Peter and Mort, Wednesday Evening
Aug. 13th, 2014 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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om_mainWallcrawlers meet in the gym. Dorky times all around!
Mort had always been called a Toad with something like derision, but when he was hopping up a wall (there were always handholds somewhere) so he could hang upside down from equipment attached to the ceiling, it was hard to feel bad about...toadiness.
He hooked his knees over a bar, and let himself hang down. This was the best way to sit, really. No one could argue with that.
Whistling to himself, Peter came into the gym carrying a punching bag on his shoulder. The last time he’d worked out he’d hit the punching bag too hard and it had basically exploded, so this time he was coming prepared. Hopefully with enough practice he’d learned to pull his punches, because doing that to a person would be 100% less cool than doing that to a punching bag.
Peter propped the spare punching bag up against the wall and then walked over to the one that was already set-up, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little.
"What'cha got there?" Mort asked. It was a punching bag, looked like, but who brought a punching bag to a gym that had one?
Peter jolted in surprise. He looked toward where the voice had come from and found a green-ish boy hanging upside-down above him. “It’s a spare punching bag,” he explained, neck craned so he could look at the other boy as he talked. “I broke one the last time I was here.”
"Wow, really?" Mort hopped down, backflipping and then landing easily on his feet.
“Really,” Peter replied. “I have trouble gauging my own strength sometimes. That was a cool trick, by the way. Is that how you got up there?”
That was impressive, and mite bit scary. After all, this gym was the one those massive blokes here used too, and this one could break the equipment that they used? Well, it made Mort a little nervous. "N-nah. Went up the walls."
Peter’s eyebrows jumped, “You can wallcrawl too?” That was awesome! He didn’t know there was anyone here with powers like his.
"More like wall-climb, I figger," Mort admitted. "Like...tiny freaking handholds and what. You climb walls?" Because that would be awesome!
“Yeah, I do,” Peter answered and then grinned. “Want to see?” He walked over to the nearest wall and started to crawl up it. Within no time at all, he’d scaled the wall and had moved on to the ceiling, looking down at the other boy from up there. “Ta-dah!” he called out, holding his arms up and waving jazz hands.
Mort grinned right back. "Watch this."
He crouched and, with a good jump, launched himself up to grab on to the beam next to Peter. "Bam."
“Awesome!” Peter laughed, holding a hand out for a fist bump. “That’s so cool! What’s your codename?”
Mort brought up (down?) a green fist to pound with the other teen. "Toad! And you're the Spiderman guy, right?"
“Spiderman guy, that’s me,” Peter confirmed, nodding. He shot out some webbing, catching it on some gymnastics equipment, and swung back down to the ground. “Got any other powers to go with that fitting codename?”
Did he? Ha! Mort flicked his tongue out, snagging it around the same bar Peter had used, and swinging down to the ground next to him. "Ta da!"
Peter clapped, “Toad is right! That is awesome, dude.” He loved how varied mutations were. It was fascinating. “How strong is your tongue?”
"Dunno, mate? Bloody strong, I reckon, but not like it came with labels. What 'bout you?" He asked, gesturing towards Peter's wrists.
Peter glanced down at his wrist, “Uh, the biocable as tensile strength upward of 120 pounds per square millimeter in cross-section.”
"Er. What's that in English, then, bro?"
“It’s really strong,” Peter answered.
Mort grinned. "Awesome. Bio-cable, you said? It comes from your wrists, then? Like, naturally, and all that?"
“No, it comes out of my web-shooters,” Peter answered. He was glad for it. The thought of the web actually coming out of his wrists was a little on the creepy side. “I designed them and the biocable.”
"So you're some sort of genius or summat. Brilliant!"
“Or something,” Peter replied with a smile. He was quiet a moment, then decided the silence was awkward, so he asked, “So, um, where are you from, Mort?”
"London," Mort answered immediately. "Which I figger'd might make me exotic or some shit, but turns out, like, half the bloody mutants here are from England."
Peter laughed. “Yeah, I guess, the English accent doesn’t have the same affect when over half of the student body has it.”
"Exactly! Now all I got is me striking good looks!" Which meant Mort was fucked, because he looked like a swamp monster. Yeah, yeah, yeah, even he knew.
Grinning in response, Peter said, “Which so isn’t fair to the rest of us.”
Mort actually smiled, at that, because the other guy seemed like an alright bloke. "Obviously not. Man of good taste, you are."
Peter tipped an imaginary hat, “Takes one to know one.”
Mort had always been called a Toad with something like derision, but when he was hopping up a wall (there were always handholds somewhere) so he could hang upside down from equipment attached to the ceiling, it was hard to feel bad about...toadiness.
He hooked his knees over a bar, and let himself hang down. This was the best way to sit, really. No one could argue with that.
Whistling to himself, Peter came into the gym carrying a punching bag on his shoulder. The last time he’d worked out he’d hit the punching bag too hard and it had basically exploded, so this time he was coming prepared. Hopefully with enough practice he’d learned to pull his punches, because doing that to a person would be 100% less cool than doing that to a punching bag.
Peter propped the spare punching bag up against the wall and then walked over to the one that was already set-up, bouncing on the balls of his feet a little.
"What'cha got there?" Mort asked. It was a punching bag, looked like, but who brought a punching bag to a gym that had one?
Peter jolted in surprise. He looked toward where the voice had come from and found a green-ish boy hanging upside-down above him. “It’s a spare punching bag,” he explained, neck craned so he could look at the other boy as he talked. “I broke one the last time I was here.”
"Wow, really?" Mort hopped down, backflipping and then landing easily on his feet.
“Really,” Peter replied. “I have trouble gauging my own strength sometimes. That was a cool trick, by the way. Is that how you got up there?”
That was impressive, and mite bit scary. After all, this gym was the one those massive blokes here used too, and this one could break the equipment that they used? Well, it made Mort a little nervous. "N-nah. Went up the walls."
Peter’s eyebrows jumped, “You can wallcrawl too?” That was awesome! He didn’t know there was anyone here with powers like his.
"More like wall-climb, I figger," Mort admitted. "Like...tiny freaking handholds and what. You climb walls?" Because that would be awesome!
“Yeah, I do,” Peter answered and then grinned. “Want to see?” He walked over to the nearest wall and started to crawl up it. Within no time at all, he’d scaled the wall and had moved on to the ceiling, looking down at the other boy from up there. “Ta-dah!” he called out, holding his arms up and waving jazz hands.
Mort grinned right back. "Watch this."
He crouched and, with a good jump, launched himself up to grab on to the beam next to Peter. "Bam."
“Awesome!” Peter laughed, holding a hand out for a fist bump. “That’s so cool! What’s your codename?”
Mort brought up (down?) a green fist to pound with the other teen. "Toad! And you're the Spiderman guy, right?"
“Spiderman guy, that’s me,” Peter confirmed, nodding. He shot out some webbing, catching it on some gymnastics equipment, and swung back down to the ground. “Got any other powers to go with that fitting codename?”
Did he? Ha! Mort flicked his tongue out, snagging it around the same bar Peter had used, and swinging down to the ground next to him. "Ta da!"
Peter clapped, “Toad is right! That is awesome, dude.” He loved how varied mutations were. It was fascinating. “How strong is your tongue?”
"Dunno, mate? Bloody strong, I reckon, but not like it came with labels. What 'bout you?" He asked, gesturing towards Peter's wrists.
Peter glanced down at his wrist, “Uh, the biocable as tensile strength upward of 120 pounds per square millimeter in cross-section.”
"Er. What's that in English, then, bro?"
“It’s really strong,” Peter answered.
Mort grinned. "Awesome. Bio-cable, you said? It comes from your wrists, then? Like, naturally, and all that?"
“No, it comes out of my web-shooters,” Peter answered. He was glad for it. The thought of the web actually coming out of his wrists was a little on the creepy side. “I designed them and the biocable.”
"So you're some sort of genius or summat. Brilliant!"
“Or something,” Peter replied with a smile. He was quiet a moment, then decided the silence was awkward, so he asked, “So, um, where are you from, Mort?”
"London," Mort answered immediately. "Which I figger'd might make me exotic or some shit, but turns out, like, half the bloody mutants here are from England."
Peter laughed. “Yeah, I guess, the English accent doesn’t have the same affect when over half of the student body has it.”
"Exactly! Now all I got is me striking good looks!" Which meant Mort was fucked, because he looked like a swamp monster. Yeah, yeah, yeah, even he knew.
Grinning in response, Peter said, “Which so isn’t fair to the rest of us.”
Mort actually smiled, at that, because the other guy seemed like an alright bloke. "Obviously not. Man of good taste, you are."
Peter tipped an imaginary hat, “Takes one to know one.”
