The Perks of Being a Wallcrawler || Peter Parker

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Don't Drink And Swing, Kids

Peter tried to mimic Belle's large gulp of alcohol, but the beer coated his throat in a way that he simply wasn't used to. He gagged on the bitter beverage and shivered as he placed it back down.

"So...your best friend's crazy, huh?"

Ouch. Peter didn't exactly know what he had expected, but this certainly wasn't how he pictured this conversation starting. Annabelle had always been oblivious to her own bluntness, but come on, comforting people had never been her strong suit. We don't need an 'Et Tu, Brute' reminder, do we? No. We don't...and if you do then you'd better backtrack a few chapters.

"Uhh..." Peter was speechless. On one hand he wanted to berate her for speaking about Harry so facetiously, but on the other hand...she was right. There was a third hand popping into this scenario as well, and this one wanted to ask her how she could be so clueless to her own harsh words, but the fourth hand clawing out of Peter's chest reminded him that he really really REALLY liked her. Now, being part spider, Peter had four more hands to count through...but that would be way too much effort for the poor narrator. So, let's just say that he listened to his fourth hand. The one that was staring at the two pigtails tied ontop of her head. "Well, he's at a mental hospital...so I'm like ninety-nine percent sure."

Annabelle leant in and whispered to Peter, "That's pretty...insane, don't you think?" She reeled back and stared at Peter expectantly, as if she had just said the funniest thing ever said by anybody. Seconds passed, and she couldn't contain herself any longer. Hyena-esque cackling permeated the air, soon followed by snorted laughter.

Peter blinked rapidly, then glanced around to make sure no one was looking at them.

Annabelle swallowed and finally managed to calm herself down...slightly. "Sorry." She said through some more inappropriate laughter. Peter was pretty sure that she was apologising for the laughing, not the insensitive comment but alas; Spider-Man was a crusader against crime, not slightly hurt feelings.

"You want a peanut?" She asked abruptly.

Peter's ears twitched. "Peanuts? This place has peanuts?"

"No." Annabelle answered sweetly. She reached into the pocket of her jacket and retrieved a zip lock bag full of peanuts. "They're covered in chicken salt."

Going anywhere with Annabelle seemed akin to being subjected to a volley of machine gun fire - it was constantly one thing after another, and always at random.

"Okay, fine. More for me." She dismissed. The girl popped open the bag, raised it, then poured all of its contents directly into her mouth.

Peter, quite understandably a little confused, blinked rapidly and took a very, very, very long swig of his beverage. In no time at all he had finished both beers, and Annabelle had brought him two more. This continued on for at least four hours. Annabelle would say something weird (which, if Peter wasn't horribly depressed over Harry's situation, he definitely would have found adorable), then Peter would drink to avoid even thinking about a response.

Obviously, it wasn't long until Peter started feeling the affect of the alcohol. His head was filled with fog and his sorrow drowned in it.

Annabelle was in a similar position. She downed way too many cocktails, then as they left the pub, she stumbled through the streets - occasionally stretching up to touch a star in the black ice cap of a sky, shaking her hand and blowing on her fingers when it burnt her.

Peter was laughing now...though he wasn't entirely sure why. It didn't matter either. He hadn't felt so carefree in years.

"Got 'nymore of those pean...uts?" Peter slurred through his own giggles as they tripped back into the apartment.