[ it takes eddie a moment to realize that he should probably get a move on when spider-man leaves. there's just something about the way the masked hero says his name that leaves him in a state of disbelief, like -- holy shit, this actually just happened.
and now he doesn't know what to do with himself. besides get the hell away from the crime scene before the cops get here and think he is to blame even though his assailants are right there.
so he brushes himself off, pushes his hands into his pockets, and wanders back to the apartment he's been crashing at until his new lease starts.
eddie doesn't dial the number at first. no, he's in the process of moving boxes upon boxes into an empty, unfurnished apartment, which might not be the brightest of ideas. but hey, at least he has a mattress, which seems like the most important part, right? somewhere to sleep? he figures once he's all settled into the new place he can call this steve guy up and see about getting some affordable furniture, but for now?
for now, he just wants to make sure all of his belongings actually make it into the apartment. which they do, and there's probably been a lot of commotion, and it's so early, eddie hopes he hasn't woken his neighbors. what a bad first impression, right?
he stares down at the number that he transferred to paper as soon as he got home, not wanting to lose a single digit to soap and water, and is fully about to retreat to the phone to dial the number, even though he's still got boxes everywhere, but then he hears a knock at the door. ]
Huh. [ which is weird, because other than the friend who let him crash, he hasn't told anyone else that he's living here. a neighbor, perhaps? he drops the piece of paper and shuffles over to the door, answering it.
and whoever is on the other side of the door -- the alter ego of a certain webbed vigilante, perhaps? -- would be greeted to the sight of eddie, wild hair that refuses to be tamed, metallica shirt rolled up to look like a muscle tank, and ripped jeans with combat boots. ]
no subject
and now he doesn't know what to do with himself. besides get the hell away from the crime scene before the cops get here and think he is to blame even though his assailants are right there.
so he brushes himself off, pushes his hands into his pockets, and wanders back to the apartment he's been crashing at until his new lease starts.
eddie doesn't dial the number at first. no, he's in the process of moving boxes upon boxes into an empty, unfurnished apartment, which might not be the brightest of ideas. but hey, at least he has a mattress, which seems like the most important part, right? somewhere to sleep? he figures once he's all settled into the new place he can call this steve guy up and see about getting some affordable furniture, but for now?
for now, he just wants to make sure all of his belongings actually make it into the apartment. which they do, and there's probably been a lot of commotion, and it's so early, eddie hopes he hasn't woken his neighbors. what a bad first impression, right?
he stares down at the number that he transferred to paper as soon as he got home, not wanting to lose a single digit to soap and water, and is fully about to retreat to the phone to dial the number, even though he's still got boxes everywhere, but then he hears a knock at the door. ]
Huh. [ which is weird, because other than the friend who let him crash, he hasn't told anyone else that he's living here. a neighbor, perhaps? he drops the piece of paper and shuffles over to the door, answering it.
and whoever is on the other side of the door -- the alter ego of a certain webbed vigilante, perhaps? -- would be greeted to the sight of eddie, wild hair that refuses to be tamed, metallica shirt rolled up to look like a muscle tank, and ripped jeans with combat boots. ]