european vacation.

         What would Spider-Man do? has become Harry’s–or rather, Venom’s–new motto in the past few weeks. He’s tried to model himself after the webslinger, though not entirely for the hero’s upstanding moral compass: there’s just something unspeakably thrilling about seeing the city through these new eyes. And it seems as though he’s not the only one.

         Harry has spent a good deal of the daylight hours brushing up on all the major events he’d missed during his treatment, and the appearance of a second Spider-Man had been quite the shock to the city. But Harry... he thinks he gets it; thinks he understands now in a way he never would have been able to before. As an Osborn, Harry has always had a certain degree of power; has understood that some power can be bought.

         But abilities like he has now--and like the Spider-Men have--open up an entirely new world of possibilities.

         【Ｈａｒｒｙ】

        He tries to ignore the voice as he swings through the city. The first time he’d heard it--just a few days after his last bit of treatment, as his strength had begun to come back to him--it had nearly scared the life out of him. But by now he’s used to it, and how it speaks to him sometimes, sounding very far away. Tonight, however, it’s uncharacteristically loud. Insistent.

         【Ｈａｒｏｌｄ，　ｌｏｏｋ．】 The voice sounds frustrated with him, but at the same time, Harry can sense an undeniable undercurrent of enthusiasm.

         His head swivels automatically, quickly finding the source of its excitement: Spider-Man. One of them, any way. The smaller, and presumably younger, of the two. The second one.

        【Ｇｅｔ　ｃｌｏｓｅｒ．】

        The suit seems to move on his skin, pooling in the direction of the Spider. Harry steps forward as if trying to recenter the suit over his skin, but it moves again, pulling him forward. Curiosity piqued, Harry shoots a line of suit-produced webbing and silently swings himself in his direction. 

       As he nears the wall above Spider-Man’s head, the hand of the suit morphs to allow him a better, stickier grip, allowing him support himself against it much like the Spiders can. He settles against the wall, finding a comfortable position to speak in.

        “I wondered when I’d run into you.”

      … Oh.

      She recoils only a little bit. As is the Julie way whenever something that should freak her out is presented to her by a dear friend (take, for example, Matt, and also perhaps Tony), she observes the phenomenon during a lengthy pause.

     And then says, uselessly: “So, like, a black – jello slime?”

It’s-- That’s not the reaction he’d been hoping for, to be quite honest. But this is Julie. He never really knows what to expect from her. 

The black ooze moves in his palm, wriggling and rippling as it quickly builds upon itself to form a steep, angry peak. Harry laughs as it grumbles in his mind; it’s unhappy with being called slime.

    “Aaand what would that be.” What could POSSIBLY be so burdensome? “An infinite wallet?”

He bites his lip. Harry’s been dying to tell someone... And what better opening could he have asked for? This is perfect.

His dad’ll kill him. Except, you know... He won’t.

“Not quite.”

Left hand extended, palm up in front of Julie, a viscous black liquid seeps up through his skin to create a puddle. A puddle that refuses to drip down the sides of his hand, even as the cup of it should be overflowing.

    “Well, you see.” Spine straightening, she kind of – shakes out her head, brushes her hair off her shoulders with a delicate hand. “I would be. The hero of prophecy.”

A finger comes up to his mouth and rests there as he puts on a show of contemplation. He nods subtly, eyes wandering up toward the ceiling. But then he stops. Freezes, really. Eyes widening, he reanimates and faces her fully again, taking a deep, serious breath.

“Julie--”

     Her smile is immediate, and so is her scoff! “Um, no.” Nice try, bucko! “I mean, like – Zelda, or some shit. Or, like. Assassin’s Creed.”

“Oh.” He blows a puff of air between his lips--pfft!--and gives a limp wave, as though he’s unimpressed. “Well in that case...”