comicshavefailedme | LL cont’

[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)

[ Huffs. ]

I was about to marry a real asshole, huh.

[ The moment it's spat out of his mouth, he regrets it, for more reasons than can be counted on both hands and both feet. If he could claw it back from the air, he would, but his body doesn't even move; standing by his equally awful retort. Maybe a worse retort. It feels worse.

It still hurts to think of about, too. About to marry a real asshole. His real asshole, who wasn't real. ]

[Critical hit. The clone's expression darkens, and it's hard to tell who he loathes more in the moment - Miguel or himself. It didn't matter that the people who were in love, Aracha and Rafael, they were completely different individuals. He was no more Aracha than Rafael was Santa Claus.

But it surely was true that the man behind the pretty lie was a hateful, ugly, cruel thing. Poison barbs his words as he return fires, trying not to let his voice crack,]

Yeah. Aren't you glad t'be free of that wretched fate.

[It must be such a relief! That he's gone! He's not wanted, not here or anywhere... carrying that miserable truth inside him, he turns and races out of view - back to the shadows where he belongs.]

[ Isn't it so funny... his type is people with an edge. Even Dana had hers, hidden by softness. Tempest is every bit the asshole Miguel is.

And he is, in fact, a huge one right now. So much so that he drops his head into his hands and groans. ]

Good one, Miggy.

[ Whatever he wanted from this wasn't to stick a knife in him. Maybe. Was it to stick a knife in them?

Maybe it was meant for himself.

He turns and sits himself facing the ocean until the sun starts to come up. Another sunrise after a miserable moment together.

He hopes... that the call for revenge will bring him back (to him). Miguel doesn't think he's going to answer the phone anytime soon—it was a miracle he got this chance from it.

Back to his little gazebo he goes, planting himself in a daybed face first. Can he stay there until the boat disembarkation (and thus, revenge) happens? Probably not.

But he wants to. ]

[So. Now that that interaction's basically been stomped on, crumpled up, dumped in a trashcan and lit on fire, he's back to (Mope on a roof) or (Be drunk again) as his only options. And the moping was sorely hampered by a pesky thing called daylight - thus, like the putrid vermin he is, the clone crawled back inside to seek out the Booze.

Didn't take long. Neither the finding of booze, nor the getting shitfaced. What a fucking joke all this was. Revenge? Don't make him laugh. At least he never actually said yes to throwing in with that piece of shit. Weird pretender fanboy historical re-enactment LARPer. Two fake Spider-men! Truly, they were God's cosmic joke.

He didn't want to ever see him again. That was the bitter thought doing laps in his head as he downed a truly brazen amount of whiskey - too blasted to even care that he was sitting in free view of everyone trying to eat in peace at the Lounge. Soon: passed out on the floor.

Fuck him. Fuck everything.]

[ Miguel trips over him.

Okay, there's a little more to it than that; after agonizing by himself, his stomach rumbling loudly, he'd crawled his pathetic way over to the lounge. He'll get the stupid shocking mega meatballs plate and suffocate his woes in them, all for the sake of revenge now. He can't just waste away, even if he'd like to.

Killing the one behind everything is getting more and more tempting, though. Maybe he'll forget about the hows and whys. What does it matter, if he's alone in this anyway—STUMBLE. ]

What t—

[ Aracha's arm (still Aracha, as he never got his name) is probably going to be a little sore if he ever comes to, because it's what Miguel stumbled over while trying to get towards the mountain of meat awaiting him.

...ohh he's twisting up inside; every part of him is equal parts "oh my god I have to get him somewhere better than this" and "oh my god what a dumbass" in the fondest and most annoyed way possible. ]

Idiot. [ He lands on, forgetting the idea of meatballs entirely. Wasting away it'll be. Crouching, he slings Aracha's torso over his shoulder and stands up. A weight that would be a huge struggle for Rafael is nothing to Miguel. ] If you puke on me, I'm leaving you here.

[ are you gonna puke, honey. ]

[The puking is a very near thing. He makes a pathetic moan of nausea and regret as he's brought upright and slung across Miguel's shoulder, in weak protest - or perhaps instinctively, a warning. To be in such a vulnerable state, even barely conscious, seems to make him defensive.

But as his head rolls against Miguel's collar, and he breathes in the scent of him - familiar, comforting and beloved, a connection already hardwired in his head - the clone relaxes. Safety - he craved it more than anything else. He wanted it to swallow him up and keep him stable, secure.

So if he suddenly gets much more clingy... well. Miguel will just have to live with it. There's suddenly a mental pressure radiating from the clone, maybe it's just his imagination? But it hangs like a subliminal message in the back of Miguel's head, an incessant command. A miserable plea.

help me... help... me]

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