[ He can’t do much but reply in kind; one bad joke deserves another, and there’s not much more he can say to the man. ]
Good thing your reign is over, then, huh?
[ The laugh grates against his ears, fills him with a deepseated horror that he can’t seem to shake. It would follow him into his nightmares, that’s for sure. It always did.
However, he can’t let that fear show; he’s been through too many duels like these to offer up a sign of weakness. He suppresses an instinctual cringe, and instead attempts to funnel it into anger, glaring up at the Goblin in time to catch sight of his brief loss of balance. It wasn’t much cause to celebrate, but it was better than nothing. For all of Osborn’s talk about the never ending battle that was their irrevocably intertwined lives, if one of them got the upper hand, it would come to— not an end, really, but a pause. For Peter, a brief moment of peace before the next attack. For Osborn, another chance to do as he wished with his victim.
He takes a look around, quickly, then tenses, takes a leap. Uses his surroundings as a springboard to launch himself nearer to the glider: whether it was an ill planned attempt to tackle Osborn, or simply an elaborate means of getting himself swinging again remains to be seen. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was somehow playing directly into Osborn’s hands; after all, that was what he seemed to do best, no matter how hard he tried to resist. ]
[ He doesn't much hear Peter's own retort; he's far too focused on trying to straighten himself out, to refrain from toppling over and becoming a bloody red-green splat on the pavement below.
Maybe he should be more focused on his surroundings, should be more aware of the spider leaping at him, but he isn't. It's something pumping through his veins, be it adrenaline, the goblin serum, or some messed up amalgamation of the two.
He almost has his balance again, but the thought that's soothing to him brings a cheeky grin. It must be unnerving to Peter, but the fact that the wait is finally over is entirely too relieving for Norman. The spider tenses under the weigh of the suffocating evil. In the guise of thick, choking treacle smoke, it comes. It's unrelenting, and Norman wouldn't have it any other way. ]
Stop! The glider can't support both of our weights! [ It's more of a hiss than anything else; he bares his teeth through the mouth of the mask. The glider once again begins a slow descent, and while one of Norman’s feet is locked into place on the Glider, he’s thrown off balance again, nearly toppling over.
He can feel Peter struggling against his glider, and it’s a smart move on his part not to go for the spiked part of it. It’s far too late to save the glider now, but he’s able to maneuver it away. He’s able to level the playing grounds, able to maintain advantage. It’s just he and his spider, the way it was always meant to be. Everybody else -- they’re pawns, but when it comes down to it? The Spider and Goblin are the kings. It’s a shot in the dark, but he fires an electrical discharge from his finger, an attempt to get Peter off. Still, though, the glider falls to the ground and Norman rolls off, panting. A good try, he’ll admit, but Peter can never get rid of him. ]
Look at you, Peter. You’re pathetic.
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