test drive 01

[thestewards]

'Cause I have these new fears I carry with me
So you can feel stronger, you can know peace

► All TDM threads may be considered canon provided both parties agree and are accepted into the game.

► Canon threads may be redeemed for influence and reputation, depending on how you solve the issue at hand or how you engage with the prompt.

► Feel free to switch up your character's Jewel from thread to thread. Get a feel for how a Birthright Jewel may limit or enchance your character's abilities.

GOOD MORNING, DRAEGA
The psychic summons comes with the first light of dawn, waking you from a dream of home. It takes you a minute to remember where you are (a warm, comfortable room in Queen Fayura's residence) and then a moment longer to parse the words.

*Your presence is requested in the training field behind the Queen's Residence. You have ten minutes to get your ass out of bed on your own, or ten minutes to decide you want to be up to your neck in ice-cold mountain water. Your choice.* Gray power flavors the voice. Ah, you recognize that psychic touch. Allairavar, the Master of the Guard.

You remember, too, that he warned the household at last night's supper: if you live in the Queen's Residence, you practice with the Queen's court. You…

i. Drag yourself out of bed with an aching groan, dress with the bleary-eyed confusion of one too suddenly forced awake, and amble onto the training field to avoid the promise of a much more shocking wake up call. Or maybe you make your way quickly with a skip in your step and a twinkle in your eye. You haven't realized yet that Allairavar does not like morning people. Even so, you don't want to get dunked in ice water in the middle of winter.

ii. Roll over and go back to sleep. The Master of the Guard isn't really going to carry through with his threat. In your defense, he doesn't. But one of the First Circle does. You're not sure how you got from your room to a large barrel full of water that could freeze open flame, but here you are, soaked and shivering and very much awake.

Regardless of how you get to the training field, Allairavar pairs you with another Stranger and puts you through your paces. It's barely above freezing, but you're going to need a shower when you're done.


BUILD BETTER BOMBS
There are three rows of four tables set up in the Tinker Guild Hall's auditorium, all heavy laden with materials. Bits of wires, buttons both small and large, ticking clocks. A tank full of goldfish. Sand, canisters of gasses, a strange viscous liquid in a bowl of lead.

"Handle that with gloves," Master Tinker Mari warns you with a wink and a grin. "The bowl, I mean. Don't handle the liquid or you'll lose your hand." She waves her hands at you.

This is supposed to be a crash course in bomb making, and in a way it is. Master Tinker Mari crashes into person after person, pushing them into pairs. She shoves someone up to you. "Blow my mind!" she whispers dramatically, and then she vaults the table, making something in a vial smoke, bubble, and pop.

Around the edge of the auditorium are four chalkboards, each with several diagrams on them. Presumably, these are schematics for you to follow. Smoke bombs, flour bombs. Fireworks and sparklers. Water bombs—maybe she means water balloons? One schematic requires a hamster wheel.

You might as well give it a go.

Note: Master Tinker Mari won't let anyone blow themselves up (or blow up the building). In the event Strangers make something truly dangerous and not just inconvenient, she will hurry over with a much more serious demeanor and disarm the bomb they've created with a suggestion that they take her advanced course.


CHARITY IS AS CHARITY DOES
You were sent here to help, so help you have: by letting the Ebon Council auction off three hours of your time and the power in your Jewels to help with local troubles. Maybe someone's cold box has lost its cooling spell—that's basic Craft and you can help with that—or maybe someone needs you to fetch their cat down from a tree. Whatever it is, you're here to take care of it.

The stage you stand on creaks beneath your feet as a polite older witch bids on you and your partner (the Ebon Council would never let you work alone, no, the landens are too dangerous for you to be out on your own!) with three jars of pear preserves. No money exchanges hands here, just items like non-perishable foods and handmade clothing or blankets.

You'll help the little old witch who needs some rocks moved from the fields just outside Draega's walls, but it occurs to you that only the Blood were at this auction, and only they will reap the rewards. That's hardly charity… but that's also not your problem, is it? Maybe it is. You could always ask that landen couple hovering just to the side of the stage what they need (their roof is leaking, and the man's right hand is crippled, twisted into a rigid claw). Or maybe you won't. They don't have anything to offer, and everything has a price, even your time.


HIT AND RUN
Chill winter air doesn't keep anyone inside in Draega. Stalls line the streets of the Old Town Bazaar, and vendors hawk their curious wares. Blood and landen mingle here, each a little wary of the other but with the affect of those who have accepted they must live alongside their enemy. Expressions are shuttered, but marks are marks no matter who hands them over. No shopkeeper denies a customer just because the money comes from someone they don't like, not in times like these.

As you make your way through the Bazaar, perhaps in search of something or someone or a place to eat (the scent of meat pies is thick in the air), you hear a shout and a cry of pain. People peel back as one, revealing a group of young landen men carrying clubs and wearing cruel sneers. At their feet, a young boy sprawls across a puppy in the muddy slush that covers the road.

You catch the flavor of his psychic scent: he's half-Blood, one of those pitiable creatures accepted by neither the Blood or the landens.

"Y-you can't hurt him!" the little boy cries, curling around the puppy. "P-Prince Verim will stop you!"

The young men laugh. "Prince Verim isn't here," one spits, raising his club.

You could step back. After all, this isn't your problem. You could just alert the First Circle and call it done; they patrol the area, one of those males will surely be here soon. Or you could step in. Everything has a price, and the price of attacking a helpless child and a puppy is a tussle with you.


WALKIE-TALKIE
Catch up with a new acquaintance you met at the Queen's Residence or simply pause to listen to the news playing in a store you're passing through. Far-casters come in all shapes and sizes, from the held-held device that's a bit clunky to the radios that stand at a man's height in some restaurants. If you're spinning the dial and listening to some radio programs, you'll hear…

etiquette with evandra and aren.
[A woman's voice leads. It's a little bit rough and a little bit husky, the kind of voice that gives bad ideas to young men and headaches to fathers.] …just as well. Since you don't want to die for offending a Warlord Prince's lady, what do you do, Lord Aren?

[A man's voice, chipper and bright. He sounds more like an eager boy than the full-grown man he is.] Apologize immediately to her, but meet his gaze so he knows the apology is for him as well. Remember, dear listeners: a Warlord Prince's lady may be all that stands between you and a violent end. Make sure she likes you!

[The woman laughs.] Or at least doesn't think killing you is worth the trouble. If we all learn a little more about each other, we can learn to live together. As always, I'm Evandra.

[With great gusto, Lord Aren says:] I'm Aren, and you've been listening to…

[Together:] Etiquette with Evandra and Aren! [Jaunty outro music plays, a complete tonal dissonance with the fact that the two were just educating landens on how to avoid murder.]

the weather
[A soft-spoken man's voice rumbles out of the Far-caster. He's pleasant to listen to, with a soothing cadence to his voice.] …rain tomorrow with overcast skies through the morning and afternoon. Landen weather devices indicate a decrease in sky-pressure, so those of you who suffer from migraines may want to talk to your Healers or Medicos now.

There's possibility of snow later in the week from the northwest. Questions about snow removal? Reach out to your local Transport Guild rep or your Ebon Council chairperson.

the news
…Blood family of four found murdered in their homes. The Queen's Court assures Draega that no payment for the murders is being asked for at this time. [The man speaks at a brisk pace, hurried and harried as though he has too much to say and not enough time to say it.]

That's right, Garret. [Another man, nasally in tone. He doesn't sound rushed so much as put upon.] Preliminary investigations do indicate the Hunter Guild may be responsible for the deaths.

[Garret:] Indeed they do, Wilt. Evidence at the scene supports the use of Breakers on the family. Turning now from the grisly murder to the surprising way the Queen's Winsol gift to the city is being used to benefit both Blood and landens.

Comments

Peter B. Parker | Into the Spider-verse

[stickypete]

I. BUILD BETTER BOMBS

[Peter still isn't quite sure how he got into this mess. When the mysterious lady came to him, he thought it was a dream, or some strange vision from the super-collider, an alternate reality superimposed on the real world. Maybe he was even dead, shot in the head by one of Kingpin's henchmonkies, and he couldn't remember it because it happened so fast.]

[It was hypnotizing. Mesmerizing. (Amazing and spectacular?)]

[And the part of him that was afraid to go home, afraid to try to reclaim an empty life, said yes yes, take me away. It's easier to let other things consume him than to face the reality he left. It's easier to get lost in helping people as Spider-Man than trying to rebuild the close-to-irrevocably screwed up life of Peter Parker.]

[And the spider gang should be okay. Miles got control of the collider. Mission accomplished.]

[So here he is, caught up in whatever this is, trying to make the best of it, still only half-sure it's not a dream. And making the best of it means trying to make sure he's properly geared up. So Peter runs around, grabbing jars and bowls and vials of strange liquids, carefully handling the more volatile ones with the steady, gloved hands of a chemical engineer who is just used to this kind of thing.]

[That means he also grabs some of the jars and vials right out of the hands or workspaces of the other people there.]

Yoink. Sorry. I need this a lot more than you do.

[Rude.]

[But nothing about this guy seems acceptable for polite company. He's an unshaven mess, in baggy clothes that barely hide a slight paunch. Of all clothing styles to go with in this brave new world, he's chosen hobo couture.]

[He seems to be completely ignoring the schematics and doesn't have any shells that could be used to create a bomb. Whatever he's trying to create - or re-create - is some kind of extremely viscous solution, mean to be used for God knows what.]

[For those he stole from, the only way to get their ingredients back is to try to steal them right back.]

II. HIT AND RUN

[There is no hesitation. Before the super-collider, before Peter met the spider...gang? -- (they really should've thought up some kind of team name) - he was chafing under the weight of responsibility and the wreckage of a ruined life that came from always putting said responsibility first.]

[All of it had left him very very Tired.]

[He still is Tired, but after meeting the others - and especially after meeting Miles - he's starting to remember why he became Spider-man in the first place. The spark is there again, even if it's a small one, even if it still needs to be fanned with gentle breath to grow into a stronger flame. ]

[That means the reaction to this is easy. The only hard part is doing it without a mask. He's decided against that here - he can't wear the thing 24/7 and the pool of people pulled through isn't exactly big enough to hide in. If he tries for a secret identity, someone's going to put two and two together pretty quickly and wonder why Peter Parker and Spider-man aren't in the same room during every conflict.]

[So no mask here, which means he has to actually school his expression to something that Means Business.]

[(He feels strangely naked.)]

[He raises a hand and thwip thwip, two shots of webbing fly from his wrist. The club and the hand holding it are covered in sticky webbing that is now attached to one of the other thugs. Mr. Puppy Kicker can't move that hand without yanking the other thug along with it.]

Oh, for Pete's sake. Kicking a puppy and picking on a kid? Really? What's your next trick: making the trifecta complete by terrorizing the elderly?

[He's been granted a sapphire - which is apparently very potent - placed in a sturdy metal band on his upper arm. The big di - uh, big jewel energy radiates off him right now. When paired with the "been there, butt-kicked that" attitude, for just a moment he doesn't look like a scruffy divorcee with a bad back who eats his feelings. Instead, he looks like a grizzled and seasoned new deputy in town, more than ready to take on whatever wild bunch that thinks they own the place and the people in it.]

You can take that rootin' tootin' persecutin' shtick of yours and stuff it.

[He flicks a hand at the gang, dismissing them, like he's swatting away a bug. ("Get the hell out of my parlor," said the spider to the fly.)]

Amscray. Vamoose. Begone.

[They don't vamoose. Looks like this is going to be a fight.]

III. NETWORK | ETIQUETTE WITH EVANDRA AND AREN

[Peter figures out the far-caster pretty quickly. He's used to adjusting to weird new tech on the fly. What he's not used to is adjusting to any kind of high society nonsense.]

[Case in point, the way he's currently eating the dagwood-esque sandwich he improvised should be considered a crime against humanity.]

[He speaks with his mouth full, somehow magically managing to gab away without any food spewing out. He seems to have extensive experience doing this.]

Please tell me all this etiquette-or-death stuff isn't going to be a thing. The last thing I need right now is mandatory charm school.

[Snarf, smack, who eats tomatoes like that? God in heaven.]

[He waves the sandwich around in a vague motion. Some of the contents flop out and he starts picking them off his shirt.]

There is such thing as the sunk-cost fallacy. It's really not worth the effort, trust me.

Visual Network~

[mint_and_bronze]

[The novelty of the far-caster is that it's a strange sort of retro-futuristic version of a thing that had passed beyond living memory within Maeve's lifetime. Fiddling with it grants her some...intriguing insights into the people she's come to live among, however. As such, she can't help but reply to the man chowing down on a simply enormous sandwich.

She's faintly in awe of the sheer mess and his apparent comfort with it. The excess. The disregard. How.]

I get the impression that they're very, very big on very precise rules. Protocol, they call it.

[She's fascinated in a slow-motion-train-wreck, shouting-at-the-horror-movie-starlets-to-not-open-the-closet sort of way.]

So I should take it that you're not exactly big on the fundamentals of regular old etiquette in the first place?

[stickypete]

Where's the fun in fundamental?

[A pause.]

Other than in the word itself.

[Another vague wave but this time he at least uses his free hand instead of waving around the sandwich.]

We've got more important things to worry about than perfecting our curtsies and knowing which fork is the oyster fork.

[mint_and_bronze]

[Her lips quirk to the side. It's not quite a smile.]

Are you using the royal we, or are you including me in that statement?

But say I do agree with you--and I...conditionally do not--but say I do. What important things?

[stickypete]

We, inclusive plural.

We got recruited into this to save a world, right? A world that currently looks like it's circling the drain.

[He waves the sandwich around.]

Seems to me like we should be knocking our heads together to figure that whole apocalypse thing out? Slightly bigger priority than, oh, just about everything else, including learning when to stick our pinkies up.

[He sticks up the pinky of the hand holding the sandwich, as if to say "see, I already know how to do that one" and continues to chomp on it, pinky still raised daintily.]

[He still thinks this thing is a typical save-the-world job: something that will last just a few days, or a week at most. He doesn't know yet that they're in it for the long haul.]

I - lmk if this is cool!

[beguiledcard]

[ So, the "fun" thing about stealing from a thief? A lowkey spiteful thief? Well... it can end badly, in a lot of cases - for the thief. Usually.

While Akira had quirked his brow at the thievery, he hadn't done anything to stop it. Instead, he'd been waiting until the guy was settled before making his way over.

So, he waits until the guy's distracted before just. Moving to pick it up with a perfectly calm look on his face. ]

time to tussle over dangerous chemicals

[stickypete]

[Peter looks back to see the beaker is gone and sees the kid snatch the beaker, looks at the place on the table where the beaker was, then looks back to the beaker in the kid's hands.]

You're like, twelve [He says this even though the teen is definitely an older teen, because he's a jerk like that] so there's no way you need that more than me.

[That might be lie, because he doesn't know this kid's deal. Peter was already superheroing at a similar age. But right now, he's most concerned with making sure he has a large supply of web fluid in this place, so he can do the job at hand and help whoever needs to be helped.]

[He holds out a gloved gimme hand.]

Give it.

excellent

[beguiledcard]

[ He quietly looks at said "gimme" hand, both eyebrows lifting just a little. He looks back up at the guy. AKIRA HAS HAD A LONG DAY... He's fought bullies who were trying to beat up a kid and a puppy, he's been mocked by an "ally" here, he's currently... here, instead of with his friends. That's not mentioning what all he was going through just before arriving here.

He smiles. ]

Not a chance in hell.

lemme know if this is okay or not.

[stickypete]

Ugh, teenagers.

[Just because Miles, Gwen, and Peni got on his good side, and he's finally considering having kids, doesn't mean he's any less inclined towards chasing kids or teens he's annoyed with off his metaphorical lawn.]

[He raises a hand, pressing his middle two fingers against his palm.]

[Thwip, a glob of something shoots out and covers the top of the beaker so that it won't spill when jostled. Thwip, a solid line of something shoots out and attaches to the beaker. Peter yanks with all the skill of someone that's spent twenty years stickying fragile objects and yanking them into his hands without breaking them, sometimes while simultaneously flipping through the air. Vials of antiserum, beakers, devices, priceless artifacts, yada yada yada, it's all the same.]

[Whether or not he's successful depends on if Akira can somehow hold on strong enough to contend with someone with super-strength.]

[Fortunately, the contents aren't as volatile as some of the other ingredients in here.]

ii.

[godsbane]

[ Peter steps in before she does and whatever she tries to say is...well, lost, as she still can't quite manage to get full sentences out of her mouth. And she's ready to step away since it seems he can manage himself, what with that binding he's capable of summoning.

Rhea slips in behind him to go to the side of the boy who's been bullied, briefly looking him over. He scoops up the dog in his arms and starts to back away from the scene.

Peter's efforts seem to be in vain. Which is why she gestures, pointing to the one who'd been talking - the bastard with the sneer - and takes great satisfaction in seeing his feet frozen to the stone pavement. He shouts angrily; Rhea smiles, stepping towards Peter's side. So there's going to be a fight.

At least he has back-up? ]

[stickypete]

[One of the other thugs laughs, even as their leader struggles to break free. "You think you can take all of us on, old man?" Peter's not really that old, but the weariness around him and seeming lack of fitness definitely makes it so he doesn't strike an intimidating figure.]

Okay, one: yes. Absolutely. And you really, really should be wondering why a guy that looks like me is that confident.

Dos: I've got my friend - [A pause. He leans his head sideways towards her, sotto voce: ]

What's your name?

[godsbane]

[ Well, they have a point. Peter doesn't look like much. He certainly doesn't sound like much, as if he's already bored of the encounter and wants to go home - or perhaps he's simply lived through too many of these before.

He leans to her and she makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, touching her neck, trying to make him understand, no voice. Little Mermaid-style, Peter!!

But it doesn't matter, does it? She lifts a fist like a fighter might and with her other hand, she draws a line across her throat, then points towards the others present. Dead meat. It's a little dramatic but...why not? No one's going to die. ]

[stickypete]

[He gets the gist and barely skips a beat.]

I've got my friend Ariel here [The Little Mermaid is right where his brain goes] and that means you're double outnumbered, because you were already outnumbered the second I showed up.

["Get 'em, boys," says the thug. They attack.]

Oy, always with the fighting and the not listening to my veiled threats. They should teach you better in thug school to stick to your skill level - which in your case is "taking candy from babies."

[What happens next probably looks inexplicable to the landens because Peter starts demolishing them and it's not with magic. He doesn't look as graceful as he could because over the years his fighting style has become very economical, using as little exertion as possible to cause the most damage. That means some of the movements are a little too abrupt to be beautiful.]

[But he still attacks them with the grace of a gymnast and the scuttling speed of the not-quite-human. A kick here, a punch there, and a deft flip kicking off a thug's shoulders gives him enough air to kick one of their faces while defying gravity. As each falls to the ground or into a structure in the bazaar, he shoots webbing to pin them down.]

[Still, there are a lot of thugs. He could probably do this alone but having help means it sure would be less dicey.]

( prompt iii. )

[thricefold]

[ slightly perturbed by the manners aside... ]

Are you speaking from experience or from theory?

[ zita can't help but be a little curious. she's seen others like her adopt to the circumstances quickly enough, though with a tinge of confusion colouring their words and actions. it made it easier for her to identify others she could, arguably, bond with, at least.

but this man here- he seems to be... ah, what's the word? resigned? annoyed? perhaps a bit of both. ]

Forgive me for my ignorance but may I ask what this- [ a pause. ] -this 'sunk-cost fallacy' you're speaking of? It sounds interesting.

Re: ( prompt iii. )

[stickypete]

I'm speaking very, very personally.

[Peter has devolved over the years into the kind of savage animal that eats pizza in the shower. He knows he's a lost cause.]

The sunk-cost fallacy is when people invest effort or money into something, reach what they think is the point of no return and keep investing in the thing even though they're accomplishing nothing. They don't cut their losses when they should.

[He stuffs his face with more sandwich, mustard dripping down his chin.]

I'm just putting forth the idea, up front, that certain people - like perhaps myself - might be a lost cause, far beyond the skill of these people teaching etiquette. Which means if we have to do any bowing and dainty napkin arranging, that absolutely anybody else but me will need to take point.

[Basically, now that he knows this world has a lot of etiquette nonsense he plans on commandeering the efforts of more polite people to pave over things for him.]

[Peter is not just slobby; he's aggressively slobby. It's not like he's proud of it, he's just very set in his ways and not being slobby takes a level of energy far beyond what he's able to expend.]

[thricefold]

[ the display is... something... but zita finds herself being impressed the more she hears this man talk, listening to him and nodding along to what he has to say because it makes a lot of sense.

if only the banks back home had heard of this fallacy before the crash. maybe everything wouldn't be in such a dire state as they are now. ]

Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses. If you want, I am more than happy to- [ ah, what's the phrase he used? ] -to take point for anything involving etiquette and manners in the future. I'm used to doing that by this point, mister...

[ ... ah.

she doesn't think she ever got around to getting his name. ]

I'm Zita. Zita Harrington.

[stickypete]

Ben. Ben Reilly.

[Peter doesn't know who might show up in this place, whether or not someone here could go home and hurt people he cares about. But with the group of Strangers being relatively small, they'll notice if Peter Parker always runs from a fight right before Spider-Man shows up with the same voice and attitude.]

[So instead of trying to hide his relatively nondescript face behind his mask, he's hiding his name, something that could more easily be tied back to MJ if he's not careful. Ben is his middle name, named after his uncle, and Reilly was Aunt May's maiden name.]

And I appreciate you volunteering. Rubbing elbows isn't really my forte. I'm a better at punching faces and morally grey squirming into places I'm not supposed to be for good reasons.

[So much of his usual MO involves breaking and entering into various warehouses, evil corporations, secret bases, yada yada yada.]

III

[3x1]

( well... this is an attractive sight to find on the far-caster. the look Esme gives back on her own end is one of mild disgust. )

Are you sure you couldn't benefit from some lessons in etiquette? It may not be top priority, but in your case it may not be the last thing you need, either. ( especially if this society is as prickly as it seems to be. offending the wrong person could very well end in a fight. it's not entirely unheard of in her world after all, and seems more than likely here.

and this man does seem more at risk to offending with his horrendous smacking. so far, though, Esme doesn't look ready to start a fight over it. maybe just sacrifice her own appetite. )

Re: III

[stickypete]

Nonononono. Nuh uh. Not what I signed up for.

I was told there would be bleeding for queen and country to save a world, blah blah blah blah.

[He punctuates each blah by a shake of his sandwich.]

I would much rather bleed than mince manners with some puffed up magical royal.

[He takes on a reflective tone.]

I'm pretty good at bleeding. Also bruising. Not so much that they'd make it to the skills section of my resume, since they're more a byproduct of what I do instead of the actual intent, but you still could say I do them professionally.

[His life is hard and while he is a little squishy around the middle, the beatdowns he receives are far, far from squishy, especially since he's usually working alone.]

She said absolutely nothing about My Fair Ladying us.

[3x1]

( where in the world do these people get notions like bleeding is easier than manners... )

Everyone's always so quick to fight. A nice word or two would really go far. ( she regards him a second. ) Or at least putting your sandwich down when you're having conversations with other people... ( she trails off a bit, like she believes this may actually be a difficult thing to get out of a man like this. )

[stickypete]

Being nice and comporting up one's mien are two different things that just happen to coincide sometimes. What I've seen of this society so far makes it pretty clear they care more about being dainty than being decent.

Looots of class issues and magical bigotry. Also casual technophobia in some places, which quite frankly offends me as a scientist.

Me no likey.

[He uses the bread of his sandwich to try to mop a little mustard off his shirt.]

Would you believe it but earlier, me and this other chick had to bust some heads because some thugs were picking on a dog and a kid because he was, I dunno, a mudblood. Or something. Literally kicking puppies and children.

They're the ones that have something to learn.

[A pause.]

Also, why would I put my sandwich down when I'm talking to people? I'm eating it.

[He wants to talk to people but is also hungry. Therefore it's in his hands. And he's eating it. Logic.]

[(Being chit chatty alongside doing something else entirely different is pretty much his thing.)]

II

[symbiyeet]

[ Listen. A child. Venom's voice in his head draws Eddie's attention to the sound. Ah, shit. This is a rough world they've found their way into, and this feels like something he should check on himself instead of leaving for somebody else. ]

[ He can feel the symbiote shifting under his skin in anticipation as he rounds the corner. He hisses under his breath- ]

You relax. We don't know what's going on.

[ Venom doesn't budge. Follow your own advice. ]

[ There's somebody else from the Queen's here already, not someone Eddie knows beyond the face, but someone. Unfortunately, it sure looks like the landens aren't backing down. This guy has a sapphire on him and has already hit them with some kind of... sticky stuff? This is gonna get ugly if it keeps up. ]

[ He steps up beside Sapphire Man, making brief sidelong eye contact before focusing ahead. ]

Hey. You should listen to him. Leave the kid alone.

[ Eddie doesn't really cut the most imposing figure, he didn't even before six months of unemployment and depression habits, and him throwing in just seems to insult the landen toughs more than anything. ]

[ "This ain't any of your business!" one of them snaps out, and it signals the rest of the gang (that isn't stuck together) to do the brave, stupid thing and rush them. ]

Re: II

[stickypete]

[He knows an Eddie Brock but 1) he's blond, 2) he's older than this Eddie and Peter's mental image is of what he Eddie looked like when he last saw him, and 3) thanks to the subtle differences between universes, this Eddie just happens to look a touch different.]

[He calls out to Eddie, leaping into the air, bouncing off the top of a light post:]

Could use a helping hand if you can offer one!

[He kicks a thug in the face and sweep-kicks another.]

If not, stand back and think up a strongly worded lecture about the golden rule so I don't have to waste any brain cells composing one.

[symbiyeet]

You got it!

[ Alright, like they've been trying to practice. Eddie isn't just letting Venom off the chain and crossing his fingers, he's participating. Letting Venom just suit up and take things on is harder here than it was back home, anyway. ]

[ As the first landen reaches them, he spreads what looks like a thick, black cat's cradle of tar between his hands. Eddie twists to wrap it around the young man. It seems like there's more of it bulking up around the thug faster than Eddie's moving, somehow, and a mighty yank sends the wound-up landen spinning like a top into the two still struggling with the webbed club. ]

[ Eddie pauses, but his elbow suddenly snaps backward and meets with a warm belly, then his fist (black, and bulky like a sledge hammer) cracks up into the nose of the guy that snuck up behind them. ]

[ Got our back. ]

[ Venom leads in twisting around and tossing the guy over their shoulder, he slides in the street slush when he lands and doesn't seem too eager to get back up. ]

[ It feels good, real good, and Eddie can't tell how much of it's just Venom jonesing for a fight and how much of it's him. ]

[stickypete]

[Yeah no. No, that doesn't look right. That really, really doesn't look right. There are no teeth, there are no white eyes, so Peter doesn't panic. Yet. But the black tar makes him feel like there's a black pit in his gut and an old and now-unfamiliar panic clutches his heart.]

[When Eddie's movements start to look unnatural, like he's being puppeted by something else, that's when the internal screaming starts.]

[They make quick work of the thugs. Eddie does well for someone who can't fully power up and Peter's now got incentive to wrap this up quickly before any heads get eaten. Peter keeps glancing over at Eddie as he fights, his expression getting grimmer with every oozy move.]

[The last thug falls.]

[Peter offers a few quiet words to the kid with the puppy. Whatever he says is too quiet for Eddie to hear and the boy nods his head like he's been told to do something very important for his safety, and runs off before Eddie even has a chance to talk to him.]

[Then he turns, suddenly, expression brimming with tension and maybe a little panic, points a hand at Eddie, pressing his two middle fingers against his palm. Thwip goes a line of webbing, splatting Eddie on the chest. Thwip, goes another line of webbing from his other hand, connecting to a building somewhere above.]

[Spidey zips up, sproing, Eddie is yanked behind him, sproing. Peter spots a building with a clock tower and whips Eddie up there on a roof just a bit below it.]

[Clocktower being nearby is good. Potential source of sonics.]

[He lands in a crouch, looking like he's ready for a fight.]

What is it? That black stuff? What is it?

[His eyes narrow.]

It's him, isn't it?!