Johnny has decided that he loathes high-society charity parties. The only reason he ever goes to them is because he’s an awesome younger brother and he wants to support his older sister.
It’s totally not because she’s completely intimidating and he’s a little bit afraid of her when she’s pissed because she makes him do things like cleaning the hangar bay with a toothbrush, just because he played an amazingly hilarious prank on Ben that left a huge mess, and she didn’t think it was funny. It’s not his fault that Sue has zero sense of humor. It’s just a curse he has to bear.
Sue’s been going through this big philanthropy kick these days, so Johnny’s had to attend so many of these parties, and he hates every second of being at them. He wonders if making him go to these things is maybe her way of paying him back for being a pain in her ass, but no. Sue would never stoop so low. He thinks.
He supposes Sue’s obsession with these charities probably has something more to do with the fact that the FF are all famous and rich now, and what you do when you’re rich and powerful and famous is use all of that influence to help other people. He’s glad Sue’s into this, he really is, especially since it means he doesn’t have to be.
All he has to do is go where she tells him and smile when she says to and look pretty for the cameras. Which he’s very good at.
When Sue told him that this party was a themed costume party — pirates, specifically — Johnny’d cheered. At least that was fun. He spent a month working with one of the most famous designers in New York on making the sexiest pirate costume anyone’s ever seen.
He thinks he was pretty successful, judging by the angry shade of red Sue’s face had turned when she saw his amazingly sexy outfit and the way Reed and Ben had face-palmed and then spent most of the trip over here looking like they really wanted to gouge their own eyes out.
He knows they all still think of him as being somewhere around five years old, but he is nineteen years old and everyone who isn’t Ben, Reed, and Sue thinks he’s totally hot.
What, like their costumes are any better. Ben’s dressed like Blackbeard, of course, because he really is the historical Blackbeard (Johnny’s sure that’s all he’s going to be talking about all night, so he’s already made plans to steer clear), Reed’s wearing a lot of frills and lace and Johnny thinks that’s a feather, and it’s just not cool at all, even though he does look unfairly good in it, and Sue’s dressed like someone named Anne…something.
She could’ve dressed up like a pirate wench with tons of cleavage, but no. She is dressed like a dude.
This is why Johnny has to bear the burden of being the hottest person in the family alone. Sue could be hot if she tried, but she really doesn’t try.
Sue’s still mad that she didn’t get to go back in time and meet real pirates like the rest of them. Johnny can tell. The fact that she’s still mad is probably why she made this party pirate-themed in the first place. It’s been four years, and she should get over it, Johnny thinks.
Johnny pops another caviar-covered cracker into his mouth, and then he makes a face. God, he hates caviar. It’s so slimy.
Why can’t they ever have, like, mini-hot dogs or burgers at these things? He’ll have to suggest that to Sue for next time.
His eyes wander through the crowd, and then he sighs, disappointed. Everyone here must be over forty. They’re so old. And none of them are hot.
This is why he hates these parties.
He perks up, however, when he spots that editor, J. Jonah Jameson, who is old and wrinkly and so not hot, but he is accompanied by a brunet photographer who most definitely is young, smoking, and just Johnny’s type. His back is toward Johnny so he can’t really see his face, but what he sees is great.
The photographer is wearing pantaloons, a bandana on his head, and a green vest with nothing underneath, and it’s a good look, Johnny decides, especially when the guy turns around, because, man, oh man, his abs are amazing.
Johnny promises himself that he’s gonna put his mouth on those before the night is through. He has a goal, and he is determined.
His eyes flick up to the guy’s face, and he winces. Aw, crap. That’s Peter Parker, that nerd Johnny’s ex-girlfriend Dorrie always used to go on about (“he’s so smart and responsible and better than you in every way imaginable,” is what Dorrie’s snide comments had typically amounted to), and who Johnny has understandably come to hate.
Who the hell knew that he was built like that under those awful sweater vests? Or that his face was actually not terrible underneath those very unflattering glasses and that gross haircut?
He’s filled out in the shoulders since Johnny saw him last, which was probably about a year ago. Johnny hired Peter to follow him around and take photos of him, and it’d ended badly, to say the least. Johnny had gone bald after he got frozen during a fight with Doom and that jackass Spider-Man had chipped all of Johnny’s hair off, and Johnny hadn’t been able to show his face in public for a month.
Spider-Man probably loved the whole thing, that jerk.
Johnny kind of doesn’t want to go talk to Peter because he knows it’ll be awkward given that Peter’s, like, his former employee, but also there’s no one else to flirt with, so he might as well give it a shot.
He weaves through the crowd and taps Peter on one of his nice, broad, muscly shoulders. Peter’s busy taking pictures of the crowd, which means he’s probably working or something, and he’ll probably be glad that Johnny’s brightening his day.
Peter’s eyes widen when he sees Johnny’s standing there, and then they narrow. Well, that’s not a good sign, but Johnny is nothing if not determined.
“Hey,” Johnny says, flashing his most charming smile at Peter, the one that makes all the girls and guys go weak in the knees, guaranteed, “what brings you here?”
Peter’s knees disappointingly do not go weak. “I’m working, Torch,” he says flatly. “Go bug someone else.”
Johnny would, but there’s no one else worth bugging. “Geez,” he says. “What’s got you so upset?”
Peter looks at Johnny as though he can’t quite believe him. “You never paid me for those photos I took of you.”
“Didn’t I?” Johnny says. “My bad. Send me the bill.”
“I did. You didn’t pay it.”
“Oh,” Johnny says. “I don’t really check my mail. Send it to my sister. She’ll pay it. She’s all…” He waves his hand around. “…responsible, and stuff.”
“All right,” Peter says, and then he mumbles something about how he could really use the cash.
Peter goes back to snapping pictures like the conversation is over, and he seems surprised when he realizes that Johnny’s still standing there. “Uh,” he says. “Was there something else?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it.” He might as well go for it, he supposes. He holds out a hand and says, “Wanna dance?”
Peter’s eyes narrow at the hand Johnny’s stretching out. He gestures toward the camera he is holding in his hands. “I’m working, Torch. For people who actually pay me at the end of the night.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna pay you. It’s not like I can’t afford it.” He wiggles his hand at Peter. “C’mon. You must get breaks or something.”
“I just got here. So no, not yet.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Well, when do you get a break, and will you dance with me then?”
Peter glances over at Johnny as though he’s trying hard to figure something out. “Why are you so interested in dancing with me?”
“Well,” Johnny says, “in case you haven’t noticed, everyone else here is like eighty.”
“Ah,” Peter says, like it’s all making sense now, “so you’re desperate and I’m literally the only option you have. Figures.”
“It’s not like that,” Johnny says, scowling. “You…look better than I remember you looking.”
Peter shoots him a wry look. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“You have abs,” Johnny says. “They’re nice. And the new haircut is an improvement. And I’m glad you lost those glasses. You look…not terrible.”
Peter looks amused. “Are you saying you actually think I’m hot?”
“I’m saying I don’t think you’re…not hot.”
Peter snorts. “Oh, wow. I’m so flattered.”
Johnny rolls his eyes. “Fine!” he says grumpily. “You’re totally hot, and will you dance with me?”
Peter looks at Johnny as though he can’t quite believe Johnny just said that. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
“I told you your abs were nice,” Johnny shrugs. “What did you think I meant?”
“I don’t…know?”
“You should consider never wearing a shirt again,” Johnny says. “You’ve got the abs, might as well show them off.”
“I don’t think that’s practical, Torch.”
“It’s good fashion advice.”
Peter’s eyes flick down. “Says the man in striped hot pants.”
“I look hot,” Johnny sniffs. “Admit it.”
Peter doesn’t say anything.
“Ha!” Johnny crows. “You do think I look hot!”
“Your abs are…nice,” Peter says, and Johnny’s pretty sure he’s trying not to smile.
“I know,” Johnny says, preening. “So does this mean you’ll dance with me?”
“Yeah, fine. Just. Don’t let my boss see us, yeah?”
Johnny tries not to smile too gleefully as Peter takes his hand and leads him toward the dance floor.
This is turning out to be a better night than he thought it’d be.
There’s a nearly silent chuckle from the far end of the room.
There’s a clicking sound as a lighter is lit, illuminating a masked man in the corner.
The individual is tall, just shy of 6 feet.
He looks like he stepped out of a prewar magazine, dressed in a pitch black business suit, with a black shirt underneath. The only colour is a light blue tie with four red 6 point stars on it in a vertical line.
His face is hidden behind a triangular piece of black fabric, with two holes cut out for intense brown eyes, and a midnight blue pre-war hat.
“Calm down Kiddo” He sighs.
“If I was going to kill you today I would have slit your throat”
Arthur doesn’t lower his knife. He definitely knows better, but he also knows that whoever this is would not have been able to get close enough to attack him without waking him beforehand. People hovering near his bed tend to have bad experiences trying to wake him abruptly.
Who this is and how he managed to slip into the room, though, is concerning. How had he avoided everyone on the ship, especially dressed in that manner? A stealth boy? And who sent him? The Institute would not send a human; no, they would send a synth, likely a Courser. Coursers had no personalities to speak of, though, and did not dally in their jobs. The Railroad, then?
The most likely option especially with the lack of detection. The lack of voices outside means either nobody has seen him come in, or nobody is left alive to search. The latter is rather unlikely.
“The Railroad sends masked men to kill their enemies, now?”
