Open | I got a little raincloud, he's my best friend

[heartstumbles]

WHO: Peter Parker and you!
WHAT: Peter Parker arrives in Thedas after his multiverse experiences and learns to begin again in a new world.
WHEN: Bloomingtide
WHERE: In and around the Gallows.
NOTES: Possible mentions of death, loss, grieving, etc. I'll add more if they come up.

I. Arrival – Post-Rift Journey to Kirkwall

Peter Parker probably doesn’t have any right to be surprised when he finds that he’s fallen out of a dream in which he was forced to climb up the walls of his high school gym (again), uniform and all, and into another universe, and yet, here he is. He doesn’t expect the empty coffee cup, exactly the same kind used by MJ and the coffee shop she works at, and the Lego Palpatine figurine to follow him, either, and yet.

The rift through the air being green is a change of pace, at least. The demons he helps fight with the group of people calling themselves Riftwatch are also a kind of breath of fresh air, in a way. The ones that appear to be made out of lava and the ones that look like Dementors are definitely not the best to fight against in gym clothes though, oof, he thinks. He’s lucky he doesn’t end up significantly injured, though he can’t seem to stop shivering.

His luck proves not all terrible, as the members of Riftwatch explain to him that they aren’t too far from the city of Kirkwall, where their group operates

“And you guys can get me some new clothes in…was it Kirkwall, you said?” Peter asks, turning to the nearest member of Riftwatch, both genuinely curious and also trying not to think too much about the way his body still seems to be shifting between hot and cold after closing the rift.


II. Taking Notes and Quarantine

As Riftwatch helps Peter learn about this Thedas, the world he finds himself in, Peter finds himself fascinated. He wants to know more, to learn more, and he wants to study and immerse himself in this strange, kind of medieval universe. He can help people here; he can do good after messing up so badly in his own world.

He’ll have to be careful, he realizes, about using his abilities here. He doesn’t want to put people in danger just from knowing him again, after all. Still, Peter finds himself eager and ready to throw himself into Riftwatch; when they make the pitch to him about joining, he doesn’t hesitate. It seems only fair, after all, given how much they’ve already helped him.

Peter signs up for Research, though he’s sorely tempted by the Scouting Division, too. But he needs to pace himself; recent events back home have taught him that. And Research seems as good a place as any to start.

Peter sets himself to work; he finds a spot for himself in the library and surrounds himself with books of all kinds, both for his work in Research and to help himself learn more about Thedas. He’s determined to do better here; he has to, he tells himself. His growling stomach sometimes is the only reminder he listens to when he needs to eat.

As he’s quarantined within the Gallows for the time being, Peter takes to exploring all that he can of the place when he has the chance. He is fascinated by the laboratories and work rooms in the same tower as the library, and he asks questions of anyone who will humor him. He takes to walking around the open spaces of the Gallows as well, observing the areas for training and sparring. If he wants to be more active out in the field, he thinks, he should probably learn how to fight with the weapons Thedas has available. He’s particularly interested by the archers, and the way using bows and arrows reminds him, from a certain angle, of using his webs, though he’s also well aware that they’re entirely different skill sets.

Peter keeps to himself when he eats in the dining hall, tucked away in a corner, usually with his own notes. He’s trying to keep a record of his experiences in Thedas so far, for his own reference. It can’t hurt, he thinks.

When he isn’t studying, working, or observing, Peter tries to create and stick with an exercise routine for himself, to keep his body as sharp as his mind. He can be found in and around the sparring area, out of the way of people sparring, stretching and working out as best he can.


III. Wildcard

[If there’s anything specific you’d like to do with Peter, just let me know and I can put up a starter in the comments, or feel free to put up your own starter if you like!]

Comments

II.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude's a friendly sort of man; he has a smile for everyone and makes it a point to check in with the newcomers. He would, even if it weren't in any official capacity.

One of the newcomers is younger, and that alone would tug at his heartstrings. He knows better than to underestimate the younger Rifters; the ones who show up here are so often shaped by cruel worlds. Abby and Clarisse would be proof enough of that.

While he's said hi in passing they haven't gotten a chance to talk, and at breakfast time there's a straggling crowd. It's not Sunday yet, but his wolf is grumbling so Jude heads out with a plate. He puts the plate with the slice of fresh bread down on the table next to Peter- it's spread with a homemade cherry jam. He nudges it toward the young man with his forefinger, gives a meaningful lift to his eyebrows.

He's a tall man, well over six feet, with the kind of muscle that could easily make him intimidating, but his smile is very genuine.

"Think you could be tempted to be a taste-tester?"

[heartstumbles]

Peter is lost in thought, debating about what he wants to eat for breakfast. He has to eat, he knows, especially after the late night he pulled last night, pouring over too many books and taking as many notes as possible. He's eager and he's curious, as well as determined; he wants to continue building a life for himself, even if it isn't the one he pictured after Strange fixed the multiverse mess back home.

When he hears a plate being put down near him, Peter glances up to find a friendly looking man nudging a plate of fresh bread and cherry jam towards him. Peter's stomach growls in response.

"I think I could, yes," Peter agrees with a nod, taking the plate and bringing it closer to himself. He's too hungry to pretend he's not. "You make a convincing argument. Thank you, by the way. I was trying to decide what to eat, but this looks amazing."

He's never going to pass up the chance for what looks like a delicious jam.

[foolsmakeitcolder]

Jude's smile widens at the sound of Peter's stomach growing, and gives him a nod.

"Course. Tell you what. You want to start on that, I'll bring you a plate."

He means it, too -- with a captive taste-tester he's got a few more varieties up his sleeve, so it's not all generosity. A few minutes later he comes out with a plate that holds a smallish, hand-sized loaf of bread and a few different small pots. Two hold jam, two look like a spiced honey, and still two more look like a creamy vegetable-type topping.

"Try these. They're the same things, but different batches."

[heartstumbles]

"Oh man, that's so nice of you," Peter says, a bit overwhelmed by the man's kindness. He's reminded of May, the way he selflessly reaches out and offers him food, and then offers to bring him even more food on top of that. He's grateful for that kindness, and for having someone to talk to. He hasn't realized how lonely he is until just now, with the way just talking with this stranger is helping to put Peter at ease.

He happily digs into the first bread and jam he offers, savoring how sweet and filling it tastes. He really was hungry, he thinks.

His eyes widen when the man returns with a whole loaf of bread and what looks like six different pots of various toppings.

"Whoa, thank you! This all looks great!"

And then he remembers he should probably introduce himself. He reaches out a hand to offer to shake.

"I'm Peter, by the way," he says. "Thank you for breakfast."

[foolsmakeitcolder]

If Jude had any misgivings about inserting himself into a stranger's breakfast routine, the shocked smile is more than enough to smooth them over. Grinning back, he reaches for Peter's hand and gives it a firm but warm shake.

"You're welcome," he says heartily, thinking of the young ones back at home. They could tear through a kitchen in a matter of minutes if they were in a snacking mood.

"More of a snack," he says, squinting one eye and tilting his head to one side. He's never quite gotten past having a teenage appetite, come to think of it. "But there's more where that came from if you want it."

With that offer casually put down, Jude folds his hands on the tabletop, looking Peter over thoughtfully.

"I'm Jude," he says, turning his left hand palm-up to reveal the green light of his anchor. "And I remember how rough those first few weeks were. How are you settling in?"

[notathreat]

Ellie was away when Peter first returned to the Gallows after the Rift spat him out. She's gone for a couple of days, comes back midmorning overtired and hopped up on nerves. Covered in road dust, a flowering bruise across one cheekbone.

(Lucky shot, of course.)

There are stablehands and workers that mind the horses and griffons while Ellie's gone, but she figures she can work off some of the nervous energy before trying to sleep with mucking out stalls or something. Unfortunately, they did their jobs a little too well, so after futzing around with paperwork for all of five minutes, Ellie decides she needs to do something else and grabs up her bow to head out to the training yard.

Plenty of folks are around, doing their drills and exercising by themselves. Ellie says hi to one or two of them in passing, but heads straight for the archery targets when she doesn't find Clarisse, figuring she can sink a few arrows and shake the nerves out of her hands.

This morning, she's the only one on the targets.

Ellie doesn't cut that remarkable of a figure; she's a freckled young woman of medium height wearing leather armor and fingerless gloves that cover her anchor. She's not precisely small, but her narrow shoulders give that impression. She holds herself like something wary but wild, and her shoulders begin to relax as she sinks arrow after arrow into the target, clustering them around the center.

She notices Peter glancing over at her the first couple of times he does it, but doesn't say anything, focusing on her draw, the burn in her fingers, regulating her breathing.

Only once she gets through all the arrows in her quiver does she head over to the target to start pulling them out where they're all bunched around the center. This brings her closer to Peter, and she fixes him with a pointed glance before she pulls one out, drops it back into her quiver.

"Rifter?" she asks, and her voice is lower, huskier than what might be expected.

[heartstumbles]

Peter, even after several years and now falling through a rift into another universe, has never been subtle, especially when it comes to observing other people. It occurs to him that he might be coming off as creepy, no matter that he doesn't intend to be creepy. But he still can't help but steal a few glances at Ellie as she shoots her arrows at the target, curious about her skills, abilities, and the fact that she's one of the first people he's seen here that might (from what he can see) be close to him in age.

When she stares at him with a pointed glance, Peter feels the heat rush to his face. Her voice comes out lower than he expects, but the fact that she's noticed him as a Rifter catches him more off guard.

"That obvious, huh?" He smiles awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, which is decidedly messier than usual. He shifts from foot to foot, caught between exercising and fidgeting.

[notathreat]

Peter flushes, and Ellie lifts her eyebrows higher, instantly a little less fierce. While she doesn't take super-kindly to being watched without a word, with a little more context this guy seems more like a socially-awkward dork than anything, who probably didn't realize that he was being obvious.

"Well, I didn't know until you said so."

So, got him. Ellie shrugs one shoulder, gives him half a smile.

"You've kinda got 'new kid' painted all over you," she adds, gesturing with her bow. "We don't exactly have people from Kirkwall falling all over themselves to join up, so. Easy guess."

[heartstumbles]

Peter laughs at that. "Kind of gives it away, I guess." He's glad his lack of subtlety and awkwardness hasn't put her off, from what he can see.

He relaxes a bit when she gives him half a smile. "Yeah, I haven't been here too long," he says. "I think I'm still getting my sea legs. So to speak." In more ways than one, really. Peter is adjusting to finding himself in a new world without the technology that he knows, just after having everyone forget him back home in order to fix the multiverse he broke open in the first place. He'd just settled into his new apartment, and now he's here, living in the Gallows like he's in a college dorm room and signing up to help fight in a war.

He rocks back on the heels on his feet and nods towards her bow. "You seem really good with that. Do you like it? Working with it, I mean?"

He wants to start training himself with weapons; he wants to be prepared, to help when and where he can.

II

[sprent]

"Hello.

Yes, you."

Spoken by a woman passing by, with a book tucked underneath of her arm, voice bright and lightly accented. She holds a current-studded bread roll, wrapped in wax paper out to him. "You need to do somethin' about that stomach-rumble of yours. I can hear it on the other side of the library."

[heartstumbles]

Peter starts when the woman passing by addresses him, almost jumping out of his skin. He blinks as he takes in the sound of her voice and the offer of the bread roll she holds out to him; he realizes he's been zoning out. Hunger, definitely, he thinks. He definitely should have taken a break to grab some food at least an hour ago, he realizes.

"Oh, um, thank you," he stumbles over his words a bit, shaking his head. He tries to come across more grateful and less awkward. "I'm sorry my stomach is so loud. I guess I'm just so used to it by now I don't even hear it anymore."

He offers her a smile, trying to make a joke of it. He didn't realize ignoring his hunger could be so loud.

[sprent]

"You're welcome."

She looks highly amused by him. There's really no chance of his stomach having irritated her at all, reinforced by the way she chuckles, and scoops some wild, curly dark hair back behind a lightly notched ear. "Calm down. I'm not either of the library police, so you don't have to worry about that. They're busy, by the by. You've got time to eat, just don't leave any of the evidence in the books.

Are you new?"

He looks new. And little, and very uncertain.

[heartstumbles]

Peter smiles and relaxes. She seems very nice, and he's grateful to have some company, he realizes. Too much time spent in books, avoiding his thoughts, and ignoring his stomach, he thinks.

"Thanks for the head's up," he says. "The library police seem like they mean business." He takes a bite of the food she's brought him, a small, satisfied noise escaping as he chews, much to his mortification. Of course he can't eat without being a complete nerd. Of course.

He nods when she asks if he's new, swallowing his food before answering. "Yeah, I guess it's pretty obvious. I just got here a few days ago, and I'm trying to catch up and settle in."

He considers her a moment before asking. "Have you been here long?"

II

[heirring]

In one of those aforementioned work rooms—

BANG! A sudden column of arcane fire gouts upward, splashing the stone ceiling and leaving a black scorch mark. Tongues of flame scatter outward like spilled coins, mercifully evaporating before they can coming raining back down on the room.

The figure standing very close to the source of this explosive heat, her squawk of dismay having been muffled both by the whoosh of fire and the heavy scale helm she has slapped down over her head, snatches at a chain pull end and yanks it. Doing so works a pulley and upends a bucket, dousing the whole table and the complicated looking overheated device on it in a splash of water and roiling steam.

Apparently this was a possibility the engineer in question had prepared for.

Stepping back from the waterlogged table, a hand in a heavy leather glove pushes the visor of the helm up. The armor piece is slightly too large for the woman wearing it, but she's evidently made up for it by wrapping a cheerfully patterned shawl around her head multiple times. The edges of it peek out around her cheeks as she turns to scan the room and her eyes land on—

"You. Hello." Bad luck, Peter Parker. "Would you be so kind as to climb up there and fetch down my bucket."

She gestures to the end of the pulley system where the upended bucket is dangling. She could do it herself, of course. There is a stepladder near to hand, even. But it would require first divesting of the heavy leather apron she's wearing over her skirts and the rest of her protective equipment only to have to pit it all back on again and that would be irritating.

[heartstumbles]

Peter does not expect the loud, sudden bang, nor the appearance of fire out of nowhere. His Peter Tingle doesn't either, as he jumps in his seat at the noise and the sight of fire. He has so many questions as he watches the young woman pull down a heavy looking visor and extinguish the fire with her bucket of water.

It takes Peter a moment to realize that the young woman in question is speaking to him directly. He blinks as he realizes this, and nods.

"Oh, right! Yeah, sure. No problem!" He makes his way over first to where he spots a stepladder close at hand, grabbing it before making his way over to the bucket. He places the stepladder down and climbs on it, angling himself in the best position to grab the bucket. It's just a little bit out of his reach, but Peter pushes himself, leaning nearly all the way off of the stepladder while keeping himself balanced to grab the bucket in question.

Once he has the bucket, he moves off of the ladder and picks it up in his other hand, returning the bucket to the lady and the ladder to where he found it.

"That was really cool-looking," he can't help but observe, eyeing the overheated device. "Is that your invention?"

[heirring]

It's always good when people are quick to follow direction.

Wysteria waits patiently at the foot of the step ladder, offering minimal critical commentary ('Mind your footing' and 'Only a little farther now—there, you have it,' and so on) in the interim until the bucket is successfully rendered into her possession. It's hooked rather ceremoniously into the apparently very stiff shape of her left hand, something oddly inflexible about the whole appendage in its heavy glove and sensible dress sleeve.

"What, that?" She glances toward the smoking device in the table. It appears to be a series of metal rings built inside one another and free to spin and rotate. On each ring is inscribed a series of complicated marking, and at the core of the nested rings is a metal capsule, miraculously untouched by the scorching heat that has left the rest of the device steaming and hissing.

She frowns disapprovingly at it.

"No. —Well, yes. But only a piece of it, really."

[heartstumbles]

Peter watches as she takes the bucket back into her possession, noticing that her left hand seems rather stiff beneath her glove and dress sleeve. He tries not to stare, but he's never been successful at not getting caught staring at people. ('You guys are losers,' MJ echoes in his thoughts, and he both almost smiles at the memory and winces at the same time.)

"Only a piece of it?" He can't help but ask. The device seems complicated enough, from his perspective, what with the series of metal rings built inside one another, the markings on them, and the metal capsule at the core of the rings. To think that it's only a piece of a whole is curious.

"What's it meant to do?"

i

[laruetheday]

Oh, he's talking to her.

Clarisse, not fantastic at talking to new people (or people in general), has been more or less doing her own thing since they closed the rift. Her own thing is mostly cleaning her sword, cleaning her spear, cleaning her boots, and then picking dirt out from under her fingernails. Now she's picking grass out of Limp Bizkit the horse's mane, but she stops when Peter addresses her.

She looks the guy over—about her age, clearly from a world where high schools exist—and tries to summon up the same calm kindness Jude had for her after she fell out of the sky and was freaking out. Or even Gwen, dropping clothes off at her room with a note that didn't make a big deal out of anything. Unfortunately, kind/caring/subtle is not Clarisse's strong suit.

"Obviously. You can't walk around wearing that. You look ridiculous."

She wore her gym clothes for a straight month because she was too stubborn to do anything else, and still uses them as pajamas, but she's not about to tell him that.

[heartstumbles]

She's the closest person to him and the first person Peter sees, so he figures she would be a good person to ask as he processes his current situation in this Thedas. He has...so many questions, truthfully, but he's getting better at reigning himself in and not blurting out each and every question all at once, as much as his instincts are screaming at him to do just that.

Peter laughs. "I know, right? And probably an easy target. The yellow is...super bright." Unfortunately bright, really. She's not wrong; he feels ridiculous, out here in the wilderness with only his gym clothes. He'll be glad when he gets a change of clothes, for a number of reasons.

He nods at her. "So...have you been here long? Or are you a native here?"

He doesn't want to assume, and his habit of talking more when he doesn't know what else to do with himself or the anxiety buzzing around his brain is starting to kick in.

[laruetheday]

"Yeah, then you'll stop looking like a rifter and start looking like you borrowed your mom's credit card at a renne faire." This somehow manages to be both an insult to Peter and an insult to, like... Thedas. And it's not even totally true; in Clarisse's opinion, rifters never really... stop looking like rifters. She definitely doesn't think she looks like she was born here, no matter how much she dresses the part, and figures she probably never will.

But anyway, just in case talking about credit cards wasn't enough, Clarisse flashes him a glimpse of her palm—there's an anchor shard, same as his, embedded in it.

"Almost a year now," she says.

[heartstumbles]

Peter's been called worse; 'Penis Parker' echoes in the back of his mind and he makes a mental note to try and make sure he never accidentally says that particular insult out loud. He shrugs, shaking his head. "Well, as long as I blend in more than I currently do, I think I can deal with looking like I've walked out of a dungeons and dragons session."

And as long as he can grab clothing that lets him not freeze his ass off, he'll count that as a win too. He could use one or two of those lately.

He glances down at her palm when she shows him her anchor shard, noting that it looks exactly the same as his.

"And have you...gotten used to it? Being here, I mean?"

slides into ii finally

[portalling]

So, the rifts have farted out another new arrival.

It’s a common enough occurrence, enough that it doesn’t go through the organisation with any particular fanfare, simply the news of another recruit quietly tucked away inside Riftwatch and added to their burgeoning number. And when the name Peter Parker crosses Stephen Strange’s desk as the latest addition to Research in particular —

there’s nothing, not a single blink of recognition at that name, the man simply filing it away in the back of his mind as a potential colleague. Just another kid.

But so many rifters go through that familiar song-and-dance of research during quarantine, and so Strange has an idea of where to find the arrival; he haunts the library often enough himself. So late one evening, the man asks the librarian if they've seen the new rifter, then he wends through the aisles, walks right up to Peter’s desk, and unceremoniously drops off a copy of A Study of the Fifth Blight, Volume I.

“That one’s useful for local history,” Strange says.

And when Peter looks up, the man is a man he knows. Familiar presumptuous behaviour, familiar voice, Thedosian mage robes even similar enough to a sorcerer's robes. But his expression is placid: only benignly interested in Peter as another person with that glowing shard of rifter green, with absolutely no trace of recognition on his face, no indication of what they’d been through together — because that is, of course, exactly the state in which Peter last left Doctor Strange.

[heartstumbles]

Peter is shifting through the pile of notes and books he's gathered around himself at his place at a table in the back of the library, debating whether he should stop for the night and make his way to one of the taverns for a quick bite to eat. He's lost enough in his own thoughts that when the thump of a book placed down in front of him registers, he jumps a bit.

And then he hears that voice, that same voice that he said goodbye to all those weeks ago, back home, and Peter's head snaps up, his eyes widening when he sees that, yes, that really is Dr. Strange talking to him.

Peter's mind is a whirlwind of magic, memories, and the last time he spoke with Dr. Strange, right before he finished the memory spell.

"Oh, I um, thank you? I mean, thank you!" He says, his voice cracking. He grabs the book and adds it to his pile before moving to play with the edges of the pages.

"I'm trying to catch up, so any little bit helps," he continues, trying to force his voice back into a normal tone and to contain the very real and very intense internal freak out unfurling in his thoughts. Dr. Strange doesn't seem to recognize him, which makes sense, but still hurts. But Peter's also curious, too. He wonders if Dr. Strange has been pulled from a time before he ever even met him.

"I really appreciate it."

Smooth, Parker.

[portalling]

There’s an unexpected kind of strangled yelp in the kid’s voice, a nervous buzz to his energy. Strange’s brow crinkles, an unspoken question mark in his expression: You good?

“I’m not the librarian, but I’m friends with one. Some habits are contagious.”

Is he talking about Wong or the Riftwatch librarian? Could be either. Both.

And he could just walk away now, the book loan accomplished, but instead the man hauls out an adjacent chair and takes a seat beside him. Starts sorting through Peter’s stack of books without asking, giving a quick and judgmental pronouncement on the academic merits of each — No, this one’s all Chantry propaganda, it’s garbage — oh, the appendices are great in that one, I recommend following up with some of the primary sources — before he looks up again.

“I’m a rifter too, so I get it. That readjustment period.” Cradling one of the books, he holds out his scarred hand and offers a mild, blank introduction: “Doctor Stephen Strange.”

[heartstumbles]

This is fine, Peter thinks. This is totally fine and good and not at all a new wrench thrown into his life that he has to try and mend. (And that metaphor got a bit away from him at the end but the point stands.)

He tries to keep all of these thoughts from appearing on his face; he tries to picture May and her bad cooking, Ned and the Lego Death Star they kept having to rebuild, and MJ and how she would absolutely roast him for how he's handling this entire situation. He at least feels his shoulders unwind, so that's a start.

"Oh, that's cool! Librarians are so cool." Wow he is so bad at this. How did he ever face the Vulture, let alone trying to solve his own multiversal mess?

"I mean, that's really good to know," he adds a second later, after a quick moment to catch his breath and pull himself slightly together. "I'm...okay in the art of making friends with librarians."

Peter doesn't expect Strange to just...sit down beside him and start going through the books he's gathered around him, but he does, and it's...actually very Dr. Strange, and Peter has to bite back a smile as he comments on each book. He grabs one of the parchments he's been taking notes on and moves to a blank area and starts writing down Strange's comments. His commentary is useful, and Peter is grateful.

And then Dr. Strange is introducing himself to him, and Peter stares for a moment at his outstretched hand before self-preservation from his own dumbass, human disaster self kicks in. He accepts the offered hand and shakes, taking care to make sure his grip isn't too strong.

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Strange. I'm Peter Parker." And his voice manages not to crack this time, even!