elseworldexiles | Times Square

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Times Square

In a tired part of the city
Hiding from the fast talk
Watch 'Don't walk' to 'Walk'
Easy when you're dreaming
Staring at the movies
Standing in a circle,
Laughing at the wrong time.

If alcohol could take me there.
I'd take a shot a minute
And be there by the hour.

Take a walk around Times Square
With a pistol in my suitcase
And my eyes on the TV.

By day, the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue dazzles all the senses. By night, the senses are electrified. Anything could happen between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, from West 40th to West 53rd.

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Spider-Man lands on a ledge, crouched down and running his accelerated vision over the area. Looking for anything he might be able to follow up on. Any sort of clue.

Ballet... doesn't seem like your normal busking kind of act. Not that buskers are allowed on the maglev tracks of Uptown...

The cardboard box is faded, and bears witness to other nights of hard use, but as the ballerina's shoes thock against the cardboard, a logo can be seen:

SUMMERS ELECTRONICS - THEATRICAL

The name means little to him - he doesn't recall Summers being any sort of electronics name by 2099, so it must be a small business that got crushed by the megacorps or something.

If he had money on him, he might drop some cash for her.

Across the street from the ballerina is a store, still open, named BETTER LIFE. Judging by the items displayed behind chrome-framed windows, it is an electronics store. A smaller version of the logo on the ballerina's box can be seen next to the entrance, with a block of text underneath the logo.

Times Square used to be a big deal, so businesses in this area might help give him a better lay of the economic landscape.

He squints just slightly from his position, to better focus his vision to read the text.

The text reads "Authorized Summers Electronics Retailer and Service Center."

The store's display window features phones, stereos, TVs, and air purifiers. Within the store, signs hanging from the ceiling direct customers to Toys, Home Care, Kitchen & Entertaining, Office, Travel & Auto, and Personal Care.

He's going through his old history lessons, trying to figure out if that's low-end or high-end technology for this day and age. The store looks nice, though, a bit stuffy and antiseptic - catering to whims and not needs, so he can guess what market it's going for.

His eyes scan the rest Square, looking for anything else, business or more likely pleasure, that might spark a clue.

Instinctively, he keeps darting his eyes to the sky to look out for the Public Eye flyboys hounding him - the old habit dies hard. All the vehicles are earth-based, and there's no maglev, even.

Deep breath.

He chances another look at the Tallus, on the off-chance it'll decide to be specific again.

"Hi, mister." There is a gray-skinned little boy on the ledge near him. "Whatcha doing?"

On closer examination, he has bat-like wings.

He jerks, with a start, quickly taking a step away from the voice.

Before he catches himself.

"Taking a look around town. You?"

Still tentative.

"I live here." The boy rubs a hand across his smooth, bald head and grins, exposing pale gray teeth. "Sometimes, anyway. You work for a paper?"

Friendly enough.

He's been burned by friendly before.

"No... I'm new in town, actually. Don't have a job yet. What do you recommend I do?"

The boy shrugs. "I dunno." His wings extend, then settle back against his shoulders. "There was that other guy who worked for a paper. He gave me a chocolate bar once. He didn't wear a funny mask like you. Y'got any chocolate?"

A small shrug. "Sorry, not right now."

Then a head tilt.

"There was another guy you met up here? What was his name?"

There is a skittering sound, and the boy turns to pounce, making a small noise of triumph that nearly drowns out the terrified squeak. When he turns around again, he belches and says, "Peter. My name's Irving. What's yours?"

He registers the name, and the reference to Parker.

His eyes don't leave the boy.

"What the shock did you just eat?"

Irving puts both hands over his mouth. "A mouse," he mumbles. "Sorry. I know I'm not s'posed to, but I get hungry."

Judging by the state of his clothes, Irving has been relying on getting his own food for quite a while.

And here he is without a cent on him to spare.

"Where's your family, Irving?"

Irving moves back a few steps, hunching his shoulders as his wings flex back and forth. "Dunno. They weren't home one day." He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. "You sure you don't got any chocolate?"

Yeah... this is your fantastic, ideal world, Raven.

"No... but if you meet me back here in an hour, I'll have some for you, okay?"

Irving squints at him. "Y'promise?"

Poor sap.

"Yeah. I can hook you up with a whole meal, Irving. What's your favorite food?"

"Pasghetti." The child makes a slurping sound, then looks embarassed. "Mama said I wasn't s'pposed to do that."

Pasghetti. Dammit.

"Then I'll get you some spaghetti, too. Right back here in an hour, okay?"

His arm reaches out to fire off a webline.

"You didn't tell me your name!" Irving calls after him. "You're s'posed to tell me your name. I toldja mine."

He debates being honest.

But Parker's dead, and there's a mantle to be concerned about.

"They call me Spider-Man," he says, with a smirk.

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marvel-citizens.livejournal.com - 2007-05-26 01:14 (UTC) - Expand

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