#redheadreporter

It'd sort of been an unspoken thing that they hadn't done much with Peter's old bedroom. Sure, it'd been tidied up and kept as a guest room (especially for the city's now-solo Spider-Man if he was in the area and needed to crash), but despite both of them doing most of their work from home it hadn't even been floated as a place for an office. But now... well, now they were going to need it. Not super soon, but soon enough that he was taking some time to finish clearing out the closet. Sorting through the accumulated clothes and junk that'd been shoved in there for things he wanted to keep or donate to F.E.A.S.T.

The Proposal / Accepting!

He's at a loss, no idea how they're innocent little small talk veered so far off the road and into the gutter, Watson was a damn good interrogator, he hadn't meant to have let that detail slip. The resulting question makes him go a little red in the cheeks, awkwardly shifting his weight to more defensive position. Is it really that big of a deal?

The sound of rose gold, French manicured, diamond-tipped nails drilling against the glass wall that was currently separating her from entering MJ’s little journaling cubby... office... janitor’s closet? Whatever the FUCK this barrier was? She was on the other side of it.

Tick-tick-ticking away at the glass barrier.      Trying her best to get @redhead-reporter's attention.          Getting ready to ACT. THE FUCK. UP. if she couldn't!

    “THE FLIGHT IS IN TWO HOURS, LET’S. GO. EM. JAY!” 

He was behind on his quota of catching her off guard with smooches. And the fact this auburn haired podcaster used his childhood bedroom as her temporary studio made him feel both ecstatic and nostalgic about such a firecracker still resonating in his life today. And taking up a space of that room so personal to him. MJ, and such an environment as this, were the most calming, reinvigorating cultures of his life. A little piece of heaven he could escape to.

Well… this definitely was one hell of a way to spend his first case in New York. Everything stank, everything was loud, and being dragged out to investigate the latest in high city murder was just… sensory hell for a poor werewolf.

Chugging through the worst of it for the last hour or two with the photographs at least let him off for a brief smoke break. Running into one of the apparent local rubberneckers on the other hand?

“No.”

Manny already held a hand up. Funny how there were just some things that seemed to just never change, and whatever passed for the local media? Seemed to be a commonplace concerning just how annoying he was going to possibly find them. Hopefully his trademark handling would also translate well.