1965-04-25 - Natural
Summary: Gwen reconnects with Julie before being interrupted by a trio of sociopaths.
Related: None
Theme Song: None
julie gwen-stacy 

Dizzy's sitting on a shop stool by a rack of cans of motor oil at Uncle Sal's gas pumps, watching the afternoon traffic, and sipping at a Pepsi while jotting down some kind of notes from one clipboard to another. A phone on a long cord rings, which she picks up, and there's a brief exchange as she says, "Sure, we got that in this afternoon, finally. You can bring her round any time."

It's been some time since she took the 'Vette out. When you travel at 80 MPH 200 feet above the street, beating the record for the quarter-mile doesn't have that some kind of thrill anymore.
But it has been weeks, and after taking the tarp off, she realizes it could use a tune-up. So, driving (plodding) through New York traffic is soothing, slightly. Not having to be "on" all the time can be relaxing.
She makes the turn and pulls into the lot, pulling up to the pumps and shutting off the rumbling engine. She gets out and she's just the same. Leather jacket, jeans, and of course the hairband…

Julie glances up as she hears, or, rather senses, that smalblock Chevy coming along, setting aside the bit of paperwork to get up, and she gives a wave. "Hey, Gwen, it's been a while. Here for some of the old high-test, or what can we do forya?"

Gwen sighs as she closes the car door. "Overhaul. Not just a tune-up this time…she's not making the transition to third gear like she used to, and she tends to wallow a little in second." She touches the curve of the car door. "I haven't been taking care of her like I used to. I need to get my rear in gear again."

Julie hrms, thinking, a moment, and nodding, "Guess we oughtta have a look over her, then. Could be you just got something up in your shifter linkage, second to third, and all, if you ain't been smoking some clutch parts at the strip." She heads over, "Maybe we oughtta take a little ride, see what she's doing."

Gwen nods, taking out a ten-spot. "High-test it is then. Is Sal's Full-Service, or Self-Service? Because I have no problem pumping my own gas."

Julie laughs, "Self what? Don't worry bout it, I gotcha, if you don't mind a girl pumping your gas, either way." She heads over to the pump and flips open the gas filler. And yes, carefully about the paint. She nods back toward the service desk, and says, "I'm just filling in, know what I mean?"

Gwen nods, watchin Julie work. "I'm…sorry, I haven't been around much. I've been…busy with school. State College isn't Yale, but it's a lot tougher than high school. The midterms were murder."

Julie nods, there, breaking out a window squeegee while the tank fills, chatting as she goes about cleaning the windshield. "How's the band come along, speaking of busy with school? Guess it'll be season for the strip before we know it, at this rate."

She sighs. "A LOT of practice. Anya's picking up the bass quickly, but even since MJ went on that trip, it's been a lot of hurry up and wait." She leans on the side of the 'Vette, hands in her pockets. "Seems the band is taking a backseat to the studies. Although I *am* learning a lot."

Julie smirks. "I forgot if you said what you're studying, now that you mention it, but, hey, it could do you some good." She pops the hood to check the oil, then hrms, sniffing at fluid from the clutch master cylinder, which isn't a usual part of the service, but part of her mind's on diagnosis, neither so much is a bit of fussing about with the fuel injection's throttle linkage and butterfly. She's of course, got one of these engines, herself.

Gwen nods. "'You'll never get anywhere without an education, Gwennie, and you're too much trouble to be anyone trophy wife."

She stops, her face sobering. "Sorry. That's what my…my father always told me. God, is it always going to be like this? Every thing thing that reminds me of him…"

Julie laughs, "Maybe better than getting a bunch of squares thrown at you for being 'Such nice boys,' and all that, anyway," she winks. Shrugs. "Anyway, who's to say, they could even let us use those degrees for more than teaching or whatever, in a few years, the way things could be going. Space Age and all that, they can use all the brainpower they can get."

Gwen chuckles. "I'm not that smart. I don't know WHAT I'm going to do with my life. The NYPD is never going to let me be a cop unless it's in Vice." She snorts. "Fat chance of that happening. I'm not going to bust creepers while dressed up in rayon blouses, faux fur stoles and hooker boots."

Julie ahs. "Well, I guess you never know there, either. Don't think you gotta go to college for a lot of what policewomen do, anyway, though. But a lotta gals figure we'll get our chances, at, well, whatever. You know there's a lot that don't like *that,* but hey."

Gwen is about to say something witty. Or something she THOUGHT was witty. But then there is a loud screech of tires as a Buick Roadmaster 75 barreled around the corner and drive past the garage, as a loud war whoop comes from inside the car, one extended fist pumping out through the open driver's-side window as the vehicle jounces over the curb and continues onward, one hubcap rolling off to the right-side sidewalk.

Julie just sort of makes a silent 'whoa,' and, oddly, perhaps, holds out a hand at waist level toward the car as it caroms over the curb, …and perhaps on past, but she does narrow her eyes, "Somebody late for a funeral or something?!"

Gwen blinks, and says, "Wow, Jules…that was…"
Then the police scanner in the 'Vette begins to squawk.
"Calling all cars, calling all cars. Ten-Eleven-Three at 14th and Dover. We got a 10-20 Charlie, Citgo station, four individuals, considered armed and dangerous. Driving a two-tone Buick, plate 3-4-Foxtrot-7-4-2."
"Crispy crap, that was them!"

Julie hrms, cocking up her ears for sirens, as she pops out on the street to look after the direction the Buick went. Clenches that hand, again, there's a strange Vrrr sound and a redoubled screeching of tires, and a bang as the big old boat oversteers. "Dammit, that's Clancy's they knocked over, …I think they're headed for the East Side highway." She heads back and stops the pumping of gas, and says, "Wanna see if we can keep an eye on em?"

Gwen grins, then tosses the keys to Julie and jumps in the back of the 'Vette, saying those immortal words every driver wants to hear:


Julie winks, "Let's see bout that second gear," she says, as she hops in and guns the engine, shifting fairly quickly, goosing it out of the service center in a hurry, dashing out into the street amidst occasional, more-sedate traffic, double-clutching quickly into second to try and avoid the bogging problem with some rev-matching. "Gonna try picking them up a couple blocks over, we got time to make up!" she says.

Changing out of street clothes and into a costume is a tricky thing enough. Doing it in a moving Corvette as it barrels down the road? A trick even for the human/spider hybrid. But Gwen is half out of her jeans, revealing the costume beneath and tugging the mask on. "Keep them in sight…just another…thirty seconds. Dammit!" The sound of a boot hits the side of the back seat, then another.

The car is weaving between other cars, as many of them pull to the side, unwilling to have a Buick drive into the trunk of their car. The car gains speed, but the 'Vette, even in its slightly-less-than-cherry state, had the horses to run and gain on them…

Julie glances over a moment, as she rather deftly power-slides into a bit of a file behind that Buick, "Come on, John Law, where are you hen we need youse?" she says, getting more familiar with the Vette and its particular complaints as she goes. There's always a discreet boost with her powers if those become a problem, as she starts barreling up the lane the Buick's made, enough to hold out a hand and apply some drag on *their* driveshaft's turning, commenting, "Awright, boys, this is fun, but we gotta slow it down before someone gets hurt." Still, she's staying back a bit in hopes they won't notice the bright red Stingray, …or for that matter Gwen.

Rick was having a fun time.
Clancy's had been as easy as pie, and they had enough money to start their journey to California. As for making it there…? Well, the roads were practically lined with joints like Clancy's.
He felt the engine shudder as the car began to slow down. He gunned the engine but it felt slow and sluggish in responding. Some car! It turned out to be not worth stealing!
"What is it, Bobby?" he called back, his hands clamped on the wheel.
"Someone's road-surfing a Sting Ray!"
Yep. While Julie had been focusing on the car ahead of them, White Widow had slipped out of the side window and was standing on the hardtop above the driver like the car was a surfboard.
"Gun it, Jules! That one looks like a WHOPPER of a fish!"

Julie indeed guns the engine, shifting hard into third with a tire-chirp, but minimal lurching as the car races forward to catch up, "Ay, don't forget the 'armed and dangerous part, there, amici!"

"Well, don't just sit there!" Ricky yelled.
"I got her!" Sonya pulled out the Thompson submachine gun and aimed it out through the rear window.
The first few bullets shattered the window, but they went high and wide, knocking Sonya back. Her back hit the shotgun seat and she swore, leaning forward again…
…and the Vette was suddenly a lot closer, and she couldn't see the costumed girl. "What the…"
And then a white-gloved hand grabbed her and yanked her up and out through the rear window, as White Widow was now standing on the roof of THEIR car.
"Hi, there," she said over the wind, and began to swiftly cocoon her.

Julie ducks as there's machine gun fire. Oh, Tommy gun. She holds out a hand, and, twists. That's what they get for bringing a rotary magazine to something involving Diz, as the thing hopefully seems uninterested in feeding, with its clockspring loosened, all of a sudden. "Freakin guns. Don't you make me do fiberglass, you hoods…" She returns her attention to the driving as she sticks fairly close, extending senses ahead for probably-inevitable jamups or collisions.

A lamp-post suddenly gets a spidersilk cocoon ornament, and Christmas is months away. Meanwhile, Ricky is trying to goad the Buick to go faster. Bobby grabs the tommy-gun, but the trigger clicks on an empty chamber. He looks to the 'Vette tailing them, then grabs the .38 pistol he used on the clerk and aims it at Julie.

Julie whoopses, and …wrenches with a VRR sound, and an "Oh, please, give it up, wouldya?" Revolvers… like to revolve. Diz isn't letting this one. She jabs the brakes a couple of times to, meanwhile, try and discourage the driver from overspeeding and wrecking.

He can't fire. The trigger won't pull. He tries to cock the hammer back and it's like it is welded in.
He's still trying to sort it out when he is yanked through the back window as well, and a girl in a costume is waggling her finger at him in the classic "Naughty, Naughty" gesture. Then he gets the cocoon treatment a few moments before the overworked engine of the Buick seizes, the car lunrching to a rolling stop.

Julie hehs, as Gwen webs up the second culprit, and hrmphs, sawing at the wheel and pedals to spin the Stingray into a J-turn when the Buick gives up the ghost. "Poor thing. Seeya back at the barn!" she yells out, and zooms back up the other way to the last side street to rejoin normal traffic. Probably best if Spider Girl isn't connected to her own vehicle, and all. She pauses to listen to the police radio.

Widow waves, then gets the last one out of the car, webbing him to it. "That's for you…" she says, then looks around as she hears sirens.
She salutes Ricky, then fires a webline and is off.
Ricky looked around and realized California was a lot farther away than he ever believed it would be.

A while later, Dizzy's got the red Stingray pulled back in front of one of the garage's service bays. She's already got a shifter boot off and is fussing around with a hand inside the transmission tunnel. Out comes a little angle-headed screwdriver, and she tries the shifter again while the engine cools.

White Widow doesn't show up for another 30 minutes. When she does, she is nearly out of breath. "Whew…" comes a voice from overhead. "Two brothers and a sister, all of them planning to murder and steal their way to California, so they can be hollywood stars…" She drops to the floor. "Stone the crows, what a mess."

Julie tsks, glancing up, and ohs, waving out the window. Then dips inside to wave a bit of Gwen's clothing when no one else is looking. "Ah, third floor, second window down the fire escape." Says, more to herself, "Man, sad story for California dreaming, too bad they had to hit this sidea town over it." She gathers some things for the spider-lady to change back into, and finds something to pass for a bag to sneak up to her room upstairs.

Widow pulls her mask off, revealing Gwen's head. "Thanks, Jules." She peers to the window, then asks, "Uhm…who were you waving to?"

Julie smirks, and says, "Nobody but us chickens, I hope." Tools clank somewhere in the background, since, well, people work here and all. "Seeya up there in a minute." Before long, she reappears at the designated fire escape window; the shop's such that it's set into the bottom of something of a residential building, the bottom floor and part of the block taken up by the former Studebaker dealership. She's brought the bundle of Gwen's clothes. "Here, come on in, why don't ya, we can let on like we was goofing off or something."

She shrugs and reaches for the clothing, looking around before sliding on her jeans over the costume. The boots fit over the thin-soled slippers, and her long-sleeved blouse covers the top. The gloves slide off and are slipped into an inner pocker, along with the mask. In a couple of minutes, it's just Gwen the juvenile delinquent.
"Thanks…it was a little flashier thant I expected." She looks to where her car sits. "I see you decided to get your hands dirty." She winks

Julie winks, and says, "Yeah, the stops in your shifter needed some twiddling, think one backed off a bit on you. Say, want a beer while I'm playing a bit of hooky? One of the boys is watching the pumps." She grabs a pair of bottles from the icebox and winks. A tan shorthaired cat comes along from behind her and hops on her lap when she sits. The single-room room apartment, well, it's decorated largely in automotive swag, with an old Captain Marvel posters, and some outdated musical ones. Somehow it doesn't seem very lived-in at the moment, really, like she's been away at college or something. The kitty gets a scratch. "As for flashy, what'd I tellya about those Stingrays getting light in the tail. Think it cleared your secondaries pretty good, though, probably better de-gum your jets and stuff for real, while you're hear though. I think that's why she was bogging on you."

Gwen smirks. "You got a Pepsi, or even a Coke? I don't drink alcohol. I try not to think what I'd be like drunk." She looks at the Captain Marvel posters. "Got a thing for superheroes, Jules?" she asks with a wry smile.

Julie laughs, a bit, evicting the cat to check the fridge again, with a, "Ok, bambino, down ya go," and ferrets out a Pepsi, which she opens. Winks, "I always kinda had a thing for a flying lady in tights in school, I guess. Funny how things happen, know what I mean? Maybe you oughtta have posters." She hands over the Pepsi, popping her own drink. "Anyway, best to keep that spider-girl stuff on the QT around this place, though. A lot of mi familia around and all." She does have a healthy belt of her beer. "Anyway, I got bottle-to-throttle rules, myself, but I think I done my hot-dogging for the afternoon."

Gwen chuckles. "And in my car, to boot." She takes the Pepsi and takes a long drink of it, exhaling and smiling. "I'll do my best. Flying lady in tights, eh? Well…I don't *fly* per se. But I hope you liked the costume."

Julie says, "Ain't bad, though, what you do, though. I need a helo to fly, like regular folks, myself," she smirks. Scoops the kittycat partway up, says, "Whattya think, Skiddums, we cleaning Stingray intakes tonight?" She smirks. "Ain't a bad ride, though, think you maybe got a few cobwebs in there, need a tune for the spring. I guess kinda flashy's your thing with the costume, too, but it's a pretty nifty look." She finds a pack of ciggies on the table and lights one. "Guess it was just chance Clancy's got knocked over, though, when you'd showed up? Hope they're all right over there, though, trigger-happy kids and all.""

Gwen sighed. "The cashier got shot…the prospect is good for him, though. I heard it from the arresting officers." She sighs. "Well, treat the Infidel Machine right, and I'll pay every penny the work and parts are worth." She looks to the window. "Ever since I realized webslinging was faster than driving everywhere, I almost never drive the car, Diz. I should take it out more often." She pauses. "I wish I was smarter. I don't know that much beyond cars, and cars I know only enough to keep mine running. I wish I was smart enough to make you a jetpack."

Julie says, "Eh, no kinda ride for a New York winter, anyway, those." It's maybe unclear if she's speaking of Stingrays or jetpacks or both. She nods, though. "Eh, figure you're smarter than you give yourself crdit for. I don't think she'll need much. Maybe next year a clutch if you're taking her to the strip, still. Otherwise, just some adjustments, bit of cleaning and lubrication, she oughtta be good to go.""

Gwen shrugs. "No dragging for me. No point to it, anymore. Chasing shooters and crooks are filling that little need for speed nicely." She zips up her jacket. "I can come by to pick her up tomorrow, then, or am I the last one in line?" She giggles softly.

Julie nods, "Yeah, oughtta be all set by then, I guess make it afternoon in case I gotta get gaskets or something," she says, tsking a bit to herself about the attendant at the nearby gas station. "Hope that kid's all right." She gets on up, then, draining some more of the beer. "Guess I better get to it. You're welcome to stick around if you wanna see the inside of these things.

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