Chapter Text
Peter adjusts the gold metal tiger mask that covers his entire face as he and his boss, J Jonah Jameson stode shoulder to shoulder in the elevator that took them from the lower level of the Osborn Building to upper level where the biggest party of the year was already in full swing. The building had a rather large bank on the first floor, and Peter had no clue what the other floors were used for, offices, apartments, whatever the rich had decided would fit their needs. Jameson places a cigar in his mouth, he has opted to wear a black half mask mimicking the face of a wolf, the snarling snout hinders him but he manages to fit the cigar so it hangs off the side as he strikes a match to lit it. Peter wrinkles his nose, grateful his mask hides his expression as he checks his bag and camera. After a few puffs Jameson’s commanding voice filled the elevator.
“Remember Parker, this party will be all over tomorrow’s New Year’s edition of The Bugle so I better see some high quality photos! Get as many celebs as you can, I heard that actress, Watson, would be here so I better see her face in your roll!”
“Yes, sir.” Peter had brought extra film so he wasn’t worried about running out, though taking pictures of all of New York’s elite wasn’t his idea of a fun New Year’s party. He hoped Flash would be fine drinking alone. The thought of him having fun bar hopping, celebrating in the streets as everyone waited for the big countdown makes Peter more irritated at being asked last minute to tag along for Jameson. Not to mention how he was missing out on some quality crime fighting, his persona of The Spider was slowly consuming his free time but his hands itched to punch some low life scum who thought they could get away with hurting the people of New York. His people. Peter had tried to get out of it, claiming he didn’t have a suit but Jameson had thrown his son’s suit at Peter, saying to hurry up and change as he didn’t want to miss anything. It was a bit too large but Peter made it fit. The mask at least granted him some autonomy, and the eye spaces were enough for him to be able to use his camera. The two men in their black suits and white shirts, with black bow ties would fit right in with crowd Peter had seen waiting to get into the elevator after Jameson had slammed the doors shut in their faces, wanting a moment to privately instruct Peter on how to behave and what to look for, namely candid photos, glamour shots, anything that could be spun into a story. Was this movie star sleeping with his co-worker? Was that hot shot millionaire open to marriage? Who was getting a divorce? Who was a rising star of New York’s rich elite?
“Paid a lot of money, even called in a few favors so I could get into the biggest event of the year so I better have enough gossip and news to fill a weeks worth of papers!” The smoke fills the small space quickly and Peter hates it. He had never been one for smoking other than the odd cigarette he bummed off Flash. A gleam enters Jameson’s eye when the golden doors open to the large room filled with the most beautiful (and rich) people Peter had ever seen. He was dumbstruck a moment before following Jameson out. He has his camera up and is already snapping pictures as they venture further inwards. The large ballroom had been decorated in black, white, and gold. Champagne towers and an open bar. Though Prohibition was still mandated, who was going to tell the people here not to celebrate. Not with the Mayor himself in attendance, Peter knew that the article would claim all the drinks here were non alcoholic though anyone would know it’s a lie. Numerous bottles of spirits on every table. The wait staff all wore the same plain black mask as they carried around a never ending supply of miniature finger foods, small delicacies that would never make anyone full but it paired well with the drinks. Couples dance as the band plays, “Sugar Foot Stomp”, other guests hang around tables, drinking, smoking. Laughter rings out and conversation is a dull background thrum as they move through the crowd. Peter could see the Mayor of New York talking to a woman who wasn’t his wife, a nudge from Jameson’s hand on his shoulder indicates his boss had seen it as well, and Peter breaks away to get a good shot. This would never make it into the papers but depending on how things go it would be good for Jameson to have some insurance in his back pocket. Peter moves on, taking more pictures, some people are willing to pose for him while others look down their noses. He sees a young man looking miserable surrounded by pretty women and all of them, the man included, looked like they would rather be anywhere else. An older man, the boy’s father is berating him, telling him to straighten up or he would straighten him out. Peter resists the urge to “accidently” knock down a passing waiter to spill his drinks on the older man. There is a couple making out in a shadowy corner, and Peter avoids them. Strings of light bathe the room in it’s golden light. The aura feels almost dreamlike, Peter takes more pictures before coming full circle around the room just in time to find Jameson talking with a group of men Peter knew were rich enough to buy New York three times over. Jameson laughs a bit too loudly at a joke that isn’t very funny and Peter snags a glass of champagne from the passing server. Lifting his mask slighting he downs it in a swig, he switches it out for another glass. Peter pulls down his mask, already sick of being here. Everyone was dressed to the nines, beautiful masks and dresses, jewelry twinkled from the necks, ears, and wrists of women. Peter knew that these people would never understand what it was like to live in poverty, to know a single diamond earring would keep himself and his Aunt May in enough money for the rest of their lives. He lets his gaze wander over all the people. Not really paying attention until he comes to a woman who is dancing in the arms of another man, she is wearing a black fringe dress with matching long armed gloves. Pearls rope her neck and the white of them match the color of her hair which was pulled up and held back with a headband that had a long black ostrich feather decorating it. It matched the black father fan that hung off her wrist. Peter is entranced by her, he had never seen anyone so beautiful before. His eyes travel, taking in her form. Slender body moving to the fast paced music of “Sing Sing Sing”. He looks back at her face just in time to catch her looking at him, he is startled by the intuitive green eyes, framed by her black lace cat’s mask. It did nothing to hide her features, in fact the half mask only highlighted her beauty. Rows of miniature diamonds framed her brows and he felt his heart flutter at her half smile. He almost missed the subtle thievery. She slips her dance partner’s watch off his wrist just before her partner whisks her away in a turn.
“Parker!”
Jameson’s bark has him setting his glass and turning back to the circle of men.
“Don’t be useless. Take a picture, Parker!”
Peter grits his teeth beneath his mask and lifts the camera up, the man who had been scolding his son stands with the Mayor, Jameson, and other people Peter didn’t care about. No doubt any one of them was a powerful figure in New York. After a few snaps of his camera, Jameson turns to the man and thanks him for the invite. Peter learns he is Norman Osborn, the owner of the building and father of Harry Osborn, one of New York’s richest bachelors. Peter doesn’t stick around to hear more, going off to take more pictures to appease Jameson. He looks back at the dance floor but the woman with the cat mask is gone. He goes to the bar and sits beside Harry Osborn, who’s entourage of women have meticulously disappeared as the man works on his fifth glass of whiskey. He almost feels sorry for him, having a father like Norman doesn’t seem easy. Peter had been raised by his Uncle Ben and Aunt Many, and Ben had been the best father any child could ask for. The loss of his Uncle last year nearly broke him and his Aunt. He doubted Harry would shed a tear if Norman were to die.
The bartender turns to Peter but before he could say his poison of choice a woman slips in next to him and says “Gin Rickey for me, a Highball for the gent.”
He turns to the voice and it’s her, the woman in the cast mask. Up close, she was even more beautiful. He unsticks his lips long enough to say, “If you’re going to order for me, shouldn’t I at least know your name?”
“And give the game away, Tiger?” Her small amusing laugh makes him smile, she couldn’t see of course, “Call me Cat.” She holds out her hand and he presses it to the lips of his mask.
He wants to tell her to call him Spider, not Tiger, but instead, “Cat. You in the habit of taking things from men?”
Green eyes widen slightly, otherwise her expression doesn’t change from the flirtatious curve of her lips, “You have a keen eye, Tiger.”
“You have fast paws, however to save you the trouble, the only thing of value you will find in my wallet is a miniature picture of my Aunt and Uncle, and it’s not something you want.”
She lets out a small laugh as the bartender sets their drinks down, she has no trouble taking a sip. Peter ignores his drink in favor of watching her. Her red lips shines with the residue of the gin.
“How do you know what I would want?”
“Rich Dame like you? A picture of two low class New Yorkers wouldn’t have any value. Not when what you're wearing around your neck is worth more than I could make in a lifetime.”
Peter didn’t want to let self loathing color his words but he couldn’t help it. Being here was slowly grinding on his nerves, the loud voices and drunkenness had only progressed as there was barely an hour left until New Years. He didn’t want her to think he was like them, if she wanted to get to know him then she should know he couldn’t ever afford anything like that watch she stole.
“Oh you think I’m one of them?” she nods a bit towards the dancefloor, “No darling, in fact we probably have more in common than you think.”
“So your date is really going to miss his watch?”
“He can afford another besides, that’s just for fun, a warm up you see.” She takes another sip, “My real game is starting soon, but I just had to see you up close after I caught you watching me.” Her hand covers his own on the bar. It’s soft, her nails are perfectly painted. Harry Osborn next to them slumps in his seat, head down on the bar, mumbling incoherent words. Peter ignores him. Cat is watching him closely and he feels like a mouse that she wants to toy with. It makes him angry, what game was she playing anyways? Did she like to stir up men and leave them hanging? He wasn’t about to be another one of her warm ups. He moves his hand away. Her flirting, her touch, the way her eyes seem to beckon him, ideas in his head shoot straight to his groin and curses Jameson for putting him in this position.
Peter leans in close, “I don’t know what kinda games you like to play, if you’re lying about not being one of them, and frankly I don’t care. I don’t think messing around with someone’s emotions is a fun time.”
“Who says I’m playing now?” She says back in a daring tone. Her eyes were serious. Peter had never met anyone quite like her, and he wasn't about to let her challenge go unanswered.
He lean forward but when she doesn't shy way, he pressed on to kiss her but forgets that his mask is still on. He goes to remove it but she stops him, “Keep the mask on. I know somewhere more private. Come on…” She wraps her fingers betwixt his, stands from her stool, and begins to lead him away from the bar. Harry Osborn discovers their left behind drinks. However the couple had barely gone a few steps when a loud CRASH and panicked voices came from the entryway of the ballroom. Peter instinctively squeezes her hand, and puts himself before her.
A large man, wearing a massive fur coat that looked like it was made of an entire loin, strides into the ballroom, the music abruptly stops as the band, singer, and all the rest of the guests and staff turn to watch. Behind the man follows several people, many of whom bear a resemblance to him. Though he looks to be in his 40s, grey streaks his hair and beard, but Peter’s eyes are glued to the large hunting rifle he carried in the crook of his arm. As well as the large hunting knife that peeked out from his belt, just in front of his waist. He shrugs off his coat, and one of his people takes it and sets it aside. Peter notices they all have guns, and one person even has a crossbow. He carefully takes off the strap of his bag that contained his camera, and sets it on the floor without moving anything other than his arm, with one foot Peter nudges it under an empty table.
“Hey now! This party is invitation only! Who-”
The large man headbutts Norman Osborn who curses as he holds his face, nose broken, and blood streaming between his fingers, some wait staff jump to attention and drag him back. Peter looks around and sees Jameson near the punch table where a giant ice sculpture of a swan had been placed. He mouths “Take a picture!” But Peter shakes his head slowly. His spider sense told him this man was dangerous even without the weapons. Jameson glared. Peter nodded towards the table where the camera was hidden, and Jameson’s gaze followed before they both turned their attention to the man who had just jumped up on a table.
Now in full view of the party goers he speaks in a thick Russian accent, “Friends! What an evening, yes? Filled with the best New York has to offer! You perhaps do not know me, seeing as you Americans rarely care about anyone outside of this pitiful country, however allow me a moment to introduce myself; I am Sergei Kravinoff. Many know me as Kraven the Hunter, and for good reason.” He smiles very widely, showing off all his teeth as his dark eyes take in the room. “I have brought my family to America to play a little game; you see this is New York! And only the strong survive New York. As I could not settle for less than the best for my children, I decided a Hunt to close out the year is in order and how lucky you all are to have been chosen by me to participate!”
“Tiger, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He would keep her safe, though he had barely known her a few moments.
“My hero,” She says distractedly, as she fumbles with the hem of her dress.
Peter wants to look back to see what she is doing but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off the Kravinoffs.
Kraven gestures at the large clock set against a wall.
“One Hour. One hour to stay alive, at the end of the hour you are all free to go, but do not attempt to escape early for all the exits outside have been barred. Now in this hour should you be so unlucky not to be one of New York’s elite then you will find yourself, well," He smiles widely, "dead.”