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She couldn't sleep. Petra knew fully well, as the worry clawed at the back of her mind, that it was pushing 2:00 am and she had to wake up just four hours later to begin present her grant proposal in front of a collection of old, rich men who were, reluctantly, the only people that could fund her team's research. Yet, no matter how much she tried to convince herself, she just kept rolling in her sheets restlessly; simultaneously too hot and too cold, too tired and too awake, with both too many thoughts and not enough for sleep to take her.
Before the frustration could boil over, Petra found herself grabbing her keys, throwing on a hoodie, and venturing out to the front of her apartment complex. In the cold, crisp air she found strange solace. Well– crisp was an overstatement. It was more so... bleary, with the usual smells and fumes that envelop New York invading her every breath. But in some weird way, it was better than her shoe-box apartment. That's really all she cared about right now.
After staring at the gauzy night sky for far too long, she lowered her gaze to her surroundings, watching the cars and people slug along their paved roads, before settling on the convenience store just across the street.
She could go for a soggy sandwich or two...
Petra recognized the place as the site of a few thwarted robberies, all thwarted by her, of course, as her webbed alter ego. The first time it earned her a free sandwich and a water bottle, but after the next few instances, they began to just offer her the water– maybe a bag of chips if she asked. They'd probably recognize her if she was in her red and blue jammies, but she was fortunately in her normal, grey and blue jammies as the unremarkable Petra Parker. She'd visited before in the ass crack of the night—especially to supplement her frequent PhD candidacy all-nighters—so whatever tired cashier that works there probably knows her face as the weirdo who comes at night, but doesn't care enough to say anything. For her purposes, it was perfect.
Petra considered all this as she approached the store and pushed open its cold glass doors, wincing apologetically when it let out a ring. The drowsy teenager at the cash register startled slightly. She made her way to the freezers storing the aforementioned sandwiches leisurely, assessing the shelves for something of interest. While perusing, someone caught her eye instead.
By the back stood a person, hunched over while pressing open the freezer door with a broad shoulder. Despite their posture, they were still evidently the way above average height, likely standing even taller in full.
Although their stature was considerate, the most unusual characteristic was their clothing. In deference to their large frame, they wore obnoxiously colorful and branded clothes that would've seemed to suit a child if not for their contents. Stretched across a muscular back was a pink hoodie fashioned like the top half of a sweat suit, embellished in rhinestones to say 'SLUT' in an overly fancy font. Their pajama pants were patterned with the round face of Spider-Man (she doesn't earn royalties off that, by the way), sagging slightly to reveal briefs lined with the word 'CUNT'.
Combined, the entire outfit seemed like a menagerie of gag gifts worn with near complete sincerity.
In contrast to the comedic attire, in their gloved hands were two frozen food packages evidently being debated with ridiculous sincerity, eyes darting back and forth insistently. Taking advantage of this focus to sneak past unnoticed, she approached the freezer to retrieve her goods. While she considered whether she should get the turkey or ham, a raspy voice spoke up unexpectedly.
"Do you think it's more of a burrito or a sushi day?"
Petra turned suddenly to the source, blinking rapidly in surprise. The person she'd been quietly observing was looking in her direction under the shadow of their cap.
As Petra had discovered, their clothing taste continued in the front, causing her to barely suppress a snort. Their face was obscured with the brim of a purple and white cap labeled ‘SUPER FUCKING GAY’ in bold, rainbow font accompanied with a cringe worthy cat mouth mask. The obscene writing on the back of the hoodie was repeated on the front. Petra noted how the word stretched obscenely over her generous chest, before silently scolding herself for the perverse observation. It was too early for this shit. She forced her gaze upwards.
Although the woman's expression was unreadable, she found herself responding without thinking.
"That depends; would you rather get hot diarrhea or cold diarrhea?"
The stranger stared at her silently for a moment, turning Petra red as she cursed herself internally. Why would she make a low tier diarrhea joke to a total stranger? She must've been extra sleep deprived. I mean, she only asked which thing she should get! What the hell is wrong with her? Does she have the social intelligence of a middle school boy?
In the midst of her silent self beration, she was interrupted with a sudden, hoarse laugh.
"Hah! You're right. It's all the same coming out anyways. I'll probably just go with a classic; I'm more used to hot sauce shits anyways."
Somehow the bizarre person was charmed by her social blunder, turning towards the freezer to throw back her sushi—probably for the best—before turning back to her. Petra briefly caught the shimmer of a smile in her eyes before the sterile uphead lighting cast her eyes in darkness again.
"What're you getting?"
She smiled at her clear attempt to continue the conversation.
"Definitely not a burrito. Don't feel like risking it.”
"Oh come on, you don't trust my food choices? I have great taste!"
Petra deliberately looked her outfit up and down with an eyebrow raised inquisitively, before responding.
"Yea, I can definitely tell,” she deadpanned.
"Gasp!” She placed a hand on her chest in mock surprise. “I take great offense to your insinuation– my outfit is fantastic."
Her commitment to saying the word 'gasp' in full made Petra laugh sharply, much louder than she intended. It drew a few glances from the few other weirdos lurking in a convenience store this late at night, but Petra found the woman's ridiculous confidence strangely reassuring.
"I didn't say anything. I think it's perfectly fantastic. Sounds like you're the one insinuating,” she taunted.
"How dare you! I would never! This hoodie was perfectly tailored to the premade size standard I chose on Etsy by the incredibly talented makaylasewsforsexybitches.” The woman gave her a once over, Petra growing slightly nervous under her gaze. "You're hardly one to talk anyways! You may look cute and sexy as a button in those sweats but they're so… basic. In the words of Michelle Visage; you gotta stop relying on that body!" She ended the sentence with a flail of her hand.
Petra barked a laugh in surprise. "Cute and sexy? Are you seriously trying to flirt with me right now? In the frozen food aisle? At two AM on a Monday?”
With evident smugness the taller woman replied, "I dunno, are you? I thought you came here to get some delectable convenience store munchies but your shiny baby browns have been locked on some delectable me the whole time."
She reddened shamefully as she noticed her completely empty hands. God, she'd really stood here absent mindedly, giggling like a teenager with—and she cannot emphasize this enough—a completely random (albeit charming) woman. She's way too old for this.
"It's hardly delectable," she countered, trying to deflect her embarrassment. She hastily opened the freezer, grabbed a sandwich without looking, and closed it. " I was just... considering my options."
"You stared at all those sandwiches and chose egg?” Utter disbelief laced her tone.
A quick glance at her hands confirmed this fact. Eugh. She considered swapping it out, but that would mean admitting defeat, which Petra was diametrically opposed to. "Yea, " she affirmed, standing on her arbitrarily selected hill to die on. "Big egg fan. Call me the uh... egg gal."
Okay, that last sentence was entirely unnecessary and also weird as hell. What the fuck.
The other woman, who seemed infinitely entertained by Petra's social blunders, only snorted. Despite the knowing shine in her eye, she conceded.
"If you say so. Can I put a name to the egg dame?"
Her question surprised Petra. She never actually asked this stranger's name; she'd just been referring to her as 'the woman' or 'the stranger' this whole time.
"Petra."
The stranger smiled at her.
"Whitney Wilhelmina Wilson, but you can call me whatever you like,” she answered playfully.
Wait– Deadpool?!?