felldenlogs | ( CLOSED ) he's doing whatever a spider can

WHO: peter & and some npcs
WHAT: collecting a prototype weapon for the stars r&d department
WHERE: stars territory, mostly in and around Acuben
WHEN: shortly after getting his assignment, so before the big party
WARNINGS: i don't think so! maybe some reference of shooting/using a weapon on innocents?

When the scroll first arrived at his door, Peter had been pretty confident that he was going to ignore it. After all, it was at least a little suspicious. He hadn’t had much exposure to the Stars R&D department, and out of the blue they wanted him for what seemed like a pretty serious job? He can’t imagine they have a peg on what he is and what he can do, but at the very least, it did seem a little fishy. There were surely better people to send on this particular mission, and he figures if he ignores it, they probably will come out of the woodwork and he won’t have to worry about it.

The problem with that plan, however, is that Peter can’t stop thinking about the prototype weapon out there in the city with someone who may be more than willing to fire it, despite the fact it would apparently hurt them as much as anyone in the line of fire. He’s got too much experience with powerful weaponry falling into the wrong hands at home, and the more he tries to pretend it isn’t his problem, the more he doesn’t believe it. He’s tried ignoring problems before, and in the end, people just get hurt.

If he knows it could happen and does nothing to prevent it, then it is his problem. His powers aren’t completely what they’re supposed to be, but even without them he can’t ignore the knowledge he’s been given and the chance of danger if he pretends he wasn’t. Responsibility is a hell of a drug, and he’s been on it for a few years now. He has to do what he can, whether he likes it or not.

That doesn’t mean the task is easy, though; Peter is used to getting all his leads from a hacked police scanner app that he uses on his phone. That’s not really an option in a magical, medieval world. It means instead he’s got to find leads on his own, and they’re not exactly easy to come by. He tries to put himself in the head of someone who would steal a dangerous weapon that might not even be safe to use; what are their motivations? What could they possibly get out of it?

The only thing he can think of is that either they want to steal that technology for the other side, or they want to sell it to the highest bidder. If they’re not the one firing, there’s really no danger, right? There’s a sadder option, that whoever stole it is willing to hurt themselves to hurt whoever he wants to aim at, though Peter suspects he’ll have a lot more trouble with this mission if that’s the case. Because if whoever stole the weapon is willing to fire it, then capturing them is going to be a whole lot more difficult. Peter isn’t going to risk hurting civilians, he’d much rather steal it back without anyone being the wiser.

Where did one go to find the underbelly of crime? Well, it takes Peter a bit of reading to find out Acuben may (or may not! Who knows!) have some criminal ties, so that’s where he heads. Keeping his head down and searching through streets, trying to find something or anyone unusual. The first day is pretty much a bust, with nothing learned. It’s almost enough to consider giving up and trying to find a different angle… and then he remembers, when you’re trying to track down shady criminal activity, you don’t go looking in broad daylight.

The streets feel different at night, and it feels a bit closer to the crowd he’s searching for when he weaves the streets now. He stops at a stall of enchantments, leaning closer to ask, “You know where to get a weapon that’s not castle steel around here?” It’s fishing at its finest, and mostly gets him stink eye from the shop keep, at least until he offers a bag of what sounds like money. It’s really just the change from his wallet, but, apparently, it’s convincing.

“You won’t find anyone stupid enough to sell in the streets. Perhaps there’s something to be found in the alleys. You need dealings in the dark.” That’s enough information for Peter, and he nods and darts away in the crowd, quickly. He doesn’t want to be around when the shopkeep realizes she just gave information away for about $1.31 in pennies, dimes, and nickels, not including the one Canadian quarter to round out the bunch.

His senses aren’t quite what he’s used to, but the city is far less inundated with noise than New York City. Peter crawls to a roof — actually, after a few failed attempts and falling right before he makes it to the roof the last time, he just skips the wall crawling and webslings up there — he pulls on a mask and simpers along the rooftops, pausing occasionally near hubs of activity to simply listen.

A lot of it blends in and out, nothing exciting. There’s a bunch of haggling; it seems like nobody buys things at full price in Acuben and Peter feels foolish that he didn’t know about haggle culture until now. He’s been paying full price when he ventures out of the city, haggling wasn’t as much of a thing in Manhattan… well, depending on where you liked to hang out, anyway. There’s casual conversation, talk of the plays and where to go eat and bits and pieces about the palace, and the war.

It takes a while to get the hang of it, but eventually he hears whispers over careless words. Voices trying to hide instead of out and living their lives. He crawls closer and manages to only surprise one person as he sneaks across rooftops. His “sorry!” is muffled under his mask, but the man just trudges along the street, immediately deciding whoever is crawling on rooftops is not his problem. It’s a lot easier to sneak along the skyline undetected when it’s a lot closer to the sky, Peter muses.

Finally, he’s grown close enough that he can isolate the alley the shopkeeper was talking about. Too bad his loose change hadn’t gotten him a closer location, but now as he lingers in the dark, he listens in on exchanges he can distinctly tell aren’t meant to be heard. None of the exchanges are the one he’s looking for, though Peter is frankly uncomfortable to sit still and listen of planned robberies and shady sales. He has to remind himself that what he’s waiting for is a bigger priority than some sacked stalls or stolen inventory. (And maybe he can come back later to stop all that, since he sat in on the arrangements.)

It’s full dark by the time the shady conversations start to slow. Slow enough that Peter starts to worry he hasn’t found the right alley after all, or worse — his attempts have been for naught. He’s pretty confident he’d hear the weapon going off, if it’s as destructive as the letter asking him to retrieve it claims. Still, if whoever stole it wanted to bring it to the other side, they’ve had more than enough time to be clear of the city. He might never find them if they’ve had this long of a head start, headed toward territory he can’t even enter. He tries to silence his panic when a whisper cuts through the dark below him.

“Did you bring it?” It asks, low enough that Peter almost misses the words. It could be anything, he can’t get his hopes up that his stakeout has finally seen some fruit, it’s probably not what he hopes, it’s—

“The most guarded secret of Eltanin. It could slay a crowd in a single breath. The more important question is did you bring the money.” Peter crawls carefully toward the edge of the roof to spot the two in shadowy conversation, wanting proof of the weapon before he jumps in headfirst. The first shadowy figure ruffles in his cloak for a purse of gold, though what Peter pays more attention to is the person who supposedly has the weapon.

With the money in hand, a small case is handed over. Smaller than Peter was expecting, somehow. The buyer opens it, to the immediate uneasiness of the seller. “What are you doing?” the seller hisses, backtracking a handful of steps as the other man plucks the weapon from box. Peter was expecting something that looked more like a gun, but instead it’s small, lithe, almost unsuspecting.

“Seeing if I’m getting my money’s worth,” The seller declares, and whether he did or not, Peter’s not going to wait around to find out. His powers aren’t the best right now, and he’s not as strong as he usually is. So he elects for the least destructive option — a quick thwip and the weapon is pulled through the air, straight to him. There’s a sharp moment of terror that maybe it’ll go off on him, the note neglected to mention how the damn thing is fired, but he isn’t immediately vaporized so Peter lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yoink. Full offense, but you do not seem like the kinda guy that needs this.” Peter isn’t sure anybody needs it, if it actually does what it’s supposed to. The buyer is a healthy shade of scarlet, but before he can say anything, Peter decides a good bit of webbing should shut him up. Another few will keep him from moving, and another at his ankles for good measure. That may or may not be enough, but at the moment, he's more concerned with getting the hell out of dodge before anyone knows what just happened.

He runs along a few rooftops before he swings down to street level. He pulls off the mask he had on and marvels silently at the surprisingly small supposed weapon in his palm. Is this really what he was sent to find? He tucks it in a pocket when a figure darts past him, in the coincidence of a century. Peter turns and watches the cloaked figure for half a second before he recognizes it as the thief in the first place. Part of him considers the implication of stopping him now, the rest is too stuck on what might happen if he doesn’t.

Another thwip between the shoulder blades stops the thief in his tracks, and a tug drags him to the floor, hard enough to be winded. Harder than intended, if he’s honest; Peter jogs to catch up and the thief is out like a light on the dirty cobblestone.

“You and I have a hell of a walk to the base,” Peter whispers to the unconscious form, making a face as he hoists him up. “Having superstrength would be really great right now,” he mutters to nobody in particular. Hey, maybe dragging this unconscious dude all the way to a mirror will help his body remember he has some!

Or maybe not. He’s going to be really sore after this.

word count: 1858/1500