[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.