[ find food, they'd been told. that sounded great, perfect, except peter's knowledge of what is edible, what could and can be eaten lays within the bounds of aunt may's pantry, the contents of a 7-11, and a smattering of 'these berries will poison you' backed up with the power of google. your scanners will help — maybe, if they worked, if there hadn't been that storm and everything that had seemed to be going well suddenly wasn't.
they'd said, too, to stay in groups in case they get lost, but peter doesn't really do groups ("oh, it's fine, I've got a great sense of direction—", he'd half argued), and so he'd ducked out as soon as he'd been able to, envisaging the task to be a lot easier by himself, a lot easier than it's turning out to be, and—
—truth be told, he finds himself on constant edge, a low level of discomfort spiking occasionally into something more. the planet is unsettling, more than it has any rights to be (it has breathable air, it apparently has edible food, it has animals ranging from the cute and fuzzy to the less-cute-and-fuzzy-but-a-source-of-meat), and though he tries to shove the feeling to the back of his mind, it resurfaces every time he hears scuttling not quite close enough to identify.
he's sure he's seen this in a film or two (with sigourney weaver, landing planetside, scientists taking the chance to explore, to broaden their horizons and bring a few space nasties back with them), and so when there's a crunch — twigs? — he pauses. reasons. an animal wouldn't make that much noise, it must be a person— ]
—Just to throw it out there, I wouldn't— ["eat me."] I'm not food. [ ostensibly, he manages to sound not bothered, though there's a barely discernible edge of tentativeness. he's plenty of places to make a break for it to: up (trees), and all the directions the sound didn't come from, but for the moment, he waits. ]
n e t w o r k → #003 parker
I had more questions, but the shades of John Hurt I got from a beloved colleague have reduced that down to one:
does this happen often? The orientation was lacking in a few fine details.
peter parker | tasm.
#002
[ find food, they'd been told. that sounded great, perfect, except peter's knowledge of what is edible, what could and can be eaten lays within the bounds of aunt may's pantry, the contents of a 7-11, and a smattering of 'these berries will poison you' backed up with the power of google. your scanners will help — maybe, if they worked, if there hadn't been that storm and everything that had seemed to be going well suddenly wasn't.
they'd said, too, to stay in groups in case they get lost, but peter doesn't really do groups ("oh, it's fine, I've got a great sense of direction—", he'd half argued), and so he'd ducked out as soon as he'd been able to, envisaging the task to be a lot easier by himself, a lot easier than it's turning out to be, and—
—truth be told, he finds himself on constant edge, a low level of discomfort spiking occasionally into something more. the planet is unsettling, more than it has any rights to be (it has breathable air, it apparently has edible food, it has animals ranging from the cute and fuzzy to the less-cute-and-fuzzy-but-a-source-of-meat), and though he tries to shove the feeling to the back of his mind, it resurfaces every time he hears scuttling not quite close enough to identify.
he's sure he's seen this in a film or two (with sigourney weaver, landing planetside, scientists taking the chance to explore, to broaden their horizons and bring a few space nasties back with them), and so when there's a crunch — twigs? — he pauses. reasons. an animal wouldn't make that much noise, it must be a person— ]
—Just to throw it out there, I wouldn't— ["eat me."] I'm not food. [ ostensibly, he manages to sound not bothered, though there's a barely discernible edge of tentativeness. he's plenty of places to make a break for it to: up (trees), and all the directions the sound didn't come from, but for the moment, he waits. ]
n e t w o r k → #003
parker
I had more questions, but the shades of John Hurt I got from a beloved colleague have reduced that down to one:
does this happen often? The orientation was lacking in a few fine details.
w i l d c a r d
( open to anything! )