comicshavefailedme | LL cont’

[Who you look like-- the words go off like a bomb in his head. He knows, he knows he knows he knows heknowsheknowsHEKNOWS! EVERYTHING, down to the abhorrent nature of your life, the sickness, the wrongness. The words strip him down to his base parts, and see them for the cheap knockoff that he is.

Of course. Rafael knows the Real One, so why would he have any need is the fake? That realization hurt more than anything else. That last tether to humanity, already cut.

He hisses in shock and pain, grip tightening on the edge of the roof where he's hidden. His fingers leave grooves in the metal.]

Shut up. What do you know?!

[ Is he shutting up, or is he answering? For a bit, it seems like the former, where he shrugs one shoulder and goes back to contemplating the masses of rolling waves below.

But then, he exhales, a long breath that fogs up the air behind him—trailing behind as the boat surges forward. Then he turns around, hopping onto the boat's railing and balancing there as only a spider could; he's addressing him directly now, eyes piercing the darkness to look right at "Aracha".

What comes out of his mouth is dangerous, it feels... final. Up until this moment, it feels like he's been two people, struggling to feel. He feels like he's bringing a knife to someone's throat. ]

I know your favourite food. I know how you like to be held. I know your favourite movie. I know that you really hate the colour blue, and that you can't hold your alcohol worth a damn. I know you're not really Peter's brother.

But I don't even know your name.

[A risky gambit indeed. Made all the worse by the feeling that Rafael could see him, even hidden in darkness as he is - he was still exposed and vulnerable. Each syllable carved themselves into his skin, tracing the ghost of a hundred kisses, a thousand heartfelt stares. Forget a knife to the throat. He felt like he was being lit on fire.

Every cell in him wants to run away. Every atom wants to be held again.

The conflict is visible, his demeanor like a cornered feral animal. He can't deny the truth that this stranger in front of him... he knows Rafael in return. He knows his rage and his devotion. His contrary nature, his arrogance and dryly dark humour. The kindness underneath it all. He sleeps nude and hates yes-men and loves Aracha more than anything.

But Aracha was a lie, wasn't it? But was it any more of a lie than what he actually was?

Haltingly, he mutters,]

It was supposed to be Peter.

[ What is he trying to get out of this? He's not sure. He just... can't leave things alone. He can't just escape to another country because his heart hurts. Of course, he did actually consider it—but it's impossible, both literally and metaphorically.

He doesn't know how this can end, but there does need to be an end.

...but god, it'd be nice to just hang his head out of a window as he disappears into the sunset. Never to be seen by anyone ever again, where he doesn't have to worry about how this finicky creature makes him feel.

Though the imaginary car's tires are squealing and swerving at that actual response— ]

Nope. Nope! That would have been a nightmare, thanks.

[His lips curl up in a snarl. How did Rafael not get it?]

A nightmare is what I was supposed t'be. A cheap replacement. A hollow mockery of a human being.

[Which is all the more reason he couldn't be part of Rafael's happy ending. Such lofty dreams did not befit his base nature. All he needed was confirmation - to hear it from Rafael's mouth that all this was over, and he could bury it with the rest of his heart. He'd have no ties left.

Mournful, he looks away. Out into the dark sea instead.]

I was never real. Not a single part of me.

[ DON'T GET MAD AT ME FOR THAT!!!! I DON'T WANT TO DATE AU PETER!!! ]

So... you're a clone.

[ It's not a question, or asking for confirmation in any way. He knows. Nothing else would make sense for this kind of... reaction. Unless he's a computer program and they are in a simulation, but Miguel doubts it. This is a flesh and blood (presumably) Pinocchio.

He frowns, considering every scientific abomination he knows (himself included) (himself especially), and then sighs. You probably can't tell a clone they're being stupid about personhood. Clones probably have the right to be dramatic about it personhood, really.

Anyway, time to say something about this. ]

Well, you're real enough to be an asshole, and that's what matters right now. I got a propo...sition for you.

[ He can't say... the other propo word. ]

[He has to fight the urge to flinch at the word 'clone' - and didn't completely succeed. It hung over every waking moment, but... he hadn't said it aloud yet. Or heard it said aloud. Now, it was out in the air. And heavy was the shame that followed.

The clone curls in on himself, braced for what must've been coming. Because surely, Rafael couldn't suggest anything other than, 'go sleep in the subway so I'll never have to run into you in the common quarters and also don't ever speak to me again'. (All this is completely understandable.) So he's extra sullen when he bites out,]

What is it.

[ Miguel—or Rafael, the blend hasn't been smooth—wants so bad to reach out to him. No, to just run there, scale the wall, and crawl into his arms. He hates that tone in his voice, he hates how he knows Aracha is upset by existence, and he wants to console him, in any way possible.

Half of him wants to tend to his fiancee. But that half is a whole person, shoved into a body that already had an occupant. He doesn't have the right to reach out to him anymore, and he probably... shouldn't. He has a life. Aracha probably does, too.

But... there's a fire in him that wants to see some sort of proper end to this. He won't just let this hang. And... he's full of spite, disgust, anger—and he needs to expel it. If he even can. ]

Get revenge with me.

[The clone's eyebrows shot up. Somehow, he hadn't expected this - but also, he really, really should've. Rafael was a spiteful man, and that much had definitely not changed. He had to shove down a spark of appreciation, born from his own mutually angry nature (and tried not to think about how that was something they loved about each other).

But reality sunk in a second later. Revenge? How? What could they possibly do against the forces that twisted their lives - maybe even the world - into being puppets on a stage? It was bad enough when they only suspected this power of creating a worldwide cover-up. But changing their minds and bodies on such a scale, that was unthinkable.

An incredulous bark wells up inside him:]

Are you insane? What the hell could the two of us do against-- whatever the @#$% did this??

[...That said, there was an air to the clone that was hoping, expectant. Rafael always had plans, even if they were bad ones. What if there was a way? Give me answers. Light the darkness.]

[ Yes, he is one-hundred percent insane. And stupid, and a genius, and all things one could attribute to a guy in tights. But he's also resourceful and mean and full of vengeance enough to span a continent.

Miguel looks off the side of the ship, into the navy horizon, picking through his memories and thoughts, sewing them together into some sort of plan. ]

The ship is going to make landfall soon. I overheard some of the staff whispering about it—their superiors would know better, but these guys didn't catch on that I have really good hearing now. It's going to be chaos. That's our chance.

[ Raising a hand, as if to stave off any incoming arguments. ] And I remember who... what I am. And if you're even a sixteenth of Peter, then... we'll do it. We can get them.

[He still can’t help but wince a little at being described as a fraction (however large or small) of Peter - just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it. Was he even a sixteenth? Who could even say. He felt like less. A mere shadow, lacking any substance of the original, unable to ever experience true wholeness.

One percent of Peter, maybe. If he was being generous.

Self deprecation aside, he frowns at this description of a “plan”. Granted, it was more than literally nothing, but not by much. The clone keeps his voice low, even incredulous as he is.]

‘Get them’? What, you mean— kill the Showmaster?

Killing... maybe.

[ At the moment, he wants to kill her. There's no doubt about that. But he doesn't particularly enjoy the part of him that wants that to happen, so he pauses, then shakes his head as if to clear it, rather than to say 'no'. ]

First, I want to know why the shock they did this to us. Why you and me? How did they pick out their social experiments like they did? What's their damn end goal with this? [ A pause as he inhales sharply. ] Those are what I'm going to rip out of her first.

[ Why... did they make us hurt each other in so many ways? This goes unsaid, but he's feeling it in his soul. Why did they craft a loving story starring the two of them, only to burn the pages? Why did they choose Miguel to be placed in the position of hurting this man? ]

[Yeah let's be real killing would be extremely satisfying. His fingers itch with the sudden urge, the knowledge that he could crush life out in his bare grip. That urge wells in his brain in dark pools, and it takes all his willpower not to stare too deeply at them. Turns again to the safety of cynicism.]

Yeah, and I'm sure they're gonna spill their guts just 'cause you asked.

This revenge is sounding a lot less like payback and a lot more like coping.

[ It feels a little bit like he just got nailed. Seen, perceived, even. His knuckles tighten, and when he breathes out, the chilly air reveals it by puffing up. ]

Then they die and we get to make up our own shocking answers. Simple as that.

[ He's not addressing the coping part. Is there anything wrong with coping? No. Smart people cope. Wait, he's smart.

...well, whatever. ]

Yeah, real simple.

[Snorts. Assuming it doesn't all go to shit like it always does. But he's already wasted his breath pointing out how stupid it all was - but it's not like any better ideas have dawned on him. His own plans haven't been any more complex than (Mope on a roof) or (Be drunk again).

Trying to muster up an aura of unapproachability and menace, he perches onto the edge of the roof and looms over his former fiance. Addressing him by Rafael now just felt wrong.]

...So. What do I call you?

[ The words don't you call me your heart rises up like bile in his throat, burning and burning and bubbling over to remind him that no, he definitely does not call him that. Not anymore. Never again.

The metal railing he's holding onto starts making a sharp noise as he grips it so tightly it bends into the shape of his emotion.

Still, it doesn't feel right to call himself Miguel, even if it doesn't feel wrong either. A secret third thing, called "we have two full sets of memories in us, and even if Rafael wasn't my birth name, it still feels like it's my name." But eventually he gets it past the blockage in his chest. ]

...my name is Miguel.

[ A deep breath. This next part has to come out sometime, and there's no use hiding it either: ]

And I'm the Spider-man of the year 2099.

[Miguel might as well have said 'and I'm a clown from outer space' from the clone's reaction. His eyes bug out in pure incredulity.]

Shut up. What? That's-- so stupid.

[The possibility of time travel had never crossed his mind but now that it was? apparently? on the table, the absurdity of it all was throttling him. Why was this his life. He hates everything. Is Miguel like, a descendent of Peter? Had he been sleeping with-- NO HE WAS NOT FINISHING THAT TRAIN OF THOUGHT.]

[ And just as if he's parroting him, with a sharp narrow of his eyes: ]

Shut up. I know it's stupid. Your situation is probably stupid too.

[ How dare you, a clone, tell me, a time traveller, that something is stupid! ]

[Accusatory,]

Are you Peter's grandkid?

[YOU ARE LEGALLY OBLIGATED TO TELL ME IF YOU'RE PETER'S GRANDKID]

[ ALSO ACCUSATORY, ]

Do I LOOK like Peter's grandkid?!

[these are braincell hours]

I don't know, maybe you take after your @#$% mom!

...fine, you've got a shockin' point there.

[ Thank shocking god he doesn't look like Tyler. Holy shit. That would be the worst ever. ]

No, I'm not his grandkid. Don't say horrible things like that.

Then why the hell are you Spider-man!?

[Is he sounding a little possessive on Peter's behalf? Shut up you don't know what you're talking about. (Yes.)]

Take a wild guess! It's stupid too!

[He has an unkind sneer as he suggests,]

Delusional fan worship?

[Maybe he's just being mean now. But it doesn't feel out of the question - that Peter has a legacy, and that people in the future would want to be like him...]

Edited 2024-11-18 04:17 (UTC)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject