Cindy Makes an Art Diss!

February 07, 2017:

Silk and Spider-Man meet to talk about spider-senses, costumes, responsibility, and stupid billionaires that should stop telling Spider-Man how to live his life.

… also, getting a job.

Apartment Building Roof

It's a roof.

Of an apartment building.

… In New York City.


NPCs: None.

Mentions: Azalea Kingston, Jessica Jones, Rocket, Groot, Tony Stark, Zatanna Zatara


Mood Music: [*\# None.]

Fade In…

Silk has been introducing herself a lot in the last week.

Cindy Moon, GED student by day, superhero by night— or a little of column B mixed in with column A, or— well, you get the idea— has taken to the streets and the skies of New York with her spider-powers, exercising her talents and abilities to do the little things: Stop muggers and ner-do-wells, keep kids from crossing into traffic blindly, or in one fairly recent example, tether herself to the back of a truck after catching an escaped corgi from running off into traffic.

This evening, set on one of the taller apartment buildings— not quite one of the high-rises— Silk is boggarting the unsecured wifi of one of the apartments below, legs draped over the ledge as she catches her breath, thumbing through her messages: Texts to and from Jessica Jones, her host and teacher, the confirmation text to make sure that her new roomate Azalea Kingston got her number entered right into the address book, and the marvel that is the ability to watch videos.

Like, on her phone. On her /phone/. She remembers when tweeting was still brand new.

Looking out over the city— facing west, toward Washington Heights— the black-and-white-clad spider-heroine's shoulders slump, considering her future. First she gets her GED, but then what? What can she do for a job? College is kind of out of the question right now, she's got no money for anything like that. She can't stay at Alias Investigations forever, either. Professional superhero doesn't pay anything.

Cindy scruffs at the side of her head, letting out a bit of an angry groan. The buzz in the back of her head picks up for a moment, causing her to crane her neck around, but she can't quite figure out what it is; there's no immediate danger and she can't see or hear anything going on. It's par for the course— it isn't just 'danger' she's picking up…

Today in 'drastically understating things': It's been a long week.

Not really one filled with new discoveries, not for Peter Parker. Mostly one of being plagued by old failures. Ever since coming back from that secret installation abandoned and forgotten in New York City's subway systems, his days have been largely spent burying himself deep into that crimefighting, vigilante persona. Even without the link he shares with Cindy, it's not hard to see just how active he's been thanks to the joys of social media. Practically every day and night since that fateful event.

Like most things involving Spider-Man, posts about his activities have largely been a mixed bag of the occasional praise and the slightly more occasional criticism. That's nothing new to him. If anything, it's a familiar distraction. What -isn't- quite so familiar is the stray posts and articles talking about some new, spider hero making the rounds. A spider girl. Spider-Girl? Spider-Lady? Spider-Gal? Spider-Woman—?

Regardless, the very first article he saw even hinting about said newcomer, Peter Parker knew exactly who it was.


The voice comes from right in front the young woman as she peruses her phone; she might feel the presence before that voice even registers, if she's not too distracted.

If she -is- too distracted, she's about to have an eyeful of Spider-Man flipping directly over her head.


That link they share makes Cindy terribly easy to find, but it's not quite an exact science, which is exactly what leads to the webbed vigilante's awkward squawking as he spirals past and lands with a rare, clumsy stumble on the rooftop behind Cindy. "Owwww…" bemoans the young man as he rubs the back of his head. It doesn't -really- hurt, but he still feels like an ass now.

And that hurts -almost- as much.

"… my pride…!"

Give him a moment.

Don't forget the corgi. There's some great photos of her holding onto a web-line with a corgi football to bring back to a crying child, hair flowing in the wind and having something of a blast with it.

Huh. That feeling must be nothing. Or it could be everything— wait, it's that familiar feeling that's pointing her in the direction of Spider-Man. Her gaze drifts back to the phone, but then up. And then, oh god, he is literally /right there/. Cindy lets out a sudden, surprised squawk as the web-slinger goes flying /right in front of her face/, rolling backwards off the ledge and onto the rooftop. She hits in a rather undignified manner on her shoulders, knees next to her head and eyes clenched shut.

When they open, she can see Peter's stumbling landing from her undignified pose.

They are the greatest of heroes.

Pushing off and rolling back into a squat, Cindy straightens up with her hands pressing against the small of her back, rolling her shoulders to stretch out a bit after that embarassing little crash. "Hey! You! Uh. … sorry— I was distracted," Silk says, then taking note of her phone, laying face-down on the roof. Letting out a quick yelp, she hurries to it and picks it up, biting her lip and engaging in the dreadful game of Shroedinger's Phone, and—

"Please please please please please—"

— thank god, the screen isn't cracked.

Tucking the phone into a slim, only mildly hidden pocket on her suit, Cindy turns toward Peter, arms out a little to either side, presenting herself. "So! Hey! Uh … better than the old version?"

As soon as he has his sense about him, Spider-Man is very quick to flip back up onto his feet, landing in a comfortable crouch as if he had always been poised like that from the get-go. A second passes.

"… I didn't see that if you didn't see that."

Complete with a spider-finger tapping the side of his face where his nose rightly should be under his mask.

One awkward clearing of his throat later, the webbed vigilante tilts his head to the side as Cindy looks at her phone, momentarily worried he might have sabotaged what may well be her first smartphone ever, in the history of ever. Were there smartphones in 2012? He can't even remember anymore. So many things he's going to have to look up in order to methodically update her entire life. Work!!

But, it's another distraction. One the masked vigilante is all too happy to jump right into, first by jabbing one finger Cindy's way with a declaration of, "Have you been saving corgis??" before he realizes this probably sounds accusatory and/or confusing, pauses, and rewords, letting his hand fall down back to his side as he stands up straight once more. "I mean, have you been, y'know — superheroing it up and stuff, because like…"

There goes Cindy, spinning around and presenting her new supersuit.

"… okay yeah so you've been superheroing it up. Right."

A moment passes before Peter realizes he actually hasn't commented on the suit. "Oh! Uh — uhh, yeah. Yeah, that looks just — swell," Swell? he asks himself. Who says swell anymore? You're an idiot, Peter Parker. Whatever. He'll just bring it back. (No he won't.)

"How did you afford that? … did you make it? With your webs? But the colors are…" Does she have rainbow webbing? Ohhhhh that'd just make him even more frustrated! Where's his prismatic webbing? … well, maybe hecould design some, or—

"… a-anyway, um — hey! Anyway. So like — you're doing the superhero thing now. That's great and all. But—" He hesitates a moment, trying to figure out how best to broach this. "… are you sure? That's what you wanna do? This life, is…"

He tries to push images of that other New York, of his Uncle Ben, out of his mind. He is not successful.

"… is demanding. It's… very, very demanding."

'I didn't see that if you didn't see that.'


She had a flip-phone, but Jessica all but threw it out the window the instant she saw it— there was no way Cindy would get service on something like /that/ in the modern era! But she's still holding on to it, because it has some sentimental value. She also doesn't know how to move her photos over from the flip phone to the burner phone and she's a little too embarassed to ask.

"Yes! And his name was Drillbit, and he was adorable." And did he just seriously say 'swell.' Cindy's eyes narrow. Swell. SWELL?? "Did you just 'swell' at me? Are you from a Norman Rockwell painting?"

As for the costume… "Yeah! I … it took some practice, but I managed to make it all myself," Cindy says, looking down at her hands. "I had a few goof-ups the first few times. One was too sticky and the other I wove the fabric too thin. I got it after a bit of practice. I'd tried it before in the bunker, but I never really… went for it."

Is she sure?

Cindy's demeanor changes a little bit. Her weight leans against the short ledge, hoping up to sit on it— though this time with her back facing the street. "I don't have anything else," she starts. Her head tilts a little, "Well— that's not true. Miss Jones got me signed up for a GED course. And she's teaching me how to search through files and databases and stuff so I don't have to give away my— er… /our/ secret. I met my roommate, too. I had to make her a hammock," the spider-girl adds, looking up at Spider-Man with an incredulous stare.

"I don't know. I just … I feel like I can't sit still. I can't do /nothing/. I can't make the time I was down there… just… just not worth /anything/. I know how to handle myself, too. Honestly… Sims taught me how to fight, while he was showing me how to control my powers."

Cindy draws in a breath, then sighs. "What about you? Miss Jones… she said that there was something going on the other night. I could feel it— you know, in my head. It was pretty loud."

"Did — did you just art-diss me?"

Spider-Man stares at Cindy Moon for a long, potentially blank-faced moment, mastered via the skillful use of a blank face mask. It's marred just a bit by the way those lenses squint into slits.

"… Nice job!"

Encouraging thumbs up goes…….. here.

So, Spider-Man is officially jealous. This is thankfully hidden by his mask as Cindy tells him she can make clothes pretty much by herself. Not even for the costume, he's very happy with his costume even if it cost a crazy billionaire barging into his life every now and then telling him what to do (which is also objectively pretty cool). But — just —

"… man, all the money I coulda saved on all those clothes I lose…"

This is mumbled just under Spider-Man's breath as he resists the urge to kick a rock; instead, the webbed vigilante turns his attention towards something a bit more important that his financial straits. The change in Cindy's attitude and body language doesn't go unnoticed; the young superhero quietly follows after her as she makes her way towards that ledge once more. He pivots about on his foot and quietly flops down beside her, staring out across the rooftop as he listens to her speak. It'd almost look like a disarmingly normal situation between teenagers, seated like that, just talking — if they weren't wearing costumes. Or weren't on rooftops they webbed and/or crawled their way up to. Or if they weren't talking about Cindy's situation post-being in a bunker. Or…

… or if Cindy weren't asking him what happened to him at that HYDRA base.


Spider-Man is silent for a long moment. He knows, objectively, what she said is exactly what he would have said in her shoes — what he's said to Tony Stark, in fact. He closes his eyes. Takes in a deep breath.

"… it's…" he begins. He almost says 'fine.' But that link — she'd probably see through that, wouldn't she? "… not fine. I can't… talk much about it, but it's — it's just part of doing this. Sometimes you have to make hard choices, and — and — sometimes you end up failing anyway."

Spider-Man's hands curl slowly into fists before relaxing once more. A sigh heaves from his lips, congealing into vapor in front of him before dissipating to nothing. "It's — it's hard, Cindy. It's really hard. This kinda life? … there's a lot of days I wish I was just normal, y'know?" Of course she knows. But…

"… but someone once told me, 'great power comes with great responsibility.' It's… this isn't something I can walk away from. It's not something I can do. You can live a normal life, though. I — I know someone, a friend of mine, her name's Zatanna. I talked to her about your situation — she said she can help you to find a job. But, I just wanted to come here to tell you…" He hesitates, considers.

"… you can get your normal life back now. I want you to be able to if — if, y'know, you want to. Find your parents. Be happy, and stuff. But if you wanna do this kinda thing, like — like, -really- do this kinda thing… I'll, y'know. I'll help you out. Show you the ropes. Whatever. I'll be there. Okay?"

A moment passes in silence.

"… you didn't really -have- to make her a hammock, y'know. Just say 'no means no.'"

"You left me in Hell's Kitchen, I had to learn something."

But then everything shifts. She confesses her side of things, and then the Spider-Man is sitting next to her, bringing out his side of the story. He can't tell her everything— she understands that, especially considering she's some girl he met locked up in a secret hidden bunker buried under New York City under an abandoned tower that nobody has any records of it ever being built in the first place.

Like, two weeks ago.

He speaks about failure, loss, hardship, and responsibility. Cindy's weight shifts a little— leaning against the red and blue web-slinger, frowning under her mask as she lets the thought of Peter /not/ being fine sink in. There's days when he wishes he was normal.

"… Yeah."

Tugging down her mask below her chin, the dark-haired spider-girl sighs, turning her head to look west. "I actually started on that, but… I dunno if I can get back to 'normal.' Not now, anyway. My powers were why I got locked up and why my family's missing. Miss Jones and I dug up some info— nothin' much, just… receipts, and cash payments, and my old place changed hands pretty fast after my family moved out. Half of the old neighborhood is gone and the other half just /kind of/ remembers we existed."

He offers to help show her the ropes. While the stubborn angry teenager in her would scream that she's already got it figured out, she just nods instead. "That'd be nice."

Then, silence.

"… she's kind of intense. And I had a weird enough week meeting a talking raccoon pokemon and a talking tree that likes ice cream. And Tony Stark."

Cindy squints again, tilting her head a little to look at Peter and the whirring high-tech lenses of his mask. "Did you know he's a superhero, too? Like, crazy suit of armor stuff and then he jumps off a ledge and he tried to get me to have pancakes with him. He talked like he knew you."

Even those things that wouldn't reveal things about his life that are simply too personal for someone he frankly has every reason to at least be suspicious of — the rest? It's too hard to mention. A lot of it, too difficult to put into words. It doesn't come easily to him; Peter's stare goes distant for the longest time behind that mask, lenses tilted towards the setting sky in pensive thought.

It's thought that's only disturbed when he feels that light bump against his side. He blinks, looking aside to find Cindy leaning against him. He tenses briefly, awkward young man that he is — but eventually, he relaxes just a bit, supporting that light weight against him as he looks down towards the ground.

"… We were… looking for some people, who got taken. This — secret organization of super-fascists, or whatever, were trying to make some sort of 'ideal world' through a…" He feels goofy saying this, just a bit, "… magical helmet. We were going to stop them, rescue the people they kidnapped, everything. We got dragged into that world. It was…" How does he put this?

"… like, if none of things in your life went wrong actually… went wrong." Like if Cindy never had to be trapped in that bunker. If her parents hadn't disappeared.

Whatever that means for Spider-Man, the vigilante doesn't say. He just goes quiet again for the longest time after he makes his explanation, and his offer. "There's gotta be some trace of them, somewhere. We'll all keep looking, Cindy. Promise." A lead has to turn up eventually, right? It's just a matter of persistence. Sometimes, he can be hopelessly optimistic.

Still, as Cindy nods along, Peter looks back to her with a thoughtful frown. He considers, and scratches the side of his head. "Like — look. Before you decide anything, though, get your real life settled a bit, right? Like… I'll set up a meeting with you and Zatanna. Because, uh." What's the nicest way to put this?

"You're living in New York City. You neeed — -need- money. You need to get a job. Like… pronto."

That's pretty much the only thing he could think of.

Talking raccoon pokemon and trees catch his attention. "Like — the ent? You saw the ent too? That was totally an ent, right??" The raccoon, he doesn't know what the raccoon was. Maybe something with radiation. It always comes back to radiation.

"… maybe he's the beginning of some kinda 'Planet of the Raccoons' scenario or…"

Orrrr mentions of Tony Stark could completely derail Peter's thought processes. Those lenses widen just as Cindy mentions that; Spider-Man whips his gaze in her direction. "Mister Stark??" he asks, surprised. "Did he like — come looking for you or something? He didn't — he didn't mention me or — no, right, he couldn't have — he did?? Ooohhh man what did he say? He didn't — I don't want to know! What'd he say? I don't want to know!" …

"What'd he say??"

Probably a good guess that Spider-Man knows him.

Before two weeks ago, the weirdest thing that Cindy Moon would have ever believed existing is the idea of spider-powers in this modern world— sure, she'd heard stories about superheroes of the past, and all those other flights of fancy. Knowing now that magic is an actual, tangible thing is … strange. It's changed the game for her a little bit, especially hearing about the lady that lives down the hall from Alias.

Cindy's mouth opens, but she doesn't speak. The thought kind of hangs on her for a few moments, and she does tense, but it passes— or rather, the tension passes down to her hands, which she drops to her lap. "That sounds…" she starts, trying to consider her words very, very carefully. She just doesn't know /what/ to say. On one hand, being with her family again so easily would be a tempting proposition, but … super-facists. That kind of kills the entire vibe.

She needs money, and a job, and to meet this Zatanna lady. Who the hell names their kid 'Zatanna,' anyway? "Nah, I… I understand. And I can't keep mooching off Miss Jones forever, either. Everyone you've introduced me to so far has bent over backwards to help me out. And … Miss Jones is going to teach me some stuff so I know how to search some things out without giving away anything about, y'know. 'Us.'"

She met the ent. Oh god he knows what ents are. Oh god is he a nerd? Like can she talk Lord of the Rings with him too?

"I did! He was like, 'I am Groot.' Over and over. The pokemon dude kept complaining about my suit, so… that's why I made… this o…ne… oh my god I let a raccoon make fun of me /so bad/ I made a super suit," Cindy says, pressing knuckles to her forehead. "Fail. Fail. Fail."

Suddenly, Spidey's worked up over the Iron Man. Lifting her head though somewhat hesitant to break the lean, Cindy lifts up her finger. "He said he made your suit. He also knows that our webbing is different, though I'm not sure what exactly he means there," she says, looking down at Peter's hands. "We didn't talk for long, he just wanted to make sure I wasn't going to like, try to summon an army of demon spiders or try to take over the city or anything like that."

"I'm guessing she's like us, too, right? Your friend, I mean— Zatanna. I mean with like, powers and stuff, not like how we're all spider-friends, or whatever, or whatever this is," she says, pointing quickly at her head. "I mean it's loud enough up here anyway with like, /everything/, I dunno if I could deal with having another buzzy thing going on in the back of my head all the time. It wakes me up in the middle of the night. I feel like I need a snooze button in my skull."

Magic is a relatively new concept for Peter, too, but — it's not like he expects Cindy to be able to say anything. What could she say in the face of all that? She just came back into a whole new world of weirdness after being trapped in a secluded one all her own.

Even then, a tiny part of him does wish she knew just the magic words to say.

It's an explanation that's ultimately unpleasant for him to recount; revisiting those memories just quiets the webbed vigilante in a troubled way as he pulls his legs up onto the ledge and settles his hands on his knees. 'That sounds…' she begins, but he knows nothing can come after.

"Yeah," is his response, quiet and introspective.

For now, he just tries to focus on the things he can actually deal with. Like Cindy's situation. A part of him feels badly for essentially using it as a distraction from his own problems, but — at the very least, he's no less heartfelt for it. "I'm kinda surprised she let you stay at her place," she asides. "With another roommate there? Is she like — do you have to sleep on the ceiling, or something??" He could see it. Not that he has any room to talk about cramped apartments. "It's… nice, that she's doing that for you, though," he adds, after a moment. "She's a good person."

And so, Cindy has her revelation about Rocket and her supersuit. Spider-Man's lenses whirl into little slits of squints as he stares at her giving her mantra. "H-hey, don't feel too bad," he offers by way of encouragement.

"That costume you had before was, like, really bad."

"Really, -really-, like, 'what are you thinking wandering around in such a horrifying walking fashion atrocity' bad."

… …

"So, y'know, it's for the best."

Thumbs up!

Still, he's no less frantic to hear / not hear what the Iron Man himself has to say about Spider-Man. And when she explains, he just slaps a hand against his forehead and lets it drag alllll the way down his masked face in dismay. "… okay. Okay. That's not too bad. That's not — like — okay. Potential crisis averted. He didn't say anything like how I'm doing or — like — invitation-related things or — nevermind! Forget that. And — and — I -designed- the suit, it wasn't like — argh! Look." He just waves a hand through the air dismissively at the whole concept.

Everyone has their buttons.

Regardless, the young superhero is turning his hand about for Cindy soon enough. There's a black band on his wrist, a strange-looking device of some kind. "So… we didn't really, like… whatever happened with that spider, the enzymes or radiation or… whatever, must have affected us different. Maybe because of the interaction it had with our genes. But, like…" As he speaks, he fiddles with that wrist-mounted device; there's a hollow point on the outer edge, like a barrel. He pops the thing open, and Cindy will see it — something that looks like a cartridge, filled with some sort of white fluid. Peter plucks it out, and offers it to her after a brief shake.

"… I don't make webbing like you. Like — the stuff I do? It's because of this. I made this stuff up when I started. It's like — it's like a liquid adhesive that starts to harden when exposed to air. Super tough, super elastic, like — I mean, like, -Tonka tough-." Yeah. He went there. "Plus, it's, like, totally cheap to make, too. But that's it. It's all artificial, here. Not like — not like whatever it is you're doing. Producing some kinda… spider silk, I guess? And you can make some kinda superficial changes to the composition on the fly, maybe, maybe that's why it changes colors when it's in the air, or…"

Spider-Man's thoughts start to stray towards figuring out -just- how Silk's silk works when she speaks up again. Behind that mask, he blinks. "Zee? Oh — uh, yeah. She's… … she's different. It's — tough to explain." 'Warps reality by talking backwards' might be easy, but. He'll leave it to her to explain if she wants. Not his place. Instead, he focuses on what Cindy says next, lenses squinting as he looks at her.

"… in the middle of the night? What, like… there's something dangerous going on at Ms. Jones' apartment, or…?"

"She's not there often. Miss Jones insisted I use the bed and she'll use the couch. For now I … uh… I wove the other girl a hammock before I left like she asked. I'll probably see how it's holding up when I get back," Cindy says.

'That costume you had before was, like, really bad.'

Leaning on Peter suddenly feels a lot less comfortable. "Oh my god I'm going to /punch/ you if you keep talking."

'So, y'know, it's for the best.'


Explaining his web-shooters, Cindy finally straightens up, though she does lean in a little closer to check out the devices on his wrists. "Wow, that's— actually really cool, Spidey. Mom was big on chemistry, she'd have probably gotten a kick out of something like that."

Before she can start the chemistry lesson or explain how the webbing projects from her fingers or how she can 'feel' it in her forearms, Peter explains Zee a little bit— and at least confirms her suspicions that she is in fact, not a 'normal' sort of person. Not that she should have expected 'normal' whilst in the company of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man or anything like that! "So she won't look at me weird if I like, need to walk on her walls or something, got it."

"Huh? N-Not always. The bunker was always … it was quiet, but out here I just kind of … it goes off, all the time. The other night I jumped out of bed because Miss Jones had some kind of nightmare. A few nights back I was out the window because it was happening and the next thing I know I'm at a bus stop at the corner babysitting some college student that got drunk at a bar and her friends left her behind. I can't always tell if something's coming up on me or if it's something pretty stupid."

Of course he keeps talking.

It's a gift, and a curse.

"I mean — just sayin'."


As Cindy leans in, Spider-Man tilts the webbing cartridge in his hand just a bit; whatever is inside there is definitely liquid. How it gets from that, to the webbing it becomes whenever he presses down on the button of that device, is anyone's guess. It's one thing he managed to be tight-lipped about — and just a cursory examination doesn't say much about what it could possibly be. He slides the cartridge back into its slot afterwards, rubbing the back of his head once the web-shooter is once more closed up.

"Aheh. It's just… y'know what? Yeah. Okay. It's pretty awesome." He's allowed to not be humble about some things. And he had absolutely no one he could brag to when he cracked the formula, either. He deserves some compensation!

He'd ask about her mother, but — maybe now's not the time. Later, he decides, as the conversation starts to shift gears, maybe when it's not quite so fresh for her, when she's gotten more settled in. When he figures out what's going on with her spider-sense. -That- has his brows furrowing slightly beneath his mask, draping one arm over his knee as his other leg stretches out, peering at her behind those wide, white lenses.

"… because she had a nightmare?" he asks, after a long, quiet moment. And finding a drunk girl. He falls into thought for a moment. "That's not, like — my spider-sense doesn't really work like that. It… alerts me when there's danger, and some other stuff, kinda like, I dunno, a radar or something, but not like… not like that. That's like… some kinda empathic sense on speed, or something. That's like… borderline psychic kinda stuff."

Lenses squint anew, a thoughtful gesture as Spider-Man scratches his neck through the spandex. "… look, I bet — that Sims jerk, or whatever, probably decided you didn't need to know about your spider-sense because he was just going to shove you in a bunker or whatever." No, he doesn't like that guy at all, and he hasn't even met him. "But… there's gotta be some subtle differences between like… personal danger, and whatever that is. Little variations in frequency, or intensity, or something. We can — we can figure it out. Totally. It's just gonna take… time, and experience, right? Took me a while to figure out what was even going on for me. That buzzing stuff — I didn't even like… … I made a lotta mistakes when I started, is what I'm saying."

That's the least embarassing way to put it. Good job, Peter!

"… look. I'm gonna be going webslinging again. If you want, uh — you can come with. Okay? I can show you the routes I usually take, they're — I did some math, they're the fastest ones I've found to get through the city quickly. And then we can just… work on it." He slowly gets up. Offers his hand out to Cindy.

"Sound good?"

'I'm just saying.' "I bet you are."

His spider-sense. He really does call it his spider-sense.

At the very least, Peter offers his suggestions and thoughts as to how the extrasensory mechanics of Cindy's Silk-sense operates and why she has the ability to pick up things that are a little… different, if not surprisingly mundane. Some kind of empathic link to her surroundings? That sounds… cool, albeit somewhat annoying, at least for right now.

The idea of Sims not telling her just because he knew she would be alone leaves her frowning just a little bit. "I understand. I mean, especially about you making mistakes," she says, clicking her tongue and giving Peter a thumbs-up. "Zing."

He offers to take her on a trip web-slinging, to learn some of the faster ways through town. She tugs the mask back up around the lower half of her face while he gets his bearings and prepares to depart. Looking up as he hops up to his feet, she takes the Spider-Man's hand and hops up to her feet in turn. "That sounds great. I — I know I say it every time we meet, b-but… thanks, Spider-Man."

"It's nice to have some friends I can count on right now."

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