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Asphodel Station is bustling with activity. There are so many sights and sounds that Peter's having a hard time processing them as they come in; everywhere there appears to be something new to look at, to touch, to smell, to engage with. It's painfully hard for him to stay focused. And that, perhaps, is why he has Kitty Pryde accompanying him.
"Did you see --" Peter asks, and he starts to point at a beautiful woman with blue-green ears finned out like a hydra's -- but he stops himself before he can fully extend his finger. He can't remember if that's one of the offenses that is punishable by death, and he'd rather not risk it.
"Forget it," he says quickly. He needs to keep his hands -- and his mind -- occupied so he doesn't get into trouble. They have a mission, a mission he needs to focus on. As he walks, Peter slips his backpack off his shoulder and digs past the Spider-Man suit and bottles of water stored there to pull out a piece of looseleaf paper, folded into fourths.
He zips the bag back up, shifts it back over his shoulder, and unfolds the piece of paper. "Okay," he says, trying to concentrate on their objective instead of the many, many cool and fascinating things here that are likely to get him into Very Big Trouble.
"One," Peter reads aloud as the pair continues to walk the station. "Must be easily accessible to both Liz and I without the use of magic or abilities that neither of us have." Peter didn't want to have an escort to his first date away from the Madonna Inn.
"Two," Peter continues. "Must be unique in some way, and not something we've already seen in real life or movies, video games, or television." That might be the easiest part of his list of requirements, though some of the things here definitely kinda looked like things he had seen already in Mass Effect and Star Trek and Star Wars.
"Three," Peter pronounces. "Romantic, if possible." That's it for number three.
"Four," Peter says. "Food and beverages are a plus, though we should be sure that the foods there are digestible by humans and tasty beforehand." Always an important standard to have; the last thing he wanted was for either one of them to get sick on their date.
"Five," Peter starts, and then he stops. He looks over at Kitty, a tad embarrassed. "I didn't figure out a number five," he admits.
"Did you see --" Peter asks, and he starts to point at a beautiful woman with blue-green ears finned out like a hydra's -- but he stops himself before he can fully extend his finger. He can't remember if that's one of the offenses that is punishable by death, and he'd rather not risk it.
"Forget it," he says quickly. He needs to keep his hands -- and his mind -- occupied so he doesn't get into trouble. They have a mission, a mission he needs to focus on. As he walks, Peter slips his backpack off his shoulder and digs past the Spider-Man suit and bottles of water stored there to pull out a piece of looseleaf paper, folded into fourths.
He zips the bag back up, shifts it back over his shoulder, and unfolds the piece of paper. "Okay," he says, trying to concentrate on their objective instead of the many, many cool and fascinating things here that are likely to get him into Very Big Trouble.
"One," Peter reads aloud as the pair continues to walk the station. "Must be easily accessible to both Liz and I without the use of magic or abilities that neither of us have." Peter didn't want to have an escort to his first date away from the Madonna Inn.
"Two," Peter continues. "Must be unique in some way, and not something we've already seen in real life or movies, video games, or television." That might be the easiest part of his list of requirements, though some of the things here definitely kinda looked like things he had seen already in Mass Effect and Star Trek and Star Wars.
"Three," Peter pronounces. "Romantic, if possible." That's it for number three.
"Four," Peter says. "Food and beverages are a plus, though we should be sure that the foods there are digestible by humans and tasty beforehand." Always an important standard to have; the last thing he wanted was for either one of them to get sick on their date.
"Five," Peter starts, and then he stops. He looks over at Kitty, a tad embarrassed. "I didn't figure out a number five," he admits.