8075/I'm Sorry, Did I Interrupt Your Do-Goodery

I'm Sorry, Did I Interrupt Your Do-Goodery
Date of Scene:	27 June 2019
Location:	Unknown
Synopsis:	Spidey is interrupted in his do-gooding! Alas! But at least there's some singing involved?
Cast of Characters:	Spider-Man, Black Cat

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Spider-Man has posed:
"Spider-Man. Spider-Man. Friendly neighborhood, Spider-Man."

"SHUT THE F**K UP AND FIGHT ME!"

"You know, it's too close to Christmas to be throwing that kind of language around?"

Peter is in mid-fight with not one, but three armed assailants. Their firearms have already been taken care of, but they've grabbed up whatever they could find in the alleyway and it's not doing them any better than the guns did. The agile vigilante cartwheel flips over the top of a swung board and webs the swingers face with both hands, "Gooed you on the first date."

Into a round off backflip and round house that plants his foot dead center between the hoodlums shoulder blades. He stumbles forward and smashes his face against the dumpster. With one down, Peter turns towards the remaining two and rubs his thumb against the outside of his nose in an imitation of Bruce Lee. "You know, this is only going to last as long as I'm entertained right?"

Black Cat has posed:
"Hmm."

It's a very, very quiet sound of interest from a slim figure on high, still cast in shadow from the overhanging ledge of the building's balcony. Felicia frets at her plush lower lip with teeth as she watches the first goon eat dumpster metal -- oof, that //must// have hurt. But let's see...

Tychokinesis is a squirrely thing, but when the Black Cat narrows her eyes on goon number two, the possibility fields warp around him in the most unfortunate manner. He manages to collect up his length of thin rebar, but the first aggressive step towards Spidey is into a slick of anchovy oil leaking from a nearby lost tin. It's almost Stooge-like, the slip, and the third goon yelps as the rebar catches him flat across the ass in the second goon's flailing to keep his balance.

On high, Felicia allows herself a cold little smile. Spidey must be kept entertained, after all...

Spider-Man has posed:
Entertainment is entertaining.

Spidey is nothing if not an opertunistic combatant and he never lets a good site gag go unrewarded. Flailing Goon strikes his companion on the butt, "Whoa... guys, let's keep it PG 13 huh? I'm working on a deal with Disney to pick me up for a cartoon series and I don't know how the mouse is gonna take all this lowkey fifty shades action." Mid-sentence he flings himself around into a backflip kick that launches the butt-smacked goon into the air.

Both wrists fire a line of webbing to grab hold of the aerial goons chest and yanks him back into a side kick that hurls him into a dumpster right atop his unconscious buddy. "Idiot ball, corner pocket." The final goon finally loses his battle with gravity and falls to the concrete with a calamity of rebar in echoy alleyway. "Whoa..."

Spidey holds his hands up as he looks around, "The acustics are fantastic.." Deliberately giving the fella a chance to grab hold of his weapon because it's just polite, ya know? "You good?" Pointing at the goon once he's back on his feet. "Gotta keep.... One jump ahead of the breadline." Spidey sidesteps towards the wall and flips over a wild swing, "One swing, ahead of the sword... Come on guy, if you know the words just jump right in, nobody's listening."

In his defense, he genuinely believes that's true.

Black Cat has posed:
Slowly rising to her feet, Felicia eyes the drop down and the angle of the goon sprawled on his butt in the alleyway. The anchovy oil soaking into his pants really is insult to the injury of a bruised tailbone, no doubt. Peter sings his little showtune and the last goon scrambles to his feet, apopletic in his anger at being mocked.

"I'll show you a knife in the breadbasket, you spandex-wearing little shit!" the man snarls as he flicks open a butterfly-knife. Felicia steps off of the roof's ledge as if she were simply going to cross the street. The goon manages a lunge forwards at Peter before her boots land square between his shoulderblades. He's slammed to the alley floor with a wheezing 'woof' of lost air.

The Black Cat takes her jolly good time straightening from her crouch upon the unconscious man, her jade-green eyes twinkling as she looks upon Spidey.

"I steal only what I can't afford," she sings sweetly, the alleyway playing with the light vibrato imparted to her hanging notes. "And that's //not// everything," the cat-suited thief notes with a finger lazily pointed towards Peter.

Spider-Man has posed:
Once Felicia interjects herself into the brawl, however, Spider-Man's senses go bananas. A tell-tale tingling at the base of his neck that's so much like an instinct or feeling that every person feels in a bad situation. It's only super because his is thrown into high gear as are most of his attributes. "WHOA!" Both hands come up, palms out at the goon who was about to try, and fail, to stab him. "That'll do."

His palms still out, three fingers curl so that both are pointing upwards just as Black Cat crunchs down upon the goons shoulders. "Criminals today (No offense) have no situational awareness (I'm sure yours are fine)." Glancing from Goon, to Fel, to Goon, to Fel.

Then she sings the next line, "Well, I know who I'm getting as my partner for The Voice if this whole crime-fighting gig doesn't pan out." Web web web, wrists jerking back and forth to make sure the goons don't go anywhere even once they wake up and he turns slowly, even dramatically, towards Felicia. "So..." motioning. Between them, upwards, all around at the goons, "You stalking me?" He's terrible at this part, always has been.

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia doesn't flinch at the spray of webbing. Instead, she waits until the goons are all corralled before stepping delicately from the third goon's platform of shoulderblades. Her white boots make little sound on the alleyway's pavement as she saunters in Peter's direction with lazy feline twitches of her hips. Gauging his comfort at her presence with a slow once-over from his head to his toes and back up, she stops well short of him still.

"I wouldn't call it stalking," she replies with a little shake of her head. "Call it an idle interest in seeing if Keanu's under the mask. Am I going to have to take it off to see...?"

Even as she says this, she allows a charming smile to curve her red-red lips. It is a test...and she thinks Spidey will pass with flying colors.

Spider-Man has posed:
The third goon, the one Felicia landed on, is webbed and pulled over while she saunters. All three are wrapped up and he's preparing to hang them from an awning with a hand written note for the police like they wouldn't know precisely who left these guys for them. Old habits and all that. Plus it's amusing.

"Boop." The postit is smacked against the first goons bulbous forehead with a comical smack and he finally turns to face the Black Cat fully. Now with 100% more hands on his hips, "You mean is it Keanu under this mask?" Daring to lift his hands to point at his face, "Nah, nothing so impressive as John Wick. Truth is, I'm Christopher Walkens. I know I know... I..." Dramatic impersonation pauses, "..hope you're not disAppointEd. It hasn't been the same since Gigli. But I was pretty AMUSING in that."

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's smile twitches in her attempt to keep it coy. It nearly breaks to a laugh, but surely it's enough proof in the pudding that she finds the ridiculous humor at least somewhat amusing.

"Y'know, Spidey, I'd be more impressed if you weren't shorter than Walkens. Maybe if you stand on your toes and then talk like that?" A rolling step brings her closer to him and she keeps her hands behind her back in a mockery of innocence. Of course, the presentation is the deep vee of her cat-suit lined in the sheer white fur duplicated on the cuffs of her gloves and boots.

"But you're Spidey, I can tell. Nobody else levels lines like that at me. Do-goodery's going well, I'd guess?" She gives the bewebbed goons and their sticky note an arched eyebrow of abject Cat disapproval. Pfft. Noobs.

Spider-Man has posed:
"That's a low blow: attacking a fellas height." Spidey says with mock pain in his voice. Low cut deep vee, if Pete didn't know that it was deliberately worn to distract him, he probably wouldn't feel as guilty about glancing as he did. It's not even subtle. His whole head dips and then straightens to quickly to compensate. "It use to be that I would say something along the lines of, it's so hard not to look at cleaveage, but I'm not a sixteen year old governed by their hormones anymore and after the Trump administration and the rise of politically correct forms of social interaction it just makes me feel like a d-bag."

So he leans. It's obvious that the closer she gets the more uncomfortable he is. He might not be 16, but he's still more or less a kid and she can still cast that web over him practically at will. "I find the inverse relationship between what's socially acceptable in person being contrary to the shit show that is the internet so very amusing though." This is the rambling portion. Standard Spidey fare.

"Did you say do-goodery?" Pointing, also leaning, and kind of trying to look nonchallant, which he's failing at. "Well, shucks ma'am, they're going just swell. How goes the... Cat... stuff." Weak. "Hold on, I got this.. the, uh... less.. do-go-" Hands up, "Really, nothing? Spider-Man you are docked one credit by the oneliner standard of twenty twenty seven."

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia tilts her head and now the spandexed Spiderman is now the recipient of the eyebrow. She takes up a more relaxed stance now, bringing her hands around to rest on her hips-that-don't-lie.

"At least one credit. You mean my bad habits? I'm pretty sure you called them that once," she says with a light click of her tongue. "Though I'll let you know -- you do-gooders are rubbing off on me, little by little." The subtle shoulder shimmy a la Jessica Rabbit is unhelped. "I've been better about keeping my fingers out of the cookie jar, Spidey, so don't you worry your pretty little head." The Cat shoots him another gleaming smile.

Spider-Man has posed:
"Score one for peer preassure." Spidey makes a checkmark in the air with the tip of his index finger as if keeping up with unseen figures in a log book. "You think my head is pretty? I kind of worry it looks too big with the mask, ya know? My parents must have been big headed." That's besides the point and he waves his hands as if to dismiss the rambling thought before he goes off on a tangent about absolutely nothing.

Still leaning against his shoulder on the wall, the white eys of his mask size Felicia up and down, careful not to be inappropriate now that he's mentioned Trump because that'd make him a hypocrite. "First time in history that peer pressure helped someone STOP bad habits, so we can feel pretty good about that I think?" Random, "We're like one of those after school specials in the 90s..." And not for the first time, "I really need to update my pop culture references..." Murmured, glancing down at the street, scratching at the under side of his masked jaw.

"So... how are you? Aside from staying out of trouble, mostly, I mean."

Black Cat has posed:
By the contented little smirk, the blonde is entertained by something behind her own teeth. She shifts her weight and idly follows Peter's line of sight. She marks a late-night taxi driving past and the passing-by of a couple definitely drunk enough to require that taxi, but their slurring waves don't accomplish much -- and their inebriated state makes both suited vigilantes unnoticed in the end.

"Maybe you can start quoting memes instead of 90s references," the Cat suggests airily before she gives Spidey the first searching, far more serious look of their encounter. Her kohl-lined eyes narrow before she makes herself relax. Hard to believe they're the same age, these two. "I'm picking my trouble as I go instead of going all in. Do you know Doctor Strange? He decided to hire me to help him acquire some magical objects. He only hires the best, you know," -- and how she purrs this indicates the deep satisfaction she finds in the whole affair. "It's been magical."

And she doesn't flinch about laying down the pun.

Spider-Man has posed:
"Doctor Strange..." Spidey shakes his head, "A few weeks ago, dude just swooped in and YEET off with this guys pregnant wife." The blue and red vigilante flitters his hands upwards like a beautifully magestic flying bird. "One second she's giving birth in the back of a mini-van during an Earthquake, the next I'm having to explain that there was a pretty good chance the Doc took her to a hospital... it put me in a really awkward position."

That's the important stuff.

Now the less improtant stuff.

"So... does he know how ironic his name is? A magician who's name is Strange? I can't even write that kind of puntastic material."

The more important stuff.

"Did these magical objects belong to someone else? Obviously that's kind of an oxymoron, magic belonging to someone, but demonic possession is nine tenth the law."

Black Cat has posed:
It might be noted how Felicia perks up at hearing of the connection between the good Doctor and her fellow city-swinger. Her mouth falls into a small 'o' at the absurdity of the entire affair, rescue and all, and frankly, she can't help biting at the corner of her lip when Peter asks after the poor man's name. Still, he asks some good questions.

"I'll make fun of his name for you, don't worry. He's not as prickly as you think." That might be a little telling. She shifts gears to his second question. "And gosh, last time I checked, the objects belonged to dead people who left them someplace where they weren't supposed to be, so you're not wrong: possession is nine tenths of the law and I've helped the Doc possess a few of them -- as in own them," she clarifies after a beat with a small frown, as if wondering after Peter's own line of thought. "I've got one more to get, I think, and I'll be rewarded handsomely. Not that he hasn't already rewarded me, but...I'd like to think I've got more good things coming to me."

If the cat-burglar wasn't purring before, she certainly is now, and the look she gives Peter is very, very satisfied. Really almost lecherously satisfied. No one should look //that// satisfied while standing in an alley reeking of anchovy oil and goon.

Spider-Man has posed:
"Ah ah ah..." Spidey interjects, one finger in the air as if fact checking her nerd references, "Demonic possession.." Important distinction, unnecessary, but still important. He listens quietly to the rest, nodding in short bobs of his head, "So grave robbing? A little ghoulish for you, isn't it?" There's a smile in that voice.

Once more quiet, this time to actually drink in Felicia's satisfaction and kind of feel good about it. She'd come a long way since he was a teenager and even if he had absolutely no hand in it, he's still proud of the change. "This looks good on you." Motioning with a moving finger, "Not the suit, same suit, but... this..."

Black Cat has posed:
Felicia's eyes go wide -- and then she blurts out a cackle. Is that a slight flush on her cheeks? Never, because the lighting's terrible in the alleyway.

"Oh no. Oh nooooo, you //actually// think I'm turning into a do-gooder like you?" A sharp wave of her hand dismisses the entire idea like an errant blue-bottle fly. "I'll have you know that I still steal what I can't afford. I did it a week back."

A beat.

"And it wasn't grave-robbing either. I can't help it if people don't lock their windows."

Another beat and a smirk.

"And the Doc didn't bat an eyelash," she finally delivers, sounding way too smug about it.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spidey was feeling pretty good about the whole affair really. Seen an old frienemy turning over a new leaf, growing as a person, accepting their heart of gold as a medallion they can wear openly and publically despite the harsh judgements of their ner-do-well companions jeering glares. They lack the fortitude, the character even, to be-

Wait what?

Pete snaps to return his attention fully on Felicia. He'd done a J.D. move gone into some inner monologue. It's POSSIBLE that it involved Felicia joining a nunary.

"You st- but..." It's mind boggling.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm adhering to attequated ideas. Where, if I don't even NEED something, I don't steal it just because the window wasn't locked." Spidey wiggle points a finger at Felicia accusingly, "I can't help thinking you should be all over twitter." Hands out, palms flat, holding by the pitch fork mob, "Like some serious viral coverage of your unnecessarily nefarious antics."

Black Cat has posed:
The threat of setting social media afire with her exploits is fuel for her own pride. It makes Felicia curl one of those come-hither, daring grins, smoky about her eyes in turn.

"It's probably time to get into the twenty-first century properly then, Spidey. Weren't you just complaining about your after-school specials? Topanga isn't as cute anymore, sorry to let you know." She lets her eyes drag down and up him once more, still wearing the curl of a smile.

"Nice to see you again. I've got an errand to run, so if you'll forgive me, this girl's got a place to be." She turns almost dancer-like on one foot to begin sauntering away towards the alley's exit. Surely she's not leaving as a pedestrian?

Of course not. Having been certain to allow an appreciable amount of time to appreciate her leaving, she stops and deliberately raises a hand above her head. A glance shot over her shoulder is accompanied by a jade-green wink.

"I think I'll take a stroll around the block," she sing-songs sweetly, picking up his earlier song choice. A zipping hum of the grappling line extends from her wrist and then there she goes, off into the night, surely out to steal something.

Maybe.

If luck's in her favor.

Spider-Man has posed:
"You take that back." Spidey points an accustory finger in her direction like he's leveraging a hostage against negociator demands, "I can handle you stealing some priceless heirlooms and... I'm willing to look the other way while you saunter around flaunting it in my face, but you don't speak that way about Mrs. Topanga Lawrence. That woman is a national treature, reknowned across the country for her wit and brilliant intelligence. Just because Girl Meets World flopped harder than a fat kid chasing a rolling cookie off a diving board.."

And she's off. Should he try and stop her? Probably, but he's not going to. Instead he sighs in resignation knowing that his inaction will lead to insurance claims and more paperwork for some unfortunate claims agent who thought he was going to have an early Thursday morning.

His elbow rests against the ribs of one of the hanging goons, who groans as he starts to wake up, and props the side of his mask in his palm. "She even sang the song better than me..." Dramatically, he turns and bangs his curled fist against the wall, but it's not hard... just an expressive touch of costume to brick. "Girls DO rule... and boys..." Head thrown back like all his turnups have just died in a drought, "Boys.. drool..." Face temporarily hidden in his elbow.

"Alright, police are on the way." Standing up, dusting off his knees, and patting one of the goons on the cheek. "If you spent half as much time filling out applications as you did sucking at being criminals, amirite?" Two weblines, one big yank, and the Webslinger is off to his next activity!

PHYSICS HOMEWORK!