Location: Manhattan - New York#1.02: Sixteen Better Than Eight
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Feat. @Pirouette as SilkBen sits on the lip of a skyscraper, his body jutting straight-out horizontally as he watches the city streets below him. The bag of pastries in his hand hangs straight down, crumbs flaking away into the evening air as he pushed a pastel de nata into his mouth, absentmindedly wiping the cinnamon dust from his fingers on the torn blue hoodie that formed part of his 'costume'. Hey, Manhattan gets chilly at night, even with the smog acting like one big carcinogenic blanket over the city.
Far beneath him, street lights and cars and people twinkled in a way that eerily mirrored the night sky above. The comings and goings of New York seemed almost akin to shadow theater. There were certainly plenty of Punch n' Judy types. Of particular interest to Ben this evening however was a commotion to the east, over the river. A police helicopter thundered in the distance, in pursuit of something far smaller and more agile that Ben could just barely make out. On the streets below, the tell-tale blue'n'reds of police cruisers raced along the streets, giving chase block after block. The speck got steadily closer, less murky until Ben could make it out as the figure of a man. For a minute he considered if the Superman was muscling in on his territory, before realizing he'd probably be just fine with that, but it quickly became clear this was not the blue blur from Metropolis - this figure had wings and turbines and no majestic cape. He seemed to be...circling? Looking for something maybe, flexing his equipment - was this a test pilot? Some new volume of Stark tech?
He watched a bit longer, picking egg custard out of his teeth with his tongue as he fished a second tart from his bag. Something else was after the flying act, but they were still pretty far below him and difficult to make out. There seemed to be some manner of altercation, an impact between the two parties while the police still failed to catch up, and then-
Ben could almost feel the two-day stubble being scorched straight off his chin as the turbines blasted past him. The tip of a wing caught the pastry in his hand and sent it flying, but Ben barely even registered the lost tart. Time seemed to move in slow-motion as the pilot blasted past him, trailing... the other spider. They locked eyes as she passed, spinning wildly in the air on the end of a web-line strung behind the flyer's wing and leg; they managed an awkward wave as she passed, Ben's mouth agape with his cowl rolled up to his nose, her eyes wide above her half-mask - and then she was gone, blasting off into the sky far above him.
Alright then. One quick blast of web to keep his pastries in place, and he leaped after them, one hand releasing a web-line of his own to snag on her ankle, while the other rolled his mask back down. Two spiders were better than one; and after that, maybe they could have a chat about divvying-up Manhattan's best wall-crawl spots.
Cindy's plan here hadn't really been thought out. She didn't weigh enough to really drag down the thrust of the escapee. It was just her trailing behind by her two tethers as they flew well over the buildings. Though it appears he did have a plan as they were flying towards the taller buildings of Manhattan. The hazards of rooftop dishes, antennae, and rooftop greeneries were getting closer.
Initially, the wingsuit bald man had been a little timid with his flight moves, at least Cindy thought so, but now he seemed to be getting the hang of it. She frowned, lifting her legs in a curl to avoid a satellite dish. Meaning it was only a matter of time before he tried something really reckless. Not wanting an accident to befall both her and the man, she started to scale up along her web lines, slowly closing in towards the man. Yet she didn't manage much progress before a building, dead ahead, approached with a frightful sturdiness. He wasn't going to crash, right? Her head flared intensely as they approached alerting her to the encroaching danger...
"HEY! LOOK OUT!" Cindy blurted out to the rushing wind, but she wasn't sure she could even be heard past the turbines. It felt silly to say because of course he would suddenly turn up at the last moment to avoid his own crash. Due to a little thing called trailing inertia, she would not be so lucky. Her twisted to go shoulder first into the side of a building, avoiding a window in process. She slammed against the siding, a hard but survivable blow with only a wince to show for it. Yet that was only the start as her side scrapped against the building. Her own silken woven suit doing its best to protect her at least from a nasty drag burn.
Her head started to flare again but this was different. She wasn't in danger but recognized something familiar? Her attention shifted to the point of attention ahead of her. A man was up there? Cindy kicked off the building, relieving herself from the discomfort and avoiding a collision into him potentially. Her sense seemingly slowing things down as she passed, her eyes wide in surprise to the fact at the chance encounter. It wasn't just a man but a man dressed in the same vein as her. It only got weirder as she passed by and she caught a web on her foot, her attention snapping to that. Did he just shoot a web?
Okay, she had questions, but for now she had a something else to contend with.
Air whipped past as Cindy, now Silk, held onto both of her web shots that were still stuck to the man with the jetpack wingsuit, who probably needed a name now. She glanced up, narrowing her eyes in focus and a reaction to wind whipping by as she was dragged along. The wings made it obvious that he had to be called some kind of bird and due to how bald he was, Cindy had considered Bald Eagle. However, there was nothing graceful about his wings, patched together by various metal salvage that seemed mismatched. Plus, this guy didn't seem at all patriotic. Vulture seemed to fit, both having some kinds of them appearing bald and the scavenger profile.
That worked.
With the three of them now flying through the air tethered together, she could only imagine the silliness. Though this was finally enough weight and drag to slow Vulture noticeable. She might even be able to try and coordinate a bit here, assuming her counterpart was the like her. Cindy let go finally with one hand and lifted her webbed foot. She grabbed the Scarlet Spider's web and yanked it forward, looking to propel him up and past her to reach the Vulture. As he passed she hollered.
"STOP HIM!"
"Yes ma'am!" Ben answered, riding the line as his distaff counterpart yanked the web up, sling-shotting him over her head and toward the turbines; he fired another web, trying to gum up the works, but the jet bursts from the engines easily seared away the webbing. Instead, he aimed for one of the few remaining buildings they hadn't climbed up past yet, trying to snag a line by which to reel them in - but another deft movement from the pilot and the edge of a wing flicked just-so, and the web was cut through as easily as the air around them. Ben looked down to Cindy, still pulling herself up by the remaining line.
"Guy's got some moves!" He called down, hoping he could be heard over the roaring wind and jet turbines. With newly-steeled resolve he crawled further up, gripping tightly as Vulture continued to try shaking them off, nearly slipping a couple times before he found himself underneath the flyer, gripping his harness and nearly face-to-face.
"I've heard of jay-walking, but this is ridiculous! Pull over!"
"Are awful jokes an entry requirement to spider-club? Let go of me!"
"Oooh, so you can talk! Here I was thinking I'd have to look up mating dance videos later to figure out what you were trying to-HEY!"
Ben's spider-sense went off urgently as they swooped past a building at the same time as Vulture took a swing with a free arm; he couldn't dodge both and remain attached, so he made an even poorer choice and let go entirely. For a few milliseconds he was free-falling in a far more uncontrolled manner than he was comfortable with, but a second after that, Cindy's hand locked around his wrist and used his momentum to swing him underneath and around to the other side. Carrying the weight of three people, combined with the jostling and turbulence, Vulture's turbines weren't keeping up with the strain, and they were slowly-but-surely losing altitude; though there were still a couple hundred feet to go before Ben felt like letting go was a viable option again.
"What's this guy's problem? Only chicken left when he wanted fish?" He called to Cindy, trying to maintain levity in a situation he had no idea how to handle. She raised a single quizzical eyebrow in response. "Airline food? Different generation I guess."
Ben took a foolish look down and had to suppress a shiver; despite the slow decline, the streets were still shrunken beneath them, the once-detailed avenues and alleyways now paper-thin lines populated by the pinpricks of citizens below. Even and soon they'd be out of options, too. They couldn't web the guy up - the razor-sharp wings and jet-engine turbines sliced and seared through their lines respectively - and at this height, removing their source of flight power was a foolishly lethal choice. They couldn't just bring him down; they had to redirect the flight path, stop this guy from attempting to climb and instead encourage what Ben hoped would be a controlled descent, before he blew his engines pushing them and sent them all plummeting. The turbines whined and strained, and as the New York harbour crested the horizon, it all hit Ben like a lightning bolt.
"I have an idea, but it's gonna seem kinda crazy!" Ben cried over the wind and jet-engine scream, hoping the shakiness in his voice didn't carry and betray the wavering confidence in his own plan. If they could suddenly jettison the excess weight, the at-their-limit turbines would burst forth in a sudden surge - and then a couple well-placed web lines would let Ben and Cindy become the lever upon which Vulture's own momentum would force him to swing. The city shoreline was approaching, and if they swung him just-right, they could pitch him straight into the drink.
"We need to let go!"
Cindy just looked at him like he was crazy.
Maybe he was.
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