034 | SPAM & TEXT

[myresponsibility]

[Spam for the Infirmary]

[Being shot in the thigh is a strangely familiar experience for Peter Parker. Being poisoned with wolfsbane and spending a while hallucinating and incredibly nauseous is less so, but thanks to his enhanced metabolism, he winds up more or less okay symptom free in about an hour or two. (He makes a mental note to try and do some more research into how well he actually resists poisons and stuff like that.)

So for the first day after our latest vacation to Mirror Barge, Peter can be found napping in a hospital bed, playing Angry Birds on his phone, or inquiring after his friends and the general state of the ship. His right arm is heavily bandaged, and he's careful to keep weight off his leg, but otherwise, he actually seems kind of cheerful, if a little sedated.

A day or so later, and he'll be trying to hobble out on crutches if no one stops him.]

[Public Text]

so that sucked

sound off, where is everyone?

[Private to Gwen]

hey

Comments

spam

[myresponsibility]

[Look, he'll stop jumping in front of bullets for people when you stop killing your liver.

Peter is definitely itching to get out of the infirmary, maybe helped a bit by the fact that his phone's battery is basically winding down to nothing and that sucks. How is he supposed to entertain himself now?

So the interruption is pretty seriously appreciated. He manages to catch the paper cup without looking at it and jams his thumb a couple times against the screen before heaving a defeated sigh and tossing the thing down before throwing the cup - gently! - back to Bond.]

Nice to see you, too.

spam

[lastrat]

[God damn it people need to stop making that an ultimatum.

Bond shakes his head with the faintest of smiles on his face when Peter catches it. Little bastard. It's a fairly affectionate thought, though, which he doesn't hold onto too tightly. He's better off not dwelling on these things.

When the paper cup comes back, he catches it easily, which is much less impressive since it's heading right for him.]

Are you ready to leave yet?

spam

[myresponsibility]

[Whatever, he'll be proud of you for it. Good paper cup catching skills, buddy! You've really got some natural talent, there.]

Uh, is that even a question? [He has nothing against the infirmary, really, or the people who work here or anything. He's just. Really, really bored.

So Bond gets a smile that's half playful, half hopeful, because he does maybe need someone to grab him some crutches and also you owe him for all the times he's bailed you out of here when you probably should be napping a while longer.]

You here to spring me?

spam

[lastrat]

[Look, one day Bond will take advantage of his powers being off and pop Peter one. As it is, he smirks and shrugs nonchalantly.]

I suppose if it was worth my while.

[Yes, obviously he is here for springing. Debt, what's that?] Can you walk yet?

spam

[myresponsibility]

I walked in here, didn't I? [Well.]

Well, mostly, I guess Dean was kind of my crutch for a while.

[In any case, he's carefully swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and gritting his teeth when he moves the injured one. It definitely still hurts, but he can stay mobile, and his voice isn't too strained when he finds it again.]

But yeah, I'm healing up fine. Spiders self heal, apparently. Although your buddy Alec got me to pop a couple of my stitches, which was totally awesome.

spam

[lastrat]

I have no intention of being your crutch, so best say something now if you need one.

[Pain doesn't mean you need coddling: Bond watches him, listens, and decides he'll be well enough. If you can move and keep moving, you're halfway to fine.

So it's not fear that seizes his veins at Peter's words: he's not worried for Peter. But he is angry.]

Please tell me you broke his legs.

[It would be poetic. In the least poetic way possible.]

spam

[myresponsibility]

I might get a little shaky if we don't use the elevator. I mean, if I fall, you can always just drag me.

[His legs take his weight though, which is good. It's still going to need to be babied a fair amount, but after a second or two, he's at least confident he's not about to fall on his ass. For now.

So he definitely have it in him to laugh it off like it's not a big deal, because, well.]

Nah, I mean, both legs? That's just kind of excessive, right?

spam

[lastrat]

Trust me, I will.

[Cause he sure as hell isn't carrying the lanky bastard. He'll walk slow with him, that is the extent of James' kindness. He grunts, and turns toward the doors.]

Not if you know him.