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xp_logsGabriel decides to take out his frustration physically on some unsuspecting bar-hoppers, which attracts Spider-Miles's attention.
Another night of swinging around town was a bust. How could Manhattan be so crime-free? It was unreal. Miles sighed discontentedly as he swung from his last web line and landed on the side of a brownstone. He clung to the wall and surveyed the neighborhood, looking for any chance to get all Spider-Man. But all he saw were patrons drunkenly stumbling out of the bars to go home, either to pass out or engage in what Miles could only assume was disease transmission.
Not that that was any of his business, kermitteasip.gif.
On the ground, a drunkly stumbling Gabriel was on a mission of his own. It had been less than a week since this world had been cobbled into existence, and he'd spent most of those nights under the influence of one substance or another. Even after one too many whiskeys, he was still unable to escape the maelstrom brewing inside him. But this time, instead of being maudlin, he was angry.
Cigarette in hand, Gabriel glanced around. His eyes landed on a group of gentlemen wearing baseball caps and salmon khakis. Excellent. "Hey," he called out, approaching them. He tapped the tallest of the group on the shoulder. "That's my coat, you asshole."
"Uh, no," the bro stepped back, exchanging incredulous glances at his two clean-cut friends, one of whom had taken the risk of taking his beer to go. "Sorry, man."
"Fuck you," Gabriel spat, moving back toward him. "That's my coat. Give it back to me."
"Hey," a burly blond man stepped in between the two of them, pushing Gabriel away with a firm hand. "He doesn't have your coat, you drunk moron." The enforcer crossed his arms, giving Gabriel the once-over. "Get the fuck away."
Miles was just about ready to just call it a night and check in with Peter before heading home when he caught sight of the confrontation. He launched himself off the brownstone and caught the corner of the building across the street, and then repeated the jump again, going camo mid-jump, to land on the wall closest to the trio that was accosting the loner. Please get into it, he silently pleaded. Miles was just itching to leap into action.
"Don't touch me." Gabriel snarled, giving him the once-over right back. "Move out of the way so I can get my coat back, douchebag." His blood was boiling, and he'd almost forgotten that this confrontation was mostly of his own making. Hardly mattered now. He threw the remainder of his cigarette at the tall man's feet, then tried to push past him.
That's when the largely-silent third dudebro threw a punch at Gabriel's face.
Hallelujah. Miles instantly swooped into action, dropping camo mode as he landed behind the first offender. "I know it's really perverse," he said, spinning the man around by the shoulder so he could get a good look at the jerk. "But first let me thank you for doing that because my night was sooooo boring and I really didn't want to go do my trig homework."
The familiar and annoying buzzing in his head warned him just in time to sidestep one of the other men who'd charged for a grapple. Instead, the guy found himself eating pavement as he comically tripped over Miles's outstretched leg.
After recoiling and staggering back from the punch, Gabriel straightened himself, ready and eager for the fight.
And what he saw instead was Spider-Man.
"Oh, hideputa, you've got to be kidding me." He ducked as the large blond guy tried to punch him, then thrust the heel of his hand into the man's nose. "Cannot be this drunk. No way."
"You. Language," Miles chided Gabriel before turning back to the first bro who'd apparently stolen this other guy's coat. (And where did that other guy learn to throw a punch like that?) "And you. It's illegal to drink outside. The city's full of impressionable youth and you don't want to set a bad example." With an impressive display of agility, Miles kicked the glass of beer out of the man's hand, which flew up into the air and spilled its contents all over the jerk. A thin web line brought the glass back to Miles's hand before it could shatter on the sidewalk.
"It's 1:15 a.m, buddy." The large enforcer was cradling his nose, so Gabriel spared a second to look at this newcomer - who sounded disarmingly familiar and, he realized now, understood Spanish. A feeling of eerie dread settled over him. "Kids should be in bed."
He turned his head just in time to see the fist of the man he'd just punched – who, for whatever reason, had Gabriel's Nazi doppelganger's head on his body – flying toward him. Using his powers, he stepped out of the way just in time.
"Hey!" Miles threw the glass at the enforcer, who swatted it out of the way, which gave Miles the opportunity to dash forward and lightly smack the guy upside the head. "Warning now, that's really going to hurt in about three seconds. But keep it in mind next time you try to hit someone from behind." True to his word, the guy fell to his knees, squealing in pain as the venom blast coursed through his body. It was a mild one, not much more than a full-body charlie horse. Enough to knock him down for a little bit, at least.
"You move real fast for a drunk guy," he said to Gabriel. "Now which one has your coat?"
"You have got to be kidding me." Gabriel crossed his arms. "Surely, Spider-Man's got better things to do then help me retrieve lost clothes." Clothes which weren't even his to begin with. "That guy." He pointed to the taller man in question. "But I can handle this myself, cumpa."
"Maybe I'm just so good at what I do that crime's just disappearing from this city, and all I'm left with are a bunch of idiotas como estos. And you." He looked very pointedly at Gabriel. "Ten cuidado. What happens next time I'm not here, eh?"
"I – en serio?" Gabriel just shook his head, maybe a little too fast. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. The admonitions, the hero complex, the smugness. There was no doubt this was Miles. "Are you for real? You gonna throw out some cheesy maxim about how everyone needs a hero now?"
"Por supuesto, Hermoso. That's like literally my job." A figure passed overhead, and the pair looked up to see another person swinging through the city. The bright blue and red of his uniform were visible even in the night sky. "Welp, that's my cue. You all have a good night. And maybe find yourself Jesus." And with that, he was airborne again, spinning web after web to match pace with Spider-Man 1.
Gabriel put his hands in his pockets, watching as Spider-Miles – now complete with webs, apparently – took off. The pair swung away from him, disappearing out of sight, and it was all Gabriel could do to take a deep breath and steady himself. Miles was back. This had to count as a good thing.
A groan from the ground brought him back to his senses. He turned, looking at the mess he and Miles had made, and sighed. "Not good enough," he muttered. A few seconds later, he sped down the street in search of another distraction.
Another night of swinging around town was a bust. How could Manhattan be so crime-free? It was unreal. Miles sighed discontentedly as he swung from his last web line and landed on the side of a brownstone. He clung to the wall and surveyed the neighborhood, looking for any chance to get all Spider-Man. But all he saw were patrons drunkenly stumbling out of the bars to go home, either to pass out or engage in what Miles could only assume was disease transmission.
Not that that was any of his business, kermitteasip.gif.
On the ground, a drunkly stumbling Gabriel was on a mission of his own. It had been less than a week since this world had been cobbled into existence, and he'd spent most of those nights under the influence of one substance or another. Even after one too many whiskeys, he was still unable to escape the maelstrom brewing inside him. But this time, instead of being maudlin, he was angry.
Cigarette in hand, Gabriel glanced around. His eyes landed on a group of gentlemen wearing baseball caps and salmon khakis. Excellent. "Hey," he called out, approaching them. He tapped the tallest of the group on the shoulder. "That's my coat, you asshole."
"Uh, no," the bro stepped back, exchanging incredulous glances at his two clean-cut friends, one of whom had taken the risk of taking his beer to go. "Sorry, man."
"Fuck you," Gabriel spat, moving back toward him. "That's my coat. Give it back to me."
"Hey," a burly blond man stepped in between the two of them, pushing Gabriel away with a firm hand. "He doesn't have your coat, you drunk moron." The enforcer crossed his arms, giving Gabriel the once-over. "Get the fuck away."
Miles was just about ready to just call it a night and check in with Peter before heading home when he caught sight of the confrontation. He launched himself off the brownstone and caught the corner of the building across the street, and then repeated the jump again, going camo mid-jump, to land on the wall closest to the trio that was accosting the loner. Please get into it, he silently pleaded. Miles was just itching to leap into action.
"Don't touch me." Gabriel snarled, giving him the once-over right back. "Move out of the way so I can get my coat back, douchebag." His blood was boiling, and he'd almost forgotten that this confrontation was mostly of his own making. Hardly mattered now. He threw the remainder of his cigarette at the tall man's feet, then tried to push past him.
That's when the largely-silent third dudebro threw a punch at Gabriel's face.
Hallelujah. Miles instantly swooped into action, dropping camo mode as he landed behind the first offender. "I know it's really perverse," he said, spinning the man around by the shoulder so he could get a good look at the jerk. "But first let me thank you for doing that because my night was sooooo boring and I really didn't want to go do my trig homework."
The familiar and annoying buzzing in his head warned him just in time to sidestep one of the other men who'd charged for a grapple. Instead, the guy found himself eating pavement as he comically tripped over Miles's outstretched leg.
After recoiling and staggering back from the punch, Gabriel straightened himself, ready and eager for the fight.
And what he saw instead was Spider-Man.
"Oh, hideputa, you've got to be kidding me." He ducked as the large blond guy tried to punch him, then thrust the heel of his hand into the man's nose. "Cannot be this drunk. No way."
"You. Language," Miles chided Gabriel before turning back to the first bro who'd apparently stolen this other guy's coat. (And where did that other guy learn to throw a punch like that?) "And you. It's illegal to drink outside. The city's full of impressionable youth and you don't want to set a bad example." With an impressive display of agility, Miles kicked the glass of beer out of the man's hand, which flew up into the air and spilled its contents all over the jerk. A thin web line brought the glass back to Miles's hand before it could shatter on the sidewalk.
"It's 1:15 a.m, buddy." The large enforcer was cradling his nose, so Gabriel spared a second to look at this newcomer - who sounded disarmingly familiar and, he realized now, understood Spanish. A feeling of eerie dread settled over him. "Kids should be in bed."
He turned his head just in time to see the fist of the man he'd just punched – who, for whatever reason, had Gabriel's Nazi doppelganger's head on his body – flying toward him. Using his powers, he stepped out of the way just in time.
"Hey!" Miles threw the glass at the enforcer, who swatted it out of the way, which gave Miles the opportunity to dash forward and lightly smack the guy upside the head. "Warning now, that's really going to hurt in about three seconds. But keep it in mind next time you try to hit someone from behind." True to his word, the guy fell to his knees, squealing in pain as the venom blast coursed through his body. It was a mild one, not much more than a full-body charlie horse. Enough to knock him down for a little bit, at least.
"You move real fast for a drunk guy," he said to Gabriel. "Now which one has your coat?"
"You have got to be kidding me." Gabriel crossed his arms. "Surely, Spider-Man's got better things to do then help me retrieve lost clothes." Clothes which weren't even his to begin with. "That guy." He pointed to the taller man in question. "But I can handle this myself, cumpa."
"Maybe I'm just so good at what I do that crime's just disappearing from this city, and all I'm left with are a bunch of idiotas como estos. And you." He looked very pointedly at Gabriel. "Ten cuidado. What happens next time I'm not here, eh?"
"I – en serio?" Gabriel just shook his head, maybe a little too fast. He closed his eyes for a few seconds. The admonitions, the hero complex, the smugness. There was no doubt this was Miles. "Are you for real? You gonna throw out some cheesy maxim about how everyone needs a hero now?"
"Por supuesto, Hermoso. That's like literally my job." A figure passed overhead, and the pair looked up to see another person swinging through the city. The bright blue and red of his uniform were visible even in the night sky. "Welp, that's my cue. You all have a good night. And maybe find yourself Jesus." And with that, he was airborne again, spinning web after web to match pace with Spider-Man 1.
Gabriel put his hands in his pockets, watching as Spider-Miles – now complete with webs, apparently – took off. The pair swung away from him, disappearing out of sight, and it was all Gabriel could do to take a deep breath and steady himself. Miles was back. This had to count as a good thing.
A groan from the ground brought him back to his senses. He turned, looking at the mess he and Miles had made, and sighed. "Not good enough," he muttered. A few seconds later, he sped down the street in search of another distraction.
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