sixthiterationlogs | [OTA] Think alike

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[OTA] Think alike

WHO: Peter Parker
WHERE: Random tree around town
WHEN: 5 October 2018
OPEN TO: Kamala Khan & ALL - NO MORE THREADS PLEASE
NOTES: Peter is in the Great Minds plot in addition to having his new powers!

There is a machine down in the creepy bunker, and it dispenses superpowers.

Even to someone like Peter, who came to this place after riding through space with a wizard and then fought a guy for magical stones that can control the whole universe, the idea of ordering up powers like he might a Snickers is a little beyond belief. The thing doesn't even look right; it's not like the vending machines from Bioshock with their jaunty voice-overs and handy instructional videos. It looks, honestly, like something he'd cobble together from tech he pulled out of the garbage. And he's not ragging on the idea of that, it just doesn't really fit. It's weird.

But turns out it works. Or, sorta.

He asked for wall-crawling (Wall-crawling!) and spider-sense (Spider-sense!) and it gave him wall-crawling and affinity with animals (???). Trying again (and again and again) hadn't helped. Shaking the machine hadn't helped. (It had, though, made a really ominous rattling sound.) Staring forlornly at "spider-sense" on the screen hadn't helped.

So now he's sitting in a tree, on one of the higher branches, sharing a handful of blueberries with a squirrel. Whom he is presently conversing with on the state of preparing a nest for the winter.

This isn't so bad, he allows to himself, passing over another blueberry from his stash as the squirrel chitters on.

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It has been a morning.

When reality as he knows it is spiraling further from his grasp, the rituals that pass a day can't really be denied. Not even in the cold and wet, which had been most days in Caridis. There isn't magic in this world or the next that can keep a city on the sea from perpetual damp.

And so: awake with the grey dawn, another stone dropped in a fountain likelier to overflow from the rain than his odd intervention, and a hot bath in an empty house. The eye of the little storm had lasted just long enough for a walk to the Spring, retrieving his forgotten scarf, and he'd hoped to make it to the new library before the rain set in again.

What he hadn't expected was two antlered beasts, vaguely equine and tethered together, bellowing from the hard of a dark house. They had a sleek and silver look to them, under the matted fur and dull scales. Wet blankets were half-hung from their backs, and while one pulled and bellowed at the edge of the tether, it was the other stuck--its back leg tangled in a snare.

A simple enough fix, when he follows the line to its stakes and pulls them up--but it hardly seems right to leave them--tangled, tethered, waterlogged. At the very least he can sort the wire from its leg and cut the rope, let them fend a little better for themselves--but he gets a sound kick in the chest for the attempt, punting him back into the roots of a tree.

An oddly chatty tree, now gone silent. Something small pelts him in the head, and instead of dripping down his face with the shower of wet leaves--a blueberry pops into his hand.

"Is this how you look for the answers to your questions," he greets, still prone as the creatures trot further still from his landing place.

The soft whuff of a body colliding with the base of the tree pulls Peter's attention before the voice does, and he squints down through the shivering branches. Shaking leaves tip a smattering of clear, cold raindrops onto his head and down the back of his neck, his furry friend chirping irritably beside him. It was a perfectly good blueberry now lost, she says. He can't argue with her there, and silently passes another over into her tiny, grasping fingers.

"Some of them, maybe," he calls down, and then flicks a glance up at the horses — Or, horse-like-things. "Is that how you look for yours? Because I gotta tell you, I think there might be less violent ways to go about it."

"I hadn't really planned to befriend woodland creatures today," he answers, picking himself up along the slick sides of the trunk. Following it up, he's impressed with Peter's perch: if they had met in Caridis, he might recruit him for Cobal's network.

Or not--it's less a life anyone deserves than a job one takes to survive.

"Whose are they," he asks, watching the pair pause at a back porch. One rakes its antlers along well-worn grooves in the posts, the other tries and fails to shake the wire. "It looks like they were bad enough off before the rain."

Pulling down a branch to better see, Peter peers a moment at the horse-deer hybrids. "Owen, I think," he says, his face screwing up at the state of them, because Cael's right, they don't look great. And that just doesn't strike him as like Owen at all.

"That's weird," he begins, but then falters, his expression dropping. "Oh. You know, I don't even remember the last time I saw him. Weeks ago, probably. I didn't even think about it because he always liked to go out hiking and exploring and stuff. But I don't think he'd leave them like that." He pauses, frowning. "So he's probably gone."

Most districts thought any sacrifice would do, at the end of each year: it was common to round up disposables, to lean on social rank and their own meritocracies of contribution when deciding. Vermidis had monetized theirs: a sort of lottery in which you could pay for the names of you and yours to be removed.

In Cobal they knew, it was quality over quantity. The more important and personal the sacrifice, the higher gain. They did it much like this--no fanfare, no warning. The others at least got the benefit of putting their affairs in order, such as they were.

"Well," he says, with all the conviction of sentiment and none of knowing what to do with the creatures, "let's not leave them like that in his stead. I'm sure they're--useful, in some capacity."

"No— Yeah, totally," Peter agrees, and hastily dumps the remainder of his blueberries into a notch at the junction of a branch, and then swings smoothly down to land with a flat squelch in the mud. The animals startle at the movement, pulling tight against their tethers until Peter lifts a hand.

"Sorry, sorry, I could have planned that better," he tells them as he steps easily over, squinting against the cold raindrops as they collect on his scalp and roll down his forehead. "So we want to get you out of this so you can be comfortable and safe, okay? We can get you some food and stuff. I promise it's totally legit."

The closest horse-thing eyes him warily a moment and then steps tentatively back, and then snuffles against Peter's outstretched palm. He tosses a glance over his shoulder to Cael.

"Okay, they'll let us do it now."

It takes a moment to parse that Peter isn't speaking to him, and that he is, in fact, telling a pair of odd horses it's totally legit. Not for the first time, Cael has to widen the scope on his judgment, holding truncated language against Peter's better grasp of village theories and use of the wrist devices.

And now, apparently, this.

"Have you always been so good with animals," he asks, winding in on a wary arc. Coming to the injured animal's side, he mimics the lifted hand. Lip-bitten, two wary animals sizing the other up, it's too cold and wet to second guess this. "It's totally legit," he echoes, smoothing the hand up its nose.

"Where do you usually put the livestock, out of the rain?"

"Just since today." Peter slides a hand along the horse-thing's damp mane, and then moves to squat down and get a better look at where they're tied. "Down in the bunker, there's this machine that you can get powers from. I didn't mean to get speaking to animals, but that's what it gave me. I guess it lasts a week." He tosses a glance back over his shoulder.

"In the jail," he answers. "I don't know why. I guess it's easier than building a barn."

"Maybe it's a comfort thing: look at our jail, the worst thing in it is an unruly sheep." Records can be altered or inconsistently kept, but nothing he's read mentions ruling on crimes among the villagers, and nature is the leading cause of death.

Crouching down with him, he edges back toward the animal's leg, refusing to hide behind the boy--even if he can speak to them. "Can you ask the one to let us untangle the wire? I'm sure it hurts, but it won't do any good trailing like that."

It seems a recent enough problem, if the stakes were neglected or the ground wet enough to pull free, and at his vantage he can see blood sticking to the dense fur.

"Or maybe it just wasn't getting used," Peter counters with a little shrug. "As long as I've been here, nobody's done anything worth getting locked up for." He's seen some people pretty drunk, but that's about it, and they all have beds close by to sleep it off.

To the request, he nods, and looks up to the not-horse. "Hey, we need to get this stuff off your legs, okay?" He flicks a glance to the other one to make sure it knows he's talking to them both. "It might hurt a little when we take it off, but it'll be way better after, and then we can get you guys someplace dry and get you some food. I've got some apples I can bring you."

One of the horse-things huffs out a long, tremulous exhalation. "Yeah," Peter replies with a nod. "I figured." He looks back to Cael again.

"Okay, he'll try to stay still. He says it's been on a long time and it's very uncomfortable. Also that he likes apples."

Kamala is doing the unthinkable in House Six: she's out running. To be fair, this is mostly so she can use it to continue to bully Frank into running. She worries about silly things like cardio and heart rate. They did inhale a lot of dust back in Reims and only one of them had a healing ability to counteract the effects of it. It's probably for the best for Frank to get more health conscious or so she rambled for ten minutes at Frank.

She spots Peter on the run with an adorable animal and starts booking it his way. The cute animal as always is more of an incentive than her friends. It's then she hears the thought and in her post-run daze wrongly assumes he said it aloud. She thinks of what to say back while trying to catch her breath and not-so-subtly heart eying a squirrel.

Cute animals are never bad. Or is this about something else??? I should probably ask and stop staring like a weirdo. In my defense, that is such a cute squirrel! I wish it would talk to me... Okay, Kamala just say hi and try not to stare at the cute squirrel. Deep breath and....

"Hey, Peter!" She wipes the sweat off her brow and grimaces. Good thing Ammi isn't here to lecture me about how sweating is indecent. Adults are so weird about everything. Ellie was onto something. She frowns suddenly. Remembering Ellie just vanished one day without a trace never gets easier.

There's a voice in Peter's head, and he's pretty sure it isn't the squirrel's. It definitely isn't his own — Or at least, he hopes it isn't his own, because this would be a whole new, extremely emphatic, weirdly-sweat-obsessed turn for him.

What? he thinks to himself, brow bunching as he flicks a look from the squirrel to Kamala and back again. Why would sweating be indecent? Everybody sweats. Sweating is natural.

"Hi," he manages with a faintly-bewildered lift of his hand as he peers down to Kamala through the shivering branches. Her name had been in there, in the rush of thought, but it had all happened so fast he doesn't realize it wasn't his own vague acknowledgment of seeing her approach.

She freezes a little both at the look and the fact she is pretty sure Peter's mouth wasn't moving when she heard him respond to Ammi's weird ideas about modesty. Today is really strange already. Kamala stares at him in confusion as she works out how to handle this. "Um...." Okay am I responding to parental weirdness in Peter's voice now or did he suddenly get telepathy overnight? Is that a thing? Is it rude to ask? Probably not as rude as staring at him like he grew a new head, Kamala. She shakes her head after berating herself. She feels a little crazy, but that's normal. She is from a family of eccentric weirdos.

"Question: if we suddenly started developing new and exciting powers, we'd tell the other person, right?"

"Oh my god, we have telepathy," Peter exclaims nearly the moment she's finished her mental tirade, and reaches for a nearby branch so he can bounce neatly from one to the other and another before landing on the ground in front of her.

"That is so cool," he gushes, pulling up from his crouch, face full up with a wide smile. "I didn't even ask for that one! Well, I didn't ask for affinity with animals, either, but I did ask for two powers. So this is like a bonus!"

Wait, he thinks, stopping himself, only just realizing he's not really trying it out. Can you hear this?

Kamala claps because not only do they have telepathy, but wow!! She's actually never seen him bouncing like that outside photos and YouTube. That is kind of amazing??? "We have telepathy! Yessss!" She hisses because did she mention this was amazing in her inner dialogue? Because it is amazing. She chills a little when Peter tests the connection though. She takes this seriously.

Oh! A test! Yes, I can hear it. Kamala thinks the tapping sound for over unconsciously before catching herself. Oh! Sorry! We use a lot of morse code. But, yesss this is so great! I always wanted to have telepathic conversations!! But, my powers won't let anyone inside my head usually!

"Is that a thing you have to worry about a lot?" Peter asks aloud with a tilt of his head. Maybe he should have kept the telepathy going, but it just feels kinda weird when they don't have any real reason for it and Kamala's right in front of him. It could be super handy for talking from different rooms, though. Way easier than texting.

I wonder what the range is on this. Is it going to last one week like the others? Oh man, it would really not be good if it was permanent.

Peter falters, his eyes rounding. "Oh. I just meant— Everybody deserves some privacy, right? Their own thoughts."

Kamala had been prepared to think at him for a while. She's that guy who is ready and willing to overuse cool powers. She can follow a cue so she answers back with her words aloud. "Back in Reims? Yeah. Between the telepaths, those cult guys, and Purple Man, it was kind of bad on the whole free will and private thoughts front. I was actually one of the only people no one could get to."

How scary would it have been if Jessica hadn't been around to be my immune buddy? I'd probably- Wait. Stop. This is getting depressing!

She claps her hands on the side of her head dramatically. "Oh. I see what you mean. Yeah, we should probably test the range in case we sometimes think about horrible life experiences. I try not to be negative about the past, but I can't actually control my thoughts. I don't want you to get stuck listening to my flashback to the war commentary. I don't even like listening to it."

"I mean, that's okay," Peter allows with a vague motion Kamala's way. "I don't mind stuff like that, you don't have to worry. I just meant more like, really private stuff. Sometimes you think about it before you realize it, is all."

And as cool as this newfound ability is, it strikes him too how invasive the power is, how unfair. Michelle would've had a field day, he can already imagine the rant about personal consent.

"Um, you want to maybe— Or I can, like, start walking away and we can see how far it goes?"

"Oh." Kamala blinks because that never actually occurred to her. Somewhere Nakia is no doubt very disappointed in her. "Now that I think about it we could run into actual problems with privacy even if I think we're both pretty honest. We better learn to control this." She crosses her arms and nods firmly. If she figured out how to control a body that can look like anyone, get big or microscopic with just the right push of energy, she can work her way through this. Easy peasy.

"Let's do this! I'll start walking so I can say I did my cardio today." She starts walking the direction she came in.

Peter chuckles as he watches her go — He's pretty sure there isn't anybody in the village that isn't getting decent exercise daily, just having to walk from place to place. But that's Kamala: Always looking to put a positive spin on things.

When she's far enough away that he'd normally have to yell for her to hear him, he concentrates and mentally asks, Can you still hear me? He doesn't know if the concentration is really necessary; it just seems like the thing you'd do with telepathy powers.

Bobo doesn't wander in around others except to get meals a few times a day. He's instead spent his time either working on his own place, or exploring the wilds the best he can. Learning what's there, what he can find, and learning what there will be to use if and when things get rougher in this place. Which he truly believes will happen. If nothing else, winter will come and they'll have to face the cold and the snow and pray they can make it.

Which is why he's been gathering what he can. Wood to keep a fire going, anything he can preserve in the cellar, meat though he's still working out a smoker for that. Or drying it.

He's actually been out looking to find critter to leave at the Inn since he takes meals there and having met the lady that runs the place, someone that he can understand from his original time, he figures it's the least he can do.

Hearing the movement above, he pauses beneath the tree. Head canting back, looking up into the leave and realizing that one of two things has happened. Either squirrels here can talk, or someone has gone native in an entirely new way.

Planting his hands on his hips, his fur coat partially hanging off his shoulders as he tries to figure out who's up there. Then something occurs to him.

"Just what treed you up there? I think it's gone."

It hasn't hit him that they weren't speaking to him directly. Or speaking at all.

Bracing himself on an obliging branch, Peter peers down through the leaves at the interloper. Oh, it's Shaggy Coat Guy, he thinks, recognizing the man from lunches at the inn but not much more. Keeping up with everyone's names here really hasn't been his strong suit; he probably should get better at it, all things considered.

"I treed myself," he calls down, and then jerks a look to his squirrel friend, who is going on about bad one and danger, and Peter can't really argue with her, because that's at least half of the population here if you're something small and furry.

"Here," he tells her, and tumbles the remainder of the blueberries into an obliging notch at the junction of their branch. "It's fine. Take those back to your nest." And with that, he swings from his current branch to the next, and then another, before landing in a crouch before Mr. Old-Timey.

"She thinks you're going to eat her," he explains with a glance up to the squirrel.

"Well at least there's that," he mutters, rolling his eyes, not even sure what to think of that.

Of course, those thoughts are gone when the kid lands before him. He stares at him for a long moment before raising his hands and giving a slow, golf clap.

"Nice acrobatics. You in the circus before this one?" Because it definitely is shaping up as one. Though his gaze follows the boy's, blinking up at the tree. "How hard is it to eat them when you're talking to them?"

He frowns, considering that. Well, he's had men beg for their lives and still kill them, so probably the same thing.

"Just the circus of high school," Peter replies with a brief lift of a finger gun the guy's way before reconsidering how cool that actually is not, especially when you're doing it to a guy who looks like he has shot many, many actual, real-life guns. He drops his hand.

"I've only had the power to talk to her a couple of hours, so I don't know," Peter allows, and pulls a vaguely sour face at the notion as he glances back up to his furry friend. "I'm thinking I should probably avoid it. Or become a vegetarian."

A brow arches at the fingerguns, and he can't help but comment with an entirely straight face. "You know they say never point a gun at a man unless you intend to pull the trigger." "Though heard bad things about high school. Only had a single school in my day, and then advanced learning in universities."

Smirking at the change in expression though, unable to help himself. "Probably want to kill them quick then. Don't give them time to beg. When they start talking about their kids, it gets hard."

So he really is an old-timey guy. Good to have the confirmation; Peter doesn't always remember to tailor the way he explains things to non-modern people, but he likes to try. He will also refrain from pointing out that the only way he knows to pull the trigger on a finger gun is to have someone pull it while you fart. Maybe this guy already knows that joke anyhow. He looks like he probably would.

Like now, for instance, when it's hard to know if he's joking. "I'm not planning on killing anyone," Peter allows, expression still a little pinched and wary.

Oh so many answers that come to mind at that, though Bobo actually smiles at the boy. Almost sweetly. "Do you know how many times a man doesn't intend to kill someone?" Even as he says it, he holds up a hand.

"That said, I was literally talking about food around here. Unless you plan to eat only potatoes and whatever veggies you can find for the winter, anyway."

"I'm from Queens," Peter says as if that explains everything, belatedly remembering the old-timey thing. "The city. Big city," he adds. "Nobody hunts there."

Plus, the whole point had been that he's not going to lure in an unsuspecting squirrel friend with his new powers and then off her while she begs him for the lives of her tiny squirrel babies or whatever. That's seriously screwed up.

"I'm pretty sure I would be bad at it." Probably an understatement, considering he can't imagine killing anything at all, even if it can't talk to him.

Bobo watches him for a long time before he just can't help himself and laughs.

"One, it's a big city in America. Two, technically that's a borough. Three... It was twenty-seventeen when I came here," he notes, smirking because Peter isn't the first one to make that mistake. He kind of likes it. Not that he isn't from a century before or anything.

"And we still hunt in Canada. At least here they probably won't care come winter to provide you with meals still," he notes, shrugging. "I provide the Inn with meat, but only what I don't need."

And he's already working on smoking and drying what he can for the winter.

"I know Queens is a borough, I live there," Peter asserts, his brow creasing. "And look, you just said there was only one school 'in your day,' which to me says old-timey. You didn't say you're really old or a time traveler or whatever." He thinks it's a pretty reasonable mistake to make, particularly since he was just trying to be nice.

"Thanks for the meat," he adds, but can't mask that he's confounded by having to say it; mostly he's hoping whatever this guy delivers is from an animal who was killed quickly.

Bobo can't help but smirk at that, giving the kid a nod. "Fair enough. I'm really old then," he admits, figuring either people won't believe him, or they'll be used to things like that so it won't matter. "Just around a hundred and fifty, as I recall."

He waves a hand though at that. "You're welcome but I remember villages being like that. Even if now we're used to groceries and fending for ourselves. I've been reminded of the way things were."

And the man he had been, though that one is harder for him.

"Though I never talked to the prey." At least not the four legged kind.

"I know some guys around 100," Peter says with a casual lift of one shoulder, as if that fact isn't absolutely incredible and stunning to him even now. "They're supersoldiers." Yep, cool guy here, just hangs out with Cap and Sergeant Barnes whenever.

"Some people here are really good at hunting and fishing and stuff like that. I should probably learn." His expression pinches again.

"That so? Guess it's a popular thing to blow off mortality and see what you can manage then," he says, sounding impressed. "Huh. Interesting. I'm not a soldier. It's more fairytale than government experiment. Gotta say though, not many know one so..."

He is kinda impressed. A little.

"You should. Never know what could happen and it'll be all you have." Which is why he's been working on honing the skills he once had. "But then you have to learn to skin them and filet. Though you could see about trading off. Do the leg work of the hunt and get someone else to do it for you."

What this guy's saying makes perfect sense, and Peter completely acknowledges that. He just himself said he should probably learn, right? It's just that the idea of hunting seems so fundamentally wrong as an activity he could possibly partake in. The mechanics of it he's not worried about, but picturing himself shooting a bunny or deer and then cutting it open?

He pulls a face.

"Maybe I can just start by learning how to use a bow and arrow." That seems reasonable. That way, he'll know how, in a pinch, but he won't really have to unless something crazy happens.

"I used to know a guy who was a seriously amazing archer, but he's gone now. It's kind of a bummer."

"Everyone's got to play to their strengths. Some old guys remember when we didn't have option not to hunt, so that works for this place I guess."

Living long enough without markets, with barely a mercantile shop in the tiny ass town that was Purgatory, Bobo still remembers what it is like to have no choice in hunting and killing. Luckily with the Inn even here that is not something it has to be. Enough people like Bobo, and everyone eats.

So he nods then, considering it. "I never strung my own, but if you figured that you, I'm betting someone could help you with it. I've always used a rifle, and now mostly snare traps, but a bow would be good around here."

Especially considering the bigger game Bobo's hear about, seen signs of from time to time. Not taking those down with a lot of patience and a pretty good aim with a rock, after all. Though it has worked with a goose or two.

"I didn't even think about snares," Peter admits, eyebrows lifting. Learning how to set snares would be perfect: No direct killing of anything, and it's got to be way easier than learning how to be a decent archer.

"If you've ever got any time and could show me, that would be awesome," he adds. "I'm Peter, by the way. Parker. Not sure if I'm still the only Peter anymore."

"We use them a lot in the winter where I'm from. Easier to check a snare line in the middle of winter than track prey and not make it back before dark." And he suspects that is going to be useful here too.

"And sure. It's not all that hard. Built a fish trap too. It's paying off but not worth the effort of lugging stones," he admits with a snort. "Never met another here. I'm Bobo Del Rey but Bobo works."

Alec makes a regular trek around the village, combing through foliage to walk through and do his best to uplift the plants and take care of them despite not being connected to the green.

He cuts an impressive figure as he moves about the place but he glances upward, "...What...on earth are you doing?"

So, Peter knows about Alec, in ways both general and specific. Everyone, he thinks, has to know of the guy's existence by now, unless they've been living in a cave. Literally. Which some people might actually do. But the point is, you do not miss someone like this, not in a town this small, even if said town is already really freaking weird. You really probably don't miss a guy like this even in a town a lot bigger. He kinda stands out.

But Peter also knows that Alec is an expert on plants (No surprise), and so far has been kind to most everyone, and might have been just a man once, before he got all big and green. (Not unlike another person he knows.)

So he does a double-take, sure, because that can only be expected, but he's polite as he peers through the branches and calls back.

"I'm having a conversation with my new friend," he says. "She's a little worried about the state of acorns at this point in the season. Any words of wisdom for a squirrel looking to stock up?"

The moment he says a conversation with my new friend Alec peers at him and curses the lack of connection to the green. Each avatar recognized the other and knew where they were at any given moment. It wasn't about stalking them (no matter what John thought.)

So when the boy says "I'm having a conversation with my new friend." He squints and wonders about the boy before gesturing.

"Direct her toward the stream about half a mile that way. There's an oak shedding it's acorns. The tannins in them have been leeching out for days now. She should be able to eat them."

He paused, "She's also more then welcome to the white English oak 4 miles out. Better sweater meat."

He bows to the squirrel, before gesturing to the boy, "...Do I have the pleasure of addressing the avatar of the red?"

"Uh..." Peter begins, mouth open and faltering, and then lifts a hand to beg a moment. "Just a sec. Hey," he says, turning back to the squirrel. "He says there's a loaded tree that way by the stream, and another a ways out that way that has awesome nuts," he tells her, gesturing. Four miles seems like a long way to go for a squirrel, but what does he knows about stocking a nest for the winter?

Reaching for a nearby branch, he swings cleanly down, bouncing from one branch to the other until he's landed in a crouch at Alec's feet. Man, this guy is big, he thinks as he unfolds himself and looks up what feels like a mile to Alec's face.

"So, I don't really know what that means, avatar of the red." He wore a red uniform back home as Spider-Man, but that seems like a weird way of phrasing it.

"You speak to animals. You work for their interests."

He gestures, "...Just-as I speak for the green. Each kingdom and such. You don't look like an avatar however. Can you change your shape?"

"I'm afraid I can't demonstrate. Each avatar has these abilities."

"Oh, I— No," Peter hastily manages with a shake of his head. "I can talk to animals, but like, I just got that power today. From the vending machine thing down in the bunker. I actually didn't mean to get that one, but the machine screwed up."

He glances back up through the branches. The squirrel is still there, eyeing them with mild interest as she stuffs the last of the blueberries into her mouth. "She's the first animal I've talked to," he adds, glancing back to Alec. "By green, you mean plants?"

"I mean plants."

A million and one jokes leap to mind but he slides it to the side, "...It's something that should be embraced if you've discovered the gift. To commune with the elements is a noble affair."

He studies the squirrel, "I do...miss the plants. It's frustrating."

"I bet," Peter allows with a slow nod as he follows Alec's gaze. "There are a lot of people here who used to have powers and don't now. It's a big adjustment."

And for Alec, well, maybe even bigger than most, considering he's apparently at least partially made of actual plants. That's got to be like going blind or deaf.

"...It was disconcerting. I still feel lost. Hence my hope for a glimpse of home."

He studied the boy, "...What other animals can you speak to?"

"I don't know," Peter admits with a slight shrug. "Like I said, I only just got the power today. It just said 'affinity with animals,' so maybe all of them?" Which actually really could be useful, now that he considers it, even though it wasn't the power he'd asked for.

"would you like to test it out? I could accompany you into the forest."

He sounds a little wistful, "You'd be surprised, sometimes animals have the best conversations I'm sure. Plants do. I mean...it's hard to believe but they really really do."

"Yeah? That would be awesome, thanks," Peter agrees, smiling with a nod. Not that he's afraid of going into the forest alone or anything, even if the thought of it would probably give Mr. Stark a heart attack or arc reactor attack, or whatever he has going on there now — And to be fair, Mr. Stark doesn't know Peter has some of his powers back, and there was a giant, shaggy dog-man-thing that came out of the woods that Sergeant Barnes had to kill with an electrified arrow to the throat.

But the point is, it's just nice to have company, and maybe Alec will have some insight into using this animal power for the best.

"That squirrel lady, she was a pretty good conversationalist. She had a lot to say." He arches an eyebrow Alec's way as they head into the forest.

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[OTA] Think alike

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