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“What about him is so special?”
“Ereshkigal, ‘m not sure you quite care about that.” Pete adjusted the leather of his gloves, staring up into her cherry eyes. “A mortal’s little crush isn’t the type of thing I can see you fretting over.”
The spider before him, tall as the empire state and imposing as all hell, rested the front of her head on the webbing of her domain. The entire thing dipped towards her huge, bright red, eyes.
“My dominion doesn’t need management. If it did, I wouldn’t have bothered with you at all.” Her voice rang like nails on steel, same as it had when he first fell into her web. She had become more sociable, more human since then, but that part of her hadn’t changed. “Is it a crime for me to be intrigued by my child’s feelings? To be devoted to your growth?”
Pete groaned, falling back. Her child, he mumbled. “Really, though? Hobie’s just… a guy. I’ll get over him.”
Ereshkigal hummed, “Will you?” The web floor dipped further, and the bright red lights of her eyes shrunk. “From the times I’ve dragged you here, I’ve discovered you feel very deeply. You aren’t… quiet with it. I’ve seen you sob, before.”
He glanced to his side, goggles meeting red eyes. She took the form of a strange Holly Babson whenever she wanted to pick his brain. No longer limited by the natural, her body had grown sharper. Her demeanor toed the line of uncanny.
“He’s impossible. He… different universes. How is that supposed to work?” He gestured to the faux skyline of her domain. “And, I’m decently sure the lot of ‘em think I’m disagreeable with all of that.”
“All of that? What, homosexuality?” She pushed herself up to stare down at him, “There are four in that group that are not white. Gwendolyn, I believe, is a transvestite. The other version of you has mentioned his past escapades with men. I don’t believe that’s a worry of theirs.”
“I think if I said transvestite to one of them, I’d be met with wide eyes.”
“You are one. Just say that if they get offended.” Ereshkigal tilted her head, it dropping to the side like her strings had been cut. Human motion was a work in progress. “And if you don’t want to say transvestite, then don’t. Simply talk to the boy. You needn't prove your tolerance, just show it.”
“It’s not that easy.” Pete raked his hands over his goggles, groaning, “He’s… Ereshkigal, are there gods above your standing?”
She blinked at him. “Enlil. He led the pantheon. Why? Are you going to take an interest in Sumer to woo him?”
“Imagine Enlil is in front of you. And he’s all… lovely, right? Whatever he looks like, imagine that. Beautiful, or… or handsome. Just glorious.” Pete spoke with a slight breathiness, “And imagine all the others of the pantheon are there, too. Watching you, like they know you’re… not quite like the rest of them. Not as up-to-date, or… in tune. Imagine that. Now try to talk to Enlil, ask him out. That’s hard. That’s—that’s impossible!” Pete flopped back onto the webs, throwing his hands out to the sides.
“I was never in love with Enlil,” Ereshkigal’s voice had that lilt she had whenever something was particularly foolish, “and you are not dealing with a pantheon. You are not dealing with the god of storm. You are dealing with a lovely English radical. There is no pantheon watching your move, ready to banish you. There is only a collection of children, with an immature adult, who are your friends.”
“I’m their friend because I fought with them,” Pete huffed, “They don’t like me all too much. You watch me when I’m there, don’t you? I’m not their top priority,”
Ereshkigal let out a singular, sharp bark. Her head tipped a little too far back, and Holly Babson’s face split to reveal Ereshkigal’s numerous glowing eyes. “You are my favorite child, Parker. Never have I seen a better example of man’s folly.”
“Hey now,” Pete’s goggles were still on as he turned to glare at her, “I’d love to know what you mean by that.”
“You’re convinced everyone hates you. You refuse to act on a precedent you’ve set yourself. Man’s folly.” Her voice held a grin.
Pete stared at her for a moment, before looking back at what was below.
Ereshkigal’s domain was the best thinking place he’d ever found. Sitting on webs he couldn’t leave, surrounded by inky black, only beneath him was there color—smooth, gray-blue stone, covered with a thin layer of water and thick layer of mist. The mist liked to swirl around itself in coils, and the few times he’d been within it, it smelled like strawberries.
“I’m not trying to dismiss you, Peter.” The web dipped directly next to him. “You feel very deeply, very heavily. You aren’t quiet in it, and yet, you do not take pride in it. You love someone with the terror they might leave you, terror so large, you are unwilling to even try. It proves my point, yet it saddens me a bit.”
“Just a bit?” The ground below swirled again, sweeping miles beneath his feet.
“Just a bit. Because I know one day, you’ll snap.” Her head rested on his shoulder, now, locks of blonde hair rolling over his coat. “You always have, and always will. Some mission will go wrong, some argument will start, some deep confession will tumble over your lips and suddenly you’re telling Mr. Brown to value himself. Telling him that his life matters oh-so much to people outside of him. Something like that.”
“Something like a novel. Or one of the pictures.” He mumbled.
“Exactly. You deserve a picture ending, don’t you?” Up close, Ereshkigal’s voice grated his ear. “I think you should take him out. I think… you should gush to him about how you feel.”
Pete hummed. “You think he’d like that?”
A nod against his shoulder, “I think he would very much.”
“Well, then,” Pete turned to Ereshkigal. He stood, balancing on the silk beneath his feet, and faced her. “Hobie Brown. You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever met.”
“Do you really mean that?” Ereshkigal asked. “It’s a very hard thing to prove. A very high standard you’re setting.”
“…You’re the most brilliant man I’ve ever met.” Pete reaffirmed. It was a high standard, but really, would anyone else meet it? Ereshkigal nodded at Pete, this time. Her brow was raised. “You talk with conviction, and belief, and revolution. Your… your eyes, they flare with this passion that fills me with urgency. I see you and I feel there is hope for a better tomorrow. I look into your eyes and feel the flames of revolution lick my hand. It’s lovely, it’s… it makes me feel giddy again. Like a little kid I feel like I’m seeing the possibility for things to be lovely. Seeing the world at its best. Hobie Brown, you’re magnificent. I work as a P.I., day and night surrounded by unsolved questions and unanswered cases–but you? You’re simple. You believe. You rally. You love openly and you scream to the hordes with no omission. Your beliefs, your words, each thing you mind is on your sleeve and that’s beautiful. I’ve never lived in a world where I saw perfection in someone’s eyes, but if I were to live in yours, I would have. You’re…you’re lovely.”
Ereshkigal smiled that quaint smile of hers, somewhere between pitying and adoring. The corners of her lips tugged upwards and revealed her teeth, while her eyes were soft. She had sweeping wrinkles brushing up against the sides of her nose, and her brows were creased in a furrow. “Lovely.”
Pete stared at her, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. “‘Is it bad? Is lovely the wrong word?”
“It’s a fine word.” She leaned back, “I can’t think of anything better. I do think you’re too wordy. He doesn’t need waxing poetic. He is a man of action. I think you should simply call him lovely and give him something.”
“Give him something?” Pete flopped down to sit, “Like what? Flowers?”
Ereshkigal nodded, closing her eyes in thought. “Or something bigger.”
“Bigger?”
“Yes.” Ereshkigal reached to cup Pete’s face in her hands, “Imagine a hill over the thames. Or the hudson. Any river, with a sunset. A sunset blinding and bright, painting you with beams. Imagine a picnic. With the food he loves, food you can stomach. Imagine the world freezing in place as you whisper to him your true colors. Wouldn’t that be something bigger?”
Pete, from his place in her palms, shook his head. “A picnic is so corny. Straight out of a picture.”
“A picture ending is something you want, no?”
“I’ll never get one.” Pete huffed and pulled away from her, mumbling beneath his breath. “I’m just going to imply.”
“Imply?” Ereshkigal’s arms dropped to her sides.
Pete waved his hand in a circle, sighing, “Yeah. I dunno. Some etiquette stuff. Show him all of the bobbles May used to tell me I would get wooed with, as a kid.”
“Romance etiquette. Hobart Brown and romance etiquette?”
“Exactly. That’s the point. I can just… show him that I care, and show that I’m opening the door, but I won’t actually do anything. He can see from there. And choose what he wants to do.”
Erishkigal turned away from Pete then, and stared at the top of her domain. It wasn’t anything at all, just some inky black with pinpricks of light, her own mimic of starlight. Most of the pinpricks were just dots, little holes she teared to gaze out of. Some of them actually shone, a cold sort of green light.
“You don’t want him to know?”
“Never. I just want him to be able to know.” Pete’s face had hard lines on each corner, all of which caught on the light, and in their world, pitched into deep shadows. “I want him to be able to pick up a book, read a few pages, and understand what I’m getting at. But only get it after feeling the urge to pick up a book.”
“A book about 1930s etiquette, something he wouldn’t ever do.”
“Exactly.” He nodded and his hat fell over his eyes. “He’s not ever gonna know, and I’m not ever gonna tell him, and I’ll die happy knowing I tried, and he’ll die happy knowing he had a good friend.”
“How depressing.” She noted, “And so very like you.”
Pete glanced at her, eyes deer-like and round, before blinking back into the brim of his hat. He had lay down on his back with his legs crossed and crooked. His arms were folded behind his head.
“Have you ever considered he might like you back?”
“No.” Pete tucked his limbs in further.
Ereshkigal pulled herself to a stand, looking out at the horizon. Glancing down to Pete at her feet, she spoke. “Try to. Morose pity gets dull after a while.”
Pete rolled onto his side and tugged his hat over his face, “Deepest apologies.”
Ereshkigal balanced on the web as she walked further down to its core, “I’ve no complaint yet, Peter. Though I will if you do not try to romance this boy.”
“Sure, I’ll try. I’ll take off my hat when I talk to him. I’ll walk the street-side. I’ll give him my coat and if he wants to dance, I’ll stop talking.” Pete shook his head beneath his hat.
Erishkigal reached the center of the web, and it began to shift, hundreds of thousands of thin, black legged spiders descending. “I want you to set up a picnic.” Ereshkigal called, spiders climbing across her to reach Peter.
The huge things, bigger than any other kind of spider Pete's seen, crawled over his body. Connecting the web across his legs and arms, cocooning him like prey, Ereshkigal’s way of sending him off. There were faint clicks and chitters from each as they worked.
“A picnic on a hill, child.” The webbing had gone so far over Pete’s body, he couldn’t look down to meet her eyes. “Go off and prepare something lovely for him, alright? I’ll be watching.”
Pete sighed as his sight got crossed with webbing.
Ereshkigal’s advice was always self-serving, made for her own entertainment. She cared for him in a parasocial, loose way—pity was her affection, morbid was her curiosity. But it didn’t mean she wanted the worst for him.
An omnipotent goddess, who had chosen to watch over his life, telling him he should go for it. Absently, as he faded to black, he wondered what a Londoner would consider good picnic food.