[Starting point for Peter and Siobhan and anyone else without a special starting point]

Everybody hates Mondays. Even if you DO have a job. Time to wake up! There's frost on the window, so don't forget your scarf. Go grab a bagel and a cup of joe. Don't forget to bring a nickel for a copy of the Bugle from that kid Stanley on the corner.

"Lee's my last name! It's STAN! STAN LEE!"

Yeah kid, whatever.

You're down in the muck dodging cars and horse carts and trolleys to get wherever you're going unless you're making that big ruckus up in the Baxter Building or stranded out in West By-God Virginia on a bootleg run.

Stan holds up his paper, shouting whatever J. Jonah Jameson sees fit to print.

You hear how there'll be another Prohibition vote scheduled for next year. How some king from a place you've never heard of wants Reed Richard's head on a pike. How there's some lunatic swinging between buildings downtown like a spider. How some gray monster crushed both the Maggia and SHIELD like they were flies in the horse shit you just stepped in.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:40, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

The lights from the morning sun filtered through the window of the small bedroom and shined on the face of the sleeping Peter Parker. With a small twinge of discomfort the man rolled to his side while he still slumbered though it did not last long. Once more his expression changed as if something was troubling him before his eyes snapped open and he sprang up to a sitting position in the bed. He breathed at an erratic pace as his eyes scanned the room to take in his surroundings and when it finally dawned on him that he was in his room he relaxed. A frown appeared on his face before he glanced over to the empty spot on the bed, his hand moved until it rested on the spot. Anger flashed in his eyes but the fire died down almost as quickly as it came when he realized it was not going to do him any good.

With a heavy sigh he rose up from the bed entirely and began his normal morning rituals before he could leave for the day. A little bit later after he showered and dressed he began to go over what he needed to see finished today. Obviously there was work but he was more focused on his other career that happened in the blink of an eye given how things had spiraled out of control since that fateful night. Part of him wondered if he should hang it up and focus on the paper instead of crawling around like a damn freak. Of course that part was drown out by the rest of him that gave the reminder there was still too much for him to do to quit now.

He left the bedroom, a glance was given to the room and another sigh left him as he closed the door behind him. The living room he stepped into was in disarray but the same could be said for the rest of the apartment. Housekeeping was not high on the man’s priorities if the wads of paper, trash and everything less that littered the room were any indication. Maybe he should look into moving, a change of scenery might do him so good. Then again he thought of another remedy that could prove as fruitful though they required him wearing mask and sending a few people to either the big house or a hospital. Now was not the time to contemplate such things when there were other matters to focus on. Maybe he should check in on May later to make sure she was holding up okay during all this.

Before he could leave he went over to the coat and hat rack to retrieve both of his items. It was going to be a bitterly cold day and he wanted to be ready for it. To make sure he even donned his scarf though now that he was ready to brave the weather he still did not leave the apartment. The journalist checked the pockets of his jacket and noticed the deck he recently purchased was not on him. “Parker, you palooka” he muttered to himself as he looked around the room only for him to spot the pack of cigarettes on the table across the room. Without a thought he flicked his wrist and a line of webbing shot through the room and latched onto the smokes before he pulled back. The deck soared through the air only to be plucked out of it by the man. Now that he had everything he exited his dwelling and locked the door behind him.

Once he left his apartment it was a short walk out of the building and into the frigid cold of the New York day. The way the wind blew it was as if someone was taking their hands and tearing at one’s flesh from how cold it felt. That alone would have made most quicken in their steps but to Peter he enjoyed it in a sense. If anything the cold while numbing him slightly also made him glad to feel something. Of course he felt something else when he heard the boy calling out the headlines for the Daily Bugle. It was the one about the psychopath swinging around the city like some sort of spider. Why Jameson wanted to run that story was beyond him when there were better stories to report on. The city was hemorrhaging enough that if there was actually blood flowing down the streets it would not surprise. Hell, in some places in the city it actually was.

He adjusted his hat while he continued on his way to the Daily Bugle, the fact that Jameson was going to be on him for that report meant he needed to get there sooner rather than later. Maybe after this he could work on another kind of story instead of these tales the chief was interested in. As long as it was not about the Spider-Man though he supposed he could live with whatever he needed to cover.

Siobhan went to bed after her gig and slipped into unconsciousness. What was very difficult to know was if she actually slept during that time or if she died since every evening was filled with strange visions. Some horrific some sublime, but all so terribly intense. And she awoke after a scant few hours every single night, or day, whenever she decided to try to rest herself, to slough off the dirt and grime of the day.

When the sun came up she was sitting in bed reading. Tonight it had been Augustine in the original Latin, anything to understand the nature of her, well she wasn't certain if soul was the right word if she had one to begin with. Maybe she wasn't a soul trapped in flesh and never had been, maybe she was flesh and soul merged together and she would never be able to fully pass over. Maybe tomorrow's Aquinas would give some answers, if not she would be moving to the Golden Age of Islam as she moved around the world and through time. Although, for those she would need translations, her schooling had included the classics and a few others but nothing like Arabic or Farsi. At least her being over-educated had come in handy. Or maybe it was hurting her since she knew what ancient scholars to read and how to properly interpret philosophy and it was slowly driving her mad. Although, it certainly wasn't helping to mitigate her desire for vengeance and the idea that she turn the other cheek was utterly ridiculous when it came to the man responsible for her death, her friends' death.

As the sun finally filtered through the sheers covering her window of the fifth story walk-up in Manhattan that she used to share with her friend it felt so empty. Memories haunted her nearly as much as her strange dreams. She stumbled across the room and ground her coffee. She had gotten this new French press recently, some invention from Europe that she found some small enjoyment in the mornings. It was also strong enough that she actually felt a little pep from it.

After the coffee was the rote showering and a bit more makeup to make herself seem alive. Her pallor generally like that of the dead she covered it enough to make herself look a bit more normal. Wearing a dress in pale blue, no need to wear anything dark she left the house only to return to grab a coat. It wasn't terribly thick but wouldn't look mad since she couldn't seem to feel the cold. Or, more specifically, extremes didn't bother her in any way anymore. Soon she was out and headed toward the park, several books in her bag.

When Peter gets to the Bugle, there's the typical flurry of activity as the night shifts hurries to wrap things up, or least create plausible deniability as the dav shift cleans up the mess.

Peter looks up as the clock hits six on the dot, and right on cue...

"WHERE IS PARKER???"

Meanwhile, Siobhan finds a quaint cafe' near Central Park to sit inside and read. Even the hobos are staying out of the park in this weather. Meanwhile, one of the customers in the cafe leaves a few fliers on the tables before he exits. From where she sits it's something about a live...dragon?
This message was last updated by the GM at 18:41, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

The second he stepped inside the central room of the Bugle Peter was assaulted with the maelstrom of noise that was the night shift trying their best to cover their tails in case their stories turned out to be false. The way they buzzed and droned about it reminded him of worker bees all trying to keep the hive moving for their queen, well king in this scenario though he supposed tyrant fit the bill better. To anyone who was ever fortunate or unfortunate (depending on one's perspective) enough to enter the Bugle would know the head of the paper was not one to give any slack though quick to take any credit for himself.

It was with that thought he heard a particular voice bellow out followed by the one being called to shake his head slightly. A tilt of his head at the clock told him he was right on time, and while he was a little annoyed it was almost impressive how his boss seemed to be able to do this each time with such constant accuracy. He did not bother to respond at least verbally anyway and instead strode towards the room that served as his employer’s office. The journalist did not even bother to take off his hat yet since it was better to make his pretense known now instead of letting Jameson become even more irritated.

“I'm right here, Chief” he said when he entered the office. “Got the story ready to go if that’s what you need me in here for.”

Siobhan sipped some tea and nibbled on a croissant. It was funny how all the little bits of life kept going even when they weren't necessary. But she still had cravings for buttery pastries and sweets. The latter thought triggered an order of pie.

The flier, though, grabbed her attention. Dragons, she thought, couldn't be real. Then again, she could not be real either so it sounded like something worth looking into. Deftly, she moved and grabbed one of the fliers to look at it in more detail as she put down her book,The Tragic Sense of Life in Men and Nations by Miguel de Unamuno y Jugo. It was better day time reading on the nature of her being. She rather liked the emphasis in her current state. But dragons trumped Basque philosophers.

JJJ rests the cigar in his ashtray and snatches the report from Peter.

"Bout time you got here! I got something special for you! A story that'll sell even more papers than that Spider-Menace!"

He pushes a flier into Peter's jacket pocket....just as across town Siobhan reads the same publicaton.

"There's this big game hunter named Sergei Kravinov. His family used to be in with the Czars. No more title but he's still got the trust fund, lucky bastard. Uses it to go to faraway places and kill things. I did the same thing for free but that was called the Draft. Anyway...get this...he took a trip to Antarctica. He must have seen the Richards Rocket flying over. Maybe a good side note but that's not the point. Everybody thinks there's nothing down there besides penguins, but the rumors of a jungle in the middle of nowhere doesn't go away!

So this Kraven the Hunter claims he caught...get this...A DRAGON! FING FANG FOOM he calls it! Sounds like he's been eating too much chop suey but with his blue blood he probably eats caviar for breakfast!

Anyway, get me an interview with Kraven and get me a picture of this Macy's Day Parade lizard or whatever stunt this is before one of the other papers does!

So Peter, you up to the challenge? Of COURSE you are, if you wanna keep workin'! Now get out there, Peter and make like St. George!"

And with a loud slam Peter finds himself back outside JJJ's office. The rest of the staff stare at him for a few moments in disbelief before hurrying back to their tasks.
This message was last updated by the GM at 18:41, Fri 11 Jan 2019.

The look Peter gave Jameson could only be perceived as skeptical after he read the flier and looked back to his boss. The city had experienced some strange sightings but a dragon still sounded absurd compared to a giant grey monster tearing up a bunch of armed personnel or even someone swinging between buildings on a web. His belief the story could be real did not matter as only his compliance was needed, which everyone knew he would give without hesitation. After what happened he lost some credibility thanks to the incident. Granted some might consider this to be Jameson trusting him with a big story but the truth was this was work fit for a dog. This had no substance to it, nothing that would truly move a reader. In a way it was sort of fitting it was tossed his way instead of to one of the other reporters.

When he was pushed out of the office he noticed his co-workers were all staring at him and either they looked away because of his expression or something else was hard to say. In the last couple months he had not been the friendliest person to be around so he could not blame them. The notion to make an attempt to try to be more cordial crossed his mind but almost as instantly his mind dashed it away. No, it was better this way and he doubted there was much anyone could do to change it now. He might not have been the Bugle’s friendly reporter but he was the one who always got results whenever he was assigned a story. Again he thought if only this particular story actually mattered.

He walked over to his desk and pulled a key from inside one of his jacket’s pockets then used said key to unlock one of the drawers. Once it was pulled open he retrieved his camera before he checked to make sure there was enough film. He then locked the drawer back and was on his way out of the room when he paused to look at one of the other desks that were still vacant. HIs eyes locked on it for a few moments or maybe it was minutes before he finally realized he had been staring. A wave of guilt mixed with anger washed over him as he stomped out of the room towards the building’s exit.

Soon enough he was outside, the cold of the New York winter morning accosting him yet again though this time he moved with a more quickened pace compared to before. His destination was clear and while he was thrilled by the prospect he intended to get JJJ exactly what the editor wanted. Every step he replayed what Jameson said to him, his focus being on the label the man had given him. “Spider-Menace” did not instill any sort of positive response but he supposed public opinion hardly mattered at this point. Did any opinion matter when the city was in the shape it was in and no one seemed to give one iota about it?

Those were questions he was sure he would not get an answer to and frankly he did not have the time at the moment to focus on them. Instead he had to go talk to some guy who should more than enough money to not be trying to scam people out of theirs with tall tales of dragons. That was likely the way he was going to write this story if his assumption about this being nothing but a lie. Jameson would likely still want to run the piece since it was all about ruining a person’s reputation, and that was an act the man seemed determined to do more often than not. He adjusted his hat down to help shield the wind out of his face and continued on his way to see this so called Kraven the Hunter.

Seeing as there wasn't exactly a lot to do today, the new job at the club was definitely an improvement over the theatre with regards to her hours and pay, so she had time to kill. Though, there was time and she still had half a piece of cherry pie on the plate in front of her.

Slowly taking every moment to savor what she could, the flavors muted as with nearly every other sensation. She was still determined to get all the joy she could out of everything. And bigger tastes definitely were a start. Washing it down with her too strong, too sweet tea she was ready to go.

Back out into the cold, she almost pretended to shiver but thought better of it. Shakespeare may have said that all the world is a stage but she didn't need to be a constant actor. Truthfully the brisk air felt great against her cool skin. The grey skies almost made her seem to have some color and nobody was around to harass her for spare change. All in all it was quite lovely.

Soon she was on her way to see Kraven the Hunter. What kind of man would hunt a dragon? And could he help her?

The rhythmic tapping of the long cane against the sidewalk was usually what caught the attention of other pedestrians first. The dark glasses that covered her eyes confirmed it. But even then, the people of Hell's Kitchen often looked twice at the blind young red-haired woman walking alone in such a dangerous neighborhood. If often took five or six encounters before her presence became normal, and even then she still drew notice. And given how often Mary was seen on the streets, many felt like they almost knew her even if they had never spoken to her.

The entrance to Grace Investigations was marked by more than a sign; a textured rubber mat was placed in front, something that would be immediately obvious to anyone using a cane to navigate. Technically Mary didn't need it, but she had to keep up appearances. So as she came in contact with it she slowed, turned, and entered the building. The office itself was three rooms: a reception area, an office and a bathroom. It had once been a small apartment, and either Mary or Karen could crash there if needed.

After removing her trench coat and hanging it on the post near the door, Mary moved to a small table at the side of the reception room where an electric burner was used to boil water. Though Mary was supposed to be the assistant in this place, Karen typically arrived at the office earlier than she did and boiled the first kettle of water. And it was a good thing too because Mary was having more and more long nights, which was making this first cup of tea in the morning more and more important. For not the first time she wished her sense of taste wasn't so acute, since maybe then she could tolerate coffee, but as it was she had trouble with anymore more potent than green tea. There was less caffeine, but mornings were usually slow enough that she had time for a few cups.

When you’re relaxed with a cup of coffee in you, and the radio’s not on, your senses can pick up every sound around the building and form shapes in your mind with them. You hear the kid on the corner selling papers. You hear commuters pounding the pavement. You can hear the secretaries typing away on other floors. You even feel the far off tremors of whatever the heck they’re doing in the Baxter Building. You sense the stairway door downstairs open and close by itself. Odd. Must be he wind? It happens again a few minutes later.

But with the distinct sound like a ripping of fabric and an unfurling of a cloak, you suddenly hear two heartbeats outside your office.

They sound like teenagers. They whisper in low tones. They sound desperate.

“Are you sure we can trust her, Tandy?” Young male, African descent.

“We have no choice.” Young female, dancer’s build. Judging from her diction she also went to finishing school.

These two are from as far different walks of life as you can possibly get. In this day and age he’d put his life in his hands just walking down the street with her. Yet they sound like they’d die for each other, or die together for a higher purpose.

He looks away respectfully as she carefully slides a dagger into her garter.

“I’m ready. Wish me luck.” She knocks on the door.

Mary was already taking a step towards the door when the young woman knocked, so she made herself slow her pace just a bit. But it wasn't a large room, and a moment later she was pushing the door open.

"Welcome to Grace Investigations." she said warmly, her facing just a little offset from the young woman, looking just over the teenager's left shoulder. "How can I help you?"

Outside the door, the young man's heartbeat vanishes.

"You must be Miss Murdock? My name's Tandy. Tandy Bowen. My friend and I are..."

*her heartbeat quickens as she sighs in frustration* "Oh where do I even start? May I sit down?"

This thread is now split into the Chestnut Tree Cafe and Office of Grace Investigations.

After some time she remembered she should wear her coat. At least she had somewhere to be and something to do. Though, a part of her wondered if others would be there. Would anyone believe in dragons. There were strange things in this world. Rumors. She thought of a few, the Devil around, the strange happenings with that Richards group, the spider menace. She believed only a bit of what she read, but she certainly believed in the other. And maybe, just maybe, his was a world with dragons and other creatures of legend...or at least someone that can turn into a dragon. All she got was eternal resurrection.

Soon she was on a train, though, headed to a stop. One, two, three, a subtle push with her shoulders when a man got a bit too handsy, he would be bruised but she didn't break anything. She was getting better about dealing with her strength, at least she she was in control of herself. Those moments she wasn't, well, they were horrible. They haunted her almost as much as the nightly visions. Her rage, her desire for destruction. In an instant she wasn't even remotely human.

Shaking off the thought as she came to her stop. Throngs of people pushing through even at this hour, it was as though not even the late morning provided a respite in rapid pulse of this city. One with so much death. A turn, another turn, a third turn and she saw the street. Then the numbers were getting smaller and soon she was there.

 Since leaving the Bugle for his new assignment Peter had done his best to make haste to get the interview with this Kraven fellow. Of course his best paled in comparison to when he felt a pang of hunger along the way which led him to one of his favorite cafes. He frequented the place enough the employees knew his order before he could even voice it and in no time he was out the door with his breakfast including a cup of coffee. This dragon was likely to be nothing but a waste of time so he was not going to get too hung up about wasting time. Well at least not for the moment since his stomach was thankful for his slip in dedication to the newspaper.

By the time he reached the train he was done with his food and down to a dreg of coffee, which was quickly finished before he tossed it into the nearby trash can. He joined the other passengers and tried to give anyone the room they needed to be comfortable. Of course with there being nothing to do to pass the time except to wait and try to ignore the people around him. The latter proved to be difficult when he caught sight of a man getting more than a little grabby with a lady. It sparked a volatile reaction in him but it died down almost instantly when the lady took care of the pervert with ease to the point he almost felt bad for the guy. God help anyone else who tries to pressure her he thought to himself.

Besides the display of justice on the train nothing else exciting happened as stop after stop was made. Eventually his came up and he stepped out of the train and continued on his way. Interestingly enough it also turned out to be the lady’s stop when he noted she was walking a little bit ahead of him. Even in the crowd it was difficult not to find her but some people just had that going for them whereas others like him could be ignored even if there was no one else around. He continued on his way and the lady was still ahead of him. It was easy to chalk this up to coincidence but with each turn they stayed the same course until it became evident their destination was the same.

He could not help but wonder if she worked for one of the other papers but assumed that was not the case since she did not appear to have a camera on her. An interview was all well and good but it did not mean a thing if there was no photo to accompany it. Was she a dragon enthusiast or someone who was simply intrigued by the possibility? He supposed it did not matter though he hoped she did not think he was some sort of stalker since by appearance he was following her. It was probably better to say something before any assumption could be made.

“Looks like word of this dragon is spreading,” he said once he was close enough that he did not have to speak too loudly. “What’s your initial take from this? A scam or is there an actual living myth here in New York?” There was a pause when he realized he failed to introduce himself and instead went straight to reporter mode. “Sorry, I must’ve left  my manners elsewhere. Peter Parker, reporter for the Bugle.”

Siobhan looked over the man, he was fairly average but seemed to have a strength to him that wasn't always common. She would have to see if that was really the case if they spent more time together. Though, usually people in this city merely passed the time before moving to something else.

The woman seemed far too comfortable for a random man to be there. She barely reacted, it wasn't as though any humans were a threat to her. they might kill her but she would just wake up the next day...again.

No, she just looked at him with her warm eyes, actress and all that, "I saw a flier at a cafe. It's something to kill some time and who knows, maybe it is real. But there are plenty of real myths. This may be one or it may be a hoax. Either way it has added to an otherwise banal day." This was clearly an educated woman, but her accent still showed her Irish upbringing. She could hide it but didn't when she was just able to be herself. I'm Siobhan Mohan. She didn't mention careers though many women had none. Better to let him think less...or more..of her.

“A pleasure Miss Mohan,” Peter replied with a nod to Siobhan. He took her words at face value though there was something about her that felt off to him. It was nothing negative but there was an air she gave off which triggered a sense he had relied on far more times than he could count. Granted it did not always steer him in the right direction and was nowhere near as reliable as another sense he gained not too long ago. No, this was his sense or nose to smell a story and he got the feeling she had one worth telling.

After all, she was a beautiful woman with a voice that could make most people weak in the knees and also knew how to knock a man flat on his ass. Not exactly the norm here in New York City and this was coming from a guy who could walk on walls. Now this was not the sort of topic to broach especially when they were both strangers to one another but he made a mental note to broach the topic later if he happened to see again after this.

“Looks like their advertising is working then,” he remarked and pulled one of the fliers out from his jacket pocket.  “I’m here to try to get an interview with the gentleman behind this attraction. Other than him I’m hoping to get statements from some of the audience members in attendance. Would you care to give one after we see this dragon?”

"There is little in this world that advertising cannot make sound far more interesting that it is. Though, that is not too difficult when one is talking about a dragon. Imagine a world where such things truly exist. I've been reading about all the strange happenings. It is fascinating." She was truly hopeful. And, if it was a dragon maybe she could glean something from the creature even if it was dead.

"And, of course. As they say, all press is good press. For now, hic sunt dracones," A degree in classics and literature prepared a woman for many important parts of life including quoting sixteenth century maps and being able to translate a Catholic mass. It was less useful for just about everything else.

“Take it from a journalist, don’t believe everything you read especially the stories floating around here. A lot of reporters are leaving their integrity behind in favor of selling papers. Even if there’s a dragon here it still wouldn’t be enough for some and they’d embellish the story in a heartbeat.” Peter shrugged, his tone did not convey he was appalled or the least upset about what he said. Instead it sounded like he was simply stating a fact and to him he was given what he had seen from others with the same profession as his own.

“Thankfully I have people I interview like you to keep me honest. I don’t want to print a false article with your name in it then have you breathing down my neck. Even if all press is good press.” Again he thought of what she did to the man on the train but refrained from actually mentioning it to her. “Out of curiosity though which of the stories caught your eye? The one about the monster rampaging through the streets? The so called Devil?”

"Even a nugget of truth in many of the stories would still be fantastical. Though, I do know that Osborne, Hearst and the like care as much about selling papers as they do the truth." there was a time she might have thought better of people but that time had passed.

"I was meaning more for me. My name in the paper is good for business. Though, I guess you don't read the entertainment section too often." There was so much news nobody could really keep up. And her move from Broadway to a solo act was not exactly breaking outside of a specific group. "Oh, I'd say all of them. The grey monster, the Spider, the devil, the Richards rumors. What do you think of them all?"

“Where Osborne is I don’t think it matters much what cares about," Peter replied in a slightly more dour tone. The Goblin was responsible for a lot of his life going to hell and the fact the mobster was now rotting away behind bars did little to heal his wounds. In fact hearing the name just added salt to them and he once more wondered if he should have killed him that night. Mercy felt inappropriate now since all he could do was pat his own back for taking the higher road. It did not bring him any satisfaction so it was not as if taking revenge could make him feel any worse.

“I got what you meant but I’ll admit I didn’t recognize your name. I barely have the time to proofread my own stories let alone read anyone else’s, and as you can see I don’t get to cover entertainment unless it involves the strange like a dragon.” He sounded apologetic about not knowing who she was but that was how he was with most nowadays. Ever since that day he had been preoccupied with… Other matters and that left little time for anything else. “I know the guy who usually covers those pieces. I can give you his card, like you said good press and all.”

When she asked his opinion about them all he once again shrugged, his opinion on at least one of them was different from most even if he did not share it. “If any of them are actually real. The monster is going to get a lot of people killed at this rate, the Spider is causing more problems than fixing them, same for the Devil and Richards… Well, that’s what happens when a man has more money and free time than most.” He left it at that before he they finally reached the entrance to the exhibit.

Unfortunately they ran into a bit of a snag when they were denied entry with even Peter’s press badge doing nothing to sway the guards. To him the reason for this was Kraven did not want word about this being a hoax to spread too soon or else he would make no money off this so called dragon. It did not matter if he could not get inside at this moment since there was always tonight. Guards and the like could do little to stop him especially with his gifts along with the anonymity the mask provided.

“A wastes of both our mornings but there’s always next time” he said, his eyes still on the exhibit before he finally looked back to Siobhan. “Miss Mohan, what do you say we continue our conversation elsewhere? I can’t go back to the Bugle without that story or my boss will have my hide but I wouldn’t mind getting out of this cold.”

"Of course, I just remember hearing about his...nevermind."<gray> It was clearly a sore subject, something a bit more personal. That was interesting.

<gray>"I'm headlining at the Fenris now. I just finished a show on Broadway. Honestly, I'm doing well enough that I get that sort of press. It's the sort that ends up in different parts of the paper than can only help." She was pragmatic, after all.

She was frustrated when he went up before her and was turned away. "Yes, next time. I don't understand why they advertise without having an open viewing. But...and it's Siobhan. No need for formalities, I have never been a fan as they create arbitrary barriers. There is this pub not far, they should be open and have a decent lunch. Not the best, but pretty good." She didn't mention that the cold didn't feel and that she didn't need to eat. And, at least she didn't slam her foot down in frustration when he mentioned they couldn't get in. Thank, well, she didn't believe in much any more so thank Siobhan for resisting the urge to get angry.

Peter felt thankful the topic of Norman Osborne was dropped quicker than a body off the Brooklyn Bridge. It was an issue he did not feel like continuing even more so with someone he only met a few minutes ago. It might have been therapeutic to actually vent a little about the ordeal but it was not as if he had been making the wisest decisions as of late.

“The Fenris?” He blew a low whistle before he continued to speak. “Now I feel even guiltier for not knowing who you are. You’ve got to be something special to be headlining there. Still, never hurts to have too much publicity, so if you ever want to give a one on one interview consider doing so with the Bugle.” While the entertainment stories were not his department he could at least try to get her to consider the paper he worked for over the others. Jameson would likely not throw any money his way for setting it up but not everything had to be about the money.

When they were turned away he got the feeling Siobhan was even more disappointed than he was. He corrected himself at the realization she was actually upset. By now he was accustomed to being turned away but this was how sometimes the cards were dealt. “Maybe they haven’t finished inflating the balloon that’s the dragon. That or they want to draw in crowds before any of the press can expose this place for what it is.” Obviously he was leaning towards this whole scenario to be nothing but a load of bull, but he would have to wait until later this evening to determine if his assumption is correct.

“Sorry, the formalities come natural after all the interviews and statements I’ve taken since becoming a journalist. It won’t happen again” he said, this time with a bit of a smile on his face. “Lunch sounds fine to me and maybe we can try again later.”

"I'm just a girl who can sing. And worked her ass off to get where she is. You know they talk about overnight sensations, they've all worked a decade to become an immediate success. Interviews, though, seem crass. Something like this is fine but I don't want to talk about my singing." She felt that there were some lines that kept her from being who her talent could make her be. It could also distract her from her mission. Her goal. Their painful deaths.

With a deep sigh after watching him return, Siobhan wanted to go forth. Yet, she couldn't, at least she shouldn't. "I hope it's at least a dinosaur. Something too fake wouldn't be worth the time. <gray>"Do you believe in any of it? The preternatural? The not quite human? Dragons? They are all related and new if they are at all."

She didn't mind the formalities for a bit but appreciated he would change. Mohan wasn't even their family name even if she used it. Changed at immigration like so many others. "Yes, later," she said as she moved toward an open place for food and a drink. Of course that meant going to the back room, but she knew the people and the place so it shouldn't be an issue.

“Your choice there,” he replied in a neutral tone when she voiced her opinions on interviews. Some might have taken her remark as a slight against his profession but to him it did not register as such. That was not to say he was unaccustomed to such behavior since a lot of people looked at reporters with some disdain due to how a lot of them hounded people for a story. Truthfully he was in the same league though he was open to breaking the law if an article could be gained. Even now he was considering doing just that if he was turned away this evening from seeing the attraction Kravn was advertising.

When she asked him if he believed in the extraordinary he held up his hands. “If any of those things exists I don’t think they would be in a place like this” he gestured back to where the exhibit was being held. “Look at the behemoth that’s giving SHIELD a headache. Definitely not the norm there but this dragon… If it’s real it makes me wonder how Kraven got a hold of it and why there’s this funny advertising ploy.”

These were questions he would get answers to in due time but for now all he could was wait. “So, and this is simply for my own curiosity and not an interview. When did you first start singing professionally?” He paused to let her answer before his next question came as they walked towards their next destination. “And when did the fascination with the supernatural first take hold?” In his opinion she seemed far more into this than him though seeing the dragon was only being done because his boss told him to. With Siobhan this was not a passing fancy of someone who found a flier and had nothing better to do. This intrigued him and once his curiosity was piqued there was little one could do to distract him from it.

"I'm not going to discount anything just because of where it is. But, you are definitely right about a dragon seeming far fetched. Still, it's a bit magical to think of the possibilities even if they eventually disappoint." She did care if things were real, every new discovery may lead to something. And, if there was a dead dragon maybe she could contact the spirit. Were they sentient? Were they ancient? Were they something else entirely?

She led the way, not certain she could answer the second question. "I started a few years ago after I finished college. First it was the chorus then I was an understudy but the lead got very ill. I took over and it went from there. The show ended a few weeks ago and last week I was approached by someone at the Fenris. I'm really excited about it, I mean I get to sing what I want four nights a week. More time off, less rehearsal and better money." She had a feeling there was something more to it, perhaps someone knew something, but it was too good an opportunity to worry about that.

"Oh, we're here. So, Deli or the Drum?" It was a time when there wouldn't likely be anyone, "I think the story about my interest in the supernatural is better told over a drink." How did one easily say that their death led to an interest. And should she tell him? It wasn't as though anyone would believe her. Not really.

“Skepticism is a trait most reporters possess since there’s usually more to a story than what it appears to be though the possibilities we tend to think of are not on the magical side. Just like with this dragon, I’m wonder if it is real how Kraven managed to get it into the city without any official knowing about it.” Peter held up his index finger as he began to list off the potential scenarios then the next as he continued to count off. “That means palms could have been greased, he did something else illegal to get it here or the fire breathing lizard is nothing but a fake.”

He listened to Siobhan as she explained how she began her musical career. “Sounds like you landed a pretty swell gig there. I’ve heard of Fenris but I’ve never had the chance to go.” That was a lie, he could have gone to a lot of places but he always spent his time on matters he deemed more important. Then again he was not so sure who else would pick swinging around the city in a mask over going to a club. The last time he set foot in anywhere for fun was well before the statue broke. It was almost like the night it broke so did the first crack in his life formed until there was not much left to shatter around him.

They arrived at their destination and when she asked him for his preference he truly did not have one. “Lady’s choice,” he said then waited for her to make a decision before he started speaking again. “I think I can hold out until we have those drinks. In the meantime, your sets at Fenris. Do you sing any original pieces?”

"Or it's just a very small dragon." Siobhan giggled a little as she made kitten sized gestures with her hands. The thought of a teeny dragon certainly tickled her fancy more than a little bit.

"Luck and talent, I guess. But you should come some night. Wednesday through Saturday nights." She didn't get to clubs too often, either. Between the shows and rehearsals and the fact that Mondays were her only days off. She did know a dozen or so speakeasies, though, scattered through the city.

Siobhan waved, "Shane, good to see you. Is Michael downstairs," this was definitely Irish owned and there were plenty of connections. Her family didn't have any but she knew plenty in the neighborhood who were. Not this one but her own. With a nod from him, he was occupied with a meat slicer at the moment, she led the way downstairs. There were two older men, one in his 50s behind a small bar, another in his 70s sipping something from a short glass.

"Nothing original, not yet. I've written some lyrics but I am no composer. Maybe I'll find someone to work with." She gestured to the man behind the bar for a couple of drinks and took a seat at a small table. "Your turn, why journalism?"

“Oh good, then we’ll have to deal with its mother when she comes looking for her baby,” Peter replied by joining in on the joke.  The thought of a dragon attacking the city was preposterous but he could see the headline in the Bugle if it did. Jameson would have a field day with that since he would likely blame as many people the editor disliked for being at fault.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he said though it was likely another lie. Every night there was something else that required his attention or rather the Spider-Man’s and it was hard to ignore those even if it was taking a heavy toll on him. He barely kept his head above water as is with balancing his self-imposed duties at night and his job at the paper. A small part of him reminded him he needed to change but a larger portion asked how and the rest of him did not have an answer.

He gave a nod to the gentleman, Michael before he followed his new acquaintance down the stairs. It was common courtesy after all and he did the same to the men in the next room as he walked to join Siobhan at the table. Now that they were inside and away from the bitter cold outside he could take off his jacket. The scarf and hat he wore soon followed with the gloves being the final pieces of clothing he removed. On his left hand was a simple looking ring that was his wedding band. It was not something he thought he should have to wear but Gwen insisted on it. Now the thought of taking it off spawned a mix of emotions that he could not even begin to process.

“If that’s what you want to do then I’m sure you’ll find a composer,” he said then arched a brow at her question. It was only fair he talk about his own career since he had been asking her a few questions. Honestly it was a bit surprising to him she would even ask. “It’s something I grew up with. My uncle was a reporter and as a kid I was fascinated by his stories. He told me once a reporter’s obligation was to the truth, not the law or anything else. People needed to be informed or else how could they make decisions.” He chuckled at his own words, for being the kid who actually looked up to Ben at one point. “Now I’m the guy chasing after so called dragons or writing about someone who goes by the Devil. Not exactly what I thought would be in the job description.”

To the very observant Siobhan didn't seem to have any of the normal responses people do when they come in from the cold. No sign of relief, no sense of everything being better like the warmth was the hug of a mother on a bad day. Nothing. She just moved from the freezing to the warmth like she was moving from one room to another. She did, however, remember to remove her jacket once they were downstairs.

Siobhan noticed the ring, so he was married. Not that she had been interested anyway, she tended to collect friends, though. Friends were good. And then there was whiskey, Irish, rocks. The Italians smuggled in wine, the Irish got Jameson and Bushmill from Canada on top of the less savory bathtub gins and moonshine. She spent the money for something real, though. It was a taste of the home she never knew.

"I always liked the phrase quis custodiet ipsos custodes. I would like some truth as well. Say, if I tell you my story about the supernatural will you consider helping me find a truth of my own. It involves the mob, so it is at least somewhat better than dragons of the Devil."

Any thoughts of alcohol or the like were forgotten the moment Siobhan spoke. It had nothing to do with the quote from the old satire, that sort of quandary did not interest in him in the slightest. Someone once told him if people stopped being sheep then there was no one for the wolves to prey on. It was a topic that he found boring because in the end there was no real answer or at least not one he would ever find acceptable.

No, the lady sitting across from him had his attention about her own story, the one that apparently involved his earlier question. The supernatural could not hold his curiosity but when she brought up the mob that was a whole matter entirely. The hunch he had about her might just prove to be true, which he was not sure was a good thing when it had landed him in hot water before.

“It depends on the mob, ever since the Spider locked up Osborn there’s been a power vacuum here in New York. More than a few crime organizations have been making moves to fill that vacancy and it’s not been pretty for anyone involved or in the way.” He tapped his finder on the table, his eyes locked on Siobhan’s for any hint that she was not simply leading him on. The journalist must have found something because the tapping stopped and he leaned back a little more comfortably in his chair. “I guess that doesn’t matter though so please tell me this story of yours. Fair warning, this might bring out the formalities from me again.”
This message was last edited by the player at 22:28, Sat 19 Jan 2019.

Siobhan figured nobody would believe him if this were published so why not? "I'm quite aware of the power vacuum, at least I am now. Three months ago I wouldn't have known anything about it. I was a struggling actress with a BA in Literature and Classics. Over educated but certainly not world wise. Then I was going to be the star, from understudy in the chorus to front of the stage so we did what anyone would do, we went to celebrate. It was a lovely night, the three of us. Lily, Jessica and me." Before she started talking her eyes were cold, no emotion. But anger and regret and guilt all rolled over her as the words came out of her mouth. We were going from one club to another when there was a car, a tommy gun, a spray of bullets."</gray> She stopped, tossing back her drink and asking for another, a double, with a gesture. It took more than a few moments for her to gain her composure.

However, through all of it she didn't sigh like most would, she never seemed to struggle with breathing as though she only did it when she needed to speak. Most of the time she faked it quite well, extremes still were difficult. She could act but she couldn't recreate all the autonomic responses she needed to truly seem right.

Once her new drink had arrived and was half gone she continued. "The target was an Anthony Giovanni, turns out he was taking territory and someone didn't like it. I don't know who, though. Nobody has claimed it yet since three groups moved in. That is the mystery. The worst part, Lily, Jessica and I...we were caught in the crossfire. Riddled with bullets. So, if you want to know my interest it started the night I died." She sat back and watched for his response.

Peter listened intently to Siobhan’s story, his attention was solely on her though his posture remained the same. Again he looked at her as if trying to ascertain she was telling the truth from her choice of words, body language and other cues people gave. Her story started out in the realm of the ordinary with her past being nothing truly noteworthy. They both had this in common but when she spoke of her friends he knew this was going to take a turn even if she did not mention the mob beforehand. Of course he had his guesses as to what it was and while he was not completely off the mark it was still a surprise to him.

The more she talked the more she gave away and not just with her words. Needless to say there was something odd about the lady but when this story ended with her death that jumped straight from odd to bizarre. Was any of this true? Either she was an excellent actress and by her own admission she was or he had found himself in another case involving the extraordinary. Even so the journalist in him had to be certain and that meant he needed to ask questions.

“That is… Well saying it's quite the tale is an understatement, Siobhan” he said, with a touch of sympathy though he felt if he tried to convey that further it would do more harm than good. After all, she was not looking for someone to coddle her and it was not as if he was the best person to do so either. “I do have some questions for you and a request. First question, what is the date when this happened, two what happened to the remains of your friends if they died like you did? Were they recovered? Last question for now, how do you think I can help? The request, can you and I’m asking this to be thorough and not to be disrespectful. I need you to prove that you are in fact dead.”

She gave the date, it was nearly three months ago on a Monday evening. A dark night for theatre. "They were buried by their families, of course. It was a drive by, we were all just left for dead. I woke up before the authorities arrived and got out as quickly as I could. A dress filled with bullets would have been questioned. As for you, well, I saw your response when the mob was mentioned. And when Osborn was as well. You have a great deal invested in the mob, or should I say the downfall of the mob. Or have I misread? In acting we learn to read people as well. And, frankly, I need more connections with some knowledge in order to find out who called for the hit so I can...well let's just say I need to take care of things. As for my state," she offered her wrist, "pulses don't lie." Her heart did not beat, just as air was only used to vibrate her vocal cords. And this alcohol seemed only to affect her in as much as she wanted it to. Or maybe it was more metaphysical than that, she didn't know. She could eat and drink but she never seemed to rid herself of it. Maybe it was just absorbed as fuel or maybe something she couldn't even begin to understand was happening inside her.

Peter made mental notes for the date of Siobhan’s supposed death and also check the obituaries for her two friends. It was likely an article was written about the shooting but with how much crime there was in the city it was also likely to not have been a main article. Her observations about him were met with a shrug of his shoulders along with a small bit of a smirk because there was a story there. Not as thrilling as hers of course but one he might need to tell if he decided to help her.

“Every journalist is invested in the mob but to what extent depends on the person. Some want the truth, others steer clear out of it from being afraid of retaliation. My own, well I’m concerned with the truth but Osborn was also personal.” He glanced down at his own drink which still remained untouched and continued to be as he continued. His eyes traveled to her wrist which he took and he noticed she felt cold to the touch.

“Pulses don’t lie but it’s not a guarantee you’re dead either. Could be you're just something special like the others making headlines.” he remarked before he let go of her. It could have been a trick or she could be someone with gifts like him. “It doesn’t matter compared to what you said. When you said ‘take care of things’ it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what you’re implying. There’s no deniability there, you’re asking me to help you commit murder.” Finally he picked up his glass and peered down into its contents before he downed it. He released a sigh from the burning sensation that went down into his stomach then looked back to Siobhan. “That’s not even considering the fact anyone who helps you would be painting a target on their back.”

She knew there was more to his story, it was clear. There had likely been violence in his life that affected him from the mob.

And then it was confirmed, his reaction to Osborn. She was curious, but didn't press at the moment. Maybe it was the uncle he mentioned, maybe someone else.

"I would think I am something special like them, I mean corpses don't exactly walk around. But, yes, I do mean revenge. My research has suggested that I am a revenant. Maybe I am something else, I don't know. I want justice and the only justice I can imagine is the final kind." Siobhan gave the man across from her a hard look. Her eyes cold and dispassionate, completely separated from her emotions once again. "Something tells me you are not too concerned about that, otherwise the reality of sitting across from a woman who is a dead tool of vengeance would have you politely exiting this fine establishment. "

“Assuming you’re a corpse and not just one of these people with powers,” he commented then reached over for his jacket to grab his pack and lighter from one of the pockets. “And maybe you’re right about me not giving a damn.” He pulled out a cigarette and brought it to his lips before lighting the end of it. The man inhaled slowly then motioned over to the bartender for another round. “Or maybe you’re not the strangest person I’ve met or I’m not completely sold on this yet.” The part about Siobhan being dead did not bother him at all compared to others he found to be alarming. Osborn once had a cannibal in his employ after all.

“Killing someone isn’t the worst thing you can do to a person. Unless what you’re thinking this will allow you to pass onto the afterlife or whatever.” He took another drag of the cigarette and contemplated his options. “How long have you been trying to track your kill down? I can’t have been the first person you’ve told this to.” It was an assumption but with how quickly she divulged this information there were surely others she asked for help.

"Is there a difference? The root cause may be the same. I mean, people don't rise from the dead and they don't turn into monsters or climb on the sides of buildings." Maybe it was all related. Maybe a decade earlier and she'd just be dead dead.

She got another double as well. She may feel it but not for long unless she drank heavily. Being dead was not a good time. "If I am a reverent then I have to kill this person to be whole, to move on, to die. I've tried. I've killed myself a dozen times. Either I am stuck in the realm of the living or I have a purpose. I prefer the latter." She hoped that would let her move on. She kept living but only because it was what she needed to do but she felt the need to try to move on. "Days after it happened I started. People don't believe me. I've asked a few. I told at least three cops, nothing. A few PIs, nothing again, but they were happy to take my money. So, now a journalist. It's not like anyone will believe a story about me. I mean, I'm now famous enough around town that it will seem petty, ironic that the celebration for that was what caused all of this." She didn't worry about much, though. Death wasn't a possibility, unfortunately. Life, though, she was living in a more full way than she ever had. Even with her focus on revenge she was being present in every situation.

“Yes, but there have been people with well let’s call them gifts and once they die they stay that way,” Peter informed her. “They might be able to do amazing things but their road ends the same as anyone else thus that makes you even more extraordinary compared to them.” To him it made perfect sense but it also helped that he knew where his own powers came from. Siobhan on the other hand was a complete mystery.

“I think most people like to think they have a purpose for being here.” He was not one of them but who was he to judge others on their beliefs? “As for the people you sought out it’s probably for the best they didn’t take you seriously. If they went poking their nose in the wrong place they’d likely be dead right now.” The way he spoke about this might make one think he was used to dealings like the one he described. “Lucky for you I’m not worried about that sort of thing or that I’m not looking for money. However, it doesn’t mean I’ll help you for free.” Everyone in this city, in this world wanted something and he was no different. “Whoever did this has to pay and more with his life. Any information we can get from him about his employers to put them behind bars so that means no killing your murderer outright until then. If we’re taking care of one fish might as well clear out the pond while we’re at it.”

"True, and I do not. I do not know if that is something related or not." Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. She was curious, though. "You say extraordinary and I say cursed. The possibility of immortality is frightening." She wanted to move on now that she knew there was a moving on. She had seen heaven and hell and hoped she was to move to the former.

"I do think coming back from the dead is different than just waking up and seeing a purpose. That said, I am happy to help. I know it isn't an individual but a system that caused my death. But, in the end, whomever was responsible and whomever pulled the trigger, they have to see their end so that I can. And if I cannot, well, I do not know. I can wait until the sun goes dark...sorry, that was a bit bleak." It terrified her to think that there may be no end to her life. That she may see the end of the human species, the end of the sun, the end of all the suns. The heat death of the universe and just her and maybe a few other beings like her.

“It does sound frightening as a concept, not being able to die. That being said from first impressions and all you’re managing better than I imagine most would. I know this is messed up to say but better someone like you got this curse than a mobster or some other kind of criminal.” The thought of someone like Osborn being unable to die would be a walking nightmare though the thought of himself being unable to die was also an unpleasant thought. He had gotten lucky by sticking to walls and his other gifts though he hoped some unknown form of immortality was not in the cards for him.

When she commented how bleak the discussion turned he laughed lightly. “I think we crossed that lin the moment you brought up being dead. Word of advice, don’t focus on what ifs when there’s so much that you can do.” He flicked the cigarette slightly which caused some ashes to fall. “We’ll find your killer then we’ll worry about the rest if it turns out there’s something to actually worry about. Deal?”

"you know, it's funny. Actresses would wish for this, being eternally young. Never having an imperfection. But it's that which makes us human. And, of course, this curse wasn't bestowed upon a random actress, no, but one with too much education. I've read far too much philosophy. Kierkegaard oft comes to mind, and Nietzsche. Though, I disagree with his thought about God, god is real, and god has a fucked up sense of humor." She didn't care much about propriety.

"So, I kill him and see what happens. But, I have to worry, I mean the whole reverent idea may be wrong and I may be simply undead. Would you like to see how it works? I mean, you seem to be interested in truths and if I do die I wouldn't mind this being documented. Never before, but if I do."

“If God is real then… One of the most prominent figures who have come back from the dead is His own son. Look at it this way, you’re part of one very exclusive club.” Again this was him making a joke and it showed from the expression on his face. Siobhan was beginning to be a little too dour even for him and this was his attempt at some levity. Actually the real joke was between the two of them the dead woman had more to live for than him at this point.

“You mean document a story no one would ever believe to begin with and also implicate myself in a murder. I’m all for truth but everyone has their limit and landing myself in prison is mine.” Besides, there was one Parker in prison and he was going to make sure Ben was also the last. “And if you don’t move on or whatever you want to call it then we start looking for another solution."

"I don't think Jesus and I have much in common. And that assumes a Christian God." She had been raised Irish Catholic but things had changed. Now she didn't so much believe and had researched many religions in the last couple of months.

"What's wrong? You joke but I feel there's something else. Before we discuss the nature of the crime that really isn't one, which if I do die I wouldn't really care if you waited until your death to publish, I am curious why you would help. It isn't like this isn't a possible fool's errand."

“I don’t know, he died with two people and was killed because of someone else’s greed. It might not be much but there are some similarities between you two.” He finished his cigarette then downed his second drink. He could hold his liquor better than most thanks to his gifts or curses as Siobhan might call them, but he was not about to appear like he was more of a drunk than a journalist. Not exactly the best impression to make with someone he was offering his services to.

Her question concerning why he would help was a valid one and also one he had a simply enough response to. “You mean publish what would likely be the story of a generation then not be around to give any answers to questions people might have. Now that’s just being a tease,” he said jokingly. “I’m helping you because I was taught to help people since I was a kid. You’re asking me so who am I to refuse? Just make sure when you do cross over you put a good word in for me to whatever god is up there.”

"I died with four, though. And I didn't anger the government. I like to think of it more like Osiris, alive but with something vital missing. It fits more." She appreciated those myths, they were more real in many ways. She also noted his drinking, but her family drank. Still, no notice of anything after two in a short time. She ordered more, especially for herself.

"A posthumous biography. Not a tease. And most people would refuse. It's dangerous. It's ridiculous. And I don't even know if I'll be going to that side. I have dreams of both. Heaven, hell, some in betweens. Maybe it's just dreams or maybe it's a glimpse. Maybe I should even start a religion of my own."

“Exactly, two pairs you doubled what he had though if you all died in a pile then we can go down the rabbit hole of you dying on your own cross. Four points on a cross, four people,” he shrugged. “And the government did have a hand in your death. Everyone knows the criminals run New York. Though if you want to liken yourself to Osiris then by all means. You’re the one close to godhood after all.”

“Never cared for autobiographies, to me writing about yourself is about as vain as a person can get. There’s enough to write about without adding my own life to it. Concerning it being dangerous, this isn’t my first time. Ridiculous, well we happened to meet because I was told to write a story about a dragon. Ridiculous is part of my everyday routine by this point.” It was not as if he enjoyed it but this was his life and he knew the abnormal was going to be a constant for the foreseeable future. “Well if revenge doesn’t get you what you want then maybe being a religious figure will. Not a bad fallback plan, but don’t expect to convert me. Being your partner in this is one thing but a follower is out of the question.”

She laughed a bit too much about the whole thing. "I have no desire to be anything but a musician, a singer. But I do prefer the Egyptian to the Judaic for my own state. An I'm nowhere near godhood, I feel more like Job than anything." She hated the whole thing, but it was a necessity. A large part of her wanted to simply leave and go find that balance she desired.

"But I have to ask why you wouldn't become a believer? What if I stab myself in the heart only to be reborn? I mean, Siobhanism would be so much better than most others. The tenants would be easy to follow including not being an arse to others."

Despite the topic of their conversation Siobhan managed to laugh at it all and frankly Peter found the laugh suited her quite nicely. “Not a great selling point for me to stick around then. I remember what happened to the people who were close to Job.” Obviously he was kidding since so far he had not given any indication he was not interested in seeing this through. There were still some potential issues but nothing that caused him to look for the nearest exit.

“Why I wouldn’t? Oh that’s simple. Hard to be a believer in a church when I’m the one you’re asking to help you. Hard to believe in a god when they need assistance, though now that I think about it you might want me to write your story just so you have a prophet. Yeah the Book of Peter Parker, never gonna happen.” He propped one of his arms on the table. “So now that we know each other a little better I’m curious about something else. Is there another reason you want to see the dragon other than the fact it might be an actual dragon?”

"Too true. It took dying to become that dame who's trouble." She said that in a way that suggested she wanted to have that before but didn't. She had definitely changed, become more confident since there was nothing to worry about with herself.

"It's definitely easier to be an absent god. I mean, when people can see you it humanizes you. Such a pity. I'd be an excellent goddess, far more interesting rules. Shots of whiskey instead of sips of wine to start." It was nice just joking about something. Truthfully, she worried about such things. What if people found out she was 'risen' and took it as something divine. Or, worse, something evil. She certainly looked it when her eyes went red and she was filled with violence.

Siobhan nodded, "there are so many stories about dragons. If some of them are true then dragons may be ancient and wise creatures. Maybe not the nicest creatures but knowledgeable. If that's true I may be able to get some answers to some of the essential questions about my existence. I know it is unlikely but I have to try."

“You’d have to go about changing the law then. Can’t have SHIELD raiding your churches over some bottles of whiskey. That’s not even accounting the mess your followers would leave in the building after communion.” He was unsure about religion anymore after all he witnessed in his life but compared to some of the people who used it as a tool to get what they want Siobhan would not be such a horrible figure. Aside from the fact she would likely promote her followers to take revenge.

“If this thing is real then it’s a dragon that was captured by a human. Definitely not wise unless this Kraven has some ability of his own that helped him capture it.” It was all hypothetical and he was still leaning on the dragon being a fake though he still needed to see it otherwise JJ would blow the roof off the Bugle. As amusing it would be to see it happen he very much wanted to keep his job.

“We both have reasons for wanting to see this dragon and my curiosity about it has been increasing ever since we were told to get lost. Let’s give it another shot this evening even if we have to use the back entrance.” He was not above sneaking into the place if Kraven was going to keep people out for the time being. An interview and a photo would have been preferred but if that was not possible then the latter would have to suffice.

"I thought churches had a religions exemption. They have wine at communion. So it should just be a great party. The songs can all be Jazz, Blues and Show Tunes." A bit of levity was good. She had been a devout lapsed Catholic before she died. Now she wasn't sure about the religions but she knew there was an afterlife and pretty certain there was a good place and a bad place. Maybe not the Christian type, and she didn't know the criterion.

She nodded in agreement, "maybe that's the case. Or maybe they aren't ferocious. And, as you said, he could have abilities of his own." She knew it was a long shot.

"That sounds good. Just let me know the time." She still wondered why there were fliers when hey weren't letting people in.

“What the churches consider to be wine, it gets a pass. You tell SHIELD there’s hard liquor at Mass and they’d bust down the door in a heartbeat.” Peter’s expression then changed to one of doubt though it had to do with the other part of Siobhan’s proposed religion practices. “Show Tunes? Why did you have to ruin what sounded like a good time with those?” He knew he was in the minority when it came to disliking those type of songs but it did not stop him from making the joke.

“It’s all guesses at this point. The one thing we know do know is the man has an abnormal business model if he’s paying to advertise along with paying security to keep people out.” Why this happened he could not say but it was certainly interesting. Not as interesting as a woman back from the dead to avenge her own murder but he doubted anything would top that soon.

He nodded and pulled from one of his other jacket pockets a small pad along with a pen. After flipping to a blank page he slid both items over to Siobhan. “I’m assuming you have phone. If not I guess I could see if hiring a medium to contact you would work.” Another joke which seemed to be part of his personality once he settled into a conversation though he knew to some people it could be an annoying quirk of his.

"Come now, I am an actress in musicals how could any religion about me not have show tunes. I am, after all, the one who is the chosen, the risen. And if I want some Gershwin I get some Gershwin." Her pout was quickly replaced with a grin.

"I do, but I am not always home. Other than sleeping I try to avoid it too much. It's my place for quiet contemplation and reading philosophy. I'll include the numbers of the club I'll probably be at. Oh, and, I can do that," She added quickly, "the medium thing, that is. A little time, some meditation, a body part or important article and boom, we are talking with the dead."

“I guess that makes me your first heretic then. If the religion doesn't pan out maybe you find a composer and you can do a musical about all of this” Peter replied as they both continued to trade jokes. The topic was absurd but better than either of them actually considering that Siobhan was a newly Messiah. It was a bit of good fortunate she was the one reborn though he was uncertain if the same could be said about his own rebirth.

Peter nodded while he began to look for one of his business cards. When he finally found it and was in the process of handing it to her he suddenly fumbled which caused the card to drop to the table. “You can? This… Definitely changes how we can go about your case.” The smile on his face vanished and he began to ponder this revelation. It was as if he was staring at something far off from how focused his gaze was. Then it dawned on him how he zoned out of the conversation, a mix of embarrassment and guilt washed over him. “Sorry, got lost in my own head there for a minute. That card has the number you can use to reach me. If I’m not at home then I’m usually at the Bugle.”

"Well, we may have to begin the ritual flogging, then." Siobhan shrugged, it was just a fact of the rules, one she didn't relish. "Unless you wish to repent with a heartfelt rendition of You're the Cream in My Coffee." That sounded like a good way doing things and far more entertaining than, say, hail marys.

"Maybe I should have mentioned that earlier? And I think I should add some mysticism to it, mediums are supposed to be spooky and mysterious aren't they?" She took the card and placed it in her purse. "Tonight, though, it will be dark by five so how about six?"

“I think I’ll take my chances with the flogging instead of singing then again, that would be torturous for both of us.” Compared to the Show Tunes, the hymns in church might actually be preferable but thankfully he did have to worry about singing either for the rest of his life.

“Probably but at least you told me instead of me finding out later. Talking to spirits might make this easier or more difficult. I guess it depends how willing the dead are to speak.” Would the spirits lie or was this essentially Siobhan having a reliable well of information to use at leisure? “Six should work. Maybe they’ll welcome customers this time. If not then we’ll have to be creative and find another way inside.”