."

He scratches the back of his neck, "He the guy, say, yay high?" he stretches an arm a good foot above his own head, "Pointy ears? Captain America, the Linkin Park Years?"

That last one's a bit of an understatement, he'd be the first to admit, "Yeah, I've seen him around. I reckon I could take him. I mean, that's clearly padding that he's wearing."

"Yup, that's him," Marco said, grinning. "You know it's him by the complete lack of jokes and the whole aura of Doom and Gloom thing he's got going on."

Perfect! Spider-man knows who Batman is, and it smart enough to see that clearly he is the one who would come out on top. "Of course you could take him! No matter what some people say. Come on, you've got the wicked reflexes and the spider sense thing. And the webs. Man, they are so cool."

"Hey, the kid's done his homework," Peter replies happily, "And has, if I do say so myself, excellent taste in superheroes. I must now know your name so I can tell all my friends that somebody actually likes me."

Well, if you count spending most of your life (apart from the bits where you had to fight off an alien invasion) reading comics as "homework", then yeah...Marco's done it. "Marco," he said, still grinning. "And Dude, you're Spider-man. Obviously your friends are just a little thick in the head."

"My friends don't know I'm Spider-Man, duh," he fires back, "You think I wear duds like these just for the chicks?"

"Ah, the secret identity. Got it. Actually, speaking of secret identities...why the hell are you still bothering to have a secret identity? I mean, dude. The universes have all apparently been blown up, this place is Freak Central, and me and probably a whole bunch of other people have been reading about you since since we were like, five. Who are you trying to keep it secret from, the tentacles?"

Course, this could be constructed as somewhat hypocritical. Seeing as Marco had spent a considerable amount of time avoiding mentioning the whole "morphing" thing to anybody. But that just was because Marco was paranoid. Hey, even if no one was necessarily out to get him and the other Animorphs at that very moment, someone probably would be in the future.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Schnappy Schnaps

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject