2631/A Man, A Goblin - Prologue

A Man, A Goblin - Prologue
Date of Scene:	28 September 2017
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Just two pals gabbing away! Also tons of foreshadowing, cuz I'm dramatic like that!
Cast of Characters:	Green Goblin

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Green Goblin has posed:
    A dark office, lights off. A clock whose ticking alternates between too fast and too slow, could it possibly be accurate? The air seems thick, too thick for an autumn evening in New York City - high up, in the rarified air of a shell corporation's executive suite. In fact, the only suite on this entire floor that's likely seen use for months. The dust is still heavy on all the surfaces but one, the large, oak desk that sits in the middle of the room.

    This office just screams 'legitimate business' and 'completely sane owner'. A vague buzzing sound in the distance, the vibrations of a cellular phone rattling against thick wood.

    The only lights in the room are provided by an LCD monitor atop the desk, and the minimal glare displayed on the face of the ringing cell-phone. The number, private, unknown - blocked calls, dark halls, the spider spinning atop it all... "No, no..." comes a horse whisper from the shadows. Sweat drips onto the surface of the desk, splattering only inches from the still-vibrating cellular phone

    <NormaaAAAaaannnnn.... piiiiick uuuuupppp....>

    A shade of a man, seated behind the thick oak desk, visibly twitches in response to the low, hideous whispers in the room. "I'm... not... listening..." he hisses, lurching forward in his chair and clenching the table with both hands.

    The response? A cackling laugh that echoes through the empty office, rattling off the ceiling and back before getting lost, intermingling with the constant vibrations from the table.

    One of the hands releases the desk top and lunges out, grabbing hold of the mouse atop his desk and jerking it wildly, clicking once to bring up an Excel file with a number of names, figures and formulas spread out over it's numerous worksheets.

    "There's work to be done..." he mutters, to himself - or to the voice? "Always work, more work, big plans - we're going to fix things, get back on top."
    <WORK can wait, Normie... Let me out... We've got IMPORTANT businesssss...>
    Another twitch, a shiver... "Too cold in here," he mutters almost absent-mindedly, reaching inside his suit jacket and pulling out an unlabeled pill bottle. His hands shaking, sweat now freely pouring from his forehead, Norman finally manages to open the bottle and spill a number of the gel-capped pills onto the oak table. With tremoring hands, he reaches out and blindly grabs a handful, shoving them into his mouth and swallowy once, dry and violenty, to get them down his gullet.

    *SLAM!*
    Norman's right hand comes down on the table in a fist, leaving a noticeable crater in the thick wood, splinters and sawdust flying up from the impact as the tremors slowly cease.

    Steady breathing... wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, Norman Osborn looks up again at the spreadsheet with renewed focus.

Green Goblin has posed:
    'Stark Industries...' he silently reads along, face showing nothing but contempt for the name as he mouths figures to himself, running numbers in his head, 'Rand Enterprises...' he continues, his voice growing calmer and more emotionless as the psychiatric medications begin to take effect. He doesn't notice, but the cell-phone has stopped ringing, along with the whispers.

    'The Daily Planet... The Daily Bugle...' he mouths even more names - other V.C. firms, media conglomerates, applied sciences and research groups - seemingly random, but always with a meaningful string of numbers and data attached...

    He pauses as he passes a particular entry and snorts loudly, saying aloud this time "Wayne Enterprises... that poor orphan bastard, he just can't catch a break."

    He pauses to enjoy this moment of amusement for a few more seconds, his shoulders rising and falling as he seems to relish a certain memory - or perhaps something the Goblin said to him, once.

    Suddenly, the chuckling stops and his eyes snap back into focus. He's missed something. Something he's just seeing now. Scrolling back up the page, his gaze narrows on a particular entry. And slowly, a grin begins to creep across his stubbled, sleep-deprived face.

    "Yes... that's it...." he says, only his exhaustion containing his glee at this 'Eureka' moment, as his eyes catch a glimmer of something moving behind him in the LCD screen... something quick, something... green. He whips his head around, hoping to catch it... but there are only shadows. Shadows and the sound of his own breathing. Reaching forward to switch the monitor off and rise up off the office chair he had been seated in, Norman Osborn buttons up his suit jacket and looks to the exit, only illuminated by a red 'EXIT' sign high above it.

    As his shoes click across the floor, Norman receeds into the distance - seemingly satisfied with what appears to have been many days in that chair, thinking and worrying to himself. Looking for a path forward in a world that still, no matter how vaguely, remembers his fall from grace.

    As the door opens into the elevator shaft to take him down to street level, Norman thinks... could almost swear that he hears, from dozens of feet away - back at his desk, a low, whispered....

    <Soooooon.....>