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Nightly patrols and the occasional daily bit of swing time still ate up a good chunk of Peter Parker's life. School was still just as hectic with mid-terms rearing their ugly head soon. Yet for the young man who moonlights as Spider-Man, his days felt empty without the Bugle. Not to mention his wallet. Any time when he'd normally be trying to set up a shot he found himself thinking back about that time he'd lost his temper and his job all in one go. He really needs to do something about that.
And so now, middle of the day in Manhattan, Peter finds himself outside the New York Times, manila folder in his hands and a backpack slung over his shoulder. For a time he considers going inside, hovering in front of those large double doors. He lightly taps the folder against the palm of his hand as he builds up the courage.
*
"Why not jus' go back n'pologize?" A voice questions him from his side. Should he look, a girl would be standing there. One with dark skin and wild curls, but most of all, one with a kind smile. She looks tired, however, more so than she had when they first met in the elevator heading to the bull-pen. Her eyes were half lidded, and her skin had a patchy, sickly look to it. It was obvious, to anyone, that she was rather fatigued.
Still, she keeps her smile, and wiggles her fingers in silent greeting to her fellow lithe teen. "'mean, what y'do helps dem, too, don' it? Dey takin' a hit jus' s'much as you, non?" Resting her hand down, it slips into the pocket of her oversized, sweather-jacket. Even if the sun was blazing today, giving people some peace from teh rains, the nip of the season was still in full swing.
*
"Wha?" Peter looks sidelong towards her and she can see his brow furrow as he looks at her at first without recognition, then his eyebrows lifting as vague recollection stirs when he adds, "Oh… hey. Lyn." He seems to wrangle with the latter syllable, "Linda?" But then he snaps his fingers, "Lynette. Oh man. Talk about coincidence."
He looks back towards the tall building that hosts the Post, eyes lifting upwards. "No. That would be a bad idea." He smiles a bit to himself, a little sharply as he looks sidelong towards her. "Besides, I don't regret it. Jameson is a jerk."
*
"Dat's right. Nice t'see y'gain, Peter." She confesses, glancing up and down the sidewalk before moving away from its central path. "Don' need t'regret it. 'sides, wouldn' be sayin' sorry f'your 'nyway. But," she pauses, glancing at the doors to the news office. "I wish y'de best a luck wit dem." Her gaze lingers then for a moment, as if she were considering soemthing. Swallowing, she clears her throat and turns her attentions away. "M'sorry if y'busy now. I'd like t'talk wit y'bout s'mt'ing s'mtime. S'bout y'friend. Spider-Man, I t'nk?"
*
For the moment, Peter's attention is drawn away from the building, and it's not like he needs too much of a distraction to be drawn into procrastination, considering he's dreading trying to sell his portfolio to the editor in chief up at the top of that building. So he rounds back upon Lynette and offers a smile, "Nah, I got nothing going on, what's up?"
She mentions Spider-Man and he steps away from the general travel path of the crowd that walks along the street. Looking to her he nods, "What do you need?"
*
"Well, guess jus' t'talk wit'm. Or, ask you what he's like. When I first met wit Eddie, at de bar where I work, he was jus' worried 'bout s'm t'ings." She begins, meeting up with Peter and striding along side him. "Told'm t'ask you 'bout it. Den, I told'm I'd ask if I could. N', I can, so, here I am." She smiles, glancing toward the boy and then forward once more.
"S'he good? Dis Spider-Man? Y'usually de one takin'is pictures, non? What d'y't'ink 'bout'm?"
*
"Oh… well we've talked a few times." Peter begins to stride down the way, though he does unsling his backpack so he can stuff the manila folder back into it. "He's very private… understandably I suppose." The young man slips the backpack back over his shoulder and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"He's a bit of a smart aleck, but I think he does that to kind of keep his distance. Umm, he seems like one of the good guys. Kinda stinks how the Bugle vilifies him, but yeah."
*
Lynette pauses when Peter does, allowing him to put way the portfolio. Once up and ready, she falls right back into step with him. She nods, listening intently, as the casually move from place to…whereever it was they were going to end up. "S'understand'ble. I t'ink Eddie's jus' 'fraid. I don' blame'm, dough. Dey's lots a scary t'ings happenin' in de world." Chuckling she shakes her head, sending her curls swaying. "I don' know if I 'lieve everyt'ing in de papers. Dey gotta sell, n's'mtimes, lies do jus' dat. M'glad he's good, dough."
She pauses then, waiting at a crosswalk as traffic rumbles before them. "Y't'ink, if he did s'mt'ing bad, dat he could be stopped? I mean…well, y'said he's private. But, who d'y't'ink he answers to?"
*
Peter pauses and leans against the lamp post nearby, his hands sliding from his pockets to splay fingers as he gestures aside as if trying to brush away that sentiment. "I don't know, his conscience? Other heroes? I get this feeling that he tries to juggle a lot of things, he's always in a rush, always in a hurry. But he seems… I don't know, dedicated to trying to make the world a better place."
He shakes his head and then when the light changes he starts across the street even as he looks aside. "I'm not sure if things can maintain as they are, but I don't think he'll stop unless he has to. You know?"
*
The girl steps off the sidewalk and into the street, cross beside Peter as the pair mind their business. She hums a soft 'mmhmm' when he answers her, giving a nod or two as well. "Dat's good. M'not sure if any a dis will matta t'Eddie, but, s'nice t'hear it 'nyway. I don' agree wit all de t'ings he says, but, I get bein' 'fraid, too. S'm people out dere jus'…well, takes one bad apple t'ruin de bunch, right?"
Her smile returns, tired, but sweet, and soon, the pair are on another block and heading down its length. "If y'see'm 'gain, tell'm t'anks f'bein' one a de good guys, ok? N'if he got time, I'd like t'talk wit'm. Tell'm…well, I guess jus' tell'm I get it. I undastand." Grinning, she pauses under the eave of a shop's front. "Hey, c'n I get y'a 'good luck' coffee? Or, whateva y'drink?"
*
A glance is given down the way towards the not too distant coffee shop, and Peter lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I probably shouldn't. I told myself I was going to use this time to be productive." But then he takes a step back from her walking backwards, "Though hey, when I see Eddie next I'll tell him. He's a good guy, just has a lot of stuff to figure out for himself I think."
At that he looks back down the street towards the New York Post, "As for me, I figure I gotta go face my fears. See if my photos are up to snuff for somewhere other than the Bugle."
*
Lynette stalls and smiles, pulling herself away from the bustling of people who were moving around the pair fluidly. "T'anks. M'sure dat'll be nice. Don' f'get t'pass 'long m'message t'Spider-Man, alright?" She declares, lifting a finger to point at Peter, though her expression never changes from one of lazy kindness.
"M'sure y'pictures 'fine. M'sure y'got de chops, Peter." Then, with a wink, the dark skinned girl starts to move away and in her own direction, allowing Peter a reason to return to the post. "Go get'm, tiger. I be rootin' for'y."
*