Owner	Pose
Indiana Jones	A conversation like this was not suitable for the Museum. Although visitors were denied access one rogue researcher or janitor could see too much. Fortunately, the new choice of venue was much more secure--Dr. Jones' office at NYU in the Historical Wing. The second-floor office is not grand. A mid-level executive at Stark Industries would consider it small. A desk, a table, and enough bookcases to cover nearly every inch of wall. The room is FILLED with the detritus of the life of Indiana Jones. Textbooks shared space with journals, small glass cases with various artifacts of bone and earthenware and metal. A collector would find little value in these items. But in terms of historical significance, each has a story. There is a wardrobe at the far end, closed and locked securely. Next to it, a hat stand is ready to receive the hat resting almost carelessly onto one of the curved fittings - a beat-up brown fedora. The desk is cluttered with papers, but there are a few pictures there, aged and yellowing. A stoic older man with a grey beard, spectacles and a drooping hat. A smiling man in his 50's with a basset hound's look to him. And a smiling, dark-haired elderly lady, giving a knowing look to the camera. Dr. Jones is sitting behind the desk, waiting for Cindy to arrive. He looks around, then to the pictures on his desk, thinking of the ones who had never posed for pictures. Good friends, long gone, and yet his memory was still sharp as razors.
Cindy Moon	Cindy knocks lightly on the familiar door of Indy's office. Not that she'd dare ever call him that. Dr. Jones has her utmost respect. She takes a deep breath and fusses with a few of the stray tendrils escaping from her hair, which is twisted up neatly and held in place with a paua shell butterfly that catches every ray of light and bends it blue. Nothing to do now but wait. And angst.
Indiana Jones	Jones looks up at the knock. "Come in." He seldom walked to answer doors for his office. You never could be sure who was on the other side. And if it was not who he expected, then he could react in appropriate ways. Which was why the desk had the Colt 1911 in the spring-clip. One had to be ready for anything.
Cindy Moon	Cindy opens the door slowly and peers inside. The sight of Indy somewhat assuages her nerves, but she is still on edge. This could go two ways. Either he might find her worthy of assisting him in his endeavours, or he might find her to be a freak to be tossed carelessly to the curb. Closing the door behind her, Cindy smiles faintly and exhales a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. She is dressed in what appears to be a soft red tunic and black leggings with tightly-laced and faux-fur trimmed black boots. "So I suppose you're wondering what exactly you've let into your office..." Not who. But what.
Indiana Jones	Dr. Jones regards her for a moment. Something about her is...on edge. Unsure. But maybe it's time to even the playing field. "Have a seat, Miss Moon." He leans back in his chair. This was not something his students knew, as a rule. He was not famous by any means. But there were some people who knew. "Miss Moon, I was born July 1, 1899. I recently recognized...I am not sure 'celebrated' applies...my 128th birthday."
Cindy Moon	Cindy seems to sigh with great relief, before taking a seat to face Indy. "Oh, thank God. At least I'm in no danger of ever being accused as a cradle-robber." She grins impishly, attempting to defuse her anxiety with humour. "Sorry, I'm...a little awkward sometimes. You may have noticed...." Probably. Most likely. "Are you familiar with Spider-Man, Dr. Jones?"
Indiana Jones	Indy looks thoughtful. "Yeah. Guy in the red and blue longjohns? Seen him swinging around a few times, but never met the guy. Seems like a decent fella, though."
Cindy Moon	"Well...I am much the same." She stands and strips off her red tunic without preamble, revealing a spider suit with a white inset on the bodice, laced with red webbing and an arachnid. A strip of red remains around her neck, which she briefly pulls up to cover her nose and mouth. Then she lowers it again. "We suspect we had the same origin. But our stories are much different..."
Indiana Jones	He sits up and is about to raise a hand to ward her off. It's not the first time a student has started taking off their clothes in his office. But understanding seems to bloom on his face as he sees what is underneath - not a bra...or not-not a bra...but some kind of costume. He is about to remark on the costume when he remembers the trick she did. A special power...or a magician's trick. Not unrealistic. "Okay...if you're like him, then I'd like to see you hang from the ceiling like he supposedly can." If she's on the level, she can do it - it's not something she could fake.
Cindy Moon	Cindy unlaces her boots and slips them off, looking sheepish, then sets them aside. She looks up to the ceiling, her feet now clad in something that resemble slippers that meld with her suit. She jumps, and in a heartbeat, she has inverted her position, now clinging to the ceiling. Slowly, she begins to lower from silvery webbing that seems to originate from her fingertips, and she, still upside down in a crouched position, lowers to eye level, looking into his face as she holds to the web.
Indiana Jones	Indy has been skeptical about a lot of things in his life. About a lot of people, too. But when a young Korean girl jumps 15 feet straight up to stick to the ceiling, then lowers herself on some sort of spider-silk substance coming from her very fingertips... Well, some things just defy any attempt to doubt them. He looks directly into those brown eyes without blinking. "So...what do you go by when you're dressed like that?"
Cindy Moon	A slow smile spreads across Cindy's face, as she realizes maybe she isn't about to get thrown out. Hopefully. But she starts turning, slowly, on the line, and she reaches out an arm to swim at the air to right her again. "Silk. I go by Silk."
Indiana Jones	Indy steps back. He stays focused on her masked face because these costumes they wear...Jesus. Don't leave much to the imagination, do they...? But someone who can do what she does, what that guy Spider-Man can do...maybe he doesn't have to worry about running afoul of the trouble he usually runs afoul of. Something occurs to him. She can see it in his face. "...You're going to have to find something else to wear...if you're going to be traveling with me."
Cindy Moon	Cindy blinks, then giggles. "Really? You'd let me come?!" She's wiggling excitedly on the web in a happy dance-type fashion, and she flips over, landing on the ground in front of him without even a thump. "That's fantastic!" She pulls the red mask away from her face to rest again around her neck. "I'll WEAR somethin' else, but I'm bringing THIS in case." She nods. The tips of her fingers now bear short, sharp claws that are slowly disappearing. "I /promise/ you won't regret this."
Indiana Jones	Indy blinks. "Easy with those, kid." He looks thoughtful. "All right. You are going to need to handle some stuff on your end. Passport, ID, that sort of thing. I'm not going to lie, Miss Moon...this ain't going to be a pwalk in the park. I tend to get into some hairy situations."
Cindy Moon	"I'm not afraid," Cindy replies, twisting back and forth idly with pent-up energy. "Got my ID. Got my passport. And I'm used to hairy situations!" She might be a little TOO enthusiastic. But this...this sounds like the trip of a lifetime. And with Indiana Jones! What could possibly go wrong? "What could possibly go wrong?"