SAY YOUR PRAYERS

What I’m saying is not having a cellphone or knowing what one is is considered hella weird.

It's considered what?

Everyone has a cell phone.

You're confusing me.

       …. That explains the lack of cell phones. 

    The what? Oh, never mind it. How can I help you?

"But right- you mentioned the guy that brought us here. He’s calling himself the ‘Superior Spider-Man’- bit of a shockin’ ego, if you ask me- look, I don’t know what his intentions are with all these other Spiders he’s collecting, and I don’t wanna be that conspiracy-guy, but… be wary around him, alright? He’s given us his supposed motives… but I don’t feel trust for that guy. Maybe it’s just me, but… just be careful.”

Wait. No, that's not the right context. He tries again, his own words. "He's crusting us, why not do the same? What's he want with us?"

It’s not a problem. Now care to show me to that cafe?

I don't know where it is, ma'am.

Grandmas have cell phones!

Well, I am not a grandma.

[ ★ ] She glanced down at her clothes, realizing that for most it’d make her cold just to look at her no matter what Earth she was on. But according to the year she was in, America was practically naked.        ”I guess, in a way I am.” Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, America wondered if this masked man had a counterpart she’d met or heard of on the other Earths she liked to frequent.          ”I’m not real keen on taking directions from           strangers though. You got a name or something?”

    He supposed an eye-level meeting     would be easier to speak with. It was a      thing of trust, to look someone in the      eyes and ensure protection, and he      intended to do so best he could.     "I'm     here to help, I promise you that. I can't     disclose my name, obviously, but I'm The     Spider-Man. If you need me to escort you,     I will. This city is under my protection. If you'd     rather me leave, I'll show you the nearest     hotel."

— Oh, you shouldn’t have.

    Strikingly familiar.

Her smile was gentle, reassuring- As though she could at least cheer the man up by telling him this- But then he states his stubbornness, and her brows furrow in a quick reply. “I appreciate the help, mister, but they’ve never gotten a penny outta me and they’re not gonna start today. I’m a big girl- I can take care of myself.”

He paused, then laughed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Obviously. I'm sorry, I haven't had the best day. As for protection, I'm happy to see you're okay. It's my instinct to help. Forgive me, I don't want to overlook your capabilities." 

               Maybe if my doppelganger was old with a weird hairdo and clothes and funny voice and old.

    Pardon me?

    Can you tell me what year it is? 

    It's 1936.

It wasn’t a lie, really- Renard’s attracted more homeless as a soup kitchen than it did paying customers, and while Melissa didn’t mind, the poor clientele tended to ward off those who might be willing to pay for a meal. “And not that I mean to rush you, sir, but you might want to hurry- Like I said, it’s getting near collecting time. I wouldn’t want them trying to rough you up for payment, either.”

Wetting his lips quickly, he tongued the cut that cracked there from the dryness chapping his skin as she spoke. His brows drew together. "I don't think so. No one's roughing up anyone today, ma'am."

Kate Bishop. [ She takes his hand, shaking it firmly. ] Nice to meet you. 

    You too. It's, uh, odd to share a coffee this day and age. I'd like to say thank you.

       I’m fine, dude. You just… kind of look like someone I knew. 

    I'm sorry to bring up any bad memories.