to save the world of course

Spidey shrugged his shoulders as he cheerfully started to web up all the bad guys to the wall of the building.  “No need to thank me.  As far as I could see you had it just fine.  I’m just helping with the mop-up.”   It certainly made his job a bit easier when people knew enough self defense to fight back.   He wished they didn’t have to but she should be proud of herself.

He blinked, focusing on her face before snapping his fingers.   “Hey I know you.  The lady that asked me some questions when I was eating at Stan’s food truck right?”   One of the guys started cursing behind them and without even looking Spidey webbed their mouth shut.

“Rude!  There is a lady present you guys need some better manners.”   Honestly he knew most people swore but these guys were being just rude.  Okay most people trying to beat up others not exactly on the list of well behaved but still.   They could try!  

“Which reminds me, are you okay?  Hurt anywhere?”  He didn’t plan on taking off until she was settled, if that.   Spidey had walked people home plenty of times.  “Do you have a cell to call the police?  If you talk to them these bozos are more likely to be put away for awhile.

Oh crap he recognized her. Was he going to say anything? Tell anyone? Trish tensed up, not knowing what to do and still wound up from the fight that happened. And yet... it was completely exhilarating. No wonder they did this. And no wonder they wore mask---she hated that she was recognized.

But here she is.

“Yeah, that’s me---I’m fine don’t worry.” Nothing hurt right now. Whatever pain that might come could wait, she was still running high on adrenaline. She just kicked those guys’ asses (with some help from Spider-Man).

“I’d prefer no police. They can just as easily say I provoked them. The girl they were bothering got away and--no offense--I doubt they’d take your word for it.” Not to mention she didn’t want her name in the news. Definitely not that this was what she spent her nights doing. It’d be a lie but the papers would try to make any story juicy even if it’s mostly filled with lies.

Trish honestly felt like she could run home. She hadn’t felt this feeling... ever (except maybe in the darkest corners of her mind she could akin it to drugs). “If you hadn’t shown up, Spidey, this probably would have ended a lot messier.” She let out a breath of a laugh, amused by it. This counted as fighting alongside Spider-Man right? He might not agree, but that was okay, she wouldn’t tell him.

Trish was walking down the street, not really paying attention to her surroundings. It wasn’t the best part of the area so even when she heard some angry voices she didn’t really stop to look. It wasn’t until she heard a cry of pain that she looked up. She was right across from a club and there was a girl sitting down on the ground with what looked like a broken heel and two guys closing in. Trish didn’t hesitate to run over.

“Why don’t you two back off.” She ordered, coming between them and the woman. She could hear her trying to get up behind her. The men just rolled their eyes and told Trish to move before she got hurt. Trish didn’t budge and the one closest to her shot his hand out to push her but she managed to grab his wrist and twist it, causing him to groan in pain. She heard the sound of a car door opening and shut. 

Glancing back she saw the girl was gone and the car was speeding off. “You’re gonna pay for that.” The other guy said and lurched forward to grab her. Trish moved back and kicked him in the stomach. It seemed the guy didn’t hurt his wrist too bad as it was his turn next. It was easy enough to hold them off when they went at her one by one. They were stronger but also slower. However when both of them went at her... she got herself in a tricky situation.

One had grabbed her and looped his arm around her neck. She knew how to get out of this, she’d trained herself in this position before. Closing her eyes, she used all her strength to strike him straight to his groin and as he ducked in pain she struck back at his chin knocking him back against the wall. She was breathing heavily, her adrenaline coming down when she heard footsteps pounding to her. It was too fast, she was too tired, she was scared.

Still, she turned around, ready to face him with whatever she had left when she saw him fall back to the ground, something white shot behind her and into his face. Slowly, she turned back around, not expecting to see Spider-Man. “Uh. Hi. Thanks.”

“Mutant kids tend not to be able to pay. We wouldn’t take their cash, anyway. We’re doing as well as we always do. It’s hardly corporate law, but at least we haven’t sold our souls.” Matt jokes, in an attempt to assuage the suspicion he can sense from her general demeanour. “I’m not, Foggy’s not, Karen’s not…I suppose we’re all just their allies.”

Trish nodded, recalling how the ACCORDs affected mutants and even though that’s more or less gone, they still struggled today. The names he listed off weren’t anyone she knew, but she didn’t reveal it. Yet, she kept her gaze on him, as if she could observe something that would tell the truth. In all, she was just disappointed in either case. “Tony Stark isn’t either. He’s just a really smart guy who built a very powerful suit. Just because we’re not gods or mutants, doesn’t mean we’re not capable of similar feats.” If Matt Murdock was Daredevil, well, that’d mean his secret was out and he’d probably go to jail for the numerous vigilante acts he did while masked. If he wasn’t then... then he really was just a blind lawyer with a case of mistaken identity and Trish didn’t know which outcome was more embarrassing. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Murdock.”

“It’s a good business decision. I’ve become quite the superhero law specialist in recent times. I doubt everyone’s enhanced here, anyway.” 

In her eyes Jenn was synonymous with superhero law but that may be biased. “Is business not doing well...?” Do people want to be represented by an ‘alleged’ vigilante (one that has been known to resort to extreme violence). “And you’re right.” Trish simply responded, “Not everyone. I’m not.” She shrugged. 

“C’mon,” Jessica muttered after seeing her sister’s hesitation. “If I can hold her without messing up- yet- you’re going to be just fine.” She gently transferred Danielle out of her arms, unsure herself if she was doing even that correctly. The baby’s head was so heavy and needed extra support. But after being fed, she should have been content not to fuss too much.

Now, if only Jessica could say the same.

“Thanks,” she said, slowly swinging her legs out from off the bed. Jessica’s abdomen ached- if that healing factor wanted to kick in any time soon, that’d be great. She stood up with great effort, moving towards the table where Trish had left the plastic bag with the food in it. A burger and fries. Thank god.

“She’s alright, I guess,” Jess muttered, quickly adding, “Yeah, she’s pretty special. Honestly she doesn’t look like much right now. But she looks like Luke and I sure made her.”

Jessica began hungrily diving into the food, careful not to choke or anything that might cause her to cough and fall apart. Through bites, she muttered, “So, you’re her aunt, but I was thinking… well, Luke and I would like you to be her godmother.” She paused, stuffing a few fries in her mouth. “You never know… in lives like ours. We want to know that she’d have someone safe to go to if anything ever happened.”

Jesus, she was hours old and Jessica was already worried who’d be watching her the next time one of her superhero parents ended up beyond repair.

Trish lovingly rolled her eyes at Jessica, unable to even say her daughter is cute. Just like her sister, but she knew that there was no one else on this Earth that Jessica loved more than this little girl right here. Not that Trish could blame her, cause right now, staring down at her cute little face, Trish couldn’t help but agree.

At the mention of being godmother, Trish looked up, eyes bright. Sure, Trish was her aunt, but godmother? She would have thought it’d been saved for someone else (who, Trish couldn’t think of). However, when Jessica mentioned something happening to them that brightness washed away as she looked back down to the baby.

Safe? Trish couldn’t even protect herself and if someone was so strong and relentless that it took her parents away and only left Trish to keep her safe---how could she even do that? Wouldn’t it be better to make it be an old Avenger friend? Someone with powers? Someone...

Trish sighed, knowing that no matter what happened, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to keep her niece safe.

Looking back at Jessica, unable to hide her watery eyes she nodded. “I’d love to be her godmother.” She gave the baby a gentle rock in her arms. “But no more talk about what could happen.” They didn’t need that right now. Right now they should be focusing on what’s in front of them, a beautiful baby girl.

          “Feel free to mention I recommended the place. The staff are great but you may be harangued by complimentary tiramisu, if that’s your kind of thing.” Beck’s light laughter is followed by a nod but he doesn’t comment on the mention of Trish’s sister - given his recent research into the vigilante community in Hell’s Kitchen and dalliances with the PI, he knows exactly who Jessica Jones is. The dark haired woman was feisty, he’ll give her that, and while the two sisters seemed to share that trait, there’s a ( possibly misleading ) subdued degree of it within the blonde. It was easy to take people at face value but the engineer opted to never do so - people were full of surprises, given the right circumstances.

                    The business card had been reprinted a number of times, Quentin’s penchant for having things his own way having seen the template undergo a number of revisions - his stern approach wasn’t quite on the same level as a particular scene from American Psycho, but he did get into a heated conversation when the lower loop of the ‘Q’ within his name hadn’t curled in a specific way ( it was a small detail but he was very particular about it ). The name of the company was often misleading, the word ‘capital’ having led to uncomfortable conversations where some needed advice about money - the developer couldn’t give a shit didn’t care about finances, often having to explain that the company had a hand in far more than that, R&D in New Media being his apparent speciality.

          “That’s one way of looking at it, but I think it depends on the perspective in which you approach them.” The quirky costume had been chosen to elicit a reaction ( a conversational point ), why else would he have chosen a Hawaiian shirt to accompany the copious tufts of fur? It wasn’t as if werewolves regularly enjoyed going on vacation… The man gives a thoughtful hum, a sharp claw lightly scratching at a bare patch of skin on his cheek. “I mean, in ancient Rome a she-wolf supposedly took care of Romulus and Remus. Maternal traits aren’t necessarily assigned to ‘savage’ creatures, so maybe it’s an indicator of there being an ounce of hope… in them, in some of the harsher figures in this world that we take at their apparent worth.” There’s a small shrug from the man, the conversation turning somewhat philosophical in a way that he hadn’t anticipated, such topics usually reserved for meandering contemplation with Strange.

                    “Literature class…” The words are repeated back to Trish with an air of confusion, blue eyes narrowing slightly before a lopsided grin twitches across his lips. “You know, I get that from time-to-time. I don’t know what it is, but people sometimes mistake me for having been a humanities major.” The idea would have been insulting fifteen years ago, an air of prejudice having been apparent among himself and his fellow scientific peers at MIT - Quentin had matured since then, more open-minded to diverse walks of academic life despite his sense of self-importance. “I specialised in engineering at university, namely computational and mathematical, along with neurology. But literature and the theatre are a few personal interests of mine when I have some downtime.”

Trish gives a warmer smile, eased by how normal he seems. If Trish were in another point in her life she’d have warmed up to him easily, but right now Trish just wasn’t there. She was willing to try, however, which is more than most people got. “A complimentary tiramisu isn’t the worst thing.” She allows her mind to float off into her day dream once more, possibly going with Jessica, having a sister night out. That’d be nice. They needed one.

An attempt is made to keep track with his analysis on Romans’ use of wolves in their literature and mythology, but it isn’t a strong one. Trish highly doubts he wants her opinion on the matter, some people just like to talk and she doesn’t mind letting them. However, she isn’t going to try and seem particularly interested in a topic she has no interest in. He’s not someone she needs to impress nor someone she’s interested in so she sees no point in making an effort to come off as anything but polite.

She supposes she should be eased by the fact that he isn’t a theater major (god knows how they can get). However, it does bring a question to mind---why did he not choose to follow his interest? Then again that could be a somewhat personal question and that is not a path she wants to go down with someone she met a Halloween party. “That seems very well-rounded,” Trish can only add, unable to come up with a proper compliment.

If he has any clue who she is she’s concerned he might think she shares the same interest in theatrics when it couldn’t be further from the truth. Acting quickly turned to a job, a chore, than something fun, or a passion as some people called it. She was a child. Put to work. Made to provide for her family at a young age. That would just about suck the enjoyment out of anything.

“Aw, thanks. I try to put some effort into these things since I feel like the green is a good head start,” she shrugged. Wouldn’t it be a change of pace if Jenn went in a normal, not-green getup some year…

“Well, it’s good to work hard at something but I hope you’re giving yourself time to rest,” she nodded. “Avenger work is keeping me on my toes, but so is legal work. The two seem to go hand-in-hand. More villains to fight, more superhero lawsuits to process.”

Jenn smiled down at Trish, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “We should totally grab coffee. Catch up. If you ever want to work out together again, let me know, but it seems like you’ve been doing a great job already.”

“Using what you got, it’s very.... resourceful.” Trish let out a small snort, knowing that wasn’t what anyone wanted to hear as a compliment. It hardly sounded like one. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with next year. Any ideas?”

“I guess even the bad guys get lawyers too.” That was how the system worked after all but if Jenn was the one dealing with all that, there was no way she couldn’t get justice for everyone and Trish admired that.

“I have. Many times. My… friend has a strange obsession with it but I can’t say I find it interesting. Have you seen it?”

Maybe she was seeing it as a moth to a flame situation. She was the moth and he was the flame, maybe she hadn’t spent enough time away. Maybe her mind  was still suck on the notion of old Tony.  Pepper could only shrug,”I don’t know what you want me to say…..I never actually got your name.”   

“It’s fine, no one does when he’s in the room,” Pepper shrugs. This was usually the case when it came to the two of them out in public. Everyone paled in comparison when it came to him. She simply had grown used to being the last thing people saw at a party of super heroes. Maybe, the fact the sexy witch costume was the furthest thing from her usual MO.

“It’s okay.” Gamora shrugged “I can understand why it’s confusing, since everyone is wearing a disguise.”

          Quentin had grown accustomed to filling awkward silences with his own voice, a force of habit from his youth that saw the man feel the need to hinder the possibility for conversation to diminish - it came in handy when needing to alter the mood of a room especially when with multiple people present, usually able to elicit reactions and direct the flow of discussion. But he’s attentively watching the blonde, her apathy resulting in him trying a little harder. An engaging smile, open and welcoming body language, softening features ( it may as well be Improv. 101 ).

                    Trish’s laughter is modest but it’s a start, the man taking a small sip of his drink as his brow furrows a little in jest. “See, now I’m not sure whether that’s just strong willpower on your part or our tastes wildly vary.” The response is chased with breathy laughter, the engineer opting for a small change in tact - pasta wasn’t a food that he would die without but the little icebreaker had worked a charm. “If you ever reconsider, I highly recommend it fresh, definitely not the store bought kind. Tony’s Di Napoli does a mean rigatoni - they have gluten-free options which aren’t half bad considering how terrible some places can be.”

          The woman’s stance still seems a little guarded as evident post the handshake, apprehension lingering about her - given her moderate celebrity status, the brunet wanders if that’s a factor, a lifetime of unwanted attention intermingled with public adoration can rattle anyone’s ongoing fortitude ( an occupational hazard ). “No rush, whenever you can would be fine—” A hand fishes into his pocket to retrieve a business card from his wallet, the motion a little clumsy given the reduces degree of dexterity resultant from the costume. As frustrating as it is, Quentin manages a hapless smile, carefully edging out the card to pass it across to the blonde - listing his details at Echidna Capital Management, the public mobile number present is connected to a relay to be delivered to his private number ( paranoia was a terrible thing ).

                    Beck follows her gaze, his expression lighting up with the question. “Not intentionally, no.” A quick glance around before gesturing in Wanda’s direction. “I’ve been on the lookout and so far I have seen a Red Riding Hood.” The man pauses for a moment, his expression growing a little thoughtful as he muses. “It’s funny how the wolf is perceived as the nefarious figure in those tales. Granted it’s an apt assessment but by today’s standards, I’d like to think the wolf would be heralded as a modern day protagonist in some stories.”

Trish is waiting for the shoe to drop----the invitation to join him. Thankfully, it never comes and it’s merely a recommendation. It very well might have been a feeler to see if she’s interested (she isn’t). The restaurant’s name rings a familiar tune, but she’s willing to let him believe it’s some new information she’s interested in. “Thanks for the tip, I’ll probably take my sister there.” She smiles at the thought of Jessica in a setting like that, but who knows... maybe her and Luke can have their date night and Trish can be a babysitter. Her eyes fall, lost in the small daydream.

His movement catches her attention next and her eyes dart back to him, wondering what he’s trying to do until she realizes he’s struggling to get something. It keeps an amused smile on her lips, lingering from her thoughts of babysitting and meets him halfway to take the card. She glances at it briefly, noting his name as well as the company’s. It dealt with money---of course he’s a businessman. Yet, he’s wearing a cheesy costume, so Trish isn’t so quick to judge. The name ‘Wolf of Wall Street’ though, is on her mind. “Thanks,” she mutters as she stashes it in the pocket of her jacket (which isn’t a reliable place to keep things).

“I haven’t seen a Red Riding Hood.” However, it’s not like Trish is paying much attention to the costumes. Honestly, she’s just thinking why is she even bothering being here? For nothing but the sake of conversation Trish offers, “Wolves are man’s first enemy. That is... until we domesticated them.” Trish is hardly the person to get analytical about childhood tales. It’s interesting that he is, she has to note that. Quentin is an interesting person, not in the sense that Trish is intrigued by him, but simply because he’s eccentric in a way. Hardly a negative observation, but he seems like someone who would surprise Trish in the most unusual way.

There was a half hearted shrug. Together was simply opening the dialogue that she had been actively avoiding. Parties were only ever awkward conversation. “Headless Horsemen, I guess. There is no horse to be see. So it’s more like headless ironman.” 

“This is my skin. There is no paint.”