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Laughing Man & The Goddess	By : FrederickWertham Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 27117 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own any Marvel Comics characters, nor do I make any money off of them.

Chapter List
- 1-Laughing Man & The Goddess
- 1
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A/N: This an Alternate Universe, in case you didn't figure that out based on the portrayal of Black Panther (who, as far as I know is not a manipulative psychopath in the regular comics...) or several described plot points. It's a OMD/OMIT/BND-reboot with consequences and a somewhat amusingly idealized version of some characters and including spirit world elements introduced by JM Dematteis and J Michael Straczynski.
Why I'm writing it? Well, a bit because of Marvel having apparent issues with having more than one white man/black woman interracial relationship going at any one time (if Luke Cage is committed to Jessica Jones, they break up Danny Rand and Misty Knight, and vice versa), and mostly for the shits and giggles of pairing up Spider-Man with unusual love interests. BTW, before anyone asks, not into the yaoi, rapefics, snuff or domination stuff here, so don't request anything like it from me.

New York.
Ororo Munroe paused by the street vendor and stared at the headlines on several of the magazines. Well, the ones featuring international news, at least.
WAKANDA BECOMES REPUBLIC: King T'Challa resigns, divorces wife.
She snorted softly. 'Wife'. What a joke. The man hadn't touched her once throughout their entire time as spouses. Always too busy working or plowing one of his cousins and sisters. Not that he had much to plow with. What she'd seen of him in the shower had not been particularly impressive.
She sighed. She had been a romantic fool. A handsome prince, telling her sweet nothings when she was but a slip of a girl, then romancing her with gifts and roses and all the things a woman could possibly desire as an adult. Of course she had accepted his proposal when it came. She thought she was in love.
But T'Challa was cold inside. Calculating, unemotional. Everything and everyone was a pawn for his mind to place in his eternal chess game against the outside world. And when he did show emotion it was only for those of his closest kin, something she had discovered one night when finding the bed empty and going exploring the royal suites. Of all the things she had expected, it was not to find him being serviced by his half-sister on her knees.
She had been heartbroken. Devastated. And then...she grew up.
T'Challa was a king, truly. And much like kings in nature, those who took power by heritage or supposedly divine right tended to be self-absorbed monsters who cared little for anyone but their own siblings or offspring. She had started calling him her lion, and he had appeared flattered. Until she 'accidentally' left a zoology book open on a page explaining how male lions were the worst natural hunters in the animal kingdom, with all other great cats being far better, and the lionesses doing the majority of the work. He'd become suspicious then. Which was what she'd been going for.
When Victor von Doom took away the nation's source of Vibranium he had been irate. It was his main bargaining chip with the Western powers, after all. The following war had been brief and brutal, and he had won...at the cost of his nation. The people were tired of the constant battles he brought with him, and instead accepted an offer from Stark International to begin developing the Vibranium in exchange for building new combat technology for the armed forces. And UN observers for the upcoming free elections.
That had burned him, truly. The thought that he was not their choice to rule them. And then she had given him the divorce papers. The papers spun it as his decision, and that was very likely the work of his press agents. He was still a rich man, and rich men could easily twist and distort truth with the right connections.
But she was free! Free to do as she pleased, free to be her own woman. She smiled to herself, and continued down the street.
…
“Living on the edge, fighting crime, spinning webs, swinging from the highest ledge he can leap above your heads, aaAAAH!”
Peter Parker, the amazing, friendly neighborhood and often spectacular (if he said so himself) Spider-Man flailed madly as his web-line suddenly failed to materialize and quickly thrust out his other arm. This time it worked.
“Dammit! Forgot to refill it after that tangle with Electro earlier yesterday...” He sighed in irritation with himself and sailed down to a nearby brownstone rooftop, landed softly and began the quick but boring task of checking his web cartridges.
Only one left, and the one he'd used to save himself just now was one third full. He snapped the new one in and put away the empty, watching the street below for a landmark as to his location. Oh, right, that meant only three blocks away to get home. Awesome.
Ooh, hot chick at two o'clock! Gotta love white hair on a young woman. Looks kinda familiar...nah, I don't know anyone that smoking. Possibly Felicia.
He sighed. He was really getting frustrated. Carlie was...weird. Everyone he knew was praising her to the high heavens to the point where it was getting really, really creepy, but she never actually acted on this supposed attraction they said she had for him. If she was so hot for him and so perfect for him, why did every date end with her giving him the cold shoulder? He wasn't even expecting sex, a simple kiss would be fine, but not even that was in her agenda it seemed. So he handled things with the good old third webshooter as it were, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, and wondered what was really going on. And why sometimes he felt the oddest hint of sulfur around her. No, wait, she was a forensics lab tech, she always hung around chemicals. No strangeness there at all.
Carlie is perfect. Carlie is great. Carlie is my perfect mate.
He blinked. What had he been thinking about? Oh, right. The webshooters were getting low, and he really needed to cook up a new batch. Well, as long as nothing else happened today he'd be fine.
A loud explosion echoed down from the jeweler district ahead, and he sighed.
I knew I shouldn't have thought that last bit...
…
She had considered going to San Francisco to stay with the others, but had decided against it. She hadn't seen her family in some time, and New York was lovely this time of year. Warm, sunny, good food on every street corner, and the theater district was rather delightful. Yes, it would do her good to be away from the violence and drama of her fellow mutants for a while...
The earth shook as something exploded a few blocks away. She smirked with bitter amusement. It could never be easy, could it? Very well, she was not one to ignore peril or danger to others simply because mutants weren't involved...
…
“C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Hurry the hell up before-”
“Billy! William, Flint, Justin Bieber, whatever the heck you're calling yourself nowadays. I thought you'd given up on the petty crimes by now?”
William Baker, alias Flint Marko, alias the Sandman, looked up just in time to desolidify himself as a familiar red and blue blur was about to strike his head.
“Always was a talker, web-head! Might wanna not warn me of your comin'!”
The wallcrawler spun in mid-air, landing on a flipped-over truck. “Oh yeah. Forgot about those reflexes of yours.”
Suddenly a high-pressure spout of water struck him from the side before he had time to react, smashing him into a streetlight and causing the windows behind him to shatter. “Enough talk, Baker! We gotta split!”
Sandman snarled at his 'partner'. “You do your part, Bench, I'll do mine. I'll handle the Spider.”
The web-head was getting to his feet somewhat unsteadily, holding his back. “Oh, that's gonna smart tomorrow...Morrie? Morrie Bench? You're working with Sandman again? Didn't you two have enough last tieAIAIE!”
Leaping about like a frog on a frying pan, the wallcrawler beat out the sudden flames in his costume, looking about furiously for whatever was the source. “Aw, crap.”
“I suppose this is where I say 'throw another shrimp on the barbie' or something such stereotypical...but I'll settle for the simple; die, Spider-Man!” St.John Allerdyce opened up a barrage of superheated plasma that had the web-head jumping about constantly. “Sandman, Hydro-Man, get the loot. I'll keep the boy in the jammies occupied!”
The two nodded and headed back in the store when suddenly the air thickened with ozone and heat and a bright-white bolt of lightning struck Hydro-Man. The scream was quite horrifying if you didn't know he could survive worse.
“I think not. Common thievery, Pyro? Why am I not surprised.”
The Australian mutant ex-terrorist smirked. “Oh, look, one of the high and mighty exes. Or is that ex-high and mighty? Heard about the hubbie, girlie, what's the matter, he wasn't man enough for ya?”
…
Ororo resisted the urge to flatten him with another bolt. Pyro was resilient, but even he couldn't take your average lightning strike. She wanted to beat him, not kill him...then she smirked. How thoughtful of them to provide her with a large body of water nearby...
Gathering up the moisture left in the air by the downed man Pyro had referred to as 'Hydro-Man' she created a swirling, side-ways water-spout and tossed it straight at Allerdyce, temporarily putting out his flames. That split second was enough for the Spider-Man to flip over and lay the man flat with a single punch.
She could hear the crack from where she was standing, and couldn't help marveling at the speed and strength the hero had shown. He was more agile than Kurt, and a lot stronger than he looked. As his catching the suddenly thrown two-door hatchback compact in mid-air and setting it down gently to let the screaming driver out proved.
“Thank you for flying Air Sandman, emergency exits are left, right, up and down, barf bags are not available. Buh-bye now!”
One was down, well, two counting Hydro-Man, but the hardest one was apparently the man made from living sand. He looked at the two of them and grinned evilly. “You two're gonna regret the day ya tussled with the Four Elements.”
She frowned. Four..?
“Four? Can't you count, Sandman?” Spider-Man dodged a sudden spike of hardened sandstone where he had been sitting, landing safely elsewhere.
“Sure we can. Can you?” The grin broadened, and Ororo saw the hero suddenly turn in alarm towards her, when a powerful wind struck her in the back so hard she felt as if her spine would snap. She struck Spider-Man with enough force to knock him off his perch, and then everything went dark.
…
Peter wouldn't be the first to complain if a beautiful woman in a skimpy black leather outfit draped herself all over him, but this was ridiculous. He'd managed to take the worst of the impact, knowing she was tough but not superhumanly so like him, but unfortunately that had meant he'd been forced to follow along with the blow.
Then a huge sandstone fist appeared in front of his mask-lenses, and he knew it was beddy-bye time.
“Say night-night, web-head.”
Aw, crap.
CRUNCH.
…
Oh, ow. Ow, freaking ow. Ow with sugar on top and tied up with a bow, ow. He opened his eyes. Why was it so dark in here? And why was he pushed up against something warm and unmoving?
The cobwebs (heh) cleared slowly, and he noticed three things. First, he was in a small box, about one and a half by one and a half meters, with three small airholes on the side letting in only enough air to demonstrate to him that he was, in fact, in said box.
Second was that his mask was still on. Apparently nobody had cared about his secret identity.
Third...was that he wasn't alone in the box. Bundled up against him was the woman who'd helped him earlier, what was her name...Storm. Right. One of the mutant heroes. Weren't they all hanging out in Frisco these days?
“Hey. Hey! You okay?”
She gave a low moan, her eyes blinking open. She had the most beautiful blue eyes...
Focus, Pete!
“Yes...yes, I think so. Ah...where are we?”
“Um...sorry to have to say it, but we're in a small box that's been welded shut. I tried breaking out earlier, but no dice. The damn thing must be several inches of solid steel.”
Her eyes widened. “A - a b-box? Oh. Ah, um, is, is, is there a door, I have lockpicks, I can, I can open most, ah, most l-locks q-quite easily, i-i-if only I-I-I have enough l-l-light to see by...”
She sounded terrified. “Uh...you okay? You're not claustrophobic, are you?”
She gave him an angry glare.
“Oh. You are. Sorry.” He fumbled at his belt for a while, the found what he was looking for. The interior of the box was suddenly bathed in warm red light as his Spider-signal switched on. “That better? There's no door, but at least it won't be dark in here.”
She nodded. He blushed, happy that the mask would keep her from noticing. She was so beautiful it was like looking at a goddess. Not to get him wrong, Mary-Jane had been quite attractive too, and Felicia wasn't cat's pee either, but they sort of paled, no pun intended, next to this darkskinned divine vision of beauty.
“So...not a fan of the dark, enclosed space, are we? Me neither. Sort of comes from this really unpleasant thing that happened to me a few years back. Kraven the hunter, this total whackjob with a White Man's Burden huntsman complex and all, buried me alive for a week and ran around posing as me. Took me a whole morning to dig myself out when the drugs wore off. Not that this is the same, we got air, light, charming company...”
She still seemed nervous. Going on impulse he took her hand. “Hey. Hey. Take it easy. We're gonna be fine. None of the guys we fought are that bad. Well...maybe Pyro, but the other guys aren't killers, they'll keep him in line. Once we get outta here, we'll...”
He strained to get purchase against the slick metal surface, and heaved. Still nothing. At least one of them had to know he had trouble sticking to slippery surfaces, because the walls were sort of oily. He sniffed it.
...vegetable oil?
He raised the mask a little and tasted it. Yep, definitely veggie oil. Maize, by the taste. So they were cheap, too? He grinned at Storm, who was looking at his face with the looks of someone desperately trying to distract herself from her current situation.
“Vegetable oil. Maybe Pyro is a cannibal, too?”
She gave him the Look, the one all women learn at birth when men are being silly. “Don't be ridiculous. Can...can you get us out of here or what?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. Strength isn't gonna do it, though. I can't get a grip because of the oil. And the metal keeps you from getting any ideas, I guess.”
She nodded.
She has such an adorable accent. No, focus!
“Okay, I have...” He checked. “A little web fluid, nothing that'll help us in here, the Spidey-light only has enough juice for a couple hours total, so we might wanna conserve it, and the box is welded shut. You have a cellphone?”
She looked uncomfortable. “Not on me. I was in civilian clothes when this happened, and left them on a rooftop.”
“Oh. Yeah, I make that mistake all the time. Not to mention most my phones get broken. What is it with villains and ambushes, anyway? I'd probably not even know they were out of jail if they didn't attack me all the time.”
“I'm sure I don't know.”
“Ah! I saw that!”
“Saw what?”
“You smiled a little! Welp, my work here is done. I'll just pop outside for a smoke break.”
She had another fleeting half-smirk. “Maybe I did.”
“Yeah, you did. So...you come here often?”
Her laugh was refreshing.
…
Gods above, did he not know what he was doing to her? She squirmed a little. Gods, she hoped he couldn't smell her. She'd been without physical company for so long, and here she was laying up against a hard, muscular man in clothes so tight she could see his religion...if he wasn't wearing some sort of padding there, that is. She'd felt the smell of his musk when he raised his shirt to switch on the light, and it still filled her nostrils.
It was strange, really. Her first true love had been Forge, who was a calm, driven man who was serious and quietly emotional. T'Challa had been completely dead inside, passionate only about his political maneuvering. This fellow here, though he talked and joked incessantly, was tender and gentle, and...well, he was making her squirm, enough said about that.
I'm going to have to wash the costume later.
He said something, and she realized she had drifted off a little. “Hm?”
“I said, you feeling better?”
...and now he was still more concerned about her than himself. Well, she was feeling better, this was true. Much because of him. Still, they were stuck in a dark box with-
…
Suddenly the box lurched, tossing them about the inside. There was a feeling of movement, then a thump as they hit soft ground. Then the outside light went out.
Storm squirmed uncomfortably, then crawled up his body to bury her face in the crook of his neck. He was about to make a joke about how this wasn't entirely unpleasant when he realized she was sobbing softly, soaking the spandex with her tears.
Wow. Now I feel like a total douche.
“Oh, no, no, no, hey, beautiful, don't be sad, I'm here. I've gotten out of way worse scrapes than this one. Don't be sad. C'mon.”
She swallowed down a sob and looked at him. Good lord, even with puffy eyes and running nose she was beautiful. “I-I know. It's just...usually it's not, not so bad. I, I can take a long while of it now. B-b-but-”
He reached out and wiped away a tear with his gloved hand. “Don't cry...God, you're beautiful...” She flinched, and he instantly felt like a total cad. “Oh, man, I'm sorry, that was really inappropriate, wasn't it? Feel free to zap me a couple times when we get out of here. No charge. Get it? No charge? No? Crickets? Man, my science nerd is shining through, isn't it?”
But instead she was looking at his face as if searching for something. “You...you think I'm beautiful?”
He was about to give her the old trustworthy Peter Parker-ness when he realized she couldn't see through the mask, and after a bit of hesitation he pulled it off. It was getting too humid and musty anyway. He smiled at her. “Well, yeah. Most beautiful woman I ever saw. And believe me, my line of work you run into a lot of lookers. Most of them capable of tying me into a pretzel, so don't think I ever got fresh with'em.”
She giggled, and leaned in a little closer. He was becoming very much aware of how her chocolate-brown body was gleaming softly with oil and sweat and rubbing up against him, how her sweat-slick white hair was draping sexily over her face and shoulders, and how her ample breasts were pressing into his chest. Two little hard points could be felt poking against the spandex, too.
“Why do you wear the mask? You're a handsome enough fellow...”
“Why, ah, thankee, kind lady.” (don't get hard, don't get hard, don't get hard) “Well, mostly it's for the scare factor. Bad guys can't see my face, and can't tell that I'm scared out of my mind while fighting them. So, scare factor. No, the real reason is because most of the guys I fight are the type to go for the cheap shots. Meaning, family and friends. If they find out who I am, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself.”
She was looking at his face more intently now, his eyes mainly. And his mouth. “So...is there a Mrs Spider-Man? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Other?”
He chuckled. “No, not, uh, not really.” He squirmed a little sideways to keep her from noticing his growing arousal. The crotch was well padded and all, but when Lil' Pete made his presence known, well... “No wife, no girlfriend, not really, though there is someone...I dunno. It's complicated. And no, not into the dudes. Or the other options, whatever they are.”
Carlie is your life's most precious, your chosen one, your perfect soul mate. Worship Carlie. She is your reason for being.
He blinked. Funny, what was he talking about? He looked down to notice Storm giving him an odd look. “What?”
“You...you just faded out. Stared at nothing for a long time. Are you all right?”
Suddenly he realized he was lying chest-to-chest with a gorgeous woman in very little clothes, and that he was starting to sport the mother of all erections. “Uh, fine! Fine...just - fine. Um. How are you?”
She snuggled closer. “Better.”
Carlie is yo-
Her face was so close to his it was almost intimate. Just a few inches away. She stared into his eyes. Then she leaned in, and her lips met his. Just a brief, chaste little kiss. Then another. Then they were kissing fiercely with wild abandon, tongues dancing inside each others' mouth, her arms wrapping around him while he caressed her bare sides and back.
They split apart, stared at one another for a few seconds.
Carli-
Their lips touched again, the kiss deepened, slowed, became much more intense with less haste. Her hand crept down to sneak inside his waistband. “Oh, my. Someone's rearing to play...”
As she pulled down his costume trousers she gasped. “Good Goddess, you're huge! You're blessed!”
He blushed. “Is - is that good?”
She licked her lips and nodded. “Oh, yes...” Then she crawled a little closer, straddling his waist, finally crawling closer to allow him room to aim. One hand curled around his neck for a better grip, the other went down to her costume bottoms to pull aside the leathery fabric of it from the warm wetness below. Then she lowered herself down, his head grazing her nether lips and making her shiver, then slowly spreading her labia wide apart before finally entering her just a little. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, then in a smooth, slow move buried his entire length inside her.
Her eyes shot wide open and she started shuddering, letting out little 'oh's, her inner walls convulsing and gripping his cock. She was so tight, and hot, and wet...well, maybe she wasn't so much tight as he was large, he had no clue if twelve inches erect was abnormal or not. Only man he ever saw naked was uncle Ben, and that was by horrified accident when he was a kid and they were at Rockaway Beach.
Ca-
She smiled down at him, hunched up to keep from hitting her head on the too-close ceiling of the box. “I-I think I just c-came a little.”
Feeling emboldened by the whole situation, he smirked mischievously and gripped her toned, firm buttocks with both hands. “Yeah? How's this?”
With that he pulled back a little, then drove himself inside hard again, making her yelp and her cheeks color. “Oh! You, you can't be-”
He did it again. And again. After a while he had a good rhythm going and she wasn't speaking anymore, just saying 'Oh' with each thrust, weakly falling against his torso and resting her head on his chest. Then she grabbed onto the shirt with both hands and screwed her face up in a grimace of pure ecstasy, making a long, wailing moan in the back of her throat. Then she fell limp again. He was still inside her, still hard as a rock.
She looked up, her eyes veiled. “That...that was twice you've made me...”
He started slowly sawing in and out, not relenting one iota, and her eyes went wide along with her mouth, which he covered with his in a long, hot kiss. When they had to come up for air she was whimpering, tossing her head side to side. “Oh, don't, don't, not when I just, oh, oh, oh-”
He drove himself inside her hard, not fast, until their pelvises were so tightly pressed together you couldn't but a knife between them. Her inner walls squeezed and milked his cock as she screamed out loud incoherently, and he felt the familiar rush coming from his spine as he came inside her, squirting once, twice, three times.
They both shivered in shared climax, and then they both took a deep, stuttering breath. He was still inside her, though softening now. She reached up to caress his face, then kissed him gently on the lips. “That...was divine.”
He grinned, pulling an errant lock of white hair out of her flushed face. “You weren't so bad yourself, lady.” Then he sniffed the air. “Man, it's getting kinda ripe in here, isn't it? Think we can ask our illustrious captors for a break?”
She giggled. “I wonder if they heard us.”
It was his turn to blush. “Well, if they did I hope they got a real show.” He pounded on the side. “Hey! Hey! You out there! Mind letting us out now?”
No response.
“...you think they forgot about us?”
His cock slipped out of her with a wet 'plop', and he tucked it in knowing he would have to wash the tights anyway. She squirmed around a little, adjusting her costume, then rested her head on his chest. “Who knows. Maybe. This is nice.”
He grinned. “It is, isn't it? And we don't even know each other's names.”
She raised her head to give him a disbelieving stare. “You're joking. I'm famous!”
Knowing it was teasing her he shrugged. “Hey, I don't read modeling magazines. You're a model right? Ow, ow, ow, I'm kidding, I'm kidding!” He chuckled. “...something something Munroe, right?”
“Ororo. And you?”
He blinked. “Huh. 'ororo' means 'delicate' in Swahili, don't it?”
She stared at him. “You know that? Why?”
Laughing, he squeezed her a little closer. “Why does a white boy know that, you mean? I had a black girlfriend in college, she dragged me to a bunch of African studies classes holding her books for her. Not that I minded, learning is always fun, no matter the subject.”
Storm - sorry, Ororo, looked embarrassed. “I didn't mean to imply-”
“Don't worry about it. I'm a geek, I pick up bits of fact from all over. Like mutant genetics, to be up-to-events with the beautiful woman in my arms.” He hesitated. “And...I guess it's safe to tell you...”
She gave him a puzzled look as he leaned in very close, and whispered in her ear. “My name is Peter Parker. I'm a photojournalist with the Daily Bugle.”
…
His breath so close to her ear made her shiver and blush again, and she wished they could stay like this forever. But they were trapped, and he was right, the air was getting stale and somewhat unpleasant after their lovemaking. No...Yukio would have called it a fuck. A good, long, hard fuck.
...she didn't like that word much. Besides, it had been so intense, so giving...damn, was she getting a crush on him? That would be bad. Wouldn't it? Well...
He trusted her with his identity. Hers was public knowledge, thanks to the media scrutiny during the disaster they'd called a marriage. But he...he'd actually opened up to her. Told her this deep, most secret of his secrets. Which reminded her...
“...by the way, how do you make your webs, is it-”
He held up a wrist, pulled the glove up. Underneath was a sleek, metal contraption with thin cartridges attached. “Web-shooters. Built them myself, the web fluid is a kind of artificial spider silk I came up with in high school. Couldn't sell it or patent it, so I use it to fight crime.”
She felt her eyes widen. “You built them? Let me see...”
The design was so simple! Nothing she could make, she wasn't very technological, but her time with Forge had given her an appreciation for well-designed items, and this... “This is very nice. And the webs are just chemicals?”
“Yup. By the way, how does Cyclops visor work? Always wondered about that.”
She pulled the glove back down again. “Ruby quartz visor. The quartz filters out the eyebeams he makes, he has controls in his gloves to control the width it opens up. Unfortunately it also makes him see everything in red.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You know...well, whatever. What say we get finished dressing and figure out a way out of here? Say, if you can see outside, can you use your powers on the outside?”
She frowned. “I...think so. Why? Lightning might break the box, but it would kill us both...”
He grinned, putting the featureless mask back on. “I have an idea...”
…
“...stupid French prick, telling everyone what to do, doing diddly himself, I oughtta drown his sorry ass...” Morris Bench grumbled to himself as he entered the dark storage room for the big welded together safe they'd put the web-head and the black chick in. What the hell were they gonna do with them, anyway? Allerdyce kept saying they should let him burn them alive, but Allerdyce was creepy. Loved his powers too much. Baker said they should call the cops on their location once they were safely away, give'em a chance, but Morris thought that was stupid. Baker was too goodie-two-shoes sometimes.
As for the French guy who was their brains in this Four Elements thing, well, he was smart all right, but also snooty and complained about the food all the time. What the hell was wrong with Cheez Whiz? It was cheese...ish. And why bother with wines with actual corks when a jug with a screw-cap worked just fine and got you hammered just as well?
French people. No sense for the good in life.
He turned the lights on and looked at the safe...and saw a safe that was frosted over on the side where they'd welded the door together, and wide open. “Huh?”
“Take a rain check, Morrie.”
The lightning bolt struck from the small cloud that had formed inside the storage room, and that was all she wrote.
…
“So when do we fence it?” The Sandman pulled a small crab out of his ear and tossed it away in a corner.
How in the world did...no, no use wondering things best left alone.
“In good time, mon ami, in good time. The Maggia has several good contacts for this sort of thing, but we have to lay low for a short while, non? How you say, the 'fuzz' is looking for us.”
“Right. So, when do we fence it?”
Pierre Fresson, alias Cyclone, sighed. This had been such a good idea on paper. His battle-suit, the powers of the three morons on the team, his brains, the backing of the Maggia for what places to hit safely. His brains, their brawn. He'd even thought of a team name to make them feel a little more prone to working together. Not that it worked. Allerdyce was too aggressive, Bench was an idiot, and Baker was...well, a different scale of idiot. “In about a week, when the immediate chase has died down. Meanwhile, we lay low. Got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I know the drill. So we ordering in pizza or something?”
Pierre shuddered at the thought of what these New Yorkers called 'pizza'. When you were used to actual Neapolitan pizza, these things with dripping grease and bad ersatz-mozzarella were like watching someone try to pass a Volkswagen Golf off as a Ferrari. Not to mention what they called bread. At least their delicatessens had a decent assortments of meats, even if their salamis left a lot to be desired. And that was without even touching their so-called 'cheeses' or the urine-flavored swill they called 'coffee'. “No...no, I think not. There is an excellent Algerian place I dined at last week, they do home deliveries. It's spicy, but good. The menu is over on my desk.”
Better than your so-called 'pizza'. Philistines.
“Algerian, huh? That some kinda Arab stuff?”
“North African. You do the ordering, that way you won't get any surprises...”
“Hey, is...is it cold in here?”
He frowned. “...what?”
Another voice broke in, an annoyingly familiar one. “Pop quiz, Blow-drier. What happens if a cyclone is met with an equal yet opposite cyclone wind?”
He brought up a blast of air just in time to be faced with one just like it, only far stronger. And as so often happens...the resulting clash of air currents spun him right around, vaulted him upside down and hit the ceiling. Not once, but twice, and twice into the floor for good measure. He heard something crack inside the battle suit, and almost wet himself when he realized what was going to happen. “Non! The power source, it's going to-”
“Oh, relax, Windmill. It's just a Mk.V Tellarus Industries power cell, even if it cracks all you get is mild radiation burns. Here, let me.” A red-gloved hand shot in, popped open the access hatch with trained skill and yanked the power supply out. “There you go. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that removing it with the user still in the suit renders the user unable to move. They'll have to cut you out.”
“Connard! You will bring down the wrath of the Maggia upon your head!”
To his even greater anger, Spider-Man put thumb to his nose and blew a raspberry. “Like I haven't kicked you guys' butt before. And that was when you had heavyweights like Carrion and the Super Adaptoid in your corner. Now all they have is you.”
Where the devil was Sandman, he'd been there only a moment before! The cowardly crétin! “You have no idea the forces you are tampering with! The Maggia shall find you all, we will rape your grandméres, we will slaughter your enfants, and set fire to your homes!”
The only one visible, the Homme Araignée, recoiled. “Wow. You have a seriously filthy mouth on you. Best fill it up...”
Too late did Pierre realize the self-proclaimed 'hero' had been aware of Baker's presence the whole time, as the agile fellow dodged aside at the very last moment as Baker sent a torrent of filthy New Jersey beach sand straight at the immobilized leader of their little team. He barely had time to scream as sand filled his mouth, his nostrils, entered his armor. It was pulled away almost instantaneously, but the damage was done.
…
“Wow. You actually shut him up. Nice work, Sandy.” Peter dodged again as a mace made of compact sandstone thundered into the ground where he'd been only a moment before. “So, what brought you to start hanging out with those losers? I seem to recall you actually having a shred of dignity left last time we met.”
“Always with the talk, web-head. Where's the chick?”
Dodge, dodge, tuck, roll, spin, flip- “'Chick'? Oh, you mean Storm. Well, she figured she'd handle your hothead friend once we took out Frenchie McFrench over there. So...you doing anything later? Because I know this lovely little jail cell with an ambiance that is simply to die for...”
Flip, dodge, flip, tuck, jump...
“Shut up! Just shut up! I'm not going back to jail! They keep me in a damn bottle, you know that?”
...and spin, spin, and land. And wait for it... “Really? I thought they just dumped you on the exercise yard and sucked you up with a Dustbuster during the night.”
At the very last second as another semi-solid fist made of sand raced for his head, he ducked his head down. The fist smashed into the heavy power junction that provided the whole warehouse with electricity, which raced into the silicate man and half-melted his body. The scream was only half as bad as the stench.
For about two very long seconds, the Sandman just stood there, his face screwed up in an expression part hate, part frustration and one part massive annoyance. “...I hate you...”
Then he fell over, smashing into pieces of glass fused with sand, twitching slowly.
“I see you handled your side quite well?”
Peter turned to see Storm...sorry, Ororo, dragging a semi-conscious soaked-to-the-bone Allerdyce by the collar. He shrugged, then struck an exaggeratedly dramatic pose, hands on his hips and looking slightly sideways and up. “Science! Silicates are lousy conductors.”
Then he relaxed as she smiled at him.
“Do we call the police, or..?”
He nodded. “Yeah. And we'll wait for them to show up, then we skedaddle. Well, I skedaddle. There aren't any outstanding warrants on you, I don't think, so you can talk to the cops.”
She frowned. “You're a fugitive?”
“Kind of. Don't worry, I'm no crook, it's just that me and the mayor go way back and it's a whole thing by now. Trust me, better if you face the boys in blue than me.” He hopped up on top of the barely conscious Cyclone's shoulders and perched there with his butt right up in the poor man's face. She looked away, shaking with barely held back mirth as the French mobster made a few choked noises. “Oh, relax Pierre, I wash regularly. So...you busy Saturday?”
“Oh? You asking me out, Spider?” She gave him a coy smile.
“Maybe I am, maybe I am. So? Are you?”
She grinned. “I am now.”
On the floor, the barely mobile remains of William Baker stirred slightly in order to roll half-crystalline eyes. “Aw, gag me.”
…
The basement was just your average suburban basement. Nothing abnormal. Apart from the six foot tall mirror surrounded by ancient arcane runes and crowned by an inverted pentagram.
“Master. The spell is broken.”
The one who ruled her life leaned back against whatever he was leaning back against, smiling with a mildly confused expression. “Spell? I don't know anything about a spell. Oh, you mean that binding spell I taught you? Did you use that on someone?”
She frowned. “...yes, master. But somehow he broke free. I did it the way you told me-”
He held out a long-fingered, clawed hand. “Told you? I told you nothing. If I happened to show you a spell you had use for, what you did with it was your choice, not mine. Now, what gift might I lavish you with today, hmmm?”
Carlie Cooper smiled. The Master was so generous. She would give him what he truly wanted. Revenge on the accursed Peter Parker and that cow of a woman Watson...
…
To Be Continued...
- 1
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Laughing Man & The Goddess