PTR Arachnid 24601

Ch 16 - Princesses and razorblades

WARNINGS: self-harm (i'll mark with three ***), blood mentions, very brief mentions of past abuse

3rd POV

The next day, Peter found himself standing beside what he was told was a landing pad.

He shivered in the cold wind––spiders don't do cold––and squinted from the unnaturally bright light that sat in the grey-blue sky. From here, he could see all around the city. Buildings stretched on and on in each direction, acting as towering walls of grey, black, and brown. There were lights in different colours that he could pick up with his super sight and people he could make out in some buildings. 

All the everything was so cool.

But there were a few things he found he hated about standing outside in a city. The sensations. The wind was too cold, as established. Loud, rumbling things that hurt his ears flew overhead, disappearing in the clouds. He could hear loud beeps on the ground way below, and the general hustle and bustle of the amount of people, like hOLY FU– And even the smells overwhelmed him. Sure, the crisp, semi-clean air was nice. But he could smell a nauseating mix of scents travel up from the ground below, churning his gut like a milkmaid churning butter.

The beauty of it all came at a cost, he supposed.

As he stood there with the others, something came into sight. It was grey, in the sky, and nearing them quickly. The thing hung much lower that the white things that passed above them. Every second was louder and louder for his poor ears, until the large thing landed on the roof and the noise throbbed painfully in his head. The spider in him screeched, urging him to get out of there and find somewhere silent, or at the very least, cover his ears. He did neither of those things––used to years of ignoring his spider's best wishes.

A platform descended from the machine and somebody walked out.

She was young––around his age––and had clear brown skin. Her hair was a darker carob, tied back into two thick buns. Like her skin and hair, her eyes were brown as well––deep and vast, almost piercing in a way that was mischievous. Her stature was shorter than him by a few inches, but she looked just as lanky as him. She wore a woolly beige cardigan with a short white shirt underneath that had her tummy peeking out. Black sweats and black shoes adorned her lower half. She tugged a large red suitcase after her as she neared the group.

Behind her, an older man followed. He looked closer to Mr. Rogers' age. His hair was extremely short, black, and thick like his companion. His skin and eyes bore a very similar resemblance to the girl, yet they seemed warmer. Less mischievous, more wise and settled. Unlike the young lady, he wore simple black gown-like thing with a grey pattern and fancy sandals.

"T'Challa." Steve dipped his head in greeting at the man and shook his hand.

"Good afternoon, Rogers. Stark." T'Challa nodded back and shook both their hands.

"Princess," Tony acknowledged.

"Hey, Stark." She smiled, the quirk of her lips reflecting the cheek inside her eyes.

"Thank you for doing this," Steve said.

"It was no problem. We helped White Wolf, so we will help your little Spider," he waved off their thanks with a grin.

"Another broken white boy to fix." The princess' grin grew wider and T'Challa rolled his eyes with an exasperated huff.

They finished exchanging pleasantries. There was nothing too interesting that they said.

"See you in a month or so, brother." 

The girl––who he now knows as Shuri––hugged her brother goodbye.