Chapter Text
New place, old routines.
Moving up to New York state was a big leap. It isn't exactly the cheapest place to live in the states, let alone on Earth, but it's far enough from family to where you can get some peace and quiet. Artwork and photography, both with prints and stock licenses, are your two main sources of income, and any side gigs are moreso treat money than work necessary for survival. Having a large pool of resources to take stock photography of is absolutely vital to making sure you can keep up with the bills, and New York? Well, let's just say the pool is more of a lake.
You're smart enough to know better than to live right in the city if you don't need to, superhero and villain shenanigans a secondary reason to the sheer cost compared to living a bit out of the way. The city is still nice though, and the river and woods nearby are wonderful sources of photos to sell as prints. So you've set up shop, so to speak, in a nice little cabin off of a gravel road. It's got enough space for all your various art supplies, and a "single bedroom" which is really just a loft separated from the rest of the place by a heavy curtain. It's nice though, and it's comparatively cheap, so you don't complain.
This leads us to where you are now. Taking your pickup out to the riverbank, bag with your camera on the passenger seat, you're out hunting for a good photo op. You've scoped out the area briefly before, looking for buildings and wooded areas that you know will make for great composition with the right weather conditions, and you see your target. It's a rundown..... warehouse? Factory? You aren't sure. There doesn't seem to be any easy point of entry that doesn't involve breaking a window or scaling the side, and you aren't super interested in the specifics of what this building used to be. Right now, foggy and at dusk, you're much more interested in what this building will be, which is to say your current muse. It's absolutely perfect, the slightly crumbling corners and blacked-out windows with boards over them will make for some atmospheric photos.
Pulling up close enough to minimize your walk but not so close that you have to shoot around your truck in the background, you once again case the place. As much as you want to make money to pay rent, you aren't so keen on having your stuff stolen by a gang who's using this building as a hideout for the night. The coast seems to be clear, however, so you pull out your camera and get to shooting. One wide shot while there's still some daylight, encompassing the entire building and at a slightly upward angle close to the ground, and you have a reference photo in case you want to come back.
The next couple hours are spent taking photos, some with the building as the focus, some more focused on the woods nearby, a few with the river in the distance. As the time passes, goosebumps rise as your nerves are steadily set more and more on edge. You pause a few times, but no noises out of the ordinary alert you to any new presences in the area. Nothing at all seems to be happening, no dangerous animal sounds, no sudden snapping twigs, not a single thing out of place. You should be relieved, there are no hints that you should leave, but you still feel uneasy.
Finishing up, you feel alright. Better than before, even, now that you're done. You get in your truck, lock the doors, and quickly go over your photos, taking note of which ones you plan on editing and selling as prints versus ones you plan on licensing as stock photos. Since this place was already away from the city, the drive home isn't as long as other ones have been, and you soon find yourself back home and in bed.
It's been a few weeks since your excursion out to the warehouse district, as you now know it's called, and you've taken photos of many other buildings in the area. None of them raised the hair on the back of your neck quite like the first one did, so you figure it was just a matter of being in uncharted territory. You've grown pretty comfortable with the layout of the buildings dotted between patches of overgrowth and forest, and you're ready to officially claim a little spot there for yourself to relax and make art when the weather is nice. Back in the pickup, this time with your art supplies and picnic blanket on the passenger side floor and cooler in the bed of the truck, you head out.
It's a lovely day out. A bit warm, sure, but with enough cloud coverage to make sure you won't be sweating if you decide to take your time outside. Pulling into the warehouse district, the first building you photographed here will be your new hideout spot. Since there will be no photography going on today you allow yourself to park pretty close, going a bit off the main road to park near a tree in case the weather takes a sudden turn for the worse. You get out, set up your blanket and cooler on the ground, and unpack your art supplies. This area has a nice variety of natural flora, which you've taken photos of both to identify them and to have as reference, and do some quick warm-up drawings.
While you sketch the building in front of you and a few flowers nearby, you allow your mind to wander. You've had plenty of time since you first moved to hear more detailed stories about the hero and villain escapades that happen in the Big Apple away from your little cabin, but what you haven't had plenty of time to do is really worry too much about them. You've heard the names of the big players, you kinda sorta know what each one's main schtick is, but if you saw them on the street you'd be none the wiser. It's better that way, you rationalize. No room to worry about seeing a serial bomber at the 7-11 when you're just trying to get a Slurpee. Besides, most of the heroes cover their faces, so you don't really imagine you'll need to know much about them personally to begin with.
Some of them you have a passing interest in, for curiosity's sake. Again, you try not to get too invested. The last thing you need is to be sympathetic for someone with a kill count, or to find attractive someone who saves lives but could die during an altercation. You just want to mind your business.
Warm-up sketches done, you pull out your oil pastels. "This is the real moneymaker," you whisper, making yourself chuckle quietly. Making quick work of drawing and blending, the flowers around you fill up the canvas paper clipped to your board that you have propped up on the backwards cooler. Hours pass, you take a break for lunch, and you continue. You hear the faintest hint of police sirens on and off throughout the day, which you've grown accustomed to, but it's when you receive an automatic alert pushed to your phone that you stop to take stock.
"BANK ROBBERY ON 12TH STREET. DOC OCK SPOTTED. AVOID SURROUNDING AREA IF POSSIBLE."
Huh, Doc Ock. He's the, uh. Hm. He's the back guy? With the mechanical arms? You're pretty sure at least. You're also pretty sure that's far from where you're at, so while the alert puts you on edge, you don't feel particularly inclined to try and rush your current piece or make a mad dash outta here. Well, the sun is starting to set, songbird blue sky fading into a warm amber with the faintest hint of purple at the sky's peak, so you might as well finish up the last few leaves on your second piece of canvas paper and start packing up your things. It's when you're putting your cooler in the bed of the truck and beginning to re-fold your picnic blanket that you notice it.
That feeling.
The same one as the first day you came here.
This sudden change in atmosphere shakes you to your core, and you freeze for just a moment. Before trying to calmly finish putting away your things in the passenger side, you take a breath. If anyone is out there, let alone a villain rather than a basic mugger, you don't want to seem like a threat by running. Bag over your shoulder, you look out at the forest around the building, scanning the area. You see a figure, well, it looks like a figure, standing amongst the trees. They're completely backlit by the sunset. Tall, broad, and, if your eyes aren't deceiving you, in ownership of two extra pairs of appendages. Two red lights face your direction, as far as you can tell, and the figure doesn't move an inch.
"Doc Ock....." you think to yourself. He's not known for being particularly violent towards anything other than property. From what you know, what little you know, he's not a player that enjoys or goes out of his way to harm civilians. You must be either in the way of the path to his hideout or parked directly in front of it, so you make a point to not let your eyes linger on the silhouette for too long. Your sketchbook is under your arm, pencil tucked into the spine, so you flip it open and write a quick note.
"Hello Doctor (if that was you). If this is your home, just know that I was only drawing the local plant life. Sorry if I've made you worry by being in the area. I understand if me being here is a "security" issue, but I'd really like to continue coming to this spot to paint, as this place is quiet and quite nice during the day, if that's alright with you."
You sign the note with your name, and when you scan the tree line again to check for him, the figure is gone. You place it neatly at the front entrance where it can be seen, and head back home.