Because you sent this more than a month after you pitched it, I was briefly like, “This sounds so familiar. I didn’t propose this…right…?;;” Anyway I finally assembled myself, here you go.<3
–
The Daily Bugle didn’t take walk-ins.
Three men knocked on J. Jonah Jameson’s office door. One was young and tall and pale. One was middle-aged, short, and approximately dumpling-shaped. The third had a waxed, curly mustache, which completely distracted from all his other features.
JJJ himself threw open the door and glowered at them. “Who the hell are you people supposed to be?” he barked.
The short one crinkled his eyes up in a winning grin. “We hate people like Spider-Man.”
The Daily Bugle didn’t take walk-ins…theoretically.
Jonah’s forbidding countenance melted at once into perfect amicability. “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come in, friends!”
-
Peter sidled into the Bugle bullpen. He did not strictly work there right then, but no one ever revoked his keycard.
He wove his way to Betty Brant’s desk and stole the remains of her bagel off her plate. “What’s the news, beautiful?”
Betty predicted her old ex’s carb crimes and waved a hand around to intercept him, but missed completely because her gaze was fixed on her boss’s office door, her eyes alight as she worried the end of her pen distractedly between her teeth.
“Jonah’s with some guys,” she said. “I’m pretty sure they’re HAM.”
“Jonah’s finally getting better deli meat for the breakroom?” Why did that sound familiar?
Betty gestured abstractly with the pen. “Not ham, like meat. HAM, like meatheads. It’s one of those armchair extremist movements Twitter keeps pretending they don’t know how to ban.”
“That narrows it down.”
“It’s short for… Rats. Something militia?”
Peter twitched abortively for the door.
Betty reached over and smacked his arm without taking her eyes off Jonah’s office. “Honestly, Peter,” she said, “you haven’t changed since we were teenagers. It’s not a real militia. Don’t go anywhere.”
He would sense it if they were armed, right? Right?
-
Jonah stuck a cigar in his mouth. He chewed it. He was trying to quit.
“–so nice to see a man in your position who cares about the important things,” the short one was saying. He seemed to be the main mouthpiece.
Jonah’s mustache quivered pleasantly.
“About upholding accountability for people dragging down our community.”
“Yeah, yeah,” agreed Jonah, succumbing to autopilot and lighting a preemptive celebratory cigar.
“People who don’t know what ‘neighborhood’ means.”
“EXACTLY,” exclaimed Jonah, smacking his hand on his desk.
-
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