Owner	Pose
Cindy Moon	Harlem. It's no secret to the Spider-folk that that's where Cindy Moon lives and mostly where she patrols. Peter seemed to go all over New York. Miles was in Gotham. Cindy, meanwhile, seemed to try to keep the worst of the worst off of the streets around her home. From atop the dense skyline of Harlem, Silk -- Cindy's in-costume persona, wearing that familiar black and white costume with its red buff covering the lower half of her face -- moves fluidly, each leap and swing with her webs an exercise in precision. The city sprawls beneath her, a living tapestry of light and shadow. Her patrol is both duty and solace; a chance to find order amid the unpredictable rhythm of the city. But tonight, her spider-sense thrums with an unease that's hard to ignore. Racing over rooftops, her attention is caught by an anomaly below: the faint yet distinct sounds of a struggle. What freezes her in her tracks is not the shadows, it's the sharp, panicked cry of a man, echoed by the muffled thuds of fists landing on flesh. Two figures tower over a third, who's sprawled on the ground. The scene evokes an eerie resemblance to predatory animals cornering their prey. With a practiced ease, she leaps silently down onto a fire escape and then off again, tossing a web-line with *thwip* that she uses to lower herself straight down, hanging there upside down by that thread. Her long, dark hair dangles towards the ground as her feet settle on the line, keeping her oriented towards the aggressors. "I'm guessing you guys haven't heard of enthusiastic consent. Just so we're all clear on the whole 'no means no' thing... 'nggh nggh please God no more' means stop." And both of them do stop. And turn to look up at her viciously.
Peter Parker	"Yeah, no, she's--" A second voice cuts across the tableau. Spider-Man forms an imposing bracket opposite Silk, dangling in the inverted with the soles of his feet and one hand holding the web that suspends him off the ground. Steam from New York's gutters fills the alley, creating dancing, flickering shadows of obscurity overhead. He gestures vaguely at Silk. "I can tell she's got her heart set on kicking some ass," Peter says, with a tone of feigned regret. "I /suppose/ that if you both apologize abjectly, and back up to the wall, you /might/ be able to convince her just to leave you for the cops," he concludes with a thoughtful speculation. "I mean, that's what I'd do," he clarifies. "If I were her." "On the other hand, you both kinda look like the sorta dumb mooks who think they can draw down on two Spiders at once," Spider-Man says, keeping the banter up with an effortless stream from his motor mouth. "Which is a losing proposition, I'll tell ya--" he points a finger at one of them. "/See/, you, right there, I know you've got a Saturday Night Special tucked in your belt and I can absolutely see you reaching for it," he accuses the man. "So you can either very quietly and politely comply, orrr you can see if you're Billy-The-Kid enough to beat us to the draw. Then you'll still end up gift-wrapped for the cops, /and/ you'll be missing some teeth." He flexes his free hand at them appealingly. "So, easy way or hard way?" he entices.
Cindy Moon	As Silk dangles above the scene below, a distinct buzz electrifies the air. It's different from her usual spider-sense; it's sharper, more intimate. A resonance that only she can pick up on. The sensation settles at the base of her skull, sending tiny shivers down her spine. Before she can mentally identify the feeling, a rush of pheromones floods her senses, making her heart skip a beat. It isn't danger or a threat, but something deeply connected to her spider-abilities. The scent, so uniquely Peter, stirs something inside her, both comforting and disconcerting. She doesn't have to turn her head to know he's there. The sensation provides the certainty. It's a silent communication, a whisper of presence. Trying to shake off the lingering sensations, Silk focuses back on the scene in front of her. But even as she does, a part of her remains attuned to him. The knowledge that he's there, as backup, is both reassuring and... complicated. Silk quirks an eyebrow, watching the duo she's hanging above with a smirk. The added presence of Spider-Man evens out the playing field, and the thugs seem to realize it. They shift nervously, glancing from one Spider to the other, uncertainty clear in their expressions. The one with the gun hesitates, weighing the consequences of his choices. His fingers twitch by the weapon in his belt, but the threat in Spider-Man's words hang heavy in the air. From the side, Silk pipes in, a playful challenge in her voice, "You know, if I were a betting girl, I'd put money on us. Like, all my money. And I just got my paycheck today. So, decisions, decisions." The other assailant, a wiry man with a scruffy beard and an ill-fitting jacket, snarls at them, "You spiders think you can just waltz in and ruin everything?" Before anyone can reply, he lunges at Spider-Man, fists swinging wildly. It's a desperate move, fueled more by fear and anger than any actual intent to harm. Silk sighs exaggeratedly, "We did offer the easy way. And now, you've just made it fun for us." She disengages from her web and drops, landing gracefully in a crouch. With a swift movement, she webs up the legs of the man with the gun, causing him to fall flat on his face.
Peter Parker	Though he'd never admit it, the same electric frisson crawls up Spider-Man's Spider-Spine. It's not just the tango of scent on the air-- which he steadfastly tries to pretend doesn't exist-- but the way Silk occupies a null-zone in his Spidey Sense. He's not particularly *aware* she's there, but all the same, in a city brimming with hazards, her non-presence projects a small area of... safety? Relative security? Momentarily non-harming-ness? The first three punches, Spider-Man doesn't even do the courtesy of reacting to. He just moves his head left, right, left, the big swings going wide. "Hey, you're doing great!" he tells the guy, eyemask flexing wide. "Dig in that right toe a bit more, really go for the gusto," he encourages. The thug shouts in frustration and tries to punch Spider-Man in the stomach. Even Spidey winces at the sound of that impact, as the ne'er-do-well drops to his knees in groaning agony. "Well, you tried hard, and that's what counts," he tells the thug. Spider-Man reaches out and flicks the fellow on the point of the chin hard enough to make him somersault, then webs his feet up in mid-air and in moments has him dangling from an alley cross-beam. "Look," he says, crawling around the fellow and up his own web with a spider-like grace. "Get to the gym, get that Golden Glove you've been working on," he encourages. "You know, after your hand heals." With the two thugs delt with, Spidey climbs to the roof and launches himself away with a great leap, pinning himself against the legs of an old-fashioned water tower. There he waits for Silk, with the patience of a spider, feet and hips pressed against the wood behind him to hold him up. "Slow night, huh?" he asks rhetorically, and spreads his hands.
Cindy Moon	While Spider-Man engages the thug, Silk hangs back for a moment, her attention split. Her Silk-Sense pings continuously, sensitive not just to the immediate threats, but to the more nuanced dynamics of the environment around her. The rhythmic hum of the city, the distant sound of a siren, the plaintive heartbreak of a girl on the phone with her boyfriend a block away -- everything filters through her heightened senses, offering a 360-degree perspective of the world. Watching Spider-Man dodge and weave effortlessly, she can't help but notice the subtleties beneath the playful exterior. The careful way he avoids causing lasting harm, the almost imperceptible shifts of his body to dodge blows, and the slight tightening of his web shooters before releasing a stream. As the thug's hand connects, a small smile tugs at Silk's lips. That predictable overreach, always a mistake against Spider-Man. Silk's fingers twitch, ready to spring into action if needed. But for now, she's content to watch and enjoy the show. After all, it's not every night you get a front-row seat to Spider-Man's acrobatics. Once the second perp is webbed up, her eyes follow Peter up out of the alley, and she lets out a soft sigh. After their last encounter, when she let a moment of weakness spook him off of the side of a building, she'd promised herself she wouldn't reach out to him again. He was right to run. Whatever this was, it wasn't... logical. It was barely controllable. In a city of eight and a half million, surely there was someone else she could talk to. Someone else that that she could feel drawn to like that. Anyone else. She just... hadn't found that person, yet. It didn't mean they didn't exist. But, here he was. Like a bad penny. Like a really, incredibly attractive, bad penny... Silk lands gracefully on one of the other legs, her motions fluid and seamless. Her fingers flex slightly as if releasing the tension from the encounter below. The city lights frame her silhouette, casting a soft glow that emphasizes the intricacy of her suit's design. "Yeah, 'slow'. Almost too slow for my liking," she retorts playfully, glancing sideways at him. The energy between them, charged and tangible, fills the small gap of silence. "Though watching you offer free boxing advice... that's always entertaining." She tilts her head, the gesture softening her features. "Thanks for having my back down there. Though, honestly, I could've handled it."
Peter Parker	Spider-Man gives Silk a look that, even through his eyelenses, manages to be baffled. "...Of course you could have," he says, in an odd tone-- as if she had said 'the sun rises in the East'. "This was me doing something Vaguely Gallant," he explains with a flexion of fingers. "Not quite on the same level as throwing my coat on a puddle," he admits. "Not that I'd do that. I mean, I don't wear a coat. Or walk. You don't walk, either," he points out, Very Helpfully."Er, on water. I mean sidewalks. And puddles are-- what was I saying?" One can almost feel the sweat beading under his mask and he sighs, a weary exhale that leaves his head drooping. "Sorry. Look, I... felt like we left it the other day on a note that said 'Spidey's an Idiot'," he explains to Silk. "I just... you caught me by surprise and I relied on my instincts. Instincts bad," he clarifies. He reaches overhead to touch fingertips to the water tower, rotates around his shoulder joint and walks up to the top of the tower. With the moon out it's a warm New York kind of night, with a cool Atlantic breeze and no incipient rain threatening the endless miles of asphalt and pavement. "I just thought we'd... agreed to stay away from each other," he says once she joins him, comfortable in a boneless-seeming squat. "Not in the... significant sense, but more in the 'we're a distraction' kind of thing. And then you showed up, and it was... nice?" he hazards, and tugs at the sleeve of his suit as if it's itching. "I mean we weren't our usual. Not the--" his eyelenses widen and he lifts his palms apologetically. "Not THAT usual. Just like... friendly. Normal. Regular-people normal. Not even Spider-People normal," he says, and ventures a humorous lilt to his voice. "I've been gone so long that I just... I don't know. I thought ...something had changed."
Cindy Moon	There's bubble of soft laughter -- the stream of adorable awkwardness that's so effortlessly Peter flowing out like a stream of consciousness. But then things get somber, and as Spider-Man reaches the top of the water tower and settles into his crouch, Silk hesitates for a heartbeat at the base of the structure. The moonlight paints a silvery sheen over the wooden planks of the tower, casting elongated, intricate shadows. Drawing in a deep breath, she starts her ascent, fingertips and toes finding purchase effortlessly. Reaching the top, Silk doesn't immediately move towards Spider-Man. Instead, she steps delicately around the metal rim, her silhouette a stark contrast against the ambient glow of the city lights. The wind rustles her hair and the fabric of her suit, making it billow slightly. She stands near the edge, looking out over Harlem, the city's pulse a distant, comforting murmur. Silk hesitates, her posture taut with conflict. For a long moment, she seems to wrestle with her emotions. The weight of the unspoken words between them hangs heavy in the air. With a soft sigh, she finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper, carried by the wind. "You're not an idiot, Peter." She shakes her head, her demeanor filled with an underlying sadness. "We did, and I screwed up. Some stuff happened, and I got scared... and confused." Her gaze shifts, taking in the vast sprawl of the city beneath them. "And in the middle of all the chaos, there was this /pull/ towards what feels right." She takes a deep breath. "But that pull, that connection we have, it's... it's too much. Every time we're near each other, it's like I'm constantly being drawn into a whirlwind, but at the same time every fiber of my being tells me to just let go because it's perfectly safe. Because.. that's what it feels like, to me." She reaches up and pulls her mask down, rubbing at her temples, her eyes closing for a moment. Every second he was close, she could feel it. "Nothing has changed, Peter. You were right to..." Run. She might believe it, but it was still hard to say it. "...I was just making poor life choices and dragging you into it."
Peter Parker	Peter looks away. It's a little cowardly, and he seems to know it. Shame droops his shoulders, and he doesn't rise to give Cindy comfort. Just stays in his little Spider-Squat, looking over Cindy's portion of His City, the ebb and tide of traffic and humanity and the seething masses of people constantly trying to get from one place to another with just enough success to keep themselves from going crazy. Some can't even manage that. "I don't know about you, but my life is a long string of bad life choices," Spidey admits, finally. "It's a long list of good things I had going that I screwed up, good things I had to give up to survive, and bad things that happen to me because I'm not smart enough to learn my lessons from the first two things." Finally he looks over at Cindy, then sighs, hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck. Once more he chickens out, looking down before she can lock eyes with him. Thank God for that mask. "What are we, Cindy?" he says, finally. "-I- don't know. If we're in separate boroughs, we're Christmas Card buddies. I talk to you once every few months, usually in passing, and always when there's a catastrophic emergency happening. But when you're here, when you're near me, I can't--" He makes a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "I can't think straight. And I'm not just talking in the..." a vague gesture follows. "You know, sense. I mean that the lizard brain wants to protect you. For god's sake, I just intervened on you stopping a couple *muggers*," he growls. "You could have taken them on on one foot and both hands tied. That's not smart. It's not /sensible/. And for some reason that's the way my brain works when I'm thinking of you," he says. "It's why I swung all the way out to Harlem," he admits in a low voice. "The whole time, telling myself, 'this is stupid and it's not what we agreed to'. I guess you--" he tugs at his mask, stretching the throat before letting it snap back into place. "I guess you've just got more self-control than I do."
Cindy Moon	/What are we, Cindy?/ Cindy blows out a long breath as she listens, letting it puff out her cheeks. She stares outwards, trying to make it seem like she'd found something particularly interesting to fixate on and she wasn't just trying to avoid looking at him. Or climbing on top of him. /For god's sake, I just intervened.../ Her eyes close. Was that her side of the lizard-brain equation running to him for protection, last time, then? Shelter? Nesting? Was that even close to how that worked? /This is stupid... I guess you've just got more self-control than I do./ Or he could have just stabbed her with an ice pick. Either one would have been pretty equally effective, really. She actually flinches a little at the words, her posture rippling like all she wanted was to curl up into a ball. "Yeah. Maybe." There's ice in those words, and she moistens her lips before she looks back over at him, her dark eyes dangerous. She hated herself that, despite everything, all she wanted to do was rip his mask off and claim his lips with hers. She'd seen him playing with it out of the corner of her eye, like dangling water in front of someone that's just crossed a desert. "I'll move." Like it wasn't even up for debate. And it wasn't. "I should be closer to the Triskelion, anyway. Maybe they can give me a bunk or something." And then she's standing smoothly. "Sorry you... had to swing /all the way out to Harlem/." Yeah, there's more than a little bitterness there. "Seeya 'round, Spider-Man." She doesn't wait for an answer. She jumps, doing a little backflip before she *thwips* out a web-line and swings off.
Peter Parker	"No, Cindy, wait--" But Spider-Man, for all his preternatural reflexes, responds too late. Maybe it's too many years relying on that vaunted Spider-Sense, or too many conflicting emotions all at once. Or perhaps it's part of him *wanting* to see Cindy go, having her off near SHIELD or whatever so she's not a constant presence in his thoughts. Something he *thought* he had under control. Spidey pauses a fraction of a second to contemplate the fallout of Cindy being in SHIELD with Mary-Jane. He shakes his head violently as if trying to dislodge that notion, shuddering from toes to shoulders. That's a problem for Future Spidey, right? And that's guys probably a jerk, and hopefully he'll be dead by then anyway. "Face it Pete... you're a coward," he says to himself in a quiet tone of self-defeat. Spidey turns towards Queens, and pauses to look over his shoulder at Cindy's departing vector. Then the Spider-Man, New York's beloved hero, launches himself out over the street in a free-fall to start webbing his way back to his home turf. Usually it's a blessed relief from his cares to focus on nothing but webslinging through the city. But somehow he already knows it's just going to be twenty minutes of self-remonstration for *royally* screwing the pooch with Cindy.