Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE FINGERS OF ANALISA MORGAN WRAP AROUND THE COLD EXTERIOR OF A WHISKY GLASS, nearly most of the liquid within it having been drained in what little time they had been sat within the bar. To her left can be found Quentin, who grips onto a half-filled beer bottle, with Peter being sat a singular seat further from the female, a glass of lemonade sat upon the bench before him.
Peter fiddles slightly with the rim of his glass, his eyes remaining downcast as the thoughts of Fury's prior words echo within her mind, on a constant repeat, like some broken record made only to bestow guilt. Quentin quickly picks up on the odd behaviours of the teenager, and, in his usual attempts to bring comfort to others, he gently placed his hand upon the shoulder of the boy. "Hey, you gotta celebrate. You did something good tonight."
"Yeah..." the soft mutters of Peter dwindles as the all-too-familiar unwelcome sensation of doubt seeps into the depths of his mind, the encouragements spoken by the older male falling upon only deaf ears. "Fury was right, Tony did a lot for me. So, I owe it to him, to everybody."
"Do you?" With his gaze never once faltering away from the down-hearted boy, his brow quirked as he poses this seemingly simple question to the boy.
"Yeah, I mean..." Inhaling a short breath, the boy allows himself a moment to think upon his following words, not possessing the knowledge of how to best phrase his thoughts. "Mr Stark gave me the chance to be more, to be better than him. Fury just wants me to live up to that."
"What do you want, Peter?" Beck questions, the nature in which he does so possessing the kind of caring one would usually only hear from the lips of either a friend or a parental figure.
"What do you mean?" An expression of utter confusion passed of the youthful features of Peter as the man's words echo out, the boy looking up to the man in search of answers
"What do you want?" Quentin repeats, not putting any weight upon the question. When he is once again met with only unsure mutters, he continues his attempts to properly convey his point. "What do you want? You, Peter Parker, now. I mean, we all want something. What do you want, Ana?"
"Another drink," Analisa, who, for the most part, had simply been silently observing the interactions between the two males, sipping upon the alcoholic beverage within her grasp. Sarcasm underlines her tone as she responds, shooting Quentin a smirk of tiny sizes.
Gesturing the bartender over to serve Analisa another drink, Quentin turns back to the boy he's been attempting to convince. With one brow quirked upward, he continues from where he'd left off. "I know you're thinking about it."
"I want to go on my trip," Peter finally admits to his underlying desires, regardless of how odd they may seem within his circumstances. "I want to go back on my trip with my friends. And go to the top of the Eiffel Tower with the girl who I really like and tell her how I feel man, and... give her a kiss!"
